By Luna Wang
Starting from a question
“Did you resist (say no)?”
This seemingly reasonable question is, for many survivors of domestic and sexual violence, the heaviest shackle of all.
When society focuses on “Did you resist?” or “Do you have proof?”, survivors are repeatedly put on trial by public opinion while the real issues—power inequality, trauma responses, and the accountability of perpetrators—are conveniently ignored.
These are not isolated incidents. According to British Columbia’s Independent Systemic Review Report (2025), 94 percent of sexual assaults are never reported to police, and 80 percent of intimate partner violence cases never enter the legal system. This means that most survivors choose silence—or are forced into it—while their experiences remain unrecognized by law.
Statistics further reveal that 37 percent of women have experienced sexual assault since age 15, and 48 percent have suffered intimate partner violence. Among them, the rates are even higher for Indigenous women (64 percent), LGBTQ2 individuals (72 percent), women with disabilities (62 percent), and low-income women (55 percent).
In sections of this article, former B.C. cabinet minister Katrina Chen (陳葦蓁) shares her observations within Chinese-language communities. She also discusses her children’s picture book about family violence, titled A Stronger Home.
Women’s stories: When the family, workplace, and society become arenas of power
In many families, gender roles remain deeply shaped by patriarchal structures and traditional expectations.
Women are often assigned the roles of mother, wife, or daughter, burdened with the duty to care, obey, and sacrifice. When these roles intersect with power hierarchies, violence is no longer a “private matter” but the consequence of systemic inequality long ignored by society.
The “home”, ideally a place of safety, often becomes the most concealed battlefield of power. Women are taught to “endure”, “keep the peace”, and “never air family shame.” Such cultural conditioning forces survivors into silence long before they ever speak. They fear not only disbelief but also being blamed for “breaking up the family” or “hurting the children”.
Under the intertwined legacies of patriarchy and colonialism, women’s agency is repeatedly diminished: their bodies are disciplined, their emotions dismissed, and even their trauma is expected to be “handled privately.” For women of color, immigrants, low-income workers, and women with disabilities, language, cultural, and economic barriers make institutional support even harder to access.
The roots of domestic and sexual violence are not limited to individual acts—they lie deep within society’s myths about “rational men”, “emotional women”, and the “authoritative father”. These stereotypes normalize power imbalances and make seeking help a maze of obstacles.
When questioning becomes another form of violence
When a woman says, “I was hurt,” the first response she often receives is not empathy but interrogation:
“Did you fight back?”
“Do you have proof?”
“Was it maybe a misunderstanding?”
Such questions are a continuation of violence. They force survivors to relive trauma, explain themselves again and again, and justify their pain until it fits society’s narrow definition of “legitimate”.
The justice system, media, and everyday discourse together sustain the myth of the “perfect victim” — one who is calm, pure, flawless, and entirely consistent.
According to the Independent Systemic Review of B.C.’s Legal System (2025), women who report violence are asked to recount their experiences to different agencies an average of more than ten times, and over half describe the process itself as “emotionally retraumatizing”.
Many are questioned: “Are you sure you remember correctly?” or “Are you exaggerating?” or “Are you doing this out of revenge?”
These doubts erode trust in the justice system and rob survivors of a sense of safety even as they seek help.
Meanwhile, media and online commentary amplify this culture of scrutiny. Clickbait headlines fixate on “what she was wearing” or “why she went there”. Comment sections demand “solid evidence” and “clear boundaries”. As Chen puts it: “That’s a secondary wound—healing becomes even more painful.”
Society still misreads these issues: domestic violence is reduced to “marital conflict” while sexual assault is blamed on women’s clothing or behaviour.
Chen emphasizes: “It’s wrong to keep the spotlight on women. What we need is a community that offers safety, trust, and the willingness to listen.”
Understanding sexual and domestic violence, then, is not about dissecting an individual’s experience but about confronting the long-hidden structures that enable harm. Only when society learns to ask fewer accusatory questions—and to listen more—can healing truly begin.
As Chen declares: “This isn’t a personal scar. It’s a social one.”
And it is precisely for that reason that she chose to turn her experience into a picture book—a work that speaks not only for herself, but for many others who remain unheard.
Connecting futures: From picture book to TAIWANfest
In the face of violence and silence, creation becomes resistance. Katrina Chen chose illustration as her language—to transform trauma into a story that can be seen, felt, and understood.
In her picture book, the typhoon, the house, and the sea serve as metaphors.
The storm represents the chaos and destruction of violence—not only shattering homes but also trust and love.
The sea’s rhythmic waves, meanwhile, resemble breath: a reminder that pain and healing often coexist.
“This story isn’t about being a victim,” she says. “It’s about finding strength through healing. You have to heal, or you’ll end up hurting others.”
The book is filled with multicultural symbols—characters of different skin tones, clothing, and languages, each carrying unique stories. She stresses that racialized women, immigrants, and those with disabilities are often the most invisible yet the most vulnerable.
“I want children to grow up seeing different faces, learning to respect difference, and understanding where safety truly comes from.”
For her, the book is an educational experiment—an attempt to bring conversations about domestic violence and gender equality into spaces where children and adults can learn together.
Art, she believes, gives shape to what cannot be spoken and visibility to what has been silenced.
As she says: “Home should be a safe place, not a cage of fear.”
Beyond her work, a broader movement is taking shape. Across communities, educators and women’s advocates are holding workshops, exhibitions, and discussions that centre survivors’ voices and teach bystanders how “not to harm again”.
“This is not one person’s wound—it’s society’s wound,” she reminds us.
Next year’s TAIWANfest will center on gender. For the Taiwanese-born Chen, this is a powerful opportunity.
“Gender equality isn’t just a women’s issue—it affects men, too. The question isn’t ‘who’s to blame,’ but how more people—especially men—can join the conversation.”
Her picture book will soon travel into classrooms, libraries, and festivals, including TAIWANfest, bridging art and social action. Through storytelling, she hopes more people—young and old—can begin to rethink what safety and respect truly mean, and how empathy can become the first step toward change.
Conclusion: Stop asking “Did you resist (say no)?”
“Did you resist (say no)?” may be the very question we must first learn to stop asking.
It does not seek truth—it merely reproduces power, placing survivors under suspicion and allowing society to avoid confronting its own complicity.
To understand violence is to understand how it takes root—in families, institutions, and culture itself. From education to law, from media to everyday talk, we are all shaping the story of how a society responds to harm. Moments of being seen and being heard mark the beginning of real change.
Next year, TAIWANfest will use gender as its central theme—not just as a curatorial choice but as a call to cultural action. It invites everyone to reflect on what equality, respect, and safety truly mean. From domestic and sexual violence to gender harassment, trans rights, menstrual poverty, pay inequity, and care work—these are not separate issues but interconnected threads that reveal how power defines our lives, emotions, and bodies.
When these discussions move from books and classrooms to exhibition halls and public dialogue, culture becomes not only something to appreciate, but a form of resistance and education.
As Chen believes, “Change begins when society is willing to listen.”
Both Taiwan and Canada carry their own histories of gender inequality and collective trauma. Yet both are finding ways—through art, activism, and conversation—to respond to the shadows of violence.
Whether through picture books, film, music, or exhibitions, these efforts share one goal: to make visible what silence has hidden, to remind us that silence is not peace—it is an unheard cry.
So the next time we meet a survivor, let’s not ask, “Did you resist (say no)?”
The real question should be: “How can we stand with them, and make this world safer and kinder?”
As Chen concludes, “You are not alone—never. Everyone’s journey is different. Speak when you’re ready; stay silent if you need to. Healing takes time.”
“Stop asking ‘Did you resist (say no)?’”
That is the collective cry of countless survivors.
True understanding begins not with interrogation, but with empathy and listening.
When society shifts its focus from blame to care, only then can the next generation grow up in a world that is safer—and more equal.
Luna Wang is a graduate student in Taiwan who studies gender-related issues. To order a copy of A Stronger Home, visit the Orca Book Publishers website.
