Here’s How to Start Fixing Our Culture of Sexual Assault

​This post originally appeared in VICE Canada​

​​As public discourse regarding ​Jian Ghomeshi in particular and sexual assault in general has progressed over the past few weeks, the questions being asked are slowly evolving. At first, in the initial flush of support for Ghomeshi, people snidely wondered aloud why a woman (or, in this case, multiple women) would choose to disclose an alleged sexual assault to the media instead of going to the police. Along the same line of reasoning, people also questioned why a woman bringing forth allegations of sexual assault would want to remain anonymous (the implication, of course, being that a desire for anonymity must means that a person is lying or has something to hide). And then, as more and more women came forward with allegations, with several of them going on the record and allowing the media to publish their names, the discourse started to change.

Instead of asking what kind of woman would anonymously accuse a man of abuse and sexual assault through a major media outlet, people began asking why women don't report it when they're sexually assaulted.

In response to that question, statistics about sexual assault, compiled and published in reader-friendly infographics, have been shared widely on social media over the past three weeks. One popula​r gr​aph, created by the YWCA, shows that out of every 1,000 sexual assaults in Canada only 33 are reported to the police, and out of those only six are prosecuted, and then only three result in any kind of conviction. The unbelievably low ratio of convictions versus number of assaults, coupled with the fact that survivors face cross-examination from lawyers who, like Ghomeshi's lawyer Marie Henein, are known for their ability to "find a person's d​eepest frailties and exploit th​em," makes it easy to understand why a hashtag like #beenrapedneverreported gutted Twitter like a house fire. There are so many survivors of sexual assault who have chosen not to report, mainly because the cost-benefit analysis of reporting sexual assault tips heavily towards the cost side of the equation. There are many costs to reporting sexual assault—it can cost a woman her job, her friends, her privacy. The benefits, unfortunately, are slim to nonexistent.

In light of all this, the tone of the public discussion about sexual assault is changing once again. Instead of wondering why women choose not to report, many people are instead asking how. How do we ameliorate things for survivors of sexual assault? What needs to be changed in order to make reporting sexual assaults an easier and safer process?

What has been equal parts funny, disheartening, and infuriating is that many people seem to believe that there's some kind of quick fix to this situation. Funny, because the idea that just switching up police procedure will solve this enormous problem is completely absurd. Disheartening, because so many people honestly believe that the issue is mainly institutional responses to rape and sexual assault, and not a system of deeply ingrained behaviors, thoughts, and beliefs that affect almost every aspect of our society—thoughts and beliefs like those, for example, that lead to the Toronto Star's recent c​artoon implying that women experience harassment and sexual assault because of their willingness to "take crap," as if these things happen because women don't fight back hard enough. These thoughts and beliefs have created a society that places the responsibility on women not to get raped instead of t​elling men not to rape. This is the same society where many people, especially men, are in deep den​ial about how normalized rape is; the same society where narratives that celebrate and even fetishize lack of consent are a mainstay of our popular cultu​re. All of this is infuriating not just because of all of the reasons above, but because whenever a woman tries to speak up about our culture's problem with rape, she's shouted down, intimidated, and finally often threatened into sile​nce.

Creating an environment where women feel safe disclosing the fact that they've been raped and are not afraid to name and report their rapists is something that needs to happen from the ground up. It's not just the justice system that has to ameliorate how they treat sexual assault survivors; everyone needs to examine and shift their beliefs surrounding rape and sexual assault.

"The first and most important step," says Lynne Jenkins, Director of Counselling Services at Toronto's Barbra Schlifer Commemorative Clinic, "is believing women when they choose to disclose that they've been assaulted. Validate the survivor's feelings, and make it clear by what you say and how you speak that you believe that she is not to blame. Disbelieving or questioning a survivor's story adds a secondary trauma to what they've already experienced; minimizing what they've gone through is equally harmful."

According to Jenkins, in order to implement any kind of change regarding how sexual assault is handled both in terms of public discourse and institutional response, we need to begin having a much broader and more in-depth conversation about rape and consent and all of the dangerous myths that exist about those subjects. One of the most prominent of these myths, which Ghomeshi tried to use in his initial defense, is what Jenkins calls the "Hell Hath No Fury myth," which she explains is the idea that "when women are jilted or scorned, they make up stories or misrepresent facts." We see this myth play out in the way that our culture talks about false rape accusations, the percentage of which is no higher than false reports of other types of crime—a meager​ 2 to 4 percent. Combatting persistent cultural ideas about rape like this one will likely prove to be the most challenging part of changing how our society views and treats survivors of sexual assault.

What we need is a huge sea change in what Jenkins calls "the attitudes, values, and beliefs that continue to create a culture where women are not believed." While public education campaigns can be useful, they are still ultimately limited in how much they can accomplish—a few posters and a neat hashtag won't change the fact that, as in the case of Ghomeshi, our society's knee-jerk reaction is always to blame or disbelieve the victim. Education about rape culture needs to start when children are young, beginning with age-appropriate discussions about consent and boundaries. We need to rethink everything we teach kids about sex, from the ways we continue to perpetuate the age-old lie that girls like to play hard to get right up to the still pervasive and very flawed idea that if she doesn't say no, it's not rape. We need to teach boys that, in spite of the Hollywood tropes they've absorbed, rejection doesn't mean that they should pursue the person harder until they say yes. We need to start explaining to children that consent is an ongoing conversation, not a one-time statement of yes or no; we need to emphasize that a partner needs to obtain an enthusiastic "yes" and not just a lack-of-no before going ahead with any kind of sex act. A woman might never have said "no" to being struck across the face and then choked until she was nearly unconscious, but her silence doesn't imply a "yes."

We need to raze almost every cultural belief that we have about sex, women, and rape and create an entirely new foundation from scratch.

All of this sounds daunting, but it's the only way to create real change on a systemic level. We don't just need to want this change; we need to admit that it's both urgent and necessary. I'm hopeful that the public discussion surrounding Ghomeshi and sexual assault is enough to make people sincerely believe in our ability to grow and evolve as a culture; I hope that it has been shocking enough to convince people of how very much that evolution is needed. Like Denise Balkissoon, I'm not convinced that we've hit a watershed moment in the f​ight against rape and sexual assault; but I'm optimistic enough to think that maybe a seed has been planted. And I think that if we nurture that seed, if we work hard to make sure that it has an environment in which it can grow, then maybe change will start to happen.

To borrow a Churchillism, I don't think that anyone can say that this marks the end, or even the beginning of the end of violence against women. But maybe it could be the end of the beginning, if we're willing to see it through.

Follow Anne Thériault on ​Twitter.