In the last few years, the national conversation around sex in Australia has shifted urgently to one centred on the notion of consent. Particularly in a post-#MeToo world, there’s a growing understanding of how important it is to teach this at the most fundamental level.

Journalist Jess Hill’s new three-part docuseries folds in a host of voices to examine consent. It is, in many ways, a companion to her book and documentary See What You Made Me Do, which explored domestic abuse.

The figures are damning: 85 sexual assaults are reported every day in Australia – only a fraction of the true number, as almost 90% of rapes go unreported. Forty per cent of sexually active teenagers have had sex they didn’t want; at Australian universities, one in 20 students are assaulted.

Hill calls on familiar faces, including advocates Grace Tame and Saxon Mullins, as well as everyday people, to share their experiences. It’s often difficult viewing – discretion is advised for those who might find such material triggering.

One interviewee, Gemma, was raped by a friend – proof that the myth of the violent stranger is just that, and that most assaults happen at the hands of someone known and often trusted. “How do we protect our kids from their friends?” Gemma’s mother asks. With the advent and increasing ubiquity of online platforms, the avenues for harassment and potential violence grows.

Noelle Martin knows a thing or two about that, having discovered “deepfake” photos of herself in sexual situations when she was just 17. Revenge porn has increased by more than 50% in the last year, with more than 4,000 reports made to the eSafety Commissioner. Often, this is combined with blackmail.

An increase in sexual violence has been attributed to the pervasiveness of pornography and the “manosphere”: the endless vortex of far-right men’s rights and incel content online, with explicitly misogynistic messages communicated through figures such as Andrew Tate. This content is readily available on platforms such as TikTok – Hill signs up masquerading as a 13-year-old, and her feed is instantly flooded.

Lawyer Michael Bradley suggests that schools need to find meaningful ways to address this: children as young as 13 are exposed to violent misogyny, which can manifest in real-life tragedy. “You can’t expect rationally a girl who’s being raped by a male student to go to school every day where he is,” Bradley says. “There’s a big wave of this coming – they need clear guidelines, as every school is going to face this.”

Invisible statistics are also highlighted: there are around 50 sexual assaults reported in aged care homes each week, for example, and despite the royal commission in 2018, that number hasn’t budged.

Much of this, Hill posits, is ingrained culturally. She draws on pop culture examples, such as Sleeping Beauty and James Bond, where women are without agency. “Our culture masks sexual assault as passion and romance,” Hill says. “Power has been central to sex and the stories we tell about it for millennia.”

But it’s not all bad news: Hill also meets people changing the culture, such as Adele Moleta, a queer event organiser whose Unicorns parties, which ran in Melbourne for a decade, were built on a foundation of consent and safety. She speaks to Lauren French, a sex educator whose lessons begin early, teaching children to ask if another child would like to be hugged. These foundational lessons result in a better understanding of consent in adolescence.

At St Joseph’s College in Geelong, educator Richie Hardcore encourages teenage boys to find their vulnerable selves, putting them in breakout groups where they can share their feelings. “To really make young men part of the discussion, it’s going to go the furthest way in making a change and making a real difference,” one boy says. Another touching segment shows an art workshop attended by adult men in Townsville, who are asked to make a vulva out of Play-Doh, all the while talking about sex, pleasure and consent.

Hill also looks to other parts of the world where changes have made a positive difference. In South Africa, where children make up a large percentage of victims, Thuthuzela Care Centres are one-stop facilities that have been introduced as a part of the country’s anti-rape strategy. South Africa’s sexual offences courts are designed so that victims do not have to see their accused perpetrators while giving their testimony. Unlike Australia, the prosecution team also forms a relationship with the survivor ahead of the court date. The result is a higher conviction rate, and a process that is less traumatising, that prioritises survivor dignity. New Zealand’s restorative justice model, in which informal meetings are facilitated between victim and offender, is also spotlighted for its focus on healing. There are alternatives for Australia to follow.

One flaw in Asking For It is that while it does include some diversity, most of the interviewees are white women. Exploring the complexities of consent and sexual assault for Indigenous Australians, or culturally and linguistically diverse communities without the same access to educational resources, would have given a more exhaustive picture of the work that needs to be done.

Asking For It focuses mostly on violent sexual assault, but acknowledges that there are many shades of experience, including encounters that begin consensually until consent is revoked. There’s still much more to do but, as Mullins says: “It really is as simple as just asking a question.”

• Asking For It starts on SBS on Thursday at 8.30pm and will be available to stream on SBS On Demand

• Information and support for anyone affected by rape or sexual abuse issues is available from the following organisations. In Australia, support is available at 1800Respect (1800 737 732) or the Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800. In the UK, Rape Crisis offers support on 0808 500 2222. In the US, Rainn offers support on 800-656-4673. Other international helplines can be found at ibiblio.org/rcip/internl.html