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When wolves cry wolf

Friday marks six years since the #MeToo movement went viral

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Sam Schultz (Photo courtesy of Sam Schultz)

BY SAM SCHULTZ | The voices of sexual assault survivors are typically muted or silenced, particularly in the LGBTQIA+ community. We’ve seen the media and our courts focus on perpetrators without acknowledging the impact on those of us fighting a system and a culture that sweeps victims’ stories under the rug.

Within the queer community there is a familiar similarity in the response (denial and distraction) of powerful men accused of sexual assault. These are sadly not isolated incidents within the queer community. We just don’t talk about them, at least not publicly. A discussion about consent within our community is imperative as society continues to bring attention to this conversation at large.

As young queer people, many of us are objectified and reduced to conquests by often older or more powerful peers. We learn to believe that our primary value to many is sex rather than equal treatment and respect. While society rightly talks a lot about women who are objectified and targeted, we barely acknowledge that sexual assault is an issue in the LGBTQIA+ community.

We’ve seen countless examples in the media in which victims of sexual assault experience more ridicule and hatred than the perpetrators. Sexual predators broadly deny their criminal behavior while their victims spend a great deal of time recovering from the trauma predators cause. With constant denials, predators often receive support from their friends and fans who rush to their defense without any facts about the crime. Victims are demonized and shamed despite evidence and corroboration, even in the face of prosecutions, indictments and convictions. 

In an effort to gain equality and respect, the queer community has often turned away from the reality of sexual assault in our own community. 

When one of my attackers, David Daniels, was granted tenure at the University of Michigan in 2018, I knew that I needed to come forward about what he and his husband did to me. I felt devastatingly sure that I wasn’t the only person he victimized, and I felt an overwhelming responsibility to prevent future rapes. The #MeToo movement championing accountability was making progress, and I had been in therapy for years to process the assault in ways that honored my dignity and didn’t destroy me. Empowered, I felt confident in my decision to cry foul.

Before I exposed the truth, I thought I knew what coming forward might mean for me. I was reluctantly prepared for media attention and scrutiny, as well as a shadow that would hover over my personal and professional life. I was aware that this news would be uncomfortable for a lot of people, especially since the men who raped me had power, status and wealth. 

I wrote a public statement about how being raped impacted my life and career in the years that followed. I spoke with investigators who brought charges against David Daniels and Scott Walters, the men who have recently admitted to raping me. After the District Attorney’s office assigned a prosecutor to this case, a trial date of April 2, 2020, was set. Multiple young men came forward with their own experiences alleging abuse. The University of Michigan completed an investigation into Daniels’ abusive behavior as alleged by 20 students, and the Board of Regents unanimously fired him without severance on the basis of what they found; a rarity at this institution. Yet even after the university’s investigation into the behavior of David Daniels, I remain the scapegoat for his firing by many of his friends and fans in an effort to distract and deflect. 

Why are we inclined to believe denials even when crimes are brought to light? Victims face accusations of attention-seeking when we come forward publicly, and we face accusations of cowardice when reporting anonymously. As a society, we see countless examples of predators calling their reckoning a witch hunt, but is the burden placed on victims not exactly that?

The power dynamics that pervade these crimes often include a charismatic and familiar predator and their less-powerful prey. Yet charisma is not synonymous with integrity, even through a queer lens. When one lives with integrity, one understands the potential to reconcile our mistakes. The dominant denial script of predators lacks that integrity. Predators do not want to admit or be held accountable for their actions because of the consequences they might face. Despite any consequences they may experience, rapists do not live with the nightmarish reality they’ve inflicted on their victims.  

When a survivor comes forward after years or decades, people often ask “why now and not right away?”. Sadly, it’s because my experience is the devastating norm — coming forward means accepting delayed justice at best.

The general public, especially those identifying as part of the queer population, people like you reading about my and others’ experiences, must be kinder and more compassionate to victims and resolve to believe them more. No one asks for rape or enjoys the recovery that follows, whether they come forward or remain silent. Those who do come forward accept the unenviable responsibility of holding sexual predators accountable so that others are spared from knowing the horrific, inflicted pain. Our government, and all systems, must improve the treatment of and resources for victims of sexual assault.

As survivors, we prove that we are stronger than our oppressors. And elusive as hope may seem, hope is what drives the recovery. As we commit to seeking justice, should not the criminals commit to accountability, regardless of the consequences? No matter how many people may come forward to hold the perpetrator of their abuse accountable, does a guilty plea (and then denial) invalidate that many accusations? And will we accept the evasive denials that permeate the responses to allegations of sexual misconduct?

Sam Schultz is an accomplished singer, runner and advocate. They recently found justice after experiencing sexual assault in 2010.

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Center Arts Gallery celebrates 10 years with reception, auction

Oct. 17 fundraiser to feature jazz combo, artwork created on site

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(Photo by Gilmanshin/Bigstock)

Ten years ago, I had a vision: to create a dedicated space within The DC LGBTQ+ Community Center for local LGBTQ+ artists to share their creativity in a community space conceived specifically for them. That vision became the Center Arts Gallery. Over the past decade, the Center Arts Gallery has grown into a true home for our LGBTQ+ siblings, a place illuminating our joy, resistance, and resilience through the power of art.

Art is so much more than decoration. It can be a powerful protest, a keeper of memories, a testament to survival, and a vivid reminder that our lived experiences deserve to be seen, heard, and deeply valued. When we created the Center Arts Gallery, our goal was to remove barriers so that queer artists could feel welcomed, supported, and completely free to express themselves. Now, as we mark the incredible 10th anniversary of Center Arts, love truly comes full circle as many of those same amazing artists and creatives are giving back by donating their artwork for a special benefit auction.

On Saturday, Oct. 17, 2026, The DC LGBTQ+ Community Center will host our annual Fall Reception and Art Auction, celebrating 10 years of Center Arts Gallery at 1827 Wiltberger St., N.W., with an ambitious fundraising target of $25,000. 

Appropriately themed “The Art of Belonging,” this milestone celebration will bring our community together with intention, uniting multiple forms of local queer creativity under one roof. The evening promises to be an unforgettable experience. 

We are thrilled to have the celebration hosted by award-winning spoken word artist, poet, and educator Charity Blackwell. Attendees will enjoy smooth jazz selections performed by 2nd Independence — a jazz combo from the DC Different Drummers — alongside delicious heavy hors d’oeuvres provided by Shaw Tavern and exquisite dessert offerings by celebrity chef Patrick Vanas.

Throughout the night artwork will be created live on site, joining the online pieces generously donated by local artists.

Most importantly, every dollar raised during the reception and auction goes directly toward sustaining The DC Center’s life-affirming programs and supportive services. From food assistance providing nourishing meals, the free food pantry, and behavioral health counseling, to trauma-informed case management, resource navigation, HIV/STI testing, and essential hygiene services like showers, laundry, and a clothing boutique, our doors remain open because

of community support. These funds also support our cyber lounge, mail and locker services, harm reduction supplies, and critical wellness programs.

To ensure that everyone in our community can fully participate, ASL interpretation will be provided during the event program. We offer flexible ways to join us: General Admission is free (currently at capacity), with custom signature cocktails, wine, and beer available for purchase.

For those looking for an elevated evening, our $75 VIP Experience includes early admission at 6 p.m., early online auction access, complimentary Champagne (6-7 p.m.), an intimate opportunity to mingle with participating artists, a special swag bag, plus an open beer and wine bar throughout the entire evening.

For 10 years, Center Arts Gallery has shown us that belonging is an art form we create together. As we look back on a decade of community and look forward to the future, I invite you to join us, support local queer artists, and invest in the essential programs that keep our community thriving. Let’s come together to ensure that The DC Center can continue to educate, empower, uplift, and connect us all for generations to come.


Kimberley Bush is executive director of The DC LGBTQ+ Community Center.

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Washington Blade responds to concerns over White House pool duties

Inaccurate media reports create confusion but we stand with our colleagues

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A photo from inside the White House on Monday. (Washington Blade photo by Joe Reberkenny)

Last week, President Trump announced his unconstitutional ban of CNN, MSNow, and Politico from the White House. Coincidentally, on Monday, it was the Washington Blade’s turn to serve as the print pool reporter on duty covering the president’s actions that day. This important responsibility is shared and rotated among the print members with each serving roughly once per month. The Blade is the only LGBTQ outlet with a seat in the briefing room, a slot in the pool rotation, and membership in the White House Correspondents’ Association, something we fought for decades to secure after enduring years of discrimination, ridicule, and resistance to openly queer journalists working inside the White House. We take our responsibilities there seriously. 

There are two pools that cover the president: broadcast and print. The other four members of the broadcast pool — ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox News — agreed to boycott their pool duties. There has been no boycott among the print pool, which is a separate entity. I called the president of the White House Correspondents’ Association on Monday to confirm that no outlets in the print pool were boycotting. 

A boycott by the Blade would set us back and lead to our expulsion from the pool and briefing room and our replacement by a right-wing outlet sympathetic to President Trump’s approach to attacking the media. The LGBTQ community is far better served with the Blade in the room than a far-right blogger taking our seat.

Let’s be clear: the Blade stands for diversity, equity, and inclusion and we stand for the First Amendment and freedom of the press. In solidarity with the broadcast pool, we made two important decisions on Monday — the first day anyone had to think about any of this. First, we refused to take or share any videos or still photos of the president, which would have undermined the broadcast boycott. Second, when Politico’s turn comes up for pool duty in mid-October, the Blade will not fill in and cover for them while they are banned. Politico must be readmitted and allowed to do their job. 

After a rough day navigating and reporting on all of this, the Advocate published a reckless and inaccurate story suggesting that the Blade had crossed a picket line. Not true, as there is no print pool boycott. They claimed that I wouldn’t talk to their reporter. Also not true. I called their reporter within 90 minutes of receiving his message and he didn’t take the call or call me back. Their story named me and our White House reporter, immediately exposing us to public criticism and worse. The environment in D.C. is so toxic and even violent these days that subjecting our staff to unfair and false accusations like this invites harassment, doxxing, and worse. To do that without even talking to us is next level irresponsible and the antithesis of journalism.

On Tuesday, I talked to two reporters and an editor at the Advocate but they refused to retract anything in their inaccurate story. If the reporter had returned my call, I could have explained all of this but they are more concerned with clickbait and sensational headlines, a dangerous practice in these troubled times. 

Back to the pool. The Blade was in the briefing room in the Reagan era, when Press Secretary Larry Speakes made jokes about AIDS and the reporters in the room laughed out loud. We endured all of that abuse and worse for decades, always standing in the back of the room and never being called on. The Blade’s journalists persevered. When President George W. Bush was re-elected in 2004, the Blade’s White House credentials were revoked amid an earlier press crackdown. Notably, no one boycotted or stood up for us. When Barack Obama won election in 2008, I received an email from his communications director informing me that effective midnight on Jan. 20, 2009, the Blade’s credentials would be restored. 

So we have had quite a ride navigating administrations and their changing requirements for gaining access but always playing the long game. As Barney Frank used to say, “If you’re not at the table, then you’re probably on the menu.” The Blade is at the table and we do our best to ensure the LGBTQ community’s issues are addressed by both parties. 

Thanks for reading and supporting the Blade’s work. If you have questions about our approach, you can reach me at [email protected].  


Kevin Naff is editor of the Washington Blade. Reach him at [email protected].

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What LGBTQ veterans are building after ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’

DADT repeal took effect on Sept. 20, 2011. Trans servicemember ban reinstated

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The Pentagon (Photo by icholakov/Bigstock)

Fifteen years ago this month, the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” took effect. At the time, the importance of the change was obvious: gay, lesbian, and bisexual Americans would no longer have to hide who they were to wear the uniform. What was harder to see was what would follow: a generation of LGBTQ veterans able to carry their service openly into American civic life.

Earlier this month, Alaska state Rep. Andrew Gray, an Army veteran, stood before the Anchorage Assembly and asked the city to recognize Sept. 20 as LGBTQ Veterans Day.

His former command sergeant major, Mike Grunst, followed him to the microphone. A 35-year veteran who had served in combat, Grunst called troops who had served while hiding who they were “the bravest I have ever served with.”

Then Denise Sudbeck stepped forward. A Vietnam-era Navy veteran, she thanked the country for the privilege of serving and asked that the next generation have the same chance.

The Assembly approved the recognition.

Nothing about the scene required a new vocabulary. A veteran made a request of his community. A commander vouched for those who served beside him. Another veteran asked that younger Americans inherit the opportunity she valued. They entered the civic record simply as veterans.

That identity can do more than win recognition.

When federal policy abruptly ended the careers of transgender servicemembers this year, veterans and servicemembers in California began asking a practical question: What happens when those Americans come home?

Republican Assemblyman Jeff Gonzalez, a Marine combat veteran, began one hearing with questions about transgender military service. He listened as veterans explained how the military handles medical care and deployment case by case.

Then the discussion turned to separation.

“I don’t wanna see any veteran homeless,” Gonzalez said. Before the hearing ended, he was asking: “How can I help? How can I understand? How can I be a good advocate?”

The legislation that followed would provide housing, employment and transition assistance to discharged servicemembers. Republican state Sen. Shannon Grove spoke for it. The Senate passed it 32 to 0.

Americans have plainly not settled their disagreements over transgender people. Nor should military service be a prerequisite for rights that belong to every citizen.

But military service creates relationships that are difficult to reduce to the abstractions of the culture war. Before a legislature, “the transgender issue” can become a veteran who deployed, an officer who led troops, or the person who once stood beside you.

The political question changes because the human relationship has already changed.

The pattern is beginning to appear across the country. Kansas is among the states recognizing LGBTQ Veterans Day for the first time this year. New York and Virginia are pursuing broader state-level programs for LGBTQ veterans.

Sept. 20 is deliberate. On that day in 2011, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” ended.

We usually remember repeal for what LGBTQ Americans gained: the ability to serve openly. Fifteen years later, we can also see what the country gained.

A gay veteran can stand before his local government beside the commander who once led him. A transgender servicemember can sit before a legislator who begins with doubts and ends by asking how he can help. A veteran from an older generation can ask her neighbors to give those who follow her the same chance to serve.

This is citizenship in practice.

The enduring legacy of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” repeal is not only that Americans were finally allowed to serve openly. It is also what they can now build after coming home.

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