When I left the military at the end of 2011, I believed my transition to civilian life would be fairly easy. I had a plan. I would enroll in school, study pre-medicine, and begin the next chapter of my life.

What I did not anticipate was that a benefit I had earned in uniform would become an obstacle.

Landlords would not accept my Post 9/11 G.I. Bill housing allowance as legitimate income. Without an address, I could not secure stable employment. Without employment, stability slipped further away. I moved through a sequence that many veterans know but few openly discuss. I tried to enter shelters that were already full. I slept in my car. I stayed in a halfway house. I found temporary refuge in a rectory. I couch surfed with friends. Eventually, I slept on my mother’s couch.

By the third month, I was fortunate. A realtor who was also a veteran and active in the American Legion vouched for me to an elderly Italian couple in my old neighborhood in Little Italy in the Bronx, New York. They did not need much. They wanted a quiet tenant who would pay on time. That was enough.

By 2012, I was working at the Bronx Labor Department and the Bronx Veterans Affairs Hospital while attending Fordham University and laying the foundation for what would become Devil Dog USA Incorporated.

It was at Fordham in 2013 that I met Yegor Zubarev.

I had posted small signs around campus asking if anyone wanted to help with a project focused on veteran advocacy. I was working out of the Fordham library. Yegor responded. He showed up and stayed. For a week, he sat beside me building the early framework of Devil Dog USA.

Then I noticed something.

Every day around five in the afternoon, he packed up and left. At the time, I was working as a veteran’s benefits advisor. I understood the signs of instability. I asked him if everything was all right.

He told me he had to return to the shelter before six o’clock. The curfew was strict.

He was homeless.

He was also volunteering his time to help build an organization dedicated to helping homeless veterans.

That moment changed me.

Over that weekend, I knocked on doors. I spoke to realtors and landlords. I explained that he was a Marine veteran attending Fordham University and receiving housing funds through the G.I. Bill. It took persistence, but by Monday I was helping him carry trash bags filled with his belongings into his new apartment.

What the system could not accomplish in months had taken a weekend of conversation.

The failure was not financial. It was structural.

From there, we grew together. Devil Dog USA grew with us.

Yegor worked quietly in the background. He helped refine policies. He assisted in preparing materials for town halls. He supported meetings with elected officials. He helped shape outreach efforts focused on student veteran homelessness. He did not seek credit. He built structure.

Throughout 2013, I documented stories of veterans across the country who were denied housing because landlords refused to accept their G.I. Bill housing allowances. We spoke to media outlets. We organized town halls. We rallied community leaders and veteran advocates.

By late 2013, our largest town hall meeting drew major organizations, including NABVETS, alongside elected officials and community leaders. What began in a university library had become a movement.

Shortly after, we formally opened our community center. From 2014 through 2016, we launched programs in civic engagement, recreation programs, scuba diving, golf, and a talk show called Vet Talk. We began building a liaison network across the country.

In 2016, another organization took the lead on advancing legislation specific to G.I. Bill housing discrimination. In 2017, New York City passed Local Law 119, strengthening the Human Rights Law to recognize G.I. Bill housing allowances as lawful income.

It was a major achievement. But it was only one piece of the puzzle.

True reintegration requires more than housing. It requires access to education, employment, resources, and community.

By then, Yegor was pursuing his legal career. I had long since stepped away from my education in medicine and committed fully to veteran and community advocacy.

In late 2020, I received a call about Yegor. I initially believed it was someone seeking a recommendation for him. Instead, I was informed of his passing.

At his funeral, his mother asked me to speak. Before I approached the podium, she leaned in and told me, “Tell them all how my son was really like.”

Many in the room did not know the depth of what he had done. He was humble. He never sought recognition. But he had changed lives.

My greatest regret is that I was not there to help him through the struggles he carried at the end. Why he did not reach out is something I will never fully understand.

What I can do is keep the promise I made to his mother.

The Corporal Yegor Zubarev Veterans Bill now seeks to address these barriers on a national level. It expands the protections first achieved under New York City’s Local Law 119 so that no student veteran in this country faces housing discrimination because of the Post-9/11 G.I. Bill. It reinforces the pathway to citizenship for those who, like Yegor, came to this country, wore its uniform, and earned that right through service. And it works to remove administrative delays in mental health support so that veterans struggling in silence are not met with bureaucracy.

The bill carries his name because it reflects his journey.

This bill is in memory of my friend, Corporal Yegor Zubarev.

If you or someone you know is struggling, the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline is available by dialing or texting 988. Veterans can press 1.

The petition supporting the Corporal Yegor Zubarev Veterans Bill can be signed at https://www.change.org/TheCorporalYegorZubarevVeteransBill

Donations may be made to Devil Dog USA Incorporated. Contributions will help expand awareness and national access to the Corporal Yegor Zubarev Bill.

To contribute, please visit: https://devildogusainc.org/donate

By Gonzalo Duran