UPDATE: Two RCMP officers arrived at my front door step early in the afternoon of July 26th, and asked me an extremely thorough series of questions about the details contained in this blog entry (and what details I have not published) about my relationship to the officer in question. And after reading virtually every article I could find on the matter (on August 6th and 7th), I found a video from the news story I watched and have attached a critical screenshot to this journal entry.
UPDATE (2.0): I stood by my perception that if the man in the knife-brandishing photo is indeed not Cpl. Brown — as a number of people scrambled to claim — then it is his identical fucking twin, and it still represents misogynist imagery that is symptomatic of much larger problems in prevalent societal attitudes towards women (including high tolerance for violence against them). Then the man in the photo phoned me (August 9th), and my personal (sometimes intimate) history with him merely solidifies my existing stance about how misogynist this kind of “art” really is.
For the past week, I have been blessed by the company of a Mohawk warrior and medicine man. We met at a rally to protest against Stephen Harper on a Sunday afternoon, where we shared deep personal insights about the ground on which we stood together. Then we shared a meal, a couple of fist-bumps, and conversation that went on well into the night while my body was fighting to put me to sleep. When he told me that his sister is one of the Downtown East side’s missing and murdered women who was later discovered on the country’s most notorious pig farm, I spontaneously burst into tears of overwhelming grief. I immediately recognized her face when he showed me her picture a couple of days later, and I have seen her face every night since as I drift off to sleep. She is one of the women who disappeared after police and RCMP had compiled enough evidence to convict her murderer — one whose life wasn’t considered valuable enough at the time to motivate police and RCMP to actively work to protect it. She is one of the women whose memory I am carrying with me when I confront the VPD for failing to protect women, and for perpetrating brutality against my friends (especially against my female friends).
So this past Thursday night, when this man, who has been so generous as to share his time, energy, experiences, and wisdom with me over the past nine days, told me that pictures have been leaked to the media that are linked to the serial murder case that includes his own sister’s wrongful death, I listened very closely. He told me that people said there were videotapes of these murders — something I recall being stated at least once by people who lived on that farm while women were being slaughtered there. I told him, as I was privately thinking back on the Bernardo/Homolka case and the horrible pseudo-snuff film I had been exposed to, that no one should ever have to see that. And I hoped (with dreadful anticipation) that he was wrong about where the stills came from. I really did.
He turned on the news a couple of hours later, and directed my attention to the screen when the story came up. As soon as the words “Coquitlam RCMP” and “graphic photos” were spoken, I knew in my heart who they were talking about. I knew because I’ve seen those photos with my own two eyes when they were published online about two years ago. Because I’ve introduced that man to one of my philosophy instructors, and joined the two of them for a long conversation about drug legalization. Because I’ve had hour-long conversations with him over the phone while he watched his kids play in an outdoor waterpark. I knew because I met him about three and a half to four years ago while I was working at a porn store. He came to visit me just to say hi because we were chatting online in a pervert’s personals chatroom (where he had already disclosed he was an RCMP officer — something I now realize most people would find immediately disarming, but not I). It occurs to me as if for the first time while I’m writing this, that he pursued me from the beginning. I did not seek him out first. We chatted face-to-face for a few minutes before he rushed off to arrest a neighbourhood creep who tried to pass me a counterfeit bill (and what a story that turned out to be!) He told me all about that neighbourhood creep’s creepings in my neighbourhood, over the phone a couple of weeks later.
He’s told me about how he has kept his kink behind his wife’s back and how he stays with her “just for the kids’ sake”. He’s talked to me in code while he was tucking his kids into bed in the home he shared with his wife. He’s phoned me from inside the Coquitlam detachment to tell me about how he had just finished shining up his RCMP-issued work boots for a hot date who’s into that sort of thing (it’s not my cup of tea, but sure… whatever). He’s looked up what the RCMP has to say about their dealings with me personally (even though he didn’t tell me he was doing this and I didn’t ask him to — another thing I realize is about having power over another person). He’s told me all about what I don’t have access to (including a similar file on someone who was using their cell phone to stalk me… and what a “winner” that guy was too). He took me to the detachment so I could get my fingerprints taken at no cost, so that I can have part of my police file from 2002 permanently erased. He and I jerked off together once in my old Coquitlam apartment (it was his idea, and it wasn’t that great for me, in all honesty; and if I had any self-respect at the time, I would have stopped him before I found out what happens when he has an orgasm). He once tried to hold me still while his four-and-a-half-foot-tall female friend spanked me, flogged the shit out of my backside, and ground her teeth into my right ass cheek until I finally said I had enough (that’s more up my alley). He’s licked my tattoos and told me that they “taste” like black licorice and cherries. He took me to where he buys handcuffs in New Westminster, presumably so that I knew where to get a safe pair of high-quality handcuffs to put someone else in.
He and I have rubbed shoulders with and fucked many of the same people (who were all happy to rub shoulders with and fuck both of us — though we never did any of that together). We’ve had Indian food together, and we’ve been to the same dinner parties. We’ve been to the same sex parties, taken the same workshops, and swam in the same social circles for years. We’ve had a lot of laughs at a lot of just plain cheesy Captain Obvious type jokes and British humour. I’ve repeated some of the sexist things he’s said that I found witty at the time, and decided to stop saying them since I’ve had time to think about it. When he came up behind me at an already very distressing party and groped my behind before even acknowledging my presence there (let alone asking if it’s ok to touch me — someone had just finished doing this and I was still rattled), he never apologized for it (though the other person did). And then one of my XX-chromosomal gender-variant friends (at the time) started disclosing to me how persistent he was about trying to “play” with hir, even though s/he never declared an interest in him and they barely knew each other. I stopped speaking to him and he stopped pursuing me. Corporal Jim Brown. Someone who I think is actually well on his way to no longer being capable of looking at a woman without thinking up ways to fuck her, if he isn’t already there.
And sure enough, there was his face on the late night news. Cropped out of a much larger picture I’ve seen on his personals profile. With the faces of the models he posed with (and all genitalia) blurred out, a series of pictures I’ve both snorted about and felt conflicted by flickered in succession. And then came pictures that (in my perception) were clearly still him, in which he was holding a knife to a woman’s throat (it was later demonstrated that these photos were not of him, when the man who is actually in those photos phoned me and revealed that he is that man — not Jim Brown). She is described as being bound and nude in the images, and in the final one of the set, she is posed like a corpse in a shallow grave, buried under a bouquet of flowers. The entire scene is described as bearing a grim resemblance to the murders of the Downtown East Side’s aboriginal sex workers — including the sister of the man who has spent the last nine days with me. The reason these images were on the news? The man is being investigated on the suspicion that he took part in the murder spree. It makes my skin go cold.
It should not surprise anyone already familiar with this entry, but the very same website I wrote about then is the website where these images were posted. Early allegations suggested that a news reporter set up a troll account to attempt to entrap Cpl. Brown into saying some damning things about himself and the photos (this has since been falsified), where a panic about the safety of the community is now spreading — not because anyone thinks they are jerking off with or next to sexually sadistic predators, but because they are all afraid of being “outed” and losing their jobs and children. A detail about community self-policing that I neglected to include in the previous entry is what happened when I addressed a photo that I felt was deliberately attempting to eroticize suicide: people launched character assassinations on me, to the defense of the “creative liberty” and “freedom of speech” of the photographer who posted an image of a nude woman laying limp in a bathtub, bleeding from a razor pressed into her wrist as the blood spurts onto the sides of the bathtub and down her body. We simply don’t see similar images of eroticized violence against men because they are never taken. It is a transparently clear symptom of societal tolerance towards misogyny when everyone jumps all over the only dissenting voice under an image of eroticized female suicide. And another symptom of the same when everyone starts jumping to the defense of a sexist pig whose story reached the news because some of his private photos bear a chilling resemblance to the very crimes he was investigating at work.
So when the series of pictures flickered across the screen on the news, clearly showing a man holding a knife against a woman’s throat in a dramatic attempt to “push the envelope”, I wasn’t so much surprised as just disappointed. And while I personally know people who engage in this behaviour without slitting throats, but simply for the excitement of being terrorized by someone with whom they have built a profound depth of trust, no one looking from the outside is going to automatically know and accept this full context. No one who stumbles upon the bathtub suicide photo is going to think “Wow, what a beautiful and evocative photo of someone who is clearly taking charge of her emotional pain.” No one who looks at the photos of a bound and nude woman having her life threatened by an overpowering white male who is holding a knife to her throat, is going to think “Wow, what a beautiful and evocative moment in what is clearly a consensual power dynamic playing out in what is obviously a carefully executed and pre-planned series of steps with the intent to terrorize this vulnerable woman and build upon pre-existing trust with someone who never actually threatened her life at any time.” But the naive knee-jerk reaction from the community of people on that website is that it’s offensive that the media is so clearly smearing a man who did nothing wrong at any time. They are all jumping to defend their own private lifestyles, using this man’s story as a platform to launch their self-defense from. They are acting like they (or their choices) are personally being attacked when they aren’t.
Some are even comparing the public smearing of this man’s reputation to the gay rights movement, and the collective oppressions faced by gays and lesbians whose sexuality was once criminalized and punished by beatings, rapes, abductions, murders, involuntary incarceration in mental hospitals, brain-washing camps, and prison sentences spent in solitary confinement. Why not just start comparing him to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. while you’re at it? Why stop there, even? Why not start calling this a genocide against perverts? And then there are the people who are writing tirelessly about how he is a man of integrity — well I suppose whether or not he is depends on who you ask, doesn’t it? Or does a man of integrity typically live a double-life? Is unapologetic sexism a form of integrity?
And that’s not the only problem with the community response. People who write blogs and online forum discussions for this community immediately jumped to denials that the man in the photos I’ve seen is the same man in the photos that play out like a chilling re-enactment of Robert Pickton’s murder spree (of significance, a majority of the victims were of aboriginal descent, but in the photos, we see white women). Allegedly, the two people in those photos have independently (but anonymously) confirmed that it is not Cpl. Brown holding that knife (as stated in my update above, one of them has phoned me and revealed his identity — the other’s identity was accidentally revealed to me much later). Apparently I’m even acquaintances with someone who knows both of the people in those photos (I guess I should have anticipated I knew one of them intimately), and who wanted to be in them herself, because she thought it would be “hot” (I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole). Let’s assume for a minute that it’s not Cpl. Brown in the photos, just because of that creepy phone call and for kicks, shall we? At what point did perverts (myself included) graduate from spanking and hair-pulling, or bondage and ass-fucking, to eroticizing violence against women in staged photos that Robert Pickton himself would jerk off to? At what point did we decide as a collective (a community?) that pseudo-snuff represents our alternative sexuality and lifestyle? At what cost are we willing to defend this RCMP officer’s right to have kinky sex and throw women over his shoulder to spank them during his lunch hour? And is anyone else (other than myself) thinking about the damage done to his wife and kids, or are we all just worried about a crackdown on the clubs where the rest of us jerk off and swing a flogger or a riding crop? What about the grieving families of those 49 murdered women; the photo reminiscent of their last living moments being aired on national news multiple times daily for nearly a week? Are we all so sure that being “outed” as a pervert who likes feet or spandex suits or cross-dressing in private, is going to put our kids and jobs at risk? Or can we just stop for a moment and take seriously the claims that this man is a sexual sadist for reasons unrelated to the photos — that the photos are just a symptom of a greater impairment of his capacity to empathize, as the results of a psych evaluation have revealed?
But there’s still more speculation going on — people in the community are saying that what a guy does behind closed doors with consenting adults has no bearing on how well he can do his job as an RCMP officer, and it was wrong of the CBC to launch an investigation into his personals profile by having someone sign up on the website and try to set him up in an email sting operation. Well guess what, guys? First of all, when you take photos of it and publish it on the internet, what you did behind closed doors with consenting adults is no longer private, and you can never take that back. And secondly, I guarantee you that it was someone among you who emailed all those photos to the CBC. How else do we jump from photos on a USB drive his co-workers knew about and didn’t give a flying fuck about, to how the CBC found out about the photos being published on that particular website (that even those co-workers didn’t know about)? That is a huge fucking leap, and the CBC had some help making it to the other side. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that in a community full of vindictive fucking children who do things like, oh, phone up someone’s employer after a dispute to tell them all about what perverted things their employee is doing in their spare time behind closed doors (this actually happened, in this city, and that person lost her job as a result); that the CBC did not independently go looking for the website, finding it (and him) by terrific chance, with the specific intent of finding and smearing Cpl. Brown. For a guy whose job it was to bust down the back doors of grow-ops and investigate bank robberies, he sure had to be especially arrogant to think he was immune from being exposed to out-groups in the same community of people. But I guess the person who got someone else fired from their unrelated job in the actual event described above, who also threatened to have me involuntarily incarcerated because I didn’t like her choice in music or ableism, will provide all sorts of comfort to him. Moving on.
The issue for which this man is now being investigated is about how exactly he produced a witness to the crimes the photo set emulates (Update: he airs details of his involvement in order to demonstrate that he has been libeled by false accusations of the nature of his connection to that witness. A relevant quote from the notice of civil claim is in this entry). He’s not being investigated as a pervert who’s into giving spankings and playfully wrapping women in cellophane. He’s being investigated as a sexist pig who is so arrogant and apathetic that he doesn’t comprehend the social impact of staged photos that re-enact the horrific murder spree he was involved in investigating. He’s being investigated on suspicion that he had a hand in perpetrating a total of 49 murders of women (most of whom are Aboriginal) with Pickton. He is described as a danger to women in his capacity as an RCMP officer, who should not be involved in investigations that involve female witnesses. And something tells me, just because I knew him a little too personally for a little too long, that this particular detail about his personality was well-known by his employer for a long time already. For the time I knew him, the only female witnesses he may have dealt with at any time in his capacity as an RCMP officer would have been women who were arrested at the scene of the grow-ops he was breaking into at 3 a.m., who were witnesses during bank robberies he was investigating, or who unknowingly took counterfeit money at their menial jobs down the street from mine.
The issue for the pervert community is a complete loss of objectivity, an astoundingly pervasive attitude of naivety about personal safety and privacy, and a total inability to empathize with anyone outside the context in which we all fist-fuck, lead one another around by a leash, or hang from hemp rope hip and chest harnesses. What will it take before the rest of you see the whole picture? Will someone have to definitively prove that this man was involved in the murder spree before you wake up and get the message? This isn’t like the time someone had to fight against charges of sexually exploiting a minor over pictures that involved an adult woman role-playing as a teenager (and come the fuck on — you have to be living in a dream world to not see the connection there). Are you all really so steeped in your social privileges that you can’t connect the dots between a murder spree that primarily targeted Aboriginal women, and a surviving relative of one of those women mistaking the photo set for a crime scene? The marked majority of you are white and apparently are also completely unaware of it, as we found out a couple years ago when one among us posted a racially insensitive personal ad, and the first dissenting voice from the targeted racialized group was steamrolled, trolled, and harassed into silence by your privileged attitude as a collective who think that everyone’s sexual preferences (no matter how harmful, grim, or fucking creepy) have to be defended at all costs. Am I still the only white person with ties to this community who remembers that incident? Am I the only white person with ties to this community who even remembers the missing and murdered women of our Downtown East Side?
If you’re reading this and you really believe you’re not doing anything unhealthy by fantasizing about being one of those missing and murdered women (or one of the men that killed them), you need to take yourself to the ER right fucking now. You are an immediate danger to yourself, to your family, and to the people you work with; and whether you’re aware of it or not (ignorance is no defense , you are immersed up to your eyeballs in a community of people who are far too ready and willing to give you exactly what you’re looking for (then blame you for it). Get your collective heads out of each other’s asses and pay attention to your own safety — and quick — before one of you actually winds up dying for another set of these photos. I fucking told you all years ago to stop defending predatory behaviour, and I’m not the first survivor to have said it, either. This is why the public thinks you should all be castrated and have your children taken away. It isn’t fucking rocket surgery.