The second, less redacted version of the search warrant against Grant Wakefield in relation to Cpl. Jim Brown (in which I and my blog have been named since the first version) has been released. My initial reading of it was very brief as of this writing, but one thing came sharply into focus that was missing before: the power of a simple fucking apology.
In my first blog entry about my relationship with Cpl. Brown — or Jim, as he preferred to be known — I recounted the incident that permanently shattered the trust we once shared, and I recalled sending him an email explaining to him what he had done wrong, asking him for an apology for essentially sexually assaulting me. But he didn’t apologize. In fact, not only did he not even respond; he also never contacted me again. I imagine what I might have been thinking, had he apologized and had we remained friends as a result of his ability to admit and own when he has done something wrong, when the story of his public disgrace as a member of the RCMP first broke on national news. I wouldn’t have instantly thought of how fucking freaked out I was that his hand was all over my ass before I was even aware of his presence in the room with me, the last time I saw him. I might have asked him if it was him, when the story first broke that it wasn’t him holding the knife, and I would have taken his word for it when he said no. I still would have known that he has fucked up gender politics and doesn’t seem to have even the slightest conception of what a sexist pig he is, and I would not have been able to defend him through that when the details of that briefcase episode came out. I still would have known he violated my confidentiality and that of two other people, using PRIME enquiries on RCMP computers. I wouldn’t have kept quiet about it, but I doubt I would have been asked for what turned out to be a two-and-a-half-hour statement about everything I wrote (and every acute detail I left out). He might have had to offer a few more apologies.
Then there’s Jennifer. It occurs to me that, had Jennifer offered an apology for treating me lower than shit (literally) instead of insisting that my mental health status had anything to do with the words that came out of her mouth the last time we saw each other face to face (or should I say, hand to face), I might have kept quiet instead of writing this fucking blistering open letter to her about her harassment of me when I stopped responding to her bullshit, this second very short open letter to her when I found out she was being sued for slandering a mutual friend, this post about how the deception she pulled on hundreds if not thousands of people was unveiled by the opening of a second lawsuit against her, or this post containing a screenshot in which she is seen clearly posting repeated slanderous (and actually inaccurate) remarks about my mental health status on her Twitter. A simple apology from her, and she could have continued taking advantage of me and my still-compromised capacity to say no until fairly recently. Instead, I believe I’ve torn her approximately 17 new assholes, and I am confident that hundreds if not thousands of people have had a fair chance to read all about it so that they can be sure to avoid her in preservation of their own safety. I am also confident that just about anyone who is close to her right now has also read all of it, and they surely think everything she says is true. It will surely reveal itself as the sound of climbing into the bed they’ve all made together.
And what about Mr. Charles, the unnamed female model against whose throat he is depicted holding a large knife, and the photographer who took the picture? Imagine if any of them, instead of insisting that their work bears no resemblance at all to the last moments on Earth faced by 49 women at the hands of serial killer Robert Pickton, had conceded that there is an eery similarity. Imagine if any of them had said “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that, and it’s my privilege to not be reminded of that because I am neither Aboriginal nor a survival sex worker, nor am I a close relative of either. I made an ignorant decision and it was a mistake.” How much more powerful a gesture that would have been, than to deny any relationship at all, reject the criticism as sensationalizing, and reject anyone who advances it as some sort of mental defective desperate for attention (not even taking a moment to reflect on the irony of saying this in defense of those photos and the people in them). Imagine if any of them had simply said “I didn’t know when I was talking about the idea, participating in the shoot, or uploading the photos online, that the family members of the missing and murdered women would think that my work was a screenshot of snuff they thought Pickton himself had filmed. I am so sorry for the terrible experiences I’ve caused everyone by participating in this project.”
But there would be no solace for Mr. Charles, for what he did to me in front of his son, who was 3 years old at the time and already exhibiting virtually every dysfunctional behaviour of a sexually abused child. That’s not something that just goes away with an apology. In fact, since giving a statement about that as well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how many people didn’t know what to do other than gossip among themselves about what was going on in that man’s home. The only thing that will make that go away is silence — either on the part of other witnesses to what was going on in that house; or on the part of investigators, who at the conclusion of my statement informed me that while what I described is a sex crime, enforcing the law on the matter in a court of law is a whole other struggle rife with grey areas that are difficult to navigate through without a strong case. Which is, more or less, what a VPD officer told me when I asked him about the Criminal Code of Canada section on criminal harassment in relation to a known violent anti-abortion extremist showing up and taking everyone’s pictures after a repeat antagonist (who had verbally gay-bashed myself and one other person before directly threatening to smash my head in) paid us his second visit. Which a different member of Coquitlam RCMP said was wrong. Inconsistency. I just love it. Don’t we all?
Speaking of which, one of the now-visible sections of the search warrant very clearly tells the re-telling of Jim behaving inappropriately and using his position of authority to attempt to persuade a woman he had just met (who I’ve met and didn’t merely meet), who wrote this blog entry about it (Spoiler: it’s short, but she reads as very easily impressed by him and sounds immediately infatuated with him), to get involved with him intimately in a way that normally requires both parties to do a lot of negotiating before either says yes. It just so happens I have known her, too. Intimately, and yet infrequently. Just like Jim, but for not nearly as long a duration. And of all people, I met her through Jennifer. The female blogger has openly declared on FetLife that this was the only time she’s ever met Jim, and that neither she nor her partner are responsible for informing Grant Wakefield about this meeting. She did not declare any indication of whether or not her feelings changed at some point after publishing the blog, or whether or not there is any validity at all to the story Wakefield told (which struck me as suspicious in some very specific details; e.g., who exactly the woman was expecting to show; how Jim allegedly introduced himself as James; how he is alleged to have said the exact thing, word for word, that he wrote in the email correspondence with one of the FetLife troll accounts).
I didn’t press further. I had merely stated what my suspicion was, and immediately conceded when it was shown to be incorrect (at which point she entered the discussion to directly address me anyway). I then stated that while my suspicion was clearly invalid, there are still logical possibilities (i.e., that she knows Wakefield somehow, even if not particularly well) that are not ruled out by this acknowledgement of the inaccuracy of my initial perception upon opening the document. She has responded by essentially claiming harassment, while Jennifer appeared to denounce me as mentally unstable, once again. She is insisting that neither she nor her partner knows Wakefield. OK, that’s entirely possible. It’s also possible that they just forgot, but that’s beside the point. And though my very recent contact with her consists of exactly 2 very brief, public replies to her on a single open discussion thread in an online forum of what constitutes a black hole of the internet (no one can find this conversation without joining the membership of the website and knowing exactly where to look for it or whoever is participating in it), she now demands that I stop “bothering” her and her family. For the sake of fuck, this is not harassment. But I’ll tell you what is: being badgered, slandered, and libeled by someone who insists despite not having any legitimate reason or concern for the safety of others, that I am in every way possible, some sort of mental defective.
Thinking about all of this for a while, the thought crossed my mind that all of these people (except for the female blogger, whose website was at first redacted and has since been revealed) — Jim, Mr. Charles, Jennifer, Damien (the photographer mentioned above), and Unknown Female Model (whose name I know but will not reveal) share something in common: they think their actions don’t have consequences until they want them to. That if they do something offensive, rude, or invasive, and simply don’t apologize or even acknowledge that it happened, no one will ever hear about it. This clearly just isn’t consistent with reality. You know who else thought that’s how the world works? We all now know him as Grant Wakefield.
I knew a guy named Grant once, and though I didn’t know his last name because he preferred that everyone call him Red, it would not at all surprise me to discover that he’s the same person these investigations now revolve around. I spent a good portion of a month living with him, sharing his bed, and fucking around on the internet with him in the same chat room where I met both Mr. Charles and Jim (and coincidentally, Grant too), and I would not put it past That Particular Man Named Grant to have gone to the lengths now known in relation to this case. In fact, he even had a pre-existing condition at the time that is known to cause the health problems claimed by the person who was sending me volumes of email correspondence after the search warrant was enacted upon. Certainly, as a member of the local kink community, many people would have been willing and able to vouch for him too. And the longer you’ve been around, the higher the praises are sung by the Chorus (we’re starting to look like a Greek drama lately, so I thought I’d just throw that in there). But you would never hear me singing his high praises, because he is so inconsistent in character unless you give him exactly what he seeks, that I’ve seen first-hand the kind of vengeful behaviour he’s willing to engage in. He has also targeted me for slanderous allegations, which ultimately went exactly nowhere because I was a hidden homeless person at the time with no power over anyone (just like when this all started!), unlike someone in Jim’s position. And it’s amazing how much one can forget when their mind is otherwise pre-occupied by someone deliberately keeping them as busy as possible to prevent them from having clear thoughts of their own. Kind of like how it felt to be Jennifer’s friend when she wanted something.
But that’s just a suspicion rooted in a long-ago repressed emotion that has been triggered by this recent turn of events. If it should be ruled out, I would be the first person to say “I stand corrected”. Which, in some people’s books, apparently means I’m “crazy”.
Update: CTV News broadcast the following photo of Grant Wakefield on the evening news tonight, which clearly rules out my above-stated suspicion about a guy named Grant who I used to know.