Commentary
Survivors of sex crimes are unsung heroes
Taking trauma and turning it to their advantage
(Editor’s note: This is the second of a two-part story. Click here to read the first installment.)
Last month, I started watching “The X-files.”
For the most part I loved the show, with Agents Scully and Mulder as the primary reasons why. Yet what I found most frustrating was watching their investigations. As early as episode one, set in a small town of scared people guarded by scary men, Agent Scully proposed coincidences while Agent Mulder proposed aliens. Despite the episode having “cult” written all over it, both agents seemed none the wiser.
Recently, I learned the FBI has an open process for writers and other creatives to learn how the agency works. I also discovered the FBI has a history of monitoring writers. In fact, the FBI is about as image-conscious as your typical D.C. gay, making me wonder how the “X-Files” moved forward with little pushback. That’s about as interesting as UFOs being discovered in New Mexico as we tested the atomic bomb.
But if you’re reading this, you likely want me to shut up about the “X-Files” and get back to my story. When I left off, my friend had disappeared and my work cleared me of any wrongdoing. That said, I was mysteriously fired in September 2022—nearly a year after the initial incident—and just six weeks after my boss learned that I wrote books.
The process of my firing was strange, to say the least. First and foremost, I was never given a reason. To this day it remains a mystery. My now-former employer—a high-profile lobbying firm—then bullied me into signing an NDA to access my severance.
By the way, I negotiated up. While I don’t know what I did, I had a feeling I had that power. I was right.
Just prior to the firing, they asked me to bring in my laptop so they could download my files. This rang an alarm for me, primarily because they never gave me a laptop. So, they wanted me to bring in my personal laptop. As a writer with original materials, I reasonably asked what constituted a work file. I never received an answer.
Coincidentally, I met my ex-boyfriend exactly one week before I got fired. He is the same ex-boyfriend from my religion piece, in which I mentioned he fell into hard times. Specifically, I was referring to concerning signs I spotted last April, primarily on the gay apps, and with memories of the last boy still fresh on my mind, I refused to let another slip from my grasp.
So, what did I do? I dove headfirst into hell in a messy attempt to rescue him. After playing this new game of cat-and-mouse in which I was said mouse, allow me to share what I learned: Over the course of several months, I spotted sketchy characters at my ex’s place—characters I suspected dealt hard drugs, which was highly out of character for him. Moreover, I found online accounts promoting extremely suspect pornography and, yes, pimping services on X (formerly Twitter), some of which looked a lot like my ex. While I didn’t know what exactly was happening, I knew something was off, but when I confronted my ex, he denied it.
Being the stubborn asshole that I am, I decided to check these sketchy characters out for myself. It turns out I was spot on about their sketchiness. I learned they not only drug unsuspecting young men in a coordinated manner, but once drugged they sexually violate them and—if drugged enough—begin recording videos. It’s all made to look random yet safe; for example, there always seems to be a nurse in the group who is “experienced” in administering needles.
Once I had proof these people were unsafe, I took further action for my ex. In mid-November, I reached out to someone in his personal life, which was a tough decision since he was closeted. I was strategic and chose someone who knew he was bisexual, and after connecting with her on Instagram, spoke on the phone with her the next morning. Upon hearing my concerns, she agreed based on her own observations.
Apparently, she spotted signs of him being physically harmed over the summer. She and I spoke for hours on end about the situation and how we could help him. Then, just a week later, I lost contact with her and my ex. I haven’t heard from either since.
I eventually grew concerned enough to contact the police and the FBI. In the meantime, particularly following my trauma article, sex workers approached me to share their stories—primarily stories of rape and abuse alongside a power structure rooted in it. As for those who try to oppose this system? They’re often written off as mentally ill.
I don’t know about you, but I refuse to live in a world where young queers are shepherded into this system. That’s the opposite of what I envision for the queer community.
Mid-Atlantic Leather weekend arrived in January, along with more sex workers. Once again, some approached me to share their stories—about their aspirations, about their art, about their perspectives on the world. And once again, about the system of abuse designed against them from the start. I heard stories of young boys raped by their fathers, or friends of their fathers, or about the drugs used to coerce them into sexual activity. Sadly, just like a UFO witness, they are usually written off and never taken seriously, especially if they have a record of drug abuse or mental illness. Seems to be a pattern, doesn’t it?
That said, these men are not solely victims. If anything, they took their trauma and turned it to their advantage. I’d like to take this moment to thank them. They’re unsung heroes—each and every one—in a nation that often shames them.
Yet as proud as I am of these sex workers, my heart was equally broken. These stories were painful to hear, to say the least. I quickly grew paranoid of people around me, even friends at times. There were other times I sat alone in my apartment, bawling over the men I had lost, along with the pain others had experienced. This only strengthened my resolve to end it.
To top this all off, my final discovery came just two months ago. Turns out there’s an X account publicly teasing me about this entire affair. The account even references this column and, according to the receipts, started well before I noticed concerning signs about my ex in the first place.
Hello there, dear X account. It appears you’ve been observing me. Consider this my proverbial tapping back on the glass.
Wow—there seems to be a lot of time, energy, and effort spent on little ole me. Why is that, I wonder? I’ve mentioned before I’m just a measly little barback who has been fired twice. Although looking back, those firings were strange too, weren’t they?
Is it the abuse I uncovered? Is it the details of my lover’s past? Is it something I wrote? Is it a combination of the three? And is it possible that the little dark cloud that’s been following me in D.C. is more intentional than I once thought?
I may never learn the truth on my own, but I can pose another question: what’s the only thing scarier than UFOs? To me there’s just one answer: that UFOs were never real in the first place. Occasionally, answers to unsettling mysteries simply unearth more unsettling mysteries.
I mentioned before in this column that I arrived to D.C. naïve about the world, perhaps just as naïve as Agents Scully and Mulder. Yet in my naiveté I tripped on something: the rot hiding beneath the surface of our nation’s capital. No, it isn’t coincidence. It isn’t aliens, either. But whatever it is, I alone cannot identify it.
Throughout my time uncovering this story, I’ve come across friends, acquaintances, and even relatives who suffered abuse, along with threats or shaming to keep them quiet. They come from all races, creeds, backgrounds, and orientations, and as it turns out, some of the infrastructure of power in D.C. and in towns across this nation are built around it. While I’m ready to tear it down, this isn’t just my story. I might be the one starting it, but it’s not on me to finish.
The most I can do is hand the pen over to the victims. I’ve shared my part. Now it’s their turn. As for the audience: I hope you’re now ready to start believing.
Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer and barback.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.
Commentary
Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength
Rebuilding life and business after profound struggles
I grew up an overweight, gay Black boy in West Baltimore, so I know what it feels like not to fit into a world that was not really made for you. When I was 18, my mother passed from congestive heart failure, and fitness became a sanctuary for my mental health rather than just a place to build my body. That is the line I open most speeches with when people ask who I am and why I started SWEAT DC.
The truth is that little boy never really left me.
Even now, at 42 years old, standing 6 feet 3 inches and 225 pounds as a fitness business owner, I still carry the fears, judgments, and insecurities of that broken kid. Many of us do. We grow into new seasons of life, but the messages we absorbed when we were young linger and shape the stories we tell ourselves. My lack of confidence growing up pushed me to chase perfection as I aged. So, of course, I ended up in Washington, D.C., which I lovingly call the most perfection obsessed city in the world.
Chances are that if you are reading this, you feel some of that too.
D.C. is a place where your resume walks through the door before you do, where degrees, salaries, and the perfect body feel like unspoken expectations. In the age of social media, the pressure is even louder. We are all scrolling through each other’s highlight reels, comparing our behind the scenes to someone else’s curated moment. And I am not above it. I have posted the perfect photo with the inspirational “God did it again” caption when I am feeling great and then gone completely quiet when life feels heavy. I am guilty of loving being the strong friend while hating to admit that sometimes I am the friend who needs support.
We are all caught in a system that teaches us perfection or nothing at all. But what I know for sure now is this: Perfection is a lie and vulnerability is the new strength.
When I first stepped into leadership, trying to be the perfect CEO, I found Brené Brown’s book, “Daring Greatly” and immediately grabbed onto the idea that vulnerability is strength. I wanted to create a community at SWEAT where people felt safe enough to be real. Staff, members, partners, everyone. “Welcome Home” became our motto for a reason. Our mission is to create a world where everyone feels confident in their skin.
But in my effort to build that world for others, I forgot to build it for myself.
Since launching SWEAT as a pop up fundraiser in 2015, opening our first brick and mortar in 2017, surviving COVID, reemerging and scaling, and now preparing to open our fifth location in Shaw in February 2026, life has been full. Along the way, I went from having a tight trainer six pack to gaining nearly 50 pounds as a stressed out entrepreneur. I lost my father. I underwent hip replacement surgery. I left a relationship that looked fine on paper but was not right. I took on extra jobs to keep the business alive. I battled alcoholism. I faced depression and loneliness. There are more stories than I can fit in one piece.
But the hardest battle was the one in my head. I judged myself for not having the body I once had. I asked myself how I could lead a fitness company if I was not in perfect shape. I asked myself how I could be a gay man in this city and not look the way I used to.
Then came the healing.
A fraternity brother said to me on the phone, “G, you have to forgive yourself.” It stopped me in my tracks. I had never considered forgiving myself. I only knew how to push harder, chase more, and hide the cracks. When we hung up, I cried. That moment opened something in me. I realized I had not neglected my body. I had held my life and my business together the best way I knew how through unimaginable seasons.
I stopped shaming myself for not looking like my past. I started honoring the new ways I had proven I was strong.
So here is what I want to offer anyone who is in that dark space now. Give yourself the same grace you give everyone else. Love yourself through every phase, not just the shiny ones. Recognize growth even when growth simply means you are still here.
When I created SWEAT, I hoped to build a home where people felt worthy just as they are, mostly because I needed that home too. My mission now is to carry that message beyond our walls and into the city I love. To build a STRONGER DC.
Because strength is not perfection. Strength is learning to love an imperfect you.
With love and gratitude, Coach G.
Gerard Burley, also known as Coach G, is a D.C.-based fitness entrepreneur.
Commentary
Elusive safety: what new global data reveals about gender, violence, and erasure
Movements against gender equality, lack of human rights data contributing factors.
“My identity could be revealed, people can say whatever they want [online] without consequences. [Hormone replacement therapy] is illegal here so I’m just waiting to find a way to get out of here.”
-Anonymous respondent to the 2024 F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index from Iraq, self-identified as a transgender woman and lesbian
As the campaign for 16 Days Against Gender-Based Violence begins, it is a reminder that gender-based violence (GBV) — both on– and offline — not only impacts women and girls but everyone who has been harmed or abused because of their gender or perceived gender. New research from the Franklin & Marshall (F&M) Global Barometers and its report A Growing Backlash: Quantifying the Experiences of LGBTQI+ People, 2022-2024 starkly show trends of declining safety among LGBTQI+ persons around the world.
This erosion of safety is accelerated by movements against gender equality and the disappearance of credible human rights data and reporting. The fight against GBV means understanding all people’s lived realities, including those of LGBTQI+ people, alongside the rights we continue to fight for.
We partnered together while at USAID and Franklin & Marshall College to expand the research and evidence base to better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons through the F&M Global Barometers. The collection of barometers tracks the legal rights and lived experiences of LGBTQI+ persons from 204 countries and territories from 2011 to the present. With more than a decade of data, it allows us to see how rights have progressed and receded as well as the gaps between legal protections and lived experiences of discrimination and violence.
This year’s data reveals alarming trends that highlight how fear and violence are, at its root, gendered phenomena that affect anyone who transgresses traditional gender norms.
LGBTQI+ people feel less safe
Nearly two-thirds of countries experienced a decline in their score on the F&M Global Barometers LGBTQI+ Perception Index (GBPI) from 2022-2024. This represents a five percent drop in global safety scores in just two years. With almost 70 percent of countries receiving an “F” grade on the GBPI, this suggests a global crisis in actual human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people.
Backsliding on LGBTQI+ human rights is happening everywhere, even in politically stable, established democracies with human rights protections for LGBTQI+ people. Countries in Western Europe and the Americas experienced the greatest negative GBPI score changes globally, 74 and 67 percent, respectively. Transgender people globally reported the highest likelihood of violence, while trans women and intersex people reported the highest levels of feeling very unsafe or unsafe simply because of who they are.
Taboo of gender equality
Before this current administration dismantled USAID, I helped create an LGBTQI+ inclusive whole-of-government strategy to prevent and respond to GBV that highlighted the unique forms of GBV against LGBTQI+ persons. This included so-called ‘corrective’ rape related to actual or perceived sexual orientation, gender identity, or expression” and so-called ‘conversion’ therapy practices that seek to change or suppress a person’s gender identity or expression, sexual orientation, or sex characteristics. These efforts helped connect the dots in understanding that LGBTQI+ violence is rooted in the same systems of inequality and power imbalances as the broader spectrum of GBV against women and girls.
Losing data and accountability
Data that helps better understand GBV against LGBTQI+ persons is also disappearing. Again, the dismantling of USAID meant a treasure trove of research and reports on LGBTQI+ rights have been lost. Earlier this year, the US Department of State removed LGBTQI+ reporting from its annual Human Rights Reports. These played a critical role in providing credible sources for civil society, researchers, and policymakers to track abuses and advocate for change.
If violence isn’t documented, it’s easier for governments to deny it even exists and harder for us to hold governments accountable. Yet when systems of accountability work, governments and civil society can utilize data in international forums like the UN Universal Periodic Review, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and the Sustainable Development Goals to assess progress and compliance and call for governments to improve protections.
All may not be lost if other countries and donors fill the void by supporting independent data collection and reporting efforts like the F&M Global Barometers and other academic and civil society monitoring. Such efforts are essential to the fight against GBV: The data helps show that the path toward safety, equality, and justice is within our reach if we’re unafraid of truth and visibility of those most marginalized and impacted.
Jay Gilliam (he/him/his) was the Senior LGBTQI+ Coordinator at USAID and is a member of the Global Outreach Advisory Council of the F&M Global Barometers.
Susan Dicklitch-Nelson (she/her/hers) is the founder of the F&M Global Barometers and Professor of Government at Franklin & Marshall College.
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