Locker Room, Courtroom, Culture: Why We’re Still Not Asking the Right Questions About Sport and Sexual Violence

What’s happening in a London, Ontario courtroom is about more than guilt or innocence. It’s about who we believe, who we protect, and what kind of country we are becoming.

Five former members of Canada’s 2018 World Junior hockey team—once celebrated as national heroes—are on trial for the alleged gang sexual assault of a young woman, known in court as E.M., in a hotel room following a Hockey Canada gala. Her account, brought forward with extraordinary bravery, is being examined under intense scrutiny. It is a story she has had to repeat and defend again and again—first to police, then to the public, now to a courtroom.

But this trial is not only about one night or five individuals. It is a national flashpoint. It is about the culture that raised them, the institutions that protected them, and the silence that made it possible. It is about power—who holds it, who it harms, and who it shields. It is about gender, justice, and the very foundation of Canadian sport.

We believe E.M. Not because she fits some perfect script of victimhood—but because what she describes is real, common, and systematically ignored.

We believe her because we’ve heard this story before—from women and girls across this country. The details shift, but the power dynamics are familiar: isolation, coercion, disbelief. A system that rewards silence. A courtroom that penalizes truth-telling. A public more ready to mourn a sport’s reputation than to confront its violence.

We are done pretending this is rare.
We are done pretending this is just about five men.
And we are done pretending this is just about hockey.

Because what’s on trial is not only a group of individuals. What’s on trial is a culture of entitlement, aggression, and male bonding that saturates competitive sport—amateur and professional alike.

And still, even now, we are not asking the deeper questions.

Why are we not interrogating the culture of sex and sexual violence in male sport?

• Why do group sexual assaults happen over and over again in sports teams—from high school locker rooms to NHL draft classes?
• Why is male team culture so often built on the degradation or objectification of women and girls?
• Why are coaches, executives, and governing bodies allowed to call it “horseplay” or “a lapse in judgment” rather than what it is—organized performances of violent masculinity?
• Why is sex used as proof of status, and silence used as proof of loyalty?

Let’s be clear: this is not about misunderstanding consent.

It’s about how male athletes are groomed by the culture around them to believe that consent isn’t even part of the story. In this version of masculinity—built and reinforced by coaches, peers, fans, and sponsors—sex isn’t intimacy. It’s a team sport. It’s conquest. It’s social currency. And when violence happens, it’s reframed as mistake, miscommunication, or moral ambiguity—anything but what it actually is.

And when survivors come forward?

They’re asked: Why didn’t you leave?
Why didn’t you say no?
Why are you coming forward now?
Why are you ruining these young men’s lives?

Rarely—almost never—do we ask:
Who taught these boys that women’s bodies are a place to bond?
Who told them that team unity is proven through silence about violence?
Who benefits when we see sports as sacred—but survivors as disposable?

This isn’t just about locker rooms. It’s about every institution that protects them – the presidents, the recording artists, the movie moguls, the financiers, and the hockey players.

Hockey Canada quietly paid sexual assault settlements with registration fees collected from parents across the country. Universities regularly conceal assaults by athletes to protect recruitment and funding. Entire leagues close ranks when someone breaks the code of silence.

These are not failures of oversight. They are the intended consequences of institutions that prize loyalty over justice, and brand protection over survivor safety.

We Believe E.M.—And We Know She’s Not the Only One

E.M. has described, in devastating detail, what happened to her. She has withstood days of cross-examination. She has been asked to defend her pain, her memory, and her humanity in a courtroom that was never built for her.

She is not just a witness. She is a truth-teller in a system designed to dismantle the truth.

And still—she spoke. She continues to speak.

That is courage.
That is resistance.
That is why we believe her.

But belief is not enough.

We must demand better from the sports systems that shape masculinity.
We must demand better from the justice systems that interrogate survivors instead of accountability.
We must demand better from each other.

Because this isn’t just about one case, one team, one woman.
It’s about what kind of society we are—and what we’re willing to become.

We believe E.M.
We believe survivors.
We refuse to stay silent.
And we’re not done asking questions.

Jennifer Dunn, executive director of the London Abused Women’s Centre, outside London’s Ontario Superior Court, where five members of the winning 2018 world junior hockey team are on trial for sexual assault.
ROBYN DOOLITTLE/THE GLOBE AND MAIL