The most important people involved in the trial and conviction of Russell Brand are undoubtedly the extraordinarily courageous women who brought their cases forward despite the costs to themselves, and the odds against them.  

Brand was backed by expensive lawyers and could draw on significant wealth and fame – advantages that gave him immense power compared with the women bringing their cases. Their pursuit of justice deserves recognition in its own right. But their collective contribution to the rights and empowerment of women and girls everywhere also reflects a commitment to public service that is hard to overstate. 

Despite an estimated 6.3 million women in England & Wales having been raped or sexually assaulted since they turned 16, it remains significantly underreported. Five in six women do not report rape to the police or, in some cases, anyone at all. The barriers are immense: self-blame and shame, embarrassment, victim blame, fear of reprisals, fear of racism, isolation, having to relive the ordeal and recount what happened, negative publicity, and the impact of it all on their communities and loved ones, to name but a few.  

There have been some encouraging improvements in rape investigations and case building by the police and CPS, including through national initiatives such as Operation Soteria. But for those whose cases are among the nine per cent that ultimately reach trial, often after years of delay, cross-examination remains problematic, and at times scandalous. The use of rape myths, stereotypes, along with intrusive and inappropriate lines of questioning from barristers, all contribute to poor experiences for survivors in the courtroom. 

Throughout Russell Brand’s trial, we saw rape myths in action: Why didn’t she scream? Why didn’t she fight back? Why did she wait so long to report it? Why did she maintain contact with him afterwards? These were all introduced as ways of discrediting the survivors and/or introducing doubt into the minds of jurors.  

But there is no “normal” or “right” way to respond to rape, or a rapist. Keeping in touch with them afterwards often helps to manage ongoing risk, taking your time or being too frightened to report it are rational responses to a dysfunctional system. Perhaps most importantly, querying a victim’s response to a crime does nothing to help us understand why an attacker didn’t simply choose not to do it.   

Yesterday’s guilty verdicts are important. It is most notable that there was a conviction of rape in the case where there had been earlier consensual sex. It suggests understanding among jurors that there is no such thing as blanket or automatic consent; just because you agreed one thing does not mean you agreed another. Consent is highly situation-specific, you agree to do something in this way, at this time, at this place. It is a source of hope that this may have been understood. The outcome of high-profile cases like these have huge influence, not least on the survivors who may be weighing up coming forward against the spectacle of this trial and some of what went on in the courtroom.  

But they also have an impact on the public, who will rightly ask questions about how someone as dangerous as Brand was enabled to offend with such impunity for so long, and what role institutions play in stopping offending of this nature and scale.  

Whatever the verdict, ultimately the women at the centre of this trial and those who fearlessly worked to bring Brand to justice, including reporters and legal professionals, deserve respect. Their tenacity has meant that other women and girls will undoubtedly now be safer, and that some very important questions will now be asked.  

I hope at least some of those questions will include barrister conduct and why they are allowed to mislead with debunked myths and stereotypes, and what the justice system can ever really deliver without dignity and respect for all those going through it.