The film business is in an almighty mess – caught between a past it was shimmeringly proud of, a present where everyone in it is affected by its crimes, and a future of camera-shaking uncertainty. The fact that issues of harassment and sexual assault have started to hit the industry’s bottom line can only be a good thing. But so far we’re only watching the opening scenes – when it comes to revelations of sexual misconduct, it’s still early days.

Isn’t it astonishing that a term was actually coined to enshrine the sexual favours expected of would-be stars? The casting couch – a place both literal and figurative where women especially (but by no means exclusively) were expected to give up and give out in order to further their careers – or maybe, as punishment for failing to submit, be raped.

For every offender like Harvey Weinstein, there must have been a bevy of enablers. From financiers to terrified runners, from bullied assistants to business partners, people surely knew. Fellow artists said nothing because they wanted to keep working. Unfortunately, everyone who didn’t speak, act or walk away is also implicated, however helpless they felt. However unfair it seems. Feature films are entertainment. Many people wish, dream and desire to be part of their creation. But complicity with rape, threats or violence in the making of a film is being an accessory.

As I watch this season’s Bafta film entries, I’m now not only acutely aware of what’s on screen that I might or might not applaud – the writing, performances, direction, music, effects, makeup and hair – but of that other world behind the camera. I can’t know what might or might not have gone on in each individual case, but I can’t not be aware of its relevance.

I try to make choices in my day-to-day life in line with my own sense of morality: what and where I buy, which people or causes I support. But when it comes to the task of rewarding individual films with my vote, some of the essential criteria for those choices are concealed. I’m watching films, but voting blind. There’s no card at the end of a film stating that “no performers or employees were physically or psychologically damaged in the making of this film”. Would that such a thing were possible.

Already, not harming animals is a legal requirement, and the statement is displayed. Some producers now strive for their films to be environmentally neutral, and state that. Both these measures require a serious level of accountability and evidencing. Surely the human toll should be equally measured and valued? Customers – audiences in this case – should be able to buy and consume entertainment with the same clear conscience they can buy responsibly sourced clothes and food. But as long as that isn’t happening I can’t possibly cast a vote for this year’s awards.

Not all my friends and colleagues agree with my choice. Some argue that it penalises the innocent cast, crew and many others involved in making this year’s Bafta entries. I can’t disagree. It does. But right now, the only thing I can do that feels right by my own conscience is abstain – until I can be sure what I’m rewarding, and at what cost it was achieved. Finding out later that I’ve enabled even one perpetrator to bask in momentary glory is something I’m not prepared to sign up for.

Meanwhile, let the casting couch be consigned to the museum. Not some quaint marker of human history to be marvelled at, but something to be ashamed of, alongside tools of torture and other instruments of barbarism.

• Bridget Lawless, a screenwriter, is setting up the Staunch book prize for thrillers in which no woman is beaten, stalked, sexually exploited, raped or murdered