Copy of Resignation

 

It’s been a long time coming.

 

A quick introduction: my name is Jarvy Jared, and I’ve been part of Elements of Justice for more than five years. That puts me ahead of 90% of the crew in terms of how long I’ve been here.

 

I began as a simple copy editor, having been brought on board for episode 2 of Case 1, and over the years, have worked my way up to becoming the Team Leader of both the Writers and Musicians. I also was responsible for a good portion of the planning behind Case 3’s story. Among other things, I was known for pushing the story in a more literary direction, emphasizing interiority, tone setting, psychological intrigue, and snappier scene endings. I was also known for bringing the language of novels and poems into the structural and even textual mix, to give our scripts life and substance that went beyond the typical dimensions of an audio drama.

 

The past tense is intentional.

 

Effective upon receiving this document, I am resigning from Elements of Justice. The reasons are long, detailed, and important, and must be shared candidly.

 

What I want to share first is, admittedly, not as wholly relevant to that decision as what I'll get into later. However, by its nature, I believe it’s important to share regardless.

 

While I’ve considered the idea of leaving EoJ before in the past, the events of this past August 2024 brought me the closest to that point. For those unaware, Aljavis chose to post a follow-up document concerning his state of being a year after his termination. I will not quote it here. But in essence, it was a document that caused me to suffer a huge emotional setback, as it downplayed his actions in a way deemed wholly irresponsible. That he posted it with no discretion or consideration for those who had been involved with the decision to remove him was further evidence of a negligent mindset, and I was furious with what he said.

 

Later on, I did confront him about the document, and he did end up posting a second document reflecting on that decision and acknowledging his behavior as harmful. I give him full credit for that. But, for him to write that, and for us to have a productive conversation, and for me to explain why I felt so angry, I was forced to admit something that I am only now coming to terms with.

 

I am a survivor of child sexual abuse.

 

I will not, and need not, get into any specifics beyond that, as I hope it can be easily inferred why I might personally be more incensed than others, and why I understood that his removal was necessary in the first place.

 

August 2024 was also when Mr. G hosted a livestream about the future of EoJ. I watched the premiere and was caught off-guard by something we hadn’t seen before: a barrage of trolls and harassers commenting disparaging remarks about various members, including me. More importantly, they spoke with information that could only have come from inside EoJ.

 

I later learned that another member of the team had discovered a 4chan thread a few days prior talking about EoJ from the perspective of someone who is on the production. In such a thread, said person wrote negatively about us and especially about the decision to remove Aljavis. Among other disconcerting things, he spoke misogynistically about female members and homophobically about me and my decision to include gay characters in the production.

 

These statements, combined with my experiences surviving sexual abuse, very nearly pushed me to the edge.

 

It didn’t take us long to figure out who this person was. It was Connor. It would appear that those who came to the stream had used both the information in that thread and in the document Aljavis wrote to harass and target us. Predictably, the thread no longer exists, as it’s been deleted. Denial of its existence would be the most natural response, and regrettably I have no screenshots of it. The only evidence is my testimony and the testimony of others who came to know about it.

 

Naturally, questions were brought up about how to respond. I myself raised the matter following the change in directorship, speaking with the new director.

 

However, I was unsure how best to proceed. Against my better judgment, I instead told the new director that I did not want to pursue any punishment at the time. I simply opted for avoiding Connor, in the hopes that by ignoring him, he would be rendered harmless. The reason I did this was because I was tired, and didn’t want to stir the pot, as it were, even as my gut told me that letting this issue go unaddressed would simply make me miserable.

 

After I made that decision, though, I heavily considered leaving. I felt like I was on the brink of compromising something about myself and my sense of place in this production. I thought about the remarks he’d made, not just about me, but about those I care about, and wondered how I’d be able to look any of them in the eye, if I did not rise to the occasion to defend them.

 

In the end, what kept me from leaving then was that, quite plainly, I wasn’t done writing yet. The writers and I had been working non-stop before and during the hiatus, and with our efforts, we had, at the time of the stream, gotten up to episode 11 of Case 3. We had two more to go. I wanted to finish writing them. I wanted to finish the damn case, like I promised I would.

 

And we have. At time of writing, Case 3 really is complete. It is a mark of accomplishment: at 215,000+ words, it dwarfs Case 2’s word count considerably. That we managed to write it in just a little over a year speaks to the writing team’s ability and endurance, for which I am forever grateful.

 

But I am still resigning. In large part, that is because Connor has now been promoted to a Team Leader position. That looks to me like rewarding bad behavior, and no matter how one may slice it—whether it’s an interim position, a temporary one, or one that has no real sway—it’s impossible to ignore the feeling of being complicit with something I could not justify.

 

For the weeks following that promotion, I struggled with trying to determine if I wanted to raise the issue publicly. I was unsure, surprisingly, of my own ground, if I had a foundation on which to air my grievances. I even considered giving an ultimatum: either Connor goes, or I go. But, in the end, I realized I couldn’t give one; it would be ineffective at best. If I had to essentially hold my continued presence hostage to justify staying on the production, then whatever situation I was in that made me feel that way couldn’t be healthy. I also realized that if, in order for me to remain, I must compromise my principles to the point of no recognition, then I had already stepped too far into the dark.

 

A man’s conscience is the one thing that stands above majority rule. His principles are important to him and his sense of worth. To ignore these is to ignore one’s self, which is tantamount to betrayal. Consequently, I tried one more time: I brought up the question of Connor’s removal to the director, citing my feelings and the testimonies of others, and was again informed that the director and production needed Connor far too much. This settled the matter and put my conscience at ease, because at least now I knew I had rectified my earlier mistake of keeping quiet. I’d made it clear what my stance was, and had appealed as best I could.

 

But: If my comfort and safety can’t be accommodated for, because the person compromising them is too important to be removed, then it follows that I am worth less than this person—in the eyes of the production and what it needs.

 

There are few colder, lonelier cruelties than that—but that, I suppose, is reality. Yet I maintain the notion that there are more important things than one person’s work ability. There are things more important than one audio drama production. I wish that the production also believed that, but it would appear there is a disconnect between that and me.

 

***

 

A year ago, I was told that we can only be better people if we hold each other accountable for our actions. I had believed in that, truly. Justice comes from taking accountability and even demanding it when it would otherwise go ignored.

 

This decision to promote Connor, along with many other factors, flies in the face of that belief. I am disheartened by how it appears EoJ no longer aligns with, nor respects, my core values. Equally I am disheartened by how I also chose to not respect myself, because of how I neglected my own needs in favor of the production and what it needed—in this way, I am holding myself accountable.

 

I've had enough of fighting, and I’ve given this production more than it has given me. The only way out is out.

 

Subsequently I am left wondering what will happen, if anything, following my departure. I would like to think in my time here that I’ve left a positive impact on not just the production, but the people part of it; thus, that in leaving, proof of my existence and the ways in which I've mattered may manifest naturally out of old and cherished bonds. But this is a fragile speculation, thwarted by the present circumstances driving me out. Will any of what I say here hold any significance? Did any of what I did say ever? The one who walks away does not always have the luxury of looking back at their trailing footfalls. Even if they did, I suspect, with signature poetic leanings, that theirs are more likely to fade into the evening dust until little else but the shadowy memory of what was and what could have been remains.

 

We do not become better people by ignoring problematic individuals. Cancer doesn’t go away if you simply don’t look at it. To crib from a wiser writer than me: “In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.” I did, at least, by entertaining the notion that I could live out this situation with my conscience intact. I won’t fail again.

 

We must be better—we have to be—but it’s clear that this isn’t the place for that. And staying here isn’t worth the ignobility of resigning myself to such a depressing and soul-crushing position; it isn’t worth knowing how, here, in this place, I am less than my detractors.

 

Human dignity is worth more than that.

 

I am worth more than that.

 

This is also why I’ve decided to make this letter public and not keep it between upper management. You all deserve the truth, even if it’s painful. You deserve to know what matters to me and why it matters that I’m leaving. There are issues with this production that cannot be allowed to fester in the dark. They must be brought out and interrogated. Justice only exists if we are vigilant enough to pursue it, even if it’s too late to achieve it for some. Perhaps, in writing this, I am simply hoping for what every survivor does: that what happened to me does not happen to anyone else.

 

Better to leave now, cut a new trail, set out for journeys unknown, than to dare wonder if such a hope is even possible; better that, than to stay and risk seeing how it may not. And I think it’s better for me to bow out now, with some of my dignity intact, than to remain a moment longer.

 

***

 

Still, there are some good things. I would be remiss not to mention them.

 

I am immensely proud of the work I put in, and I do not think it is wholly arrogant of me to suggest that it is largely due to my efforts as Team Leader of the Writers and Musicians that a large part of the pre-production work got done. I regard the former position with some fondness. Three years ago, it single-handedly nearly destroyed the production, and I am proud to finally be able to say that that isn’t the case—it is self-sufficient as a team and very much a capable one, too. That was one of my main goals when I took over: to fix the writing team and get it to a point where I could comfortably stand back.

 

With regards to the musicians, it’s been an honor to work alongside such talents as JoinedTheHerd and Jyc Row. I’ve learned a lot, and even though I’d never think I’m particularly any good, I would like to think that I’ve certainly improved.

 

I’ve made friends and even kept a good number, much to my surprise. Admittedly when I first joined EoJ, I did not think I would make any friends; I thought this was just going to be a few months’ commitment. To have lasted, then, more than five years here, and to have made friends in spite of it, is a welcome, unexpected development.

 

And ultimately, my grievances and grief aside, I want EoJ to succeed. I’ve ironically put too much of myself into it for me to want otherwise. The work I’ve done for it, at the very least, can exist outside of my sorrows; I believe it is still good work, and thus, hope the best for it.

 

So there have been some good memories. But equally there have been some bad ones. Such is life. A long time ago, someone shared the idea that there aren’t really good or bad days; there are just days, and ups and downs may or may not come. To an extent, I’ve held that belief more consistently than others, as it’s helped me weather many a storm. I suspect it may help me weather whatever comes next.

 

Another thing has also kept me grounded: “True courage is knowing you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway, and you see things through no matter what.” Perhaps my end began this past August, or perhaps it began much earlier, and I was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up. Either way, I believe there is courage in admitting defeat. There may even be some grace in it, in saying, “I’ve had enough,” and meaning it.

 

Goodbye, Elements of Justice.

 

Jarvy Jared