The light, brisk gesture with which she corrected the lock of hair on her forehead. The impeccable bob of her hair. The elegance of a flowing dress in midnight blue print and the subtle twist of camel suede boots. A lively body, a graceful, supple allure, a poised voice, carefully chosen words. An invincible woman appeared on Wednesday, October 23, before the criminal court in Avignon. Everything about her demonstrated willpower. Internally, Gisèle Pelicot said, she was “totally destroyed.” But she was still standing. She was still holding on. For herself. For all the women, here and elsewhere, who follow in her footsteps and carry her as much as she carries them. In the face of the men who raped her while she was sedated. And for the man, alone in his dock, whose life she shared.

She chose to address him first, alternating “you,” “we,” “he,” “Dominique” and “that man.” “I’m not going to be able to look at him, the emotional weight being there. I’d like to call him Dominique today. We had 50 years together, three children, seven grandchildren. You were a kind, caring man for me, in whom I had complete trust.”

Gisèle Pelicot paused for a few seconds, calming the emotion that overwhelmed her, before resuming. “We shared our laughter, our sorrows. I supported him in his health and work problems. For 10 years, during my health worries, he accompanied me to the neurologist, to the gynecologists. How many times I told him, ‘How lucky I am to have you by my side!’ Our friends liked him. For me, it was all happiness. I have not understood, and this is what is a problem for me, how this gentleman, who was a perfect man, could have ended up like this? How could he betray me to such an extent? How could you let these people into our bedroom? For me, this betrayal is immeasurable. I thought I’d end my days with this gentleman, this caring father.”

‘It’s not courage, it’s willpower’

On the desk in front of her, Gisèle Pelicot had placed a few sheets of paper that she had blackened day after day at the hearing. In a calm voice, she delivered the thoughts she had noted down on them. She described a young defendant “who came to rape a woman as old as his mother.” Another “who had the elegance to say that, if he’d had to rape, he wouldn’t have chosen a 57-year-old woman… I was 67.” The humiliation she often experienced during interrogations. “I’m told I’m an accomplice, that I consented. They even tried to tell me I was an alcoholic. You have to be tough in this criminal court. I only stepped out once, for five minutes.”

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