This commentary is by Rich LaMonica, who is a retired U.S. Army veteran, leadership advocate and founder of the podcast “The MisFitNation.”
America has spent years urging veterans in crisis to reach out for help.
We tell them mental health matters. We tell them they are not alone. We tell them to call 988 and press 1 for the Veterans Crisis Line. We run awareness campaigns, fund prevention programs and encourage struggling veterans to take the hardest first step possible: ask for help.
Those messages are important. They save lives.
But they only work if veterans trust what happens next.
That is why the case of Joseph “J.J.” Millett in Vermont deserves national attention. Public reporting indicates Millett, a veteran, contacted a crisis resource during a mental health emergency and later faced serious criminal charges. Courts will determine the facts of his specific case, and that process should be respected.
But the broader issue extends far beyond one defendant or one state.
If veterans begin to believe that calling for help could lead to devastating legal consequences rather than treatment, evaluation and stabilization, many will choose silence instead.
And silence can be deadly.
No reasonable person argues that threats should be ignored. Public safety matters. Law enforcement and emergency officials have an obligation to assess danger, protect potential victims and respond when credible threats are made.
But a functioning system must also recognize that not every alarming statement comes from the same place. Some threats come from criminal intent. Others come from panic, trauma, psychiatric distress, suicidal crisis, substance abuse or a person spiraling during a moment of emotional collapse.
That distinction matters because crisis lines exist for people who are not at their best. They are specifically designed for moments when fear, rage, despair, confusion and hopelessness overwhelm judgment. If everyone in crisis spoke calmly, rationally and precisely, crisis lines would hardly be necessary.
Veterans often carry burdens many civilians never see or fully understand. Combat exposure. Hypervigilance. Survivor’s guilt. Depression. Anxiety. Identity loss after transition from service. Chronic pain. PTSD. Difficulty reconnecting to ordinary civilian life after years of operating in high-pressure environments.
Sometimes those wounds emerge as isolation, anger, reckless behavior or words spoken in a moment the person later regrets.
When veterans finally ask for help, it may not sound polished. That is exactly why trained intervention matters.
The Millett case should become a wake-up call for policymakers, veterans organizations, mental health professionals and crisis response leaders nationwide. America needs systems that can protect the public while also recognizing the realities of mental health emergencies.
That means stronger triage protocols that distinguish organized malicious intent from acute emotional breakdowns. It means trained clinicians working alongside law enforcement whenever possible, diversion and treatment pathways when appropriate, and charging decisions that consider context, proportionality and the long-term public impact of discouraging future calls for help.
Most of all, it means rebuilding trust. Trust is not a slogan. It is a life-saving asset. If veterans trust the system, they call. If they do not trust it, they isolate, self-medicate, escalate or disappear into silence.
Somewhere tonight, another veteran is staring at a phone, deciding whether to ask for help. That person may know nothing about Vermont law or legal procedure. But they will understand the cultural lesson stories like this can send.
Will the message be: “Reach out. Help is there”?
Or will it be: “Handle it alone”?
We should all care about that answer, whether we served or not. Families, employers, communities, hospitals and first responders all live with the consequences when a crisis goes untreated.
This is not about excusing dangerous behavior. It is not about ignoring victims or minimizing fear. It is about building intelligent systems capable of separating punishment from treatment, criminality from crisis and danger from distress.
America asked much of its veterans in uniform. The least we can do now is ensure that when they seek help at home, they encounter a system worthy of their trust.
Because when veterans fear asking for help, everyone loses.
