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On Sunday night, a CBC radio host announced that he’d been fired. Then the Internet exploded.

Jian Ghomeshi had been the host of Q — one of the most popular radio shows on CBC — for eight years. On Sunday night, Ghomeshi stated in a post made to Facebook that a “jilted ex girlfriend” had led “a campaign of harassment, vengeance and demonization” against him.

According to Ghomeshi, this ex-girlfriend was alleging that he had abused her. Ghomeshi maintained that no such abuse had occurred. Instead, Ghomeshi said they engaged in consensual “rough sex” that involved “role-play, dominance and submission.”

Ghomeshi’s post sounded like someone trying to get ahead of a PR disaster. It was no surprise, then, when the Toronto Star dropped its own bombshell. Three women interviewed by the Star claim that Ghomeshi had physically assaulted them before and during sex; a fourth woman, formerly employed by the CBC, said Ghomeshi groped her in the Q studio and told her he wanted to “hate f—“ her.

It wasn’t long before #jianghomeshi was trending on Twitter, with fans and supporters declaring themselves members of #teamjian.

Since the story broke, I’ve seen the same tired complaints that pop up every time a popular male public figure is accused of sexual assault or harassment: The women should have gone to the police rather than the media; their choice to stay anonymous is a nefarious attempt to avoid accountability; they must be lying, or crazy, or both.

And now we need to step back, because this isn’t just about one CBC radio host getting fired. This is about how we react, as individuals and as a country, when victims of sexual assault try to come forward with their stories.

First off, no matter what you might believe after seeing Gone Girl, false allegations of sexual assault are no more common than false reports of any other crime. That should be obvious to anyone with common sense, given how often victims of sexual assault are stigmatized, or blamed outright, for the crimes they’ve suffered.

In fact, sexual assault is badly underreported. Fewer than 10 per cent of sexual assault victims report the crimes committed against them to police. They believe the police can’t or won’t do anything to help – and sadly, they may be right. Of the cases that are reported, only half lead to charges being laid; of those charges laid, only one in four lead to convictions. Ninety-eight per cent of those convictions are for the lowest level of sexual assault. Even vicious and violent assaults can result in conditional sentences only a few months long.

Most victims of sexual assault also fear being dismissed or blamed if they go to the police. And some victims have experienced even worse at the hands of police. Human Rights Watch released a report last year detailing the abuses suffered by aboriginal women and girls at the hands of police. In too many cases, victims are abused all over again by the very people who should be offering them protection.

So victims of sexual violence feel like they can’t trust the police, and they clearly can’t trust the public. Can they at least trust that the government has their backs? You’d think so, with a government that loves to tout its tough-on-crime agenda. And you’d be wrong.

In the Ghomeshi story, the Star reported that the women involved refused to go public because they feared retaliation online. Such a fear is well-justified. Carla Ciccone wrote a piece last year about the sexual harassment she claims she suffered during a date with an unnamed Canadian radio host.

Compared to the current allegations against Ghomeshi, Ciccone’s story was relatively tame – but she was still subjected to days of threats and harassment. At this distressing point in human history, it’s a near-certainty that any woman making a public allegation of sexual assault against a popular male celebrity will immediately be subjected to a sustained campaign of threats, harassment, and intimidation. (Just ask nerd favourite Felicia Day, who recently had her home address released minutes after she gently spoke out against online harassment against women.)

So victims of sexual violence feel like they can’t trust the police, and they clearly can’t trust the public. Can they at least trust that the government has their backs?

You’d think so, with a government that loves to tout its tough-on-crime agenda. And you’d be wrong.

Since 2006, the federal government has been draining away funding for organizations that work to empower women. Those organizations are among the best – and sometimes the only – supports available for women who have suffered sexual or domestic violence. But instead of actually supporting women victims of crime, the Conservatives would rather appease their base by cutting funding to what they see as “special interests.”

Never mind that more than half of Canadian women have experienced at least one incident of physical or sexual violence since the age of 16. Apparently a quarter of the population is small enough to qualify as a special interest group.

Meanwhile, there’s been an average of 178 reports of sexual assault per year in the Canadian military since 2000. Assuming the same rates of underreporting occur in the military as in the general population, that means that our military has probably seen over 1,700 sexual assaults annually for the past 14 years.

This year, the government finally managed to put together an external review to look into the issue – but hobbled the process by excluding any review of the military police and justice system. Somehow our government thinks it’s possible to resolve the military’s sexual assault epidemic without even a glance at how those crimes are investigated and prosecuted.

Internationally, our government has managed to do even worse: they blocked UN proposals to make better services available to victims of sexual violence. No, really — you read that right the first time. Our government actually took the position that rape survivors overseas shouldn’t get access to emergency contraceptives or medication to prevent HIV infection.

This is unbelievable hypocrisy from a government that routinely tries to make political hay from victims of crime. Apparently, in the eyes of our political leaders, some victims matter more than others.

However the Jian Ghomeshi story evolves, we shouldn’t let it become another cautionary tale of what happens to victims of sexual violence who speak up. Instead, let’s take the time to have a frank conversation about how we can better support victims of sexual violence. Clearly, it’s a conversation our country badly needs.

Devon Black is studying law at the University of Victoria. In addition to writing for iPolitics, Devon has worked for the Canadian International Development Agency, Leadership Africa USA and RamRais & Partners.

The views, opinions and positions expressed by all iPolitics columnists and contributors are the author’s alone. They do not inherently or expressly reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of iPolitics.