This article discusses sexual violence and may be triggering for some readers. The Kingston Sexual Assault Centre’s 24-hour crisis and phone line can be reached at 613-544-6424 / 1-800-544-6424 or by e-mailing [email protected].
My grandfather etched the phrase “there’s no such thing as an accident—you were either careless, or you did it on purpose” into my moral com from a young age.
It didn’t matter if I hadn’t meant to break my grandmother’s china, I hadn’t held the plate with both hands. The outcome was the same as if I had meant to break it—the plate was gone.
When we define an accident based on intent, we prioritize the perpetrator’s intentions over the lived reality of the survivor. Consider other crimes: if you unintentionally kill someone, it’s involuntary manslaughter. If you drive under the influence—even without hitting anyone—you can face up to 10 years in prison in Canada. A lack of intent doesn’t undo the outcome. The same should be true of sexual violence, and this principle should be reflected in both Queen’s policy and the way we talk about it.
In eight out of 10 cases of sexual assault, the perpetrator is someone known to the survivor. The myth of the man lurking in a dark alleyway masks an even more unsettling truth: sexual assaults are most often committed by those in close proximity to the survivor. Cases like that of Gisèle Pelicott serve as grim reminders of this reality.
The reality of rape culture is further made ambivalent by the idea that sexual assault can happen involuntarily, or by “accident.” Nationally, at least half of all sexual assault crimes involve alcohol. According to a 2022 survey by the Queen’s Shift Project, 59 per cent of respondents reported being taken advantage of while incapacitated, 44 per cent said the perpetrator had consumed alcohol but was not drunk, and 33 per cent said the perpetrator was intoxicated. Yet, despite this reality, Queen’s policy doesn’t address whether a perpetrator’s intoxication can be used as a defense.
The Criminal Code of Canada is clear: it’s not a defense against sexual violence that the perpetrator was drunk or unaware of whether the survivor could consent. This provision is explicitly included in the Sexual Violence Prevention and Response policies at the University of Toronto, the University of Ottawa, and the University of British Columbia. At Queen’s, however, this clause is notably absent—meaning the University has no official stance on whether a perpetrator’s intoxication can be used to mitigate responsibility.
The next time you sit in a lecture, look around. Statistically, at least a quarter of the students in that room will experience some form of sexual violence by the time they graduate. If you’re in a class of 100 students, that means 25 of them. For at least half, alcohol will be involved. At Queen’s, university policy shapes the protections afforded to these survivors.
Rape culture has long placed the burden of guilt on survivors—even in the language we use to describe it. Consider the common statistic: “One in four women in North America will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime.” This is a ive sentence, with no subject.
Meanwhile, media headlines never say: “One in X men commit sexual violence in their lifetime.” That would be an active sentence. When we refuse to name the perpetrator, we erase them from the narrative, leaving the survivor in syntactical limbo—brutalized by an invisible subject.
We need to start treating sexual assault like drunk driving. There are no accidents, there’s a subject to the verb.
Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) Canada reports the number of drunk drivers arrested a year, not just the number of victims. Headlines about drunk driving are almost always active: “Man kills four in drunk driving accident.” Crucially, in drunk driving discourse, the survivor is never blamed. The perpetrator is unequivocally condemned. Society understands that drunk driving is unacceptable, and we’ve normalized taking steps to prevent it—both through policy and through how we discuss it.
In general, people don’t drive to places when they know they will be drinking. They Uber. They identify a designated driver. People who even suggest driving while under the influence are identified as being reckless and dangerous. MADD comes to visit our high schools, and even elementary schools, every year to remind us of the dangers of drunk driving. To teach us not to be a perpetrator.
We don’t teach people how to avoid being victims of drunk driving, rather we teach them not to drive drunk, because it’s understood that only a perpetrator makes a choice. The subject of the verb assault is the perpetrator, not the survivor. The same level of prevention and ability should apply to sexual violence. A perpetrator’s intoxication doesn’t lessen a survivor’s pain. It shouldn’t absolve them of responsibility either.
The idea of an “accident” only holds if we are willing to prioritize an invisible perpetrator over a very real survivor. Until Queen’s amends its policy, it sends a clear message: the university values the comfort of perpetrators over the safety of survivors.
Maeve Stemp is a fifth-year Concurrent Education student.
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