They pretended to oppose the system while making millions off our stories. The tears of parents became their fundraising fuel. The photos of vaccine-injured children became their marketing campaigns.
Every rally, every press release, every “breaking lawsuit” was designed not to deliver victory but to keep the donations flowing. Nonprofits and charities sprang up like weeds—Children’s Health Defense, ICAN, and others—each one promising to fight for us. But where did the millions go? Into salaries, legal fees for cases that rarely moved forward, and endless “awareness campaigns” that recycled the same slogans year after year.
The truth is, these lawsuits rarely moved forward. At best, the movement celebrated a token “win” once every year. They weren’t victories—they were bread crumbs tossed to starving parents, a psychological trick to keep us invested in the fight while the real structures of corruption stayed untouched.
It wasn’t empowerment. It was trauma bonding. Parents relived their tragedies in echo chambers, clinging to leaders who never intended to solve the problem. Meanwhile, the only fight that mattered—the repeal of the 1986 Vaccine Injury Compensation Act—was quietly ignored. That silence wasn’t an oversight. It was intentional. Because overturning that law would have collapsed the entire multi-billion-dollar machine—and the careers of the very people who claimed to represent us.
They turned our grief into their brand. Our loss became their platform. And our silence, they hoped, would keep their machine running.
But their lies didn’t silence me. They forged me. Every betrayal became another scar, and every scar became another layer of armor.
This was not the destiny I imagined as a young father. But it is the destiny I was given—a calling to stand in truth no matter the cost. They thought they could profit from our misery forever. Instead, they wrote my mission.
