Today, and for the first time on this blog, I am going to reveal my secret identity. For the sake of consistency I might still use “The Walrus” as a nom-de-plume, but going forward it won’t be a secret anymore. But I do wish to explain why I am doing this, so let’s start with the following background:
A few weeks back I chose to publicly expose the identity of the man who both organized and took the lead in the gang rape I endured last year. A Partner at the notorious anti-labor law firm of Seyfarth Shaw, LLP, the man’s real name is Frederick “Fritz” T. Smith, though before I published his name I had been referring to him on this blog as ‘Batman’ (for reasons that seemed much more important then than they do now).
In the event that you have never been raped yourself, or perhaps just haven’t thought or talked or read enough about rape to really understand what it means to get raped, and also in the interest of full disclosure and transparency, I see it as my civic duty to inform you here that when I say that I was gang raped last year by Frederick “Fritz” T. Smith along with roughly a dozen of my former colleagues at the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company (MetLife), and at least 3 employees of Donald Trump’s so-called “Equal” Employment Opportunity Commission, themselves working under the protective “leadership” of Victoria A. Lipnic, current Acting Chair of the “E”EOC, who not only used to work at SeyFarth Shaw, LLP, like Frederick “Fritz” T. Smith still does today, but who in fact held a pep rally at the offices of Seyfarth Shaw on Feb. 9, 2017, where she reassured Mr. Smith and the rest of her former colleagues that going forward the “E”EOC was going to sidebar “Equality” in favor of “Employment Opportunity” (Ms. Lipnic has stated publicly that she views the “E”EOC as the (merely) “EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITY” Commission, suggesting that although the whole equality thing won’t be forgotten, it will surely be thrown under the bus whenever necessary in order to make sure all the able bodied, neurologically normal white men in the USA have jobs so that they can feed their livestock (cats, dogs, horses, goats, wives, mistresses, girlfriends, and kids) — when I say all of that — I am in fact using gang rape as a metaphor for what I actually endured, which is that my rapists conspired to deprive me of my legal rights as a disabled person (I’m autistic), and as guaranteed by the American’s With Disabilities Act, which is supposed to be enforced by the EEOC, but which almost always is not because most complaints are simply dismissed and returned to the plaintiff with a so-called “Right to sue” letter, which would be more aptly called a “Right to go bankrupt in an expensive court battle, unless the perpetrators were dumb enough to leave sufficient evidence of their criminal behavior” letter.
However, I cannot stress enough that for my part — when viewed from my own subjective perspective — this admittedly real distinction between getting literally gang raped, say, in the traditional prison-shower sense of the word and getting gang raped in some figurative sense is simply not that important. Again, not that important to me — the guy that got raped. Believe me, I do understand that you almost certainly disagree with me on this point, for now at least. And it’s not like I think it makes no difference at all. Clearly it does, if for no other reason than that getting gang raped in a literal, prison-shower sense is also physically dangerous, and indeed I am grateful that my physical body did not need medical attention or to heal afterwards, but at the end of the day rape of any kind — literal, figurative, etc. — is first and foremost a psychological trauma. What these folks put me through (and my family as well, indirectly) was nothing short of a cruel mind-fuck of an experience.
But all of that is a far, far too complicated way to say that which is best put most simply in terms of gang rape — yeah, sure, “in a figurative” sense if it makes you feel better, but just know that it doesn’t do anything for me — you know, the guy who got raped.
Or “thinks he got raped”, whatever.
So, that’s the background. Now, let’s return to the real point of this post, which is basically to simplify my life by telling the Truth about who I am. As you may know, I recently launched a totally new spinnoff project called The Diversity Acceptance Project. One of the basic principles of that project is the idea that when we do what I’m calling (for now) Diversity Acceptance Consulting, we re-purpose or upcycle everything we believe to be somehow broken or wrong about ourselves into a credential for doing our work as Diversity Acceptance Consultants. For example, although I plan to specialize in autism awareness, understanding, and acceptance, I have quite a few other things wrong with me that I want to use for this work as well. Psoriasis is one example (others could be given), but in particular I’d like to make use of the above mentioned gang rape experience in order to raise awareness, understanding, and acceptance of rape survivors. This means that if I want to write about that experience on the blog at diversityacceptanceproject.org I have to figure out some way to do so without revealing my secret identity, and I find I’ve been wasting too much time recently in an effort to figure that out.
So this is me throwing caution to the wind:
My real name is Daniel L. Scholten, and this is what I look like on a good day: