SSince early September, the face of a woman from a small village in the south of France has been splashed across global front pages. Gisele Pélicot is the central figure in an investigation in which the main defendant is her ex-husband Dominique Pélicot. He has admitted that for nearly a decade, he drugged her and invited other men to abuse her in her own bed, without her knowledge, so he could film them doing so. Fifty other people are on trial with Pellicatt accused of rape, many of whom deny it.
Against the scale of the atrocities she allegedly suffered, Gisele Pélicot cut an unusual figure when she attended the trial. Head held high, elegant and polished, she walks tall into the courthouse in Avignon, a living symbol of what she calls the “transfer of shame” from rape victims to perpetrators.
Anonymity is a long-standing right in France, as in many other countries, designed to protect victims from further degradation during the legal ordeal that usually follows a rape complaint. But Gisèle Pelicot, a woman with no experience in the public eye, decides she has nothing to be ashamed of and willingly faces the cameras. Not only did she waive her anonymity, but she successfully appealed the decision to allow videos made by her husband to be shown only to lawyers and the jury. The Chief Justice argued that the video evidence was so shocking that screening it in open court would offend public decency. But Gisèle Pelicot wants the whole world to know; She wants to make sure “no other woman goes through this ordeal”.
Her silence and her decision to go public make this trial about a shocking case in a small town no more. Rape culture and masculinity have become a moment of national reflection on the docks.
Men aged 26 to 74 from all walks of life (retired, a firefighter, a nurse, a prison warden, a journalist, business owners and volunteers in charities – an impressively representative sample of French society) Dominique Pélicot is said to have contacted and recruited online. He raped his wife while she was in coma.
Most of Pelicote's 50 co-defendants have pleaded not guilty to rape charges. There are many victims of Pelicat who have claimed their protection. According to their accounts, he encouraged them to think that his consent to having sex with his comatose wife was enough. The idea that a man can decide what happens to his wife's body is repugnant, but this line of argument reveals a complex belief that wives are somehow still the property of their husbands.
Many people were shocked to realize that such a horror story could show “normal” people rather than monstrous creatures. France. Nevertheless, women are not always strangers to them, but their relatives, husbands and partners are terrorized by men. While mainstream representations distinguish between good men and violent men, we know that any man can be an abuser. Indeed, fear of being attacked by violent strangers has prevented our societies from questioning why male sexual assault crimes, usually committed among women and girls, are so common.
A number of male public figures have spoken out and the inquiry suggests a “wake-up” for them. TV presenter Karim Rizzoli asked other men to collectively question “the way they are men”, saying the alleged rapists were “men like you and me”. More than two hundred men in public life have co-authored an opinion piece on liberation that says male violence is “not about monsters” but about “normal, everyday people.”
They are right. I hope that the debate they have started marks a collective change in attitudes. Yet when I described masculinity as a tool of power structure during a televised debate on the trial, it was disappointing to realize that despite sympathy for Gisèle Pelicot, lessons were not learned. I was accused of offending two of my male co-panelists. One said that the “generalization that men have a tendency toward violent forms” is shocking. Another focused the discussion on himself: “I'm human, and I feel like we're all on trial.”
But in general, most sexual assaults and violence are committed by men. We cannot solve that problem without understanding that masculinity is a social construct that encourages aggressive and violent behavior. Men are socialized to behave in certain ways.
The crimes allegedly committed against Gisèle Pelicot were extraordinary in scale. But rape is a completely normal phenomenon. 94,000 rapes or attempted rapes occur in France each year: that's roughly one every five minutes. And 91% of victims know their abuser (a man in 96% of cases) In fact, the home is where we are most exposed to any form of violence.
By refusing a closed-door hearing for her case, Gisele Pélicot has turned the case into a moment in history. Dedicated to “all women and men around the world who are victims of sexual violence” her fight. As a feminist, I see her willingness to seek publicity as part of the struggle. She echoes another respectable Gisele's fight. In 1978, lawyer and human rights activist Gisele Halimi sought media coverage of the trial of three men accused of raping her clients, Anne Tonglet and Araceli Castellano. Women have nothing to be ashamed of, Halimi said: “It is one thing for a man to commit rape, but it is another matter for him to know about it in his village, workplace or in the newspapers. ” According to Halimi, the real issue with those experiments is “fundamentally changing the relationship between men and women”.
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Gisèle Pelicot was rightly praised for her courage in trying to redefine victims. She is also praised for her “polite” response to her ordeal. As an elegant, white, middle-class grandmother, she embodies what our society expects of a “real” rape victim: unlike many rape survivors who are unjustly accused when they seek justice, she has no knowledge of the events. Her “innocence” is hard to question: she was unconscious.
But can't we just admire Gisele Pélicot's strength? Our respect, our willingness to listen, and our compassion should not be limited to the “right” victims. Our investigation of male violence should not depend on how its victims behave.
Due to this, many women and men are involved in the struggle Being in solidarity with Gisèle Pelicot is commendable. But turning a man into a hero risks feeding a narrative that insists that male violence is exceptional.
It can affect any woman and can be done by all types of men. This is the lesson we should learn from this historic trial.
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Rokhaya Diallo is a Guardian Europe columnist
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