French village of Mazan torn apart by horror of mass rape trial

An audible sigh of frustration echoed through the packed seats of the “Voltaire” courtroom at the Palais de Justice in Avignon as the chief judge, dressed in a scarlet robe, announced an unexpected but unavoidable delay to a trial that has gripped France.

“He is sick,” said President Judge Roger Arata, indicating that this extraordinary case of 51 alleged rapists would be postponed “for one, two, three days” or possibly even longer after it became known that Dominique Pelicot was too ill to attend.

His lawyer later reported that he had been taken to hospital.

Gisèle Pelicot sat on the right side of the courtroom, her head leaning gently against the wood paneling. She showed no visible emotion at the news that she would not see her husband testify that day.

Last week, Gisèle Pelicot, 72, told the court that her calm demeanor masked a “field of devastation” caused by the moment four years ago when a French police officer told her that her seemingly loving husband had in fact been drugging her for a decade and inviting strangers – more than 80 local men – into the family home and into the couple’s bedroom to rape her while he filmed them.

She has waived her right to anonymity to highlight the dangers women face when they are drugged and sexually assaulted – known as “chemical submission.”

It’s just over half an hour’s drive – through the rolling hills and vineyards that surround the brooding, almost lunar landscape of Mont Ventoux – from the Avignon courthouse to the picturesque medieval village of Mazan, once briefly famous for hosting the wedding of British actress Keira Knightley.

This is where the Pelicots lived and where Dominique Pelicot filmed the local men he met online.

The mood at a particular place and time is always difficult to describe.

“Honestly, nobody here gives a damn,” said a local caterer, Evan Tuvignon, leaning on the counter of his shop and suggesting that people were fed up with the whole thing.

Several women told us that not only was the village in shock, but the revelations in the courtroom also created new tensions in Mazan and the surrounding villages.

The names of the suspects were recently shared en masse and illegally on social media. A number of these men have now complained to the court that they, their families and their children are now being harassed on the streets and at school.

Two local women said they saw the names and recognized at least three of them as they got into their car on a narrow street in Mazan.

“It creates tension, you can imagine. You don’t know who you can trust on the street. I’m relieved that I’ll be moving out of this village soon,” said Océane Martin, 25.

But beside her, Océane’s mother, Isabelle Liversain, 50, expressed another, deeper concern.

It has been revealed that police have already identified and arrested 50 men whose images appeared on Dominique Pelicot’s hard drive, but that 30 suspects – who remain nameless and untraceable – remain at large.

“So, we know that 30 out of the 80 still haven’t been caught. There’s tension here because people don’t know if they can trust their neighbours. You wonder – is he one of the 30? What’s your neighbour doing behind closed doors?” Caroline Martin said, her voice sharp with frustration.

But the 74-year-old mayor of Mazan, Louis Bonnet, tried to downplay those tensions, saying that most of the alleged rapists came from other villages and trying to portray the Pelicots as outsiders who had not lived there long.

He went further, saying that the threats against the suspects and their families were to be expected.

“If they participated in these rapes, then it is normal that they are targeted. There must be transparency about everything that happened,” he said, while also condemning the accused and their actions.

In his interview with us, Mr. Bonnet spoke about the case itself, touching on the attitudes that have already caused much anger in France and which also arouse deep admiration for the courage of Gisèle Pelicot in addressing them.

“People here say ‘nobody was killed’. It would have been much worse if (Pelicot) had killed his wife. But that didn’t happen in this case,” Mr Bonnet said.

He then discussed the experiences of Gisèle Pelicot.

“She will certainly have difficulty getting back on her feet,” he agreed, but suggested her rapes were less disturbing than those of another victim in the nearby town of Carpentras, who “was conscious when she was raped… and will carry with her the physical and mental trauma for a long time, which is even more serious”.

“If there are children involved, or women who have been murdered, then it is very serious, because there is no way back. In this case, the family will have to rebuild itself. That will be difficult. But they are not dead, so they can still do it.”

When I suggested that he wanted to downplay the seriousness of the Pelicot case, he agreed.

“Yes, I am. What happened was very serious. But I am not going to say that the village should bear the memory of a crime that goes beyond the boundaries of what can be considered acceptable,” he said.

His wording seemed clumsy. He condemned the case. He did not want his village to be forever stigmatized by it.

But he also seemed to downplay Gisèle Pelicot’s trauma.

I pushed back again. Many women believed that this case exposed certain types of male behavior that needed to change, I said.

“We can always wish to change attitudes, and we must do so. But in reality there is no magic formula. The people who acted in this way are impossible to understand and should not be excused or understood. But it still exists,” Mr. Bonnet replied.

In the Avignon courtroom, several of the defendants—the 18 now in custody—sat in a special glass-walled section watching the proceedings. A white man with gray, tousled hair stroked his bearded chin. Nearby, a younger black man appeared to be dozing.

Earlier, dozens of their co-defendants – those not in custody – had gathered in a long line outside the courtroom alongside journalists.

Most of the men tried to hide their faces with masks, but a few didn’t. A larger man shuffled forward on crutches. Someone pulled a green hood over their face.

French law offers the accused some protection from being identified in the media, but Gisèle Pelicot has given up her own legal right to privacy, choosing instead to become a symbol of resistance for many French women.

“She showed so much dignity, courage and humanity. It was a huge gift to (French women) that she chose to speak in front of the whole world in front of her rapist. They said she was broken. But she was so inspiring,” said Blandine Deverlanges, a local activist who was present at the court today.

She and her colleagues recently painted slogans on walls in Avignon. One reads: “Ordinary men. Horrible crimes.”

The couple’s daughter, Caroline, 45, sat next to her mother and did not hide her emotions.

She was recently shown evidence that her father had taken photographs of her without her knowledge or consent. She believes she was also drugged by him and has become a campaigner on the issue of rape and drugs – an issue that many experts believe is woefully under-reported and under-researched in France.

At times in the courtroom, Caroline would frown or raise her hand to her face in obvious frustration or disgust as various defense attorneys raised objections or discussed procedural issues. A police officer began testifying, speaking with a strong southern French accent. Bright sunlight streamed through a skylight above the judges’ heads.

The atmosphere in the elegantly decorated courtyard was calm, but it was still jarring to see the family – mother, daughter and at least two sons – sitting just metres away from so many alleged rapists, all now with their masks off.