Well, I was finally able to get my story out on the news.
Sure, it took some inappropriate questioning from the Department of Justice to upset my lawyer.
But my story is finally out there.
My lawyer, Mathew Farrell, obviously knows how to work with the media, which helps.
And it took a receptive reporter to take an interest in this story.
So far only three reporters have shown any interest in this matter: David Pugliese; Nora Loreto; And now Jill Croteau.
Jill Croteau with Global News in Calgary conducted the interview. The videographer was Sergio Magro.
Sergio came to my apartment and set up his camera and lighting. Jill conducted the interview via Facetime from Calgary.
This isn’t the first interview that I’ve had. I was interviewed in my apartment in much the same manner by another network a few years ago, but the decision was made to scrap the interview and instead turn my story and the story of the 25 kids from Canadian Forces Base Namao into some sort of “click your own adventure” time line curiosity.
Jill asked good questions and wasn’t afraid to inquire about my desire for M.A.i.D.
The subject of M.A.i.D. and my death is probably what scares most media away. Suicide is a very verboten subject in North America. Death itself is almost never talked about in the media unless it’s an unplanned event like a murder or a car collision. But the idea of ending one’s own life on purpose is enough to scare away just about everyone. So I was relived that Jill was willing to discuss this.
The interview went on for close to an hour, and I was terrified that when I saw the news story that I would have appeared rambling and incoherent. But Jill, Sergio, and their crew were able to edit and trim the video in such a way that the story was presented in a professional manner and all relevant topics were discussed.
I didn’t actually watch the interview until yesterday. I’ve never really liked hearing my own voice. I think that’s one of the reasons that I haven’t followed through on my vlog too much. Guess maybe I’ll have to try and give it another shot.
Now the question is, how do I keep the momentum going on this?
The Department of Justice has already stated their intentions of dragging this matter out for as long as possible. And I don’t for a minute doubt that they would do so. My babysitter and Captain McRae’s altar boy, P.S., filed suite against the DND back in March of 2001. The Department of Justice dragged that matter out until November of 2008?
Because they could.
And from reading the documents that I received from the Department of Justice when they represented the DND, the DOJ was trying to find any little bit of case law that they could use to show that the DND wasn’t responsible for children living on military bases who were sexually abused by military personnel.
Another reason that the Department of Justice would have delayed P.S.’s civil action for as long as possible is they were obviously hoping that P.S. would abandon his action.
Don’t forget, the Department of Justice enjoys an unlimited amount of taxpayer funds. They can wait this out for 10, 15, even 20 years if they wanted to.
You can bet that keeping the attention of the media over 10 years is going to be very hard to do. But this too is also what the Department of Justice is counting on.
See, the worst thing for the Department of Justice, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Department of Justice is for this matter to stick in the media.
The lawyer for the DOJ asked me during the May 6th meeting if I had any knowledge of where the other children from Canadian Forces Base Namao that were sexually abused by Captain McRae and his altar boy, P.S. currently are. I responded to the DOJ lawyer that the unofficial emblem for military dependents is the dandelion. The dandelion was primarily chosen because when the dandelion matures and goes to fluff, the fluff which represents military dependents gets carried around whichever way the wind blows. I explained that military dependents move around a lot as kids. As adults we often live no where near the bases on which we grew up as children. In fact, most of the bases we lived on as kids have long since been shutdown and disposed of. I believe that I said that it would be unfair of the D.O.J. to expect me to be able to come up with all of the names of the children who had been abused by Captain McRae and his altar boy on CFB Namao.
I know for a fact that neither the DND or the Library and Archives Canada maintain records of the children who lived on the bases. Nor does the DND or the Library and Archives Canada maintain a registry of service members who lived in the PMQs over the years.
The only way to get the word out to former military dependents is for the media to keep airing these types of stories. The more these stories are aired, and the more these stories permeate the public consciousness, the more likely that other military dependents will start coming forward.
The DND and the D.O.J. would really prefer that as few people know about this class action as possible. The fewer people that know, the happier the DND and the D.O.J. are. It’s not just my class action they’re afraid of. They’re afraid of the copycat class actions that my class action may inspire.
So again, thanks to David, Nora, Jill, and Sergio.
Just because it says “justice” in the name doesn’t mean that it’s concerned with actual justice.
On Friday May 6th, I was examined by the Department of Justice in preparation for my upcoming Class Action lawsuit agaist the Canadian Armed Forces for the events which occurred on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 until 1980 and then from 1980 until 1983.
One of the issues that the DOJ seems to have is that I have a desire to undergo the M.A.i.D. procedure.
The D.O.J. seems to be of the opinion that I am not a suitable representative plaintiff for this class action matter as I have a desire to die.
Needless to say, my lawyer was a little taken back by this and he objected to counsel even asking me this question.
I had no problem explaining to the counsel for the D.O.J. that I could see myself holding on until the Class Action matter is settled. The D.O.J. wanted to know if that would still be the case if this matter was expected to take 10 years to resolve.
To be honest, I would really like to avail myself to M.A.i.D. much sooner than 10 years. But if 10 years is what it will take to resolve this matter then 10 years is what it will take. This of course means that my mental trauma and mental suffering will have to endure longer than anticipated, but so be it.
I need my name cleaned before I go. Right now I’m still the kid from CFB Namao that allowed, if not encouraged the babysitter to molest his younger brother. According to the military social worker, I was suffering from a mental illness called “homosexuality” and this is why I allowed the abuse to go on for over a year. According to the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service I am a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the Canadian Armed Forces”. According to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police I have an “Agenda”. And according to former Minister of National Defence Harjit Sajjan I “have an angle” and I’m playing “games”. And according to the Alberta Crown, what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao was nothing more than “childhood curiosity and experimentation”.
Now, this isn’t my first tangle with the Department of Justice.
I dealt with the D.O.J. during my appeal to Federal Court to have the 2012 findings of the Military Police Complaints Commission quashed.
It must be remembered that I had absolutely no access to the CFNIS investigation paperwork during the period of the 2012 Military Police Complaints Commission investigation into my complaint against the CFNIS.
During the MPCC investigation the MPCC asked me no questions based upon information that was contained within the CFNIS documents.
So, when I received the un-redacted copies of the CFNIS investigation paperwork in February of 2013 I went through the roof.
So, I should have won right?
Just provide evidence such as emails, documents, and other information that would show that the CFNIS had conducted a very bad and biased investigation and the Federal Court would quash the findings of the MPCC.
Nope, that’s not the way an application for Judicial Review works.
See, any evidence that I provided in court to show that the CFNIS had conducted a laughably bad investigation which was not before the MPCC during its investigation of the CFNIS is considered “New Evidence” and is not allowed.
So, how was I supposed to know what was or what wasn’t before the MPCC? Who knows? Crystal ball maybe?
Sure, I could have filed an Access to Information request with the DND for the CFNIS paperwork for investigation GO 2011-5754, but that would have easily exceeded the deadline for requesting an MPCC review. In 2018, after the conclusion of the second portion of CFNIS investigation GO 2011-5754, I requested the documents from the entire investigation from 2011 to 2018. It took 18 months for the DND to deliver the records to me.
The paperwork that I received in 2020 was redacted to the point of being absolutely useless. Even my own statements to the CFNIS were redacted. What else was redacted from the CFNIS records I received in 2020? My father’s statement, my brother’s statement, the fact that the CFNIS knew that there was a fire in PMQ #26 on June 23rd, 1980. Also, most of the log entries from the investigating officers were removed. In 2011 the CFNIS finally bothered contacting my babysitter and he told them that “anything he was involved with as a youth has already been handled by the military”, that was removed from the records I received in 2020. Also missing from the records I received in 2020 was the statement of a certain Warrant Officer who had stated well before any other victim had been contacted that this case was going nowhere due to a lack of evidence.
Now, you would think that an agency with the word “justice” in its name would be interested in the law and ensuring justice was seen to be done.
Nope. Don’t kid yourself.
The Department of Justice is an agency that is dedicated to ensuring that the Government of Canada is not held responsible for the actions of its departments or its employees.
The Department of Justice is anything but.
During my Federal Court hearing in 2013, the attorney for the Department of Justice didn’t care one iota about what had happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao, nor did she care about how the CFNIS had actually bungled the case, nor did she care about how the CFNIS knew about the direct connection between my babysitter P.S., and Canadian Armed Forces Regular Force officer Captain Father Angus McRae.
In fact, as the D.O.J. represented the DND and the CAF in the civil action between P.S. and the DND, one can only imagine how much information the D.O.J. actually had in their possession related to the actions of P.S. back in 1980. The D.O.J. in representing the DND and the CAF from 2001 to 2008 would have obviously have had access to the court martial transcripts. Court martial transcripts that show that Captain McRae’s defence counsel in 1980 was well aware that P.S. had been investigated by the base military police and that P.S. had been receiving treatment for molesting young children on CFB Namao.
What did the D.O.J. care about during my application for Judicial Review?
Just striking the “new evidence”.
Even though it was public knowledge due to the Lamer Report and the findings of the Somalia Inquiry that the pre-1998 military justice system was a complete shambles, and even though military personnel in the 2000’s and early 2010’s were voicing bitter concern about the inability of the military justice system to function properly, the only concern the D.O.J. had was to demand that the court strike all of the new evidence that I had introduced to show that the CFNIS had conducted a horrific investigation and that the MPCC had conducted a “dog and pony show” review.
The lawyer from the D.O.J. didn’t care one bit about the evidence that I had produced to show that the CFNIS had an agenda right from the start.
So long as my matter stays within the realm of the military and the military justice system, the CAF and the DND get to tell the Canadian public what did or did not happen on Canadian Forces Base Namao.
And this brings us to what happened on May 6th, 2022.
It is readily apparent that the D.O.J. is afraid of me.
The D.O.J. is afraid of the documents that I have, documents that prove with very high probability, that what I contend occurred in 1980 is more than likely what did occur.
The D.O.J. is afraid that my documents also imply that what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao in 1980 also happened on various other Canadian Forces Base from 1950 until 1998. I don’t mean military chaplains molesting children. I mean commanding officers minimizing or dismissing charges related to child sexual abuse that had been laid against their subordinates.
Don’t kid yourself into thinking that the D.O.J. cares for one minute if I live or if I die.
They only care about the risk that I present to the Department of National Defence.
The D.O.J. has no concern about my desire for Medical Assistance in Dying.
To the D.O.J., my desire for M.A.i.D. is just a fact for the D.O.J. to argue that I should not be allowed to be the representative plaintiff. And by doing so, the D.O.J. can eliminate the threat that the CAF and the DND currently face.
I don’t mean to sound like I’m full of myself.
I went through so much pain from 1978 until 1980 at the hands of P.S. and Captain McRae. I then went through just as much pain, if not more devastating pain at the hands of Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke and my father, Master Corporal Richard Wayne Gill.
I have suffered greatly since those days plagued with never ending confusion over my gender and my sexual orientation.
I have suffered with very low self-esteem, self-hatred, and a very low opinion of myself.
I have flashbacks of the abuse.
I have suffered with never ending depression and anxiety.
But the one thing that has seen me through is my determination to clear my name.
Being limited with my social skills means that I have no problem dedicating time to researching.
The military justice system prior to 1998 was a disaster.
It was too prone to abuse, it was too easily manipulated.
Commanding officers had way too much power in matters of Criminal Code offences.
Yet no one to date has ever bothered to look at how those defects impacted the children that lived on the bases.
And the D.O.J., the DND, and the CAF don’t like this.
For example the DND and the CAF will often parrot that the CAF couldn’t prosecute for “Murder, Manslaughter, and Rape”.
Rape was a crime that didn’t apply to children when it was on the books. Boys couldn’t be raped as far as the criminal code was concerned. And for that matter girls under the age of 16 couldn’t be raped either.
For girls under the age of 16 there were two different charges applicable: Sexual Intercourse with Female under the age of 14, or; Sexual Intercourse with Female between 14 to 16. These were crimes that the military COULD conduct a service tribunal for. And more alarmingly these were crimes that a commanding officer could simply dismiss the charges for.
For boys there were the crimes of Gross Indecency, Indecent Assault, and Buggery. What was a little different for boys though was that the Canadian Forces could only conduct a courts martial if “consent” was a possibility. Consent was the age of 14. But, the commanding officer could simply dismiss any charge for molesting a boy under the age of 14, much like was apparently done in the matter of Captain McRae in the lead-up to McRae’s courts martial in 1980.
And what really scares the D.O.J. is that in civil court all I have to do is convince a judge or jury that what I have to say is more believable than what the D.O.J. will say on behalf of the DND and the CAF. Civil litigation relies on the “preponderance of the evidence” unlike a criminal trial that relies typically on “beyond a reasonable doubt”.
Once my case is settled, the arguments that I made and the evidence that I used will be of public record, freely available for anyone else to use in either their own personal civil action or their own class action.
In a civil action I get to dispense with all of the gobbledygook and legalese that the D.O.J. will undoubtedly use to try to argue that the DND and the CAF acted properly.
“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
“Sorry then, he’s far too happy to qualify to die”
Please don’t fuck this up for me.
Recently in the media there has been a story circulating around how a woman requested Medical Assistance in Dying because she couldn’t find a place to live.
I’ll say this once and once only, YOU CANNOT REQUEST M.A.i.D. because you are homeless. If all it took was being homeless to request M.A.i.D. it would be simple for me in the Vancouver area housing market. All I’d have to do is move out of my apartment without having a place to move to, then I too could apply for M.A.i.D. instead of having to wait until March of 2023. But it doesn’t work that way.
Currently to obtain M.A.i.D. you currently have to have a terminal disease that will result in your natural death in the foreseeable future, or you need to have a condition that affects and impairs your quality of life.
You cannot request M.A.i.D. if you have genetic cognitive developmental issues, or other types of cognitive impairments that would prevent informed consent.
You and only you can request M.A.i.D.. You cannot take your 98 year old granny into the vet and have them put down like a house cat. You cannot have your child with Down Syndrome put down. You cannot have your wife with Tourette’s syndrome put down.
You, AND ONLY YOU, can make the request for M.A.i.D.. No one else can.
As the law is now, you cannot even make a request for M.A.i.D. for use in the future if you should become cognitively impaired at a later date.
Even when the rules are changed in March of 2023 to allow M.A.i.D. for mental illness, the person requesting M.A.i.D. will have to be able to comprehend what it is that they are requesting. You will not be able to simply show up at your doctor and say that you want M.A.i.D. because you’re feeling a little sad at the moment. You need the approval of two separate physicians and then there is a mandatory 90 day cooling off period. And then even with the approvals and the passing of the 90 day cooling off period, you still have to find a physician will to carry out the procedure. This is nothing like taking your elderly cat into the vet and having them put down because you’ve grown tired of the cat.
I’m fucking dreading the process for requesting M.A.i.D. as I’m worried that the bar is going to be too fucking high for me to pass.
“Is he a cutter”?
“has he ended up in hospital due to previous suicide attempts”?
“Has he been going to non-stop therapy since 1980”?
“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
“Sorry then, he’s far too happy to qualify to die”.
There appears to be a whole fucking cottage industry of these people who throw around terms like “ableism” and “eugenics” and who seem to indicate that if you’re not willing to commit suicide then you really don’t deserve an “easy way out”.
One account that I came across claims that an assisted living home in Northern Ontario is handing out M.A.i.D. request forms to all of the residents. THIS IS NOT HOW M.A.i.D. works for fucks sake.
I would like to think that the media in Canada was better than this, but here we have https://twitter.com/CTVW5 and https://twitter.com/Avis_Favaro running a series entitled “CTVW5 DEATH WISH”……. yeah, that sure sounds like it’s going to be fair and balanced reporting, doesn’t it?
Won’t go too far into the story, but it seems that a mentally competent woman requested M.A.i.D., and was granted M.A.i.D.. I still can’t fathom what the story is here. Yes, she had to shop around to find sympathetic doctors, but as someone who has encountered doctors who thought that I was telling lies and exaggerations about my childhood abuse and trauma, I can see the need to shop around. Some doctors will let their personal biases and opinions become part of their diagnoses. I can see some doctors outright refusing to prescribe the procedure for religious or spiritual reasons. And those are two reasons that should never be allowed to be considered in any medical decision.
And the whole “Anti-MAiD” crowd doesn’t get any better from there.
If they’re not screaming about “eugenics” or “ableism” then they’re running on and on about how the government has concluded that it’s easier to kill the disabled than it is to feed, or house them.
I don’t follow the religious “anti-MAiD” crowd as I don’t really care what their imaginary friend has to say. If their imaginary friend tells them that MAiD is bad, then they’re welcome to not undergo MAiD.
What concerns me about the “Anti-MAiD” crowd is that they’ve seem to have attracted various psychologists and psychiatrists into their fold.
And what concerns me even more about these psychologists and psychiatrists is that some of them actually believe in the invisible sky daddy or other deities from ancient folklore and they take the “teachings” of these imaginary friends into consideration.
And this would be okay, but these good doctors should really know fantasy from reality.
I have yet to meet a psychologist or a psychiatrist who actually gave a sweet fuck about the war going on in my brain. If they can’t medicate a problem away, and if they can’t convince the patient that the patient is responsible for their own pain and suffering, then they don’t want anything to do with that patient and they’ll simply bump the patient off to someone else.
Outside of pharmaceuticals to numb and blunt emotions, there really isn’t anything that modern psychiatry can do to “fix the brain”. And Psychiatrists and psychologists will do anything possible to hide that fact. Other parts of the body can be fixed or replaced. But the brain is very unique in the sense that unless it learns emotions properly while it is growing in the most plastic stages of its development, it will never learn those emotions properly later in life.
I suffer from Major Depression, Severe Anxiety, lack of confidence, lack of interests, the inability to form relationships, and a multitude of other issues brought on by family genetics, living conditions as a child, sexual abuse as a child, the complete mishandling of that sexual abuse by the Canadian Armed Forces when I was a child, and a life time of shouldering the blame for what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao.
This isn’t stuff that is going to go away if I simply wish it away.
This isn’t stuff that I can simply work on for the next 20 or 30 years of my life.
And I think that’s where psychiatrists and psychologists who are involved with the “anti-MAiD” movement have secret agendas. They don’t want to admit to the public that people like me are retirement funds, or monthly payments on the brand new Lexus.
If I undergo MAiD, then there are no more $300.00 sessions.
If I undergo MAiD, then there are no pharmaceuticals to push.
If I undergo MAiD, then there are no prestigious write-ups in the psychology magazines.
I’ll be very blunt and honest. If you want to keep people like me from requesting MAiD for childhood traumas and neglect, then as a society you better be willing to ensure that people like me don’t endure childhood traumas and neglect.
Back in 2019 Netflix ran an eight part miniseries titled “Unbelievable”. It was based upon the true life story of Marie Adler.
Marie had been in foster care for most of her life. She had just turned eighteen and had been set up in her first apartment. Shortly thereafter a man broke in, tied her up, raped her, and took pictures.
Marie made a police report. The police came and investigated. Over the course of the investigation one of the two primary detectives started to latch on to some trivial inconsistencies in Marie’s story. After a little bit of badgering the detectives managed to get Marie to admit that she had made up the whole thing, that there never was a rape.
Even one of her previous foster parents had confided to the police that Marie had more than likely lied about being raped.
To teach Marie a lesson, the Lynwood Police Department pressed for charges to be brought against Marie. She ended up on probation and she had to pay a fine.
A couple of years later in a different state the FBI and a local police department executed a raid on the house of a man who was suspected of numerous rapes across multiple states.
You wanna know what they found in this man’s house? A camera.
You wanna know what was on this camera? Pictures of Marie being raped exactly as she had described it.
The man is Marc O’leary.
Marc O’Leary was later sentenced to 327 years in prison.
I urge you to read this story if you want to understand how of the fucking rails the justice train can become if cops or the superiors make leaps of judgement.
The two Lynwood detectives never apologized. The city of Lynwood settled with Marie for something around $150k USD. She didn’t want more money. She just wanted an apology.
It was later found upon review that the detectives became far too concentrated on issues that had no relevance to the rape of Marie Adler.
And I’ve always wondered if that is what happened in my case.
I made my complaint to the Edmonton Police Service on March 5th, 2011. I was contacted by the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service on March 7th, 2011. I was interviewed by master corporal Robert Jon Hancock on March 31st, 2011. Master corporal Hancock asked me some question that upon review indicate that the CFNIS in March of 2011 knew about the connection between P.S. and Captain McRae.
Knowledge of this connection was further cemented on May 3rd, 2011 when CFNIS investigator master corporal Christian Cyr asked me if I knew anything about the base priest having been arrested for molesting children during the same time frame that I was accusing P.S. of molesting me and my brother.
There was an error that master corporal Christian Cyr mentioned to me that only could have come from the military police investigation paperwork from 1980. During this phone call Master corporal Cyr tried to tell me that P.S. was only 12 or 13 in 1980. P.S. was born on June 20th, 1965. P.S. would have been just weeks shy of his 15th birthday in 1980 when he was found buggering me in his bedroom. The only place that P.S.’s age is indicated wrong is in the CFSIU investigation paperwork from 1980. The CFSIU paperwork indicated that P.S. was 12 in 1980.
So, it’s apparent that the CFNIS in March of 1980 had access to the CFSIU investigation paperwork and no doubt the court martial transcripts. And as the Military Police Complaints Commission stated in its final report issued in November of 2020, it is very apparent that the military police in 1980 were well aware of P.S.’s molestation of younger children.
So, what happened?
The more I think about it the more it becomes apparent that the CFNIS in 2011 suffered from a very bad case of tunnel vision.
The Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces are comprised of multiple units. DND and the CF have a department that specifically looks out for matters that could cause DND and the CF problems on the civil liability front. This is the Director of Claims and Civil Liabilities.
In November of 2008, the Director of Claims and Civil Liabilities indicated that the Department of National Defence was willing to make a cash offer to P.S. to have him discontinue his $4.5 million dollar action against DND in the Alberta Court of Queen’s Bench for the abuse he suffered at the hands of Captain McRae. This would have had to have been approved not only by CF Chain of Command, but also the Department of Justice as the DOJ serves as the lawyer for the Government of Canada.
The lawyer for P.S. accepted the offer in late November of 2008 and the case was discontinued in December of 2008.
2 years, 3 months, and four days later I send my fateful email to the Edmonton Police Service.
How much do you wanna wager that when the CFNIS took my initial complaint and started populating the fields of their intake form that notifications popped up requesting that the investigators notify certain superiors?
Were the CFNIS investigators then briefed about the sensitive nature of this matter?
Was it suggested to the CFNIS investigators that I had somehow found out about the payday that P.S. enjoyed and that I was obviously just another shyster looking for a quick buck?
Don’t forget, the DOJ and the Legal Advisor are parts of very large bureaucracies that seemingly answer to no one but themselves.
Looking back at the CFNIS paperwork, which I did not have access to until AFTER the MPCC reviewed my complaint against the CFNIS in 2013, it became apparent right from the get go that the CFNIS had written off my complaint against P.S. as trivial.
In fact, according to the paperwork the CFNIS seemed rather hellbent on portraying me as a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military”, that I “frequently changed jobs and was unhappy”, and that I was always looking for easy money.
How does my father forget about the fact that it was his mother raising my brother and I and that he was rarely home?
How does the CFNIS ignore my social service records which keep mentioning “grandma” all over the place and that Mr.Gill invited his mother, the children’s grandmother into the home to raise his children after his wife “abandoned” the family instead to only concentrate on the section of the social service paperwork that says that I am an emotionally disturbed child.
How does the CFNIS justify the observation of Warrant Officer Blair Hart in July of 2011 that this investigation was unlikely to go anywhere due to a lack of evidence, before the other victims had been interviewed and before the suspect had been interviewed?
Don’t forget, the CFNIS is part of a very hierarchical organization where it is imperative that the lawful commands of superiors are obeyed at all times.
The Vice Chief of Defence Staff can issue directions and instructions to the Provost Marshal and the CFNIS relating to ANY investigation.
What if the chain of command didn’t issue outright instructions, but let their subordinates know that I was just a scammer looking to make a quick buck?
I fully understand that my father had issues with telling the truth. He was always like that. But I can’t see my father excising his mother from about 6 years of our lives as kids unless someone had maybe explained to him prior to his interview that his son was obviously just trying to juice the military for some easy cash.
“[he] appeared concerned about [his mother’s drinking], suggesting [she was] emotionally abusive to both children, especially when inebriated. As well, [Richard] suggested that [his mother] attempts to undermine any closeness between [him] and [his sons] by telling them false stories”. Yes, my father was a psychological nutcase. That much is clear. And here he is in October of 1980 throwing his own mother to the wolves. The same woman that he desperately needed to raise his children. So yes, it would have been very easy for the CFNIS to manipulate Richard into giving him a statement devoid of grandma.
Simple tunnel vision.
Someone up the chain of command decided that I was just some greedy civie looking to make a quick buck from the DND and the CF. This view was dispersed through the Provost Marshal and the CFNIS. Again, due to Section 83 of the National Defence Act, this view doesn’t have to be spread directly down to the actual investigators. Just high enough up that chain of command that subordinates none the less become aware of these thoughts.
And once this tunnel vision sets in it’s so very hard to take the blinders off and see the larger picture.
It will be interesting to see just how much of the truth is able to come out about not only the events on Canadian Forces Base Namao but also about the CFNIS investigation GO 2011-5754 during my class action lawsuit against the Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces.
One curious person wonders why I talk so much about death.
Death is all around us. Each and everyone of us will die. Some of us will die sooner than the others. Some of us will die due to the actions of others. And some of us will even die at our own hands. None of us are getting out of here alive.
And as my chances of receiving any type of justice from the Canadian Forces military justice system start to drastically dwindle, my resolve to apply for Medical Assistance in Dying becomes more solid.
In the next year I’ll probably discuss the procedure in more detail as I learn more about it myself.
I’ll also get more into my depression and my anxiety and how they caused numerous problems for me in my life. I’ll also hopefully be able to explain to you just how fucking hard it is for a male to get sexual abuse counselling in our society and how it is literally impossible for a former military dependent to obtain counselling that takes into account the military environment that they grew up in.
As I’ve mentioned previously, suicide is actually common in our society no matter the desire of the media to hide suicide from public view.
I also have no doubt in my mind that there are numerous suicides that don’t get reported as suicides whether that’s done to spare the family “shame” or if its done because the person finally succumbs to their injuries weeks or months after the attempt.
The above table indicates that between the years 2008 and 2018 six thousand one hundred and two people committed suicide in the province of British Columbia alone. And would you look at the age group that commits suicide the most frequently ……
What is not listed in the table above are those who have attempted suicide or those who have had suicidal ideations.
Also what appears to not be incorporated into the table above is the number of Medically Assisted Deaths such as in the table below:
One of the most common things heard after someone successfully commits suicide is “I had no idea they were depressed” or “Why?”.
I have heard frequently that those who have attempted suicide are just seeking attention and those who have committed suicide are just selfish and thinking of no one else but themselves. It really irks me that society thinks that I owe it to society to live.
The son of one of my engineers at work committed suicide last year. This engineer was beyond distraught. So I had a talk with him. I told him that the only person who knows why his son killed himself is his son. If his son was determined to take his own life, there was absolutely nothing this engineer could have done to stop him. The engineer wanted to know if he had missed the signs that his son was depressed or sad. I asked him if he knew that I suffered from major depression and severe anxiety. He replied “no”. I mentioned to him my own struggles both in the past and currently. Knowing this seemed to put him at ease.
And I think that was always one of the fears that I had in the back of my mind. That when I decided to go that no one would understand why I went and that my father or the Canadian Armed Forces would be able to pass me off as just being insane or simply out to get attention. This blog details my justification for ending my life. I explain everything to the best of my ability. If and when I am able to undergo Medical Assistance in Dying there shouldn’t be any unanswered questions.
The fear of pain is another reason I have never been able to follow through on my attempts. Asphyxiation, bleeding out, jumping from heights, electrocution, pills, etc., none of these are without pain and prolonged suffering. I don’t like pain and I sure as hell don’t want to be hooked up to a ventilator for 2 weeks because someone “saved me”. That’s the nice thing about Medical Assistance in Dying. It’s done as humanely as possible. There will be no pain and there will be no suffering. And it will be very quick. One minute I’ll be alive. The next minute I’ll be completely unconscious. Then I’ll be in a coma. Then I’ll be dead. Supposed to take about 6 minutes from start to finish.
Again, I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid of dying. Death doesn’t bother me because I’ll be dead. It’s the process of going from living to dead that causes me concern. Most suicide attempts fail. With Medical Assistance in Dying I don’t have to worry. Everything will be looked after by professionals.
Being alone. As much as I want to die, dying alone would suck. Why do I have to scurry away to a hidey-hole to die like some sick or injured animal. That’s what I like the most about Medical Assistance in Dying. I don’t have to die alone. At the bare minimum the practitioner performing the procedure will be there. I don’t know who else I’d ask to be there. Don’t really have any friends and my family is more or less none existent. I’d like to keep my death a somewhat private affair.
And with Medical Assistance in Dying I know that my corpse will be looked after. Sure, I’m having some difficulty at the moment trying to figure out how to get my brain to go where I want my brain to go, but regardless my corpse won’t be found a week after I die due to the stench wafting out of my apartment. But Bobbie, if your goal is to die, why do you care about your corpse after you die? Simple. Do you realize how much it fucks with someone’s wellbeing to stumble across a dead body? Especially if they weren’t expecting it? And as much as I desire to get out of here, fucking with others isn’t high on my list of priorities.
And as I mentioned at the top of this blog entry, I had always from a young age hoped and dreamed that P.S. would somehow be held responsible for what he did. But he won’t. Nor for that matter will Earl Ray Stevens. And as there is no heaven, hell, or afterlife, so telling me that they’ll be looked after in the afterlife is meaningless to me.
By holding P.S. and Earl responsible for what they did I was hoping for Richard to be held responsible for the shit he put me through as a result of the CFB Namao matter. Well Richard died in 2017, so getting even the slightest acknowledgment from Richard would be impossible.
As I told Sgt. Winship during our meeting, the one aspect of this whole event that I resent the most is that P.S. is loved by is father. Retired Sgt. J.S. couldn’t stop fawning over his son, how his son was the victim in this whole tragic affair, how the military never helped his son and how the military is to blame for his son going on to molest many more children over the years. P.S.’s sister D.S. lied on P.S.’s behalf. P.S.’s younger brother P.S. also lied on behalf of P.S..
My father lied to the CFNIS in 2011. And it wasn’t just that he forgot to mention something. The fucker outright stabbed me in the back and threw me under the fucking train. I guess he never got over Captain Totzke diagnosing me as a homosexual at age 9 and blaming me for “allowing” P.S. to molest my younger brother. He obviously never forgave me for “fucking with his military career”.
This nugget showed up in the copy of my Foster Care records that had been obtained by my lawyer for a different matter. I hadn’t seen this in the records that I obtained in August of 2011. Before CFB Namao I don’t think there were any issues between myself and my brother. At least I don’t remember any. After Namao we are getting flagged in Alberta and Ontario for “extreme sibling rivalry”. What changed? Well, as it says in the except, my father disciplined my brother and I very differently. Whatever my brother got, I usually got twice as hard. Why? Richard had determined that my brother was acting up due to what I had “allowed” the babysitter to do to him. And, due to Richard’s piss poor parenting skills, Richard came to believe that I was responsible for raising my brother. And if my brother got into trouble then I obviously deserved twice as much punishment because I wasn’t being responsible and looking after my younger brother.
So yeah, as you can see, there is a lot of damage.
Why do I think that death is the only answer to my problems?
Why do you think that living is something that I need to do?
40 years ago was the time to deal with my issues. 40 years ago treatment would have done something. Not now. Now is far too late. And the older I get the more the toxins of depression build up. The more regret builds up. The more time passes the more that “what could have been” eats at me from the inside. Yeah, sure, the Escitalopram is keeping my severe depressions at bay and it nips my anxiety in the bud, but being medically numbed for the rest of my life does absolutely nothing for the constant replaying memories and the constant regret.
As I’ve said, if the abuse had been limited to P.S. grabbing my nutsack on one occasion, fine. But this asshole was extremely sadistic in his abuse. The memories of what he did to not only myself but the other kids is forever etched into my mind. And throw into the mix Captain Totzke’s “treatments” and my father’s absolute disdain, and you’ve got some very heavy duty toxins.
My meeting with Sgt. David Winship and Captain Chelsea St-Amand on Thursday April 21st, was the first time that anyone from the Canadian Armed Forces ever came to the realization that I can’t get any type of beneficial counselling through “normal” civilian channels. I wasn’t just sexually abused for 1-1/2 years on Canadian Forces Base Namao by P.S. and potentially Captain Father Angus McRae. I was also mind fucked for 2-1/2 years by Canadian Armed Forces social worker Captain Terry Totzke. Captain Terry Totzke’s rank of Captain and his determination that I was a “homosexual” at age 9 no doubt had a significant amount of influence on my father’s opinion of me and contributed to how my father treated me at home. Sgt. Winship agreed that the Canadian Forces had a very dim view of “homosexuality” back then and that the CFSIU investigation of Captain McRae for committing “Acts of Homosexuality” didn’t really help the matter. Sgt. Winship indicated that the crimes of “Gross Indecency”, “Indecent Assault”, and especially “Buggery” were crimes that both parties could in fact be charged with implying that back then both parties would have been deemed to be culpable. Sgt. Winship agreed that I can’t just deal with the sexual assault aspect without dealing with the Captain Totzke issues and the issues caused by my father. Civilian counsellors however are completely at a loss as to how I would ever have been involved with military social workers or how living in a military family at the time would have impacted how I was dealt with and treated in the aftermath of the CFB Namao incident.
March 2023 is when I find out what my possibilities are. I can bide my time until then. But even then, I will probably have a year and a bit before I can undergo the procedure and go to sleep and never be troubled by CFB Namao ever again.
So, you’re all welcome to follow along. I won’t blame anyone for not following.
All that I ask is that you don’t cast judgement on my decision.
Disposing of a body is harder than one could imagine.
It doesn’t look as if I will be able to donate my brain after my death.
And this kinda saddens me a bit.
I had always envisioned that my brain would serve some useful purpose.
After all I survived: – sexual abuse -mental abuse -physical abuse -neglect
I have lived with and coped with: -CPTSD -Major Depression -Severe Anxiety -The effects of military conversion therapy
The thought of death has never been very far.
Depression runs in my family.
And yet not once have I stuck a needle in my arm or snorted anything up my nose or toked on anything. The last time I had a drink was in July of 2011 and even then I was a very infrequent drinker.
I’ve had to deal with personality issues caused no doubt by the various traumas and abuses.
And yet I’ve somewhat navigated life and ended up with stable employment even if it is not at the level of employment that I could have risen to.
This rise is something that I’ve done on my own with absolutely no help from my father or my family. During all of the times I was unemployed in the early ’90s Richard was of no use. Even when I was on Skid Row in Vancouver and Toronto my father was of no assistance.
I did this all on my own.
You would think that research labs would want to know what it was inside my brain that allowed me to go from basically non-functional and requiring psychiatric institutionalization at age 10 to being the Chief Engineer of a hospital at 47.
It’s like the field of depression research is oblivious to confirmation bias. By this I mean that researches are obviously looking for answers where they expect to find them, in the brains of depressed people who have not fared well in life. Or the researches go looking for the answers to drug addiction in the brains of those who were abused and who succumbed to drugs and other forms of self medication. They often use the brains of those who have never suffered from depression in their lives as a reference point. And that’s great if you’re only concerned about the two extremes, but it gives you absolutely no data about those in between the two extremes.
Where my body goes after my death? Don’t know really. So long as it isn’t cremated or buried, I’m cool with that.
Medical school would be nice.
But medical schools like UBC pose a problem in the sense that they only take “whole body” donations for their medical students to dissect. If my brain were to be removed immediately after my death, then UBC wouldn’t take my body.
Conversely, no brain research program would take my brain after it had been removed from my skull by medical students.
Now, of course this is all really silly when you think about it isn’t it?
After I’m dead they could launch by body into space and I wouldn’t have the foggiest clue, would I. What they do with my corpse and my brain after I’m dead and gone is really a matter of trust. But still…….
One of the issues that I seem to have when being taken serious about my desire to seek Medical Assistance in Dying for mental health issues is that I don’t look “sad”, or “depressed”, or “unhappy”.
I appear smart and intelligent.
Piercings and tattoos are the only form of “self harm” that I engage in. And no, I don’t consider my tattoos or my piercings to be “self harm” or a “cry for help”.
Surely if I was depressed and wanting to die I’d be on drugs, or living on skid row, or a frequent flyer in the local psychiatric wards.
But that’s my problem.
I’ve always been on my own.
I’ve never had anyone to fall back on in times of trouble.
I’ve had to navigate life so fucking carefully that I didn’t end up an drug junkie or an alcoholic on skid row where people could say that I was the captain of my own misfortune.
If I had followed through on any of my previous suicide attempts and not succeeded there would have been absolutely no help from my father. In fact there only would have been shame and ridicule.
I’ve struggled with the fact that if I make one misstep that I’d have a very long fall down the ladder of society.
And believe me, the number of people that attempt suicide and fail far outnumber the number of people that attempt suicide and succeed.
My first attempt was way back on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach when I was about 9. I honestly don’t remember what I thought I was doing. I put the bag over my head and I held the bag around my neck. I kept breathing in and out, but as my lungs started to burn I couldn’t hold the bag any more and I let go of the bag.
The next time I tried was again on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach. This time I taped the bag around my neck thinking that would work better. It didn’t. Again I couldn’t get past the burning in my lungs and I ripped the bag off my face.
I had no idea that killing myself was actually going to be this painful.
The next time I tried suicide was in Toronto when I was living on Canadian Forces Base Downsview. This was before my bedroom had been moved downstairs into the basement in 1986. I had done a “practice run” at the Bloor-Yonge station. I actually did two practice runs. Both times I would wait on the Yonge platform until the trains had left. Then I’d take a little run and jump down on to the tracks. This was just to see if I could work up the nerve to jump down. I would then vault across the 3rd rails and climb up on the other platform and then out of the station.
However, when it came time to do it, I just couldn’t work up the nerve to jump in front of the train.
I don’t mean to sound cliche, but I did try the Bloor Street Vaiduct. Just couldn’t get the nerve to get over the railing.
There were a lot of things that kept me from following through.
Pain. I think my fear of pain has always ranked up there as the #1 reason why I haven’t succumbed to suicide. I really don’t want to spend my last 5, 1o, or 15 minutes on Earth in severe pain, gasping for breath and feeling the pain of broken bones.
Even worse, I always had visions of Andy Anderson with tubes in his skull as the doctors did everything to save his life after he slipped and fell in the bathtub in our PMQ on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Andy honestly had no life after that. They should have just let him die after his first series of blood clots and strokes. He spent the subsequent 5 years “living” in the Mewburn nursing home. He had been warehoused with other people who could no longer function on their own. And that’s another fear that I had. That I would do just enough damage to myself and that some asshole would “save me” and that I’d spend the rest of my “life” living in a facility being fed with a feeding tube.
Yet another reason that I couldn’t ever work up the courage to kill myself is my fear of Richard. I knew that if I had succeeded in killing myself that I would never have to be afraid of Richard again. But what I was afraid of the most is what Richard would do after I was dead. I knew that after I was dead that Richard would be free to blame my suicide on my insanity, that I committed suicide to weasel my way out of accepting responsibility for what I had allowed P.S. to do to my younger brother.
Richard had also impressed upon me from my time with the psychologists and social workers in Edmonton that “I was just acting up to get attention”. And as Richard had really impressed upon me that I was a worthless piece of shit that had fucked with his military career, the last thing I wanted to be seen as was an “attention seeker”.
I had so many reasons to kill myself back in the days of CFB Namao, CFB Griesbach, and CFB Downsview, but yet I couldn’t “man up” and do the deed because I was worried about what my father would say and do. Pretty fucking lame dontcha think?
My next attempt at suicide came in 1994.
I was unemployed. I was collecting E.I. as it was known back then. I had just returned from a disastrous trip out to Toronto to take a job that fell through. My E.I. got cut off because my E.I. cards were still being sent to my Toronto address so I ended up collecting welfare in B.C.
At this point in my life I had been on welfare in three different provinces. Alberta, Ontario, and British Columbia at different points in time between the summer of 1991 and the spring of 1994. I had slept in various Salvation Army houses, as well as different charity dorms.
And no, there was no fucking way on Earth that I was going to endure the humiliation of calling Richard and asking him for assistance that I know wouldn’t be coming anyways.
I know the exact date of the 1994 attempt.
It was the very early morning of Sunday June 12th, sometime after midnight.
I had scoped out the Lions Gate Bridge for around a week prior. And I knew that after midnight car traffic dwindled to almost nothing. I wasn’t planning to jump of the bridge in the typical manner. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t want anyone to stop me. Earlier in the day on June 11th I had gone to a BC Liquor store and purchased a 6 pack of whatever. I didn’t drink very often, so I knew that a 6 pack would take away my chickenshit fear and would allow me to jump.
When I got to the bridge I waited for a break in traffic, then I headed onto the bridge and got to where the maintenance gondola was parked. The bridge had a gondola underneath that allowed maintenance crews to service and paint the bridge from underneath. There really wasn’t any type of security on this gondola which was amazing when you think about it. So over the railing I went and I climbed down the ladder and onto the gondola.
I don’t knowhow long I was under there. I didn’t have a watch, and this was years before I owned a cellphone. But eventually I drank the last of the six beers. The gondola was parked perfectly over the footing for the south side pylon. If I just sat on the rail of the gondola and leaned back I could hit the footing without bouncing off of any of the ironwork for the pylon. It should be quick and I was so pissed that I probably wouldn’t feel anything. But now I was fucking hallucinating. There was P.S. and my father holding hands and laughing at me. Both of them were calling me a cocksucker, a faggot, a homo. I passed out. I woke up a little while later with no shirt on and both shoes missing.
So I managed to climb back up the ladder, back over the railing and walked back to the Sally Anne on Dunsmuir. Being drunk and without footwear I nearly killed myself in the process of climbing the Gondola ladder. I was screaming my lungs off as I walked through Stanley Park. I couldn’t believe how much of a fucking loser I was. I had the perfect opportunity to kill myself and my childish fears of what Richard would say after my death stopped me.
To this day I still don’t know why I feared Richard as much as I did. It made absolutely no sense. I should have hated him. But I didn’t. I feared him.
Anyways, the reason I know the exact date is that on Monday June 13th, 1994 I ended up at St. Paul’s Hospital. I could barely breath. I was coughing up blood and thick brown / green phlegm. The diagnoses was that I had come down with a bad case of community acquired pneumonia. The doctors had asked me if I had done anything out of the ordinary over the last week, if I had been anywhere unusual. Nope was my answer.
I felt like a fucking idiot.
In between 1994 and 2006 there were a few more attempts with the Skytrain, still couldn’t fucking do it.
The next time I would try to kill myself was in 2006. In August of 2006 I had called Richard and left some blistering messages on his cellphone. The next day he called me. I expected him to be angry. He wasn’t. He was quite shaken. I hadn’t really seen Richard since I moved away from Edmonton in February of 1992. Sure, I stopped in Edmonton in 2003 with my then girlfriend, but Richard barely had the time to speak to me. In my messages I had told him that I was sick and fucking tired of being blamed for what P.S. had done, I was tired of being blamed for having fucked with his military career, I was sick of everything. He knew that I was working at the hospital since the year previous as I had called him for his birthdate and my mother’s birthdate so that I could get my birth certificate replaced as the hospital needed to have a copy for my personnel file. He knew my phone number. He knew my address. But not fucking once did he ever call to see how I was making out.
So out of frustration I called him and vented into his voicemail. I was surprised when he called. I was even more surprised when it sounded like he was scared, like he had been wounded. He told me that yes, he had probably over reacted to what P.S. did ( yes, he used P.S.’s name). He didn’t mean to blame me, but that things were hectic back then. I was the older brother. I was supposed to look out for Scott. He pleaded with me to understand that he didn’t hire P.S.. He told me that he told his mother that he didn’t want P.S. around the house but that grandma kept hiring P.S.. And if I was to be angry at anyone for what P.S. had done, I should be angry at my grandmother for hiring P.S..
Things were great for about two months after this. Richard would call me on a daily basis. He even mailed me a $100 gift certificate to the Old Spaghetti Factory for my birthday. For him to tell the CFNIS in 2011 that he didn’t know how to get hold of me was a fucking crock of shit.
Anyways, just after my birthday the calls started to drop off.
By November he wasn’t calling or returning my calls.
Not a word at Christmas.
So I had decided to jump in front of a Skytrain.
Again I chickened the fuck out.
This was the last time I had ever been in a hospital.
But this hasn’t been the end of my desire to die.
As I’ve said in other posts, in the early 2000’s I had become aware of what was then called “assisted suicide” in Europe. Towards the late ’00s I had heard that in some European countries that depression was an acceptable reason to seek “medical suicide”. I knew that I would never have the money to make it over to Europe. And then the unthinkable started to happen. Jurisdictions across North America started to warm up to the idea of assisted suicide.
Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Health reasons is so close that I can almost taste the propofol in my tongue. March 2023 to be exact.
Whether or not I have what it takes to pass the “test” to be allowed to die peacefully in my bed without any violence inflected upon my body remains to be seen.
North America has a puritanical streak in which it is believed that everyone must suffer right to the end for a death to be righteous.
I haven’t enjoyed a single fucking day in my life since Canadian Forces Base Namao. Society tells me that I am a fucking loser for wanting to die. Society tells me that I am selfish and only hurting others with my desire to die.
Society tells me that I don’t value the special and unique life that I have been “given”.
I sure as fuck didn’t ask for this. I didn’t tell Richard to fuck Marie so that I could be born.
I didn’t ask for my father to be a rage prone alcoholic in the Canadian Armed Forces.
I didn’t ask for my mother to leave.
I didn’t ask for my grandmother to hire P.S.
I didn’t ask to be molested by P.S. and Captain McRae.
I didn’t ask for my brain to be fucked with by Captain Terry Totzke.
I didn’t ask for my father to be a spineless wimp that followed along with the desires of the Canadian Armed Forces.
I have no interests.
I have no hobbies.
I have no friends.
I have absolutely nothing.
People tell me that I have to live, that I simply have to find the reasons to live, that I’m not trying hard enough.
People tell me that I’m only trying to get attention, that I’m weak, that I’m ungrateful.
People tell me to “forget the past and move on”.
How the fuck does one simply forget what I’ve been through?
Why do I have to keep suffering so that others can feel like they’ve fixed me or cured me?
Trust me, I am angry about a lot of things, but I’m not angry about dying.
My death won’t be some unusual event that no other human being has experienced.
Four simple drugs administered via a PICC catheter into the superior vena cava of my heart and I can be freed of all of this dysfunctional shit that is my life.
All that I want is to die a little earlier than what the cosmos has planned for me so that I don’t have to live with CFB Namao playing on an endless loop inside my skull. Richard may be dead and gone, and yes it was very cathartic when I found out that he was dead, but his ridicule, his hatred, his loathing, and his depression live inside my skull. P.S. lives in my skull. The knowledge of what Captain McRae did to me after the wine lives inside of my skull. Going to “special school” is inside my skull. Being a grade 8 dropout who missed out on a multitude of opportunities lives in my skull.
Let me go.
Let me be at peace.
Let me be free of the things that I had no control over.
The Canadian Forces are adept at keeping secrets no matter who suffers.
As much as I love the final report issued by the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2020 in which the MPCC gave a very subtle and discreet kick to Minister Harjit Sajjan’s balls there is one troubling aspect that has caused me concern.
It’s these pair of paragraphs in the final report.
Basically, the MPCC is stating that I was wrong to assume that the CFNIS were commanded by the Chain of Command to conduct the 2015 to 2018 portion of investigation GO 2011-5754 in such a manner as to not risk exposing in the present day what the Canadian Armed Forces tried to bury in 1980.
Yes, technically the Military Police Complaints Commission is correct in the sense that Captain McRae’s court martial was reported in the media. But lets’ see what was actually in the media versus what happened on the base.
In 1980 the Canadian media reported that Captain Father Angus McRae had committed buggery with “A” child. Not 2 children. Not 3 children. Not 10 children. Not 25 children.
ONE FUCKING CHILD.
Not 25 children between the ages of 5 and 15.
ONE FUCKING CHILD.
And that child was P.S..
The only child over the age of 14.
In September of 2002, the Departmental Public Affairs Office (DGPA-DPAPO) of the Department of Justice, which was representing the Department of National Defence and the Minister of National Defence, made edits to a press release that was going to be the Government of Canada’s response to the $4.5 million dollar action brought by P.S..
Why would the Government of Canada strike the words “Buggery”, “Gross Indecency”, and “Indecent Assault” while leaving the offence numbers 155, 156, 157?
My guess is that simple numbers are meaningless.
Don’t forget, in the early 2000’s, male child sexual abuse was finally being acknowledged. Prior to the mid ’90s and early 2000s it really wasn’t accepted that boys could be the victims of sexual assault.
And in 2002, the Criminal Code that was current in effect was the 1985 Criminal Code of Canada. Not the 1970 Criminal Code. If someone wanted to know what sections 155, 156, and 157 were and they grabbed a copy of the 1985 criminal code they’d really be confused as in the 1985 Criminal Code section 155 was Incest, section 156 was language dealing with offences committed prior to 1983, and section 157 was repealed.
Only if someone was really determined and went to a local law court library and got their hands on a copy of the 1970 Criminal Code would one be able to determine that sections 155, 156, and 157 related to Gross Indecency, Indecent Assault, and Buggery.
And even though the military police and the CFSIU in 1980 knew that as many as 25 children were being sexually abused by Captain McRae and that the military was aware that Captain McRae had confessed during his ecclesiastical to having molested boys for many years meaning that Captain McRae had more than likely molested children on Canadian Forces Base Kington, Canadian Forces Base Portage La Prairie, Canadian Forces Station Holberg, in addition to the 25 children he molested on Canadian Forces Base Namao, the Department of Justice was still going with Captain McRae having only molested “one” boy.
The Department of Justice even went so far as to note that the Canadian Forces had found Captain McRae guilty in a court martial and had subsequently kicked Captain McRae out of the military.
But the Department of Justice made no mention that many of the charges that the military police and the CFSIU had ready to go against Captain McRae had been dismissed by the chain of command prior to Captain McRae’s court martial.
The Department of Justice also fails to note in their press release that unlike in the modern day where charges have to be referred to a prosecutor, in the days of Captain McRae’s court martial it was Captain McRae’s commanding officer, base commander Colonel Daniel Edward Munro, that would determine during a summary investigation which charges would proceed and which charges would be dismissed and not a military prosecutor.
In 1980 Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro was Colonel Daniel Edward Munro, base commander of Canadian Forces Base Namao and Commanding Officer of Captain Father Angus McRae.
As Legislative Summary LS-311E (1998) indicates, it was Colonel Munro that determined the charges against Captain McRae.
As the Judge Advocate General indicated in 2018, it would be impossible to bring charges against Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro if it was found that he had acted improperly in 1980 and had committed the Criminal Code offence of “Obstruction of Justice”. And even if Daniel Edward Munro had just been following the orders of his superiors, the same 3-year-time-bar would apply to them.
To this date the Canadian Forces are very happy to leave things in the past.
So, with all of this bullshit and all of the subterfuge and all of the lies is it any wonder that I’ve grown very tired?
When I went to the Edmonton Police Service in 2011 to lay charges against P.S. I honestly thought that I stood a decent chance of getting justice. And if I got justice then there was no way that my father was going to be able to keep blaming me for what I had allowed P.S. to do to my younger brother. My father would have to apologize for the way he had treated me in the aftermath of the P.S. / Captain McRae fiasco on CFB Namao.
The Canadian Forces and their defective investigation agency stole that away from me.
The court martial transcripts from McRae’s court martial, the CFSIU investigation paperwork, and what retired Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham had told me on November 27th, 2011, all indicate that the military police in 1980 knew what P.S. had done. But the 2011 investigation was a big nothing burger.
My old man died and got off scot-free. He’ll never have to apologize and explain his part in this horrid mess.
And I’m the one who is stuck with having to request Medical Assistance in Dying for mental health issues when it becomes legal in March of 2023 to erase all of the memories of 1978 through 1987 and 2011 to the present day.
I’ve been conversing with the nice people at the BC Assistance in dying program.
As of this time I am talking with them anonymously due to the fact that I am associated with a health care facility and I don’t want any repercussions.
They’ve cleared up one matter that I wasn’t too clear about. I had also thought that the drugs required for death in the IV method would be administered by a set of dosing pumps. This is in fact not the case. The attending physician will manually inject the drugs one after the other.
And as I mentioned previously, I won’t have to go to a hospital or a clinic to obtain this procedure. I can go through with this procedure from the comfort and familiarity of my own bed.
Not that there is anything wrong with a hospital or a clinic, but being able to leave from familiar surroundings seems to be much more preferable to leaving from the strange and odd surroundings in a hospital or a clinic.
The process I wish to undergo involves four common drugs.
Each province in Canada has its own protocol for dealing with Medical Assistance in Dying.
This is the protocol used in British Columbia.
They three main drugs are Midazolam, Propofol, Roccuronium.
Lidocaine seems to be used as a painkiller.
Bupivacaine seems to be used to ensure cardiac arrest.
These drugs are used every day in health care.
And unlike for prisoner executions, the manufacturers of these drugs have not objected to their use for MAiD.
Prior to this date I will have to have undergone 3 different interviews with different psychologists and they will have to agree to allow me to undergo the procedure.
And as the date of the procedure approaches, my physician is supposed to ask me a few more times if I am certain that I wish to undergo a procedure that will result in my death.
And then on the day of my procedure, I will be asked a couple more times if I understand that I will die as a result of the procedure and if I wish to continue.
My last day is sure to be odd.
This would definitely be a day of “lasts”.
So far I’m planning to die in the evening.
Have a good breakfast. Go for a long walk. Maybe around the seawall. Might go for a bike ride.
Not sure what music I’d be listening to. Doesn’t matter really.
Go for a nice supper. Absolutely nothing too fancy, probably just the Old Spaghetti Factory, Earl’s, or even the White Spot.
Enjoy the nice long walk home.
I would arrange to be home in time to meet my physician.
While the physician is getting set up I’d be going to the washroom for the last time.
I’d also take my final shower.
I’m not sure if anyone else would be attending to watch me go.
Probably just me and the doc.
And then, when the time feels right I’d get into my bed for the very last time.
The doc would then ask me again if I understood what I was doing, and I would tell them that I understood.
The doc would then insert the main catheter as well as a “back up catheter”.
The first drug that would hit my system would be the midazolam. Midazolam is a sedative. At the recommended dosage it will not render me unconscious nor will it kill me. The midazolam will just relax me.
The next drug to enter my system will be the doozy. This is the drug that will pretty well turn my brain off like someone switching off a computer. Propofol is typically used prior to surgery to render a person into a very deep state of unconsciousness. However, in surgery the typical dosage for propofol is 2mg/kg. Meaning that the average human will receive 2 milligrams of propofol for every kilogram of body weight. I weigh 90 kg, so if I was being prepped for surgery I would receive a dose of 180 milligrams. However, because the goal of this procedure is my death, the recommended dosage that I will be given in 1,000 milligrams of propofol. At this level all brain activity will cease. I will no longer be me. I will be gone. The odds on my brain ever recovering from this dosage are none existent.
The next two drugs to be administered will be the rocuronium and then bupivacaine.
The rocuronium inhibits skeletal muscles. What this means is that my body would no longer be able to breath as my diaphragm muscle would become paralyzed.
And if bupivacaine is used as the fourth drug once the bupivacaine is injected it will stop my heart.
I don’t know if the lidocaine would be used or not, but if it is it really isn’t going to be that big of a deal.
As my brain will have been completely shut down by the propofol I will not experience any pain associated with the inability to breath nor will I be aware that my heart has stopped.
And that will be that.
After this there will be no more me. I will no longer exist.
And trust me, that’s a very small price to pay.
As I’ve said before, my existence is a very small and insignificant blip in the history of the known universe.
Whether I die in 2023, 2024, 2025, or even if I had lived to 70 or 80 years of age, on the cosmic time scale this is insignificant.
What is significant is the constant torment that my brain experiences on a daily basis.
Seemingly random things will slam me right back into P.S.’s bedroom on the day he was caught buggering me. Other things will transport me right back into the rectory of the base chapel when I was being given the tumbler full of “sickly sweet grape juice”. The baths that P.S. made me take with him so that he could try to get my rectum to loosen up so that he could fuck me still randomly pop into my brain. What P.S. did with the blonde haired girl are still in my mind. Watching P.S. do things to my brother will stay with me for life. The day my father was working on his motorcycle and I was watching him and P.S. came by and asked my father if he wanted him to look after me. My father told me to go with P.S.. P.S. took me straight to the chapel and into the rectory. There’s the man in the sauna that P.S. provided me to so that I could perform oral sex on this man.
The intense torment and abuse that I suffered at the hands of the kids on Canadian Forces Base Namao after I had been discovered in P.S.’s bedroom will live with me until I draw my last breath.
My sessions with “Terry” still pop into my mind at random, and it’s due to Terry that I am unable to sit down and deal with psychiatrists or psychologists. Put yourself into my shoes. You’re nine years old, you’re being dealt with by a military social worker who is convinced that you are showing signs of a mental illness called “homosexuality” because of what you and P.S. had been caught doing on CFB Namao.
The way in which my father blamed me for allowing P.S. to touch my younger brother will always be with me. The way in which my father blamed me for “fucking with his military career” will be with me until the day I die.
My father in general. My grandmother in general.
The diagnosed but untreated major depression that I’ve lived with since CFB Namao has cost me so much in life.
Earl Ray Stevens will always live with me until the day I die.
So will the unknown man from CFB Griesbach, and the unknown man from Toronto who tried to strangle me in his car.
Dreams that were taken away from me will always haunt me. I will never learn to fly an airplane. I will never fly a helicopter. I will never be what I wanted to be because after CFB Namao all I was told was that I was a worthless piece of shit. So there are no dreams or aspirations.
I just exist. I have no pleasures, I have no hobbies. I have mo dreams, I have no desires.
Talking about these matters doesn’t make them go away.
Not talking about these matters doesn’t make them go away.
Nothing will make them go away.
And if that’s what it takes, then nothing I will become.
The world will go on without me.
However, when I die, P.S. dies, Captain McRae dies again, Captain Terry Totzke dies, Richard Gill dies for a second time, all the people in the Canadian Forces chain of command that knew what happened from 1978 to 1980 they all die. Earl Ray Stevens dies again. And Al M. dies.
Planning for the sweet release of death leads to some interesting realizations
I understand that to many of you that my death is probably playing out like the longest suicide in the history of humankind.
Death will offer me the escape from my constant companions Depression & Anxiety as well as eliminating all of my memories of the sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao, the subsequent treatment that I received at the hands of military social worker Captain Terry Totzke, and the memories of the far too many years of suffering alone and being blamed for CFB Namao.
However, I’ve just realized that I’m probably not going to see the completion of various projects. Some that I am involved in and some that I am not involved in.
And it’s kinda a weird feeling.
Take the new hospital. I’ve been involved with the design and procurement committee for the new hospital.
Am I sad?
No. Not really.
My name will live on in the project documents.
I was here. I did something.
Even the existing hospital. I’m still running the physical plant there, and I will do so right up until the date I chose.
Now, to be honest, I’m not going to work right up until the chosen date of my death. If things work out correctly, I’ll be able to take some time off work, get an early payout on my pension that will allow me further time off.
But still, I’m going to work right up to the end. And why shouldn’t I. Work keeps my mind from wandering into my past.
I’ve worked on various projects, and I’ve got more projects and improvements lined up.
Why do these projects and improvements if you’re going to die?
Why not? Gotta do something with my time anyways. And besides, let’s say that I wasn’t planning for my death. Should I not do any improvements at work just incase that I get run over while I’m riding my bicycle one day?
The Skytrain extension out to Arbutus, or even the recently announced extension out to Langley. The Broadway extension started recently and it’s expected to be in service by 2025.
Sure, it would have been interesting to have been able to take the Skytrain from Arbutus to Coquitlam, or even from Arbutus to Langley. But this doesn’t outweigh the war and the damage that are in my head.
The new hospital? It’s supposed to be completed around 2027 or 2028. So nope, won’t live to see that.
Am I sad?
I used to joke during the planning meetings that the rear lane behind the new hospital that had yet to be named should be called the “Bobbie Bees Memorial Lane”. As no one at work has any ideas about my plans, they all laughed it off as just a joke. But it would have been nice for that to have been named after me and dedicated to all of the children who grew up on Canadian Forces bases in Canadian and whom ended up committing suicide to escape the demons they encountered in the military environment.
I’ve come to realize over the past little while that it’s our attachment to the here and now that makes it so hard to let go.
After I draw my last breath, the world will keep on spinning. Why shouldn’t it?
It’ll be like I was never here and that I never existed.
I won’t miss anything because I won’t exist.
Those who knew me might miss me, but within 50 years everyone who knew me will be gone as well.
Except for a very few people in the world, my death will go unnoticed. Just another of the of the 60 million deaths per year. 64 million per year by 2025.