She Reported. Crown Said No. Why Prosecutorial Gatekeeping is Putting Survivors at Greater Risk Than Ever
She Reported. Crown Said No.
Why Prosecutorial Gatekeeping is Putting Survivors at Greater Risk Than Ever
In British Columbia, a quiet shift is happening—one that survivors of intimate partner and sexual violence feel viscerally, even as most of the public remains unaware. According to data cited in Dr. Kim Stanton’s 2024 systemic review of legal responses to gender-based violence, the proportion of intimate partner violence (IPV) cases that Crown Counsel approved for prosecution has declined sharply over the past six years—from 85% in 2017/18 to just 76% in 2023/24.
This decline is not contextualized or explained by the BC Prosecution Service. There is no public report, no inquiry, no internal review that asks why fewer survivors are having their cases brought forward. There is only silence—and a growing number of women who report, only to be told their case won’t proceed.
As one survivor told us:
“The officer said he believed me. The detective said the file was strong. But Crown said no. They didn’t even meet me. They just read the report and decided it wasn’t worth it.”
This pattern is not an anomaly. It’s a form of institutional betrayal. And it is not confined to individual prosecutors. It is embedded in the structures of our legal system—and intensified by court-imposed efficiency measures like the R v. Jordan decision, which have made complex, trauma-affected cases harder to bring forward.
When Survivors Report—and Are Denied
In a province where 48% of women and girls have experienced IPV, only about 20% of those incidents are ever reported to police. Of those, only 76% are approved by Crown Counsel to go to court. That means for every 100 survivors, only 15 may ever have their day in court.
And yet, survivors are still told to come forward. Government campaigns urge them to report. Media headlines demand accountability. But behind the scenes, the gate quietly closes.
As one survivor explained:
“I was strong enough to testify. But the Crown didn’t think I could handle cross-examination. They said I wasn’t ‘reliable.’ How can trauma make you unreliable when the trauma is the whole point?”
If only 15 out of 100 survivors see their case go to court—what happens to the other 85?
The refusal to approve charges is often based on two criteria: whether there is a “substantial likelihood of conviction” and whether prosecution is “in the public interest.” Both are legally subjective, and neither require Crown Counsel to consult survivors. In many cases, the decision not to proceed is made without ever hearing from the person most impacted by the violence.
The Shadow of Jordan
In 2016, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled in R v. Jordan that criminal trials must occur within strict time limits—18 months in provincial court, and 30 months in superior court. While designed to prevent delay and protect the rights of the accused, Jordan has had a chilling effect on gender-based violence prosecutions.
Prosecutors are now more likely to triage out “difficult” cases: those with delays in police investigation, with survivors who need support to testify, or where trauma affects how survivors present. As one woman described:
“I waited over a year. Then they told me the trial would take too long and that it might not be fair to him. Fair to him? What about me?”
Jordan has become another way that survivors are punished for complexity. Their trauma responses, delayed disclosures, and need for support become liabilities, not factors that the system accommodates.
Designed Without Survivors in Mind
This is why “She Reported. Crown Said No.” is a critical dimension of our broader #DesignedWithSurvivors initiative. It sharpens the focus on how prosecutorial discretion—unaccountable, opaque, and often inaccessible—undermines public safety at the very point where survivors should be protected. A legal system that discredits survivors before trial cannot be called just. And decisions made without transparency or recourse only reinforce institutional betrayal.
Public safety, if it is to mean anything at all, must be designed with survivors in mind—and that includes what happens when they turn to the courts.
Dr. Stanton’s report calls this out clearly:
This leaves survivors with no path forward—not through the courts, not through oversight bodies, and often not through services either, as underfunded community-based supports struggle to meet overwhelming need.
When Crown declines to proceed, when police fail to act, and when courts delay justice—it is community-based victim service workers who are left holding the weight of those failures. They are among the least resourced, least respected, and yet most relied upon actors in the entire justice ecosystem.
What Needs to Change
We are calling for a new public safety framework—one designed with survivors, not institutional thresholds, in mind. This includes:
- Independent accountability mechanisms for Crown decisions in IPV and SA cases
- Public reporting on charge approvals disaggregated by gender, race, and geography
- Trauma and violence-informed charge assessment standards co-developed with anti-violence advocates
- Core funding for community-based supports where survivors actually turn for help
Because survivors don’t call police first. They call crisis lines. They turn to shelters. They reach out to community-based support workers. Those services must be where our investments go—especially when the courtroom is increasingly a closed door.
As one survivor put it:
“I didn’t report expecting a miracle. I just wanted to be safe. I wanted to know that if I died, someone would say it wasn’t okay. But the system didn’t even try.”
The system tells her to report. She reported.
Crown said no.
We are demanding better—because survivors deserve more than silence, dismissal, or delay.
