We Spoke to Three Survivors of Sexual Abuse from the Canadian Army Cadets

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​via Face​book.​

Following the disclosure of hundreds of pages of documents detailing sexual misconduct in the Canadian Forces cadet program, VICE reached out to survivors of the abuse to get their perspective on the program.

Because all participants in the cadet program are under under 18, their names are always withheld from court proceeds. That means virtually none of the cadets who faced abuse in the program have come forward publicly.

The two ex-cadets were put in contact with VICE by a source who wishes to remain nameless.

"I actually debated with myself whether to snap his neck. Just kill the serpent."

Ryan came forward to VICE while we were in the process of reporting on a trove of troubling documents that pertain to the Cadets' issue with​ sexual abuse. His story began in 2008, when Daniel Moriarty, then a Deputy Commander at a British Columbia cadet camp, began making advances. Ryan was 12 at the time.

"He took a very big liking to me," Ryan says.

Ryan is a pseudonym. His name was protected in Moriarty's eventual court martial, and he wants to keep it that way.

"He came across, first, as an officer that you could confide in," Ryan says of the then 24 year-old staffer at the cadet camp. Ryan calls him a "brotherly figure."

He says that Moriarty was well-liked on the base. He had all the trappings of a rising star in the Forces.

"Whenever you said 'Captain Moriarty,' everybody said: 'Oh, him, what a great individual.' And, yeah, he was. In the beginning," Ryan explains. "The more I talked to him about things, the more he wanted to know about me. He wanted to know what gender I cheered for. He wanted to know if I was gay. The length of my penis. The girth. The questions got more deep in that field. It made me more and more uneasy."

Once Ryan realized that things weren't right, he thought about telling someone. He stopped himself. "I'm not going to do that," Ryan thought. "They're not going to believe me."

It took four years—and a violent altercation with an aggressive Moriarty—before Ryan came forward.

Ryan was in a supply cage by himself. Moriarty approach from behind and grabbed his inner thigh. Ryan pushed him. They scuffled. Ryan—smaller than Moriarty, but not by much—put his attacker in a headlock.

"I actually debated with myself whether to snap his neck, just to kill the serpent," Ryan says.

He let Moriarty go, and opened up about everything a few months later, just before his 16th birthday.

It was only then, in the ensuing investigation by the base's military police, that Ryan found that he wasn't alone. There were others, possibly many others, who had similar experiences.

Ryan spent weeks detailing the assault to the military police and, when they later decided the matter was too sensitive, the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service. He, and another female cadet, had proof of the text messages, instant message conversations and emails that Moriarty had sent.

Moriarty was arrested based on Ryan and the female cadet's complaints—the other cadets didn't have enough proof of his harassment.

"After he was arrested, he was allowed to continuously work at the cadet headquarters in Esquimalt," says Ryan.

"I was pissed."

Moriarty faced two charges of sexual exploitation, one charge of invitation for touching, and a fourth charge of sexual assault. He was found g​uilty on all counts by a military tribunal and sentenced to a year in pris​on.

He served 48 days, before being released pending appeal.

"He had no remorse," says Ryan. "No remorse at all. He just sat there, grinning like an idiot."

The whole ordeal took its tole on Ryan. He attempted suicide twice, but has recently started getting psychiatric help—something, he says, that was never offered to him after he came forward to the cadet program. Ryan says the Forces failed in that regard.

Ryan wouldn't say, however, that all of the cadet program is to blame. He says other officers had approached him during that four years.

"They had a feeling that he was doing something, but they couldn't pinpoint it because they didn't have any evidence," he says.

"He ruined four-and-a-half years of my early teenage years."

Moriarty is now appealing to have his case reheard in a civilian court. Since he's been out, Ryan says he's heard "through the grapevine" that Moriarty is trying to get jobs using his middle name.

"I'm making them accountable."

Jill is obviously nervous. She's taking long pauses between sentences, laughing awkwardly after finishing her sentences.

"I met Dan when I was 13…"

Jill was Captain Moriarity's other victim. She and Ryan were the ones to initially come forward. Like Ryan, her name is protected by a publication ban.

Her story is a bit different. When she was a cadet, Moriarty had reached out to her online. They began talking, and the captain drove the conversation in a sexual direction. He would send images. He told her that they were dating. He was 21 at the time. The relationship continued, on-and-off, and became physical when Jill turned 16.

While 16 is the age of consent, the process through which Moriarty brought Jill into the relationship is commonly referred to as 'grooming.' It's a method through which an adult, usually in a position of authority, slowly establishes a sexualized relationship with a minor. The minor, thinking it's normal, gets drawn into a physical relationship. It's a form of brainwashing.

That's exactly what Jill says happened.

"Until I was 17, it didn't click in my head that it was a terrible thing," Jill says. "It seemed like a natural progression."

Before that click happened, Jill was making plans to, when she turned 19, move out and live with Moriarty.

It came crashing down when Ryan approached her with his story. Together, they discovered that there were 20 cadets, possibly more, who say they were approached by Moriarty. Ryan says there was at least four who had been abused in the same manner as he and Jill, though that has never been proven in court.

"I saw the pain that Dan was causing someone. And that there was many other cadets," Jill says. She still calls Moriarty, 'Dan.'

"That's when it gets kind of personal. When I reported him, I was in love with him," she says.

But she pressed forward.

Her victim impact statement—a letter written by the victim to help inform the judge's decision in sentencing—gives some insight into what Jill went through in the years after exposing Moriarty.

Extreme depression, anxiety, as well as physical symptoms all plagued Jill's, and hobbled her ability to retain work, meet friends, and live an otherwise normal life. She tried to return to the cadet program twice, as a staff sergeant—in an effort to work with kids and give them the opportunity that she never had.

"Sometimes I didn't want to exist anymore," the letter reads. "Every single day I was reminded of the incidents, and some days there was not a single place I could go on base where I felt mentally safe."

Recently, Jill has made it her mission to fix the problem. She's suing the federal government.

"They failed me," she says.

Her case is a compelling one. In a statement of claim provided to VICE, she and her lawyer are arguing that the Canadian Forces failed to adequately supervise Moriarty, and that it "provided no specialized testing and no psychological screening before placing Captain Moriarity in charge of children."

The claim continues, that the government "provided no proactive disclosure to cadets or their parents that the cadet programme has an extensive history of sexual abuse, including an extensive recent history of such incidents."

She's asking for $1.2 million, mostly because she's been virtually unable to keep a steady job, but she says this case isn't about money.

"I'm making them accountable," she says. "Currently there's a mentality, it's why I'm doing this, it's a mentality that we're doing all we can to protect youth. That they're just bad apples."

She says that's wrong.

If the Forces were serious about addressing the sexual abuse problems in the cadet program, she says they would institute improved education for cadets and their parents about the problem. She says they should also install an external reporting mechanism, to ensure that cadets who find themselves a victim of a commanding officer don't have to go through the impossible scenario of having their allegations sent up the chain of command to their abuser.

She underlines that the Forces have to be active on this, as the cadet program—with its legions of teenagers coming from troubled homes—is a prime environment for abuse.

VICE asked Jill if the abuse is more common then people would expect.

"Hell yes."

"Back in those days, you just didn't tell anybody about that crap."

VICE spoke to Bobbie Bees, who says he was subject to sexual assault during his time in the cadets.

Bees says that during his two years in the cadets, starting in 1984, he was regularly assaulted by one of the commissionaires on the base — a private contractor who still falls under the jurisdiction of the Department of Defence, while working on-base.

"He was a little friendly with the boys," he told VICE. "I know for a fact that he was going after at least two or three other cadets."

Bees never reported what happened to him. "Back in those days, you just didn't tell anybody about that crap."

"You just keep your mouth shut."

But he says the problem wasn't just with a lack of reporting—he says the Forces failed to investigate. Bees accuses the Canadian Forces of willful ignorance of the problem, just like, as Maclean's Magazine fastidiously reported, their ongoing problem with sexual assault against female service-me​mbers on bases at home and abroad.

Maclean's discovered that 10 percent of sexual assault complaints originate from the cadet program.

"There was a reluctance to do anything, because it would go against morale—the esprit du corps."

Bees points out that, for decades, the Forces had the prerogative to handle all crimes—except murder, manslaughter and rape — in-house.

Up until 1984, until 'rape' was altered to 'sexual assault' in the Criminal Code, males couldn't be victims of rape.

Bees says the nature of who enters—or is forced to enter—the cadet program exacerbates this problem.

"A lot of cadets were in the program because they came from dysfunctional homes," he says.

In other words: some of the more emotionally vulnerable, and, in the eyes of investigators, less trustworthy. Especially when making accusations against staff of the Canadian Forces.

Taking action

The military says it's stepping up to address the issue.

The ombudsman for the Forces is reportedly considering a full-scale investigation of sexual assault in the military.

VICE requested an interview with Minister of Defence Rob Nicholson on the matter. The request was refused, but his office did provided a statement, reading:

"Since 2006, our Government has continuously fought on behalf of victims and enhanced the laws in this country to combat sexual assault. The Canadian Armed Forces take the issue of sexual assault and sexual harassment very seriously. All allegations reported to the Military Police are investigated. Where appropriate, charges are laid and individuals are prosecuted. Sexual misconduct will not be tolerated within the Canadian Armed Forces."

But, as the anonymous whisteblower who came forward to VICE notes:

"Cadets Canada refuses to conduct a public, external audit of its sexual abuse procedures and history."

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​​@justin_ling