Consent matters, but so does what happens after sexual violence is reported. Why Australia’s justice system must become safer, fairer and more survivor-centred.
There is something deeply uncomfortable about the way we talk about consent.
We teach young people to understand it.
We tell adults that consent must be freely given, informed and ongoing.
We talk about the importance of respecting a “no”.
We tell people that silence is not consent. That intoxication does not equal consent. That changing your mind is allowed. That being in a relationship does not create an automatic entitlement to someone else’s body.
All of this matters.
But there is another part of the consent conversation we don't talk about nearly enough.
What happens when consent is violated, and the person who has been harmed decides to report it?
Because that is where the neat simplicity of the consent conversation collides with a complicated, imperfect and often deeply intimidating justice system.
And for some survivors, the system that is supposed to provide justice can become another source of harm.
Consent should not be complicated
At its heart, consent is actually quite simple.
A person has the right to decide what happens to their body.
They have the right to say yes.
They have the right to say no.
They have the right to change their mind.
They have the right to establish conditions around what they are and aren't comfortable with.
And they don't lose those rights because they have previously had sex with someone.
They don't lose them because they are married.
They don't lose them because they went on a date.
They don't lose them because they flirted.
They don't lose them because they initially said yes.
They don't lose them because they became intoxicated.
And they certainly don't lose them because someone else believes they are entitled to sexual access to them.
Consent is not a contract signed once.
It is not implied by clothing.
It is not guaranteed by a relationship.
It is not something someone owes another person.
And it isn't something that can be assumed.
Australian law has increasingly recognised the importance of these principles. In Tasmania, for example, the law specifically recognises stealthing as rape where a person deliberately removes, damages or fails to use a condom contrary to the other person's wishes.
But changing the law is only one part of the equation.
The real test is what happens when someone needs that law to protect them.
The justice system is supposed to be the safety net
We often talk about the justice system as though it is a straight line.
Something happens.
A person reports it.
Police investigate.
Charges are laid.
The matter goes to court.
A decision is made.
Justice is delivered.
For sexual violence, the reality can be very different.
The Australian Law Reform Commission's 2025 inquiry into justice responses to sexual violence found that fewer than one in ten incidents of sexual violence are reported to police.
And of those that are reported, the attrition can be enormous.
The ALRC (Australian Law Reform Commission) found that in at least some Australian jurisdictions, between 75 and 85 per cent of reports to police do not proceed to charge. It also found that many people who do engage with the justice system experience it as retraumatising.
Those figures should stop us in our tracks.
Because every number represents a human being.
A person who may have spent weeks, months or years trying to decide whether they could tell anyone.
A person who may have battled shame.
Fear.
Self-blame.
Confusion.
Fear of not being believed.
Fear of what the perpetrator might do.
Fear of what family and friends might think.
Fear of having their private life examined.
Fear of being questioned about what they were wearing, drinking, doing or saying.
And then, finally, they may reach the point where they say:
“This happened to me. I want to report it.”
That should be the moment when the system becomes safer.
Instead, it can become another hurdle.
When the process becomes another trauma
The justice system has obligations that cannot simply be removed because an allegation is serious.
People accused of crimes have rights.
There must be due process.
There must be a fair trial.
Evidence must be tested.
The presumption of innocence matters.
None of those principles need to be sacrificed to create a justice system that treats survivors with dignity.
In fact, the Australian Law Reform Commission explicitly recognised that reforms can be made to improve the experience of people who have experienced sexual violence without compromising the fundamental rights of an accused person to a fair trial.
This is important because the conversation is sometimes framed as though we have to choose.
We don't.
We can protect the rights of an accused person and protect the dignity of the person making the complaint.
We can demand rigorous investigations and trauma-informed practice.
We can challenge evidence without humiliating people.
We can test a person's account without relying on outdated myths about how a “real” victim behaves.
Because trauma does not always look the way society expects it to look.
A survivor may freeze.
They may dissociate.
They may continue communicating with the person who harmed them.
They may delay reporting.
They may remember some details clearly and others less clearly.
They may not fight back.
They may have initially consented to sexual activity and then withdrawn that consent.
They may have been intoxicated.
They may return to the relationship.
None of these things, on their own, establish consent.
And none should be used as shortcuts to dismissing someone's experience.
“None of these things, on their own, establish consent. And none should be used as shortcuts to dismissing someone's experience.”
The system has acknowledged the problem
This isn't simply an argument being made by advocates.
Australia's own law reform body has identified the problem.
The ALRC's Safe, Informed, Supported: Reforming Justice Responses to Sexual Violence report made 64 recommendations following a year-long inquiry that included 220 submissions and 126 consultations involving more than 384 people.
The report's conclusion was stark.
The justice system is failing to meet its twin goals of access to justice and accountability.
That matters enormously.
Because if people don't feel safe enough to report, the system cannot properly investigate.
If cases aren't investigated properly, perpetrators may not be held accountable.
If survivors expect to be disbelieved, judged or retraumatised, they may choose not to engage.
And when people don't engage, the system can mistakenly interpret silence as evidence that sexual violence isn't happening at the scale it actually is.
It becomes a vicious circle.
Under-reporting contributes to under-recognition.
Under-recognition contributes to inadequate responses.
Inadequate responses contribute to mistrust.
Mistrust contributes to further under-reporting.
And the cycle continues.
The ALRC identified retraumatisation itself as one of the significant barriers preventing people from engaging with the justice system. It recommended better trauma education for police, prosecutors, lawyers and judges, stronger safeguards around questioning, action to challenge myths about sexual violence and greater support for complainants navigating the system.
These aren't radical demands.
They're basic requirements for a system that claims to provide justice.
A survivor should not need to become an expert in the system
Imagine being sexually assaulted and then being expected to understand police processes, evidence requirements, prosecution decisions, court procedures and your legal rights while you're trying to survive the aftermath.
That isn't reasonable.
Yet this is one of the reasons the ALRC recommended what it calls Safe, Informed and Supported Services.
Those recommendations include free and confidential legal advice, justice system navigators and safe places where people can disclose sexual violence to trauma-informed professionals and receive support.
That idea matters because navigating the justice system should not become another burden placed on the person who has already been harmed.
And there is movement in this direction.
In May 2026, the Australian Government announced that specialised and trauma-informed sexual violence legal services had reached national rollout, with services designed to help victim-survivors understand their legal options and navigate the justice system.
Only days ago, further justice system navigator funding was announced in New South Wales, providing specialist workers to help victim-survivors make informed decisions, navigate the justice process and connect with legal and other support services.
These are positive steps.
But they also tell us something important.
The system knows it needs fixing.
Consent education cannot stop at “just say no”
We need to teach consent.
Absolutely.
But consent education cannot be reduced to telling young people to communicate better.
It cannot become another way of placing responsibility on potential victims to prevent their own assault.
“Be careful.”
“Don't drink too much.”
“Don't go home with someone you don't know.”
“Make sure you tell them no.”
These messages may be offered as safety advice, but they can subtly reinforce the idea that preventing sexual violence is primarily the responsibility of the person who might experience it.
It isn't.
The responsibility belongs with the person choosing to cross another person's boundaries.
We need to teach people how to recognise consent.
How to ask.
How to listen.
How to stop.
How to accept rejection.
How to understand that another person's body is not theirs to access simply because they want to.
And then we need a justice system that reflects those same principles.
Because consent doesn't stop mattering after an assault.
It should shape the way survivors are treated afterwards.
We need a system people can trust
A justice system cannot fulfil its purpose if the people it is designed to serve don't trust it.
That doesn't mean every allegation should result in a conviction.
It means every person who reports sexual violence should be treated with dignity.
It means investigations should be thorough.
It means decisions should be accountable.
It means myths should not substitute for evidence.
It means trauma should be understood rather than weaponised against survivors.
It means people should understand their options.
It means privacy should matter.
It means survivors should not have to navigate an incredibly complex system alone.
And it means reform cannot end with a report being tabled in Parliament.
The ALRC's implementation page currently lists its sexual violence justice report as “awaiting response.”
That should concern all of us.
Because recommendations are not reform.
Reports are not reform.
Announcements are not reform.
Implementation is reform.
If we are serious about ending sexual violence, we have to be serious about what happens after someone says, “This happened to me.”
Safety from violence is a right
This is why the conversation about consent needs to become bigger.
Consent is not merely a lesson we teach children.
It is not a slogan.
It is not a checkbox.
It is a fundamental expression of bodily autonomy and human dignity.
And when that right is violated, the person who has been harmed should not then have to fight their way through a system that leaves them feeling unheard, unsupported or unsafe.
We can build something better.
A system where survivors are informed rather than confused.
Supported rather than isolated.
Heard rather than dismissed.
Protected rather than retraumatised.
A system that holds people who use sexual violence accountable while protecting the fundamental rights of everyone involved.
A system that understands that trauma does not follow a script.
A system that recognises that justice is not simply about what happens in a courtroom.
Justice begins much earlier.
It begins with whether someone feels safe enough to speak.
It continues with whether they are believed enough to be properly heard.
It continues with whether their report is properly investigated.
And it continues with whether the system treats them as a human being rather than simply another case file.
We should not have to choose between justice and safety.
We should expect both.
Because safety from violence is a right.
And so is justice.
