Good afternoon, Mr. Chair, and the committee. It’s a privilege to be here today, and I thank you for this opportunity.
My name is Jennifer Smith, and I am 52 years old. I present here today as an individual, one without rank, without a retired title, medals or other special commendations. I identify solely as a woman veteran, a distinction that's as complex as it is seemingly simple. Since being forced to escape CAF as a necessity of survival, the term “veteran” is a title that I struggle to connect to, or find any pride or honour in.
In 1990, I was just 18 years old. I was healthy, vibrant and had a promising athletic career ahead of me, but I chose to serve my country.
I started regular force basic training with CAF, and I was at CFB Cornwallis. I was one of only seven women in a platoon with nearly 100 men. Sexual harassment by male recruits and instructors was daily, including dehumanizing jokes, sexual gestures and lewd sexual comments. My bras and underwear would be displayed in front of the platoon and run up the flagpole and out the barrack’s windows.
This pattern of sexual harassment persisted through basic training and continued into my Naval QL3 trade training, where I was singled out again as the only female in the group.
During my time in the military, I was repeatedly physically and sexually assaulted, including being raped by a drill instructor at basic training, gang-raped in barracks by other male recruits and sexually assaulted during a dental procedure by the military dentist.
I was a navy “hard sea”—combat—trade recruit. This was at a time when these occupations had just been opened to women, and I was terrorized in that trade. I was never safe, and I had a string of death threats against me because I was a woman.
Prior to my Atlantic fleet posting, I was taken by multiple assailants—all military members—blindfolded, tied up, and forcibly confined for what I believe was three days. I was stripped naked, deprived of sleep, repeatedly raped, sodomized, water boarded and submerged in ice water. During this ordeal, I was repeatedly told that females were not wanted aboard a warship, and that I had better figure out a way to quit the military if I wanted to live. They stuck a bayonet into my chin and told me how they would kill me, saying, “A sailor can slip and fall off the ship during night watch easily and silently.”
I left the military after 13 months for fear for my life. I was given a one-way ticket to my originating city and nothing else—no contacts, no supports, nothing. I had been dumped at an airport and abandoned to navigate a life that had been irreparably altered by the devastating violence I experienced in CAF.
Although over 30 years ago, the brutal attacks, lack of safety and constant psychological abuse have severely impacted all aspects of my life. I have severe and chronic PTSD and depression, chronic and severe pain due to physical injuries, chronic infections, sexual, urinary and reproductive issues, and stomach and bowel conditions.
I am unable to function day-to-day and spend much of my time in my darkened bedroom, severely isolated, and unable to look after even my most basic needs. I have been homeless for extended periods; multiple hospitalizations have impacted being with my children, and I am alone as I am unable to feel safe in a relationship.
Since connecting with VAC five years ago, I have not felt supported, understood or heard by the VAC system. Because I left the CAF in 1991, my pension is the lowest it can be, meaning I have ongoing financial hardship that will worsen as I get older. Because I live alone and have no family or spousal assistance, I do not qualify for benefits such as caregiver allowance or attendant care. When I was homeless, I couldn’t receive many benefits and services because I didn’t have a stable address.
A repetitive pattern with VAC has been to ask for an updated assessment from a nurse or OT, have recommendations made, and then to have no follow-up. Months later, when I ask for the services I need, I am told I need another assessment.
The assessments are very difficult due to my trauma history as each assessor comes into my ever-changing housing arrangement and asks questions about my history, even though the history and numerous assessments have already been completed—VAC has this information.
I have yet to receive support to pay for a personal support worker to help me with basic tasks of life, for example, getting out of my bedroom, eating, and showering. I have been judged as difficult and uncooperative because I don't fit into the boxes that the VAC system expects.
The details of my experience and the extent of the lack of support are difficult to describe in a short speech. I hope that what I have said has an impact.
Based on my experiences I have a few recommendations for VAC that can be addressed later in questions.
Thank you.