Renewed purpose
Gisèle Pelicot’s new memoir should prompt the government to renew its focus on ending violence against women and girls, writes Veronica Oakeshott
When Gisèle Pelicot, aged 67, discovered her seemingly loving husband of almost 50 years had been drugging her and inviting men to their house to sexually abuse her whilst she was asleep, her response could have been – understandably – total meltdown. Every memory she had was upturned by a new and horrific perspective on the man she thought she knew.
Gisèle’s story is well known. It was international news, because even to those of us involved in work to end violence against women and girls (Vawg) it was shocking. Forty-nine men, young and old, were convicted of her rape. The extent of the abuse and associated evidence was overwhelming, with hours of video footage collected by her husband. But most of all, the case came to international attention because of a survivor who, even on top of the emotional work of surviving, was willing to speak out and waive her right to anonymity.
“Shame must change sides” Gisèle Pelicot told us. And no reasonable person could disagree.
Her new book, a Hymn to Life, is as dark in places as you would expect. Few details are spared. But it is very compelling, and, in its own way, hopeful.
As the government embarks on its new violence against women and girls strategy – underpinned by a manifesto pledge to halve violence against women and girls in a decade – ministers would do well to read it. As someone who works on these issues every day, three things stood out for me.
First, that everyone experiences and processes trauma in different ways. Pelicot is incredibly open about her own story, from the trauma of losing her mother young to the hope and excitement she felt when starting life afresh as a young couple with her husband. You get the full picture of how she processes the shock when his abuse is revealed to her: doing the washing; visiting the jail a few days later, to ensure her husband has a sweater to keep warm. Unpredictable. Unfathomable perhaps. But it was her way.
There is no ‘right way’ to respond. That’s why tailored one-to-one support for victims and survivors, like that specialist domestic abuse charities provide in the UK, is so important for recovery.
Secondly, the book reminded me that if you want to understand perpetrators – with a view to having fewer of them in future – listening to victims is a good place to start.
Madame Pelicot paints a more ‘rounded’ picture of her perpetrator than any third party ever could. The moral pressure to depict Mr Pelicot simply as a monster would surely overwhelm other writers. But she has the right to say exactly what she thinks.
She does not forgive him, but she does begin to understand. She invites us to do the same – as much for her own sanity as anything else. Mr Pelicot was abused as a child, and “only tyranny held his family together”. It is not clear that anyone outside his home noticed or cared. There’s no suggestion that this excuses the horrors he perpetrated, but Gisèle Pelicot clearly believes it is relevant. The failure to consider children’s experiences of domestic abuse is sadly a common feature of statutory responses in the UK, with consequences that can pass through generations.
Third, I was struck by the power of community, for better or worse. Gisèle Pelicot inspired women across France and beyond. Women thronged to the court to wish her well, and sent letters to her pouring out their own experiences. They recognised and thanked her wherever she went as far afield as Rio, Brazil. That varied group was briefly united by a truth they heard her speak. Other women, she says, gave her the strength to stand up in court against 49 men and their representatives.
But the book reveals a darker side to community, too. Let no one reading it think that what happened to Gisèle Pelicot was an aberration. Consider the behaviour of the men summoned to trial to defend themselves. “I saw them high-fiving each other, going to the cafe across the street at lunch time, chatting at the bar, buying rounds of beer, laughing”, writes Pelicot. The power of the group.
Horrific things risk seeming normal when done in company. Consider Epstein – and all the people who normalised his behaviour by turning a blind eye.
As Pelicot says, ‘Shame must change sides’. Those who have experienced abuse must never feel shame. And we must never allow the perpetrators to feel their behaviour is normal. In an age of Trump, Musk, and Grok, we have a mountain to climb.
Madame Pelicot lifts the lid on her own story, and in doing so, gives us direction and hope for that mountain journey. Because ‘A Hymn for Life,’ like many hymns – especially at this time of year – tells a story of betrayal, but also one of resilience and love. She says “I still have faith in people”. And if Gisèle Pelicot does, I think we can too.
Note: If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this review and need help you can call the National Domestic Abuse Helpline on 0808 2000 247 (run by Refuge). There are also a range of resources at www.womensaid.org.uk
