The Horror of the Pelicot Trial Goes Far Beyond This Case

The trial of Dominique Pelicot, the man in the South of France who pleaded guilty in September to charges of secretly drugging his wife of 50 years, Gisèle, and, over the course of about a decade, filming dozens of men as they had sex with her while she was sedated, would have been disturbing enough just as the story of an epically vile husband. But perhaps there are even more puzzling and horrifying questions about the other men. Who were they? How could they? How can there be so many men willing to rape an unconscious woman?

Over the past five weeks of the trial, which began on Sept. 2 in Avignon, the five judges—and aghast onlookers from around the world—have had the chance to hear from several of Dominique Pelicot’s 50 codefendants, most of whom have been charged with aggravated rape. It would be comforting to think that there are more psychopaths and sexual deviants in that part of France than elsewhere, but it does not seem to be the case.

Clearly, Dominique Pelicot, 71, is a deranged, deceptive, and dangerous human. But most of the accused are unremarkable men with no criminal record who say they are not guilty of rape. Many have offered similar rationales for their behavior: they didn’t think it was nonconsensual. They thought they had license to have sex with Mrs. Pelicot, because they had permission from Mr. Pelicot.

One of the defendants, a 43-year-old carpenter, who went to the Pelicots’ home in October 2019 and again in January 2020, told the judges that after Dominique Pelicot told him Gisèle, now 72, was a consenting partner in a sex game, he hadn’t given the matter of her willingness much more consideration. He was “at a couple’s home, invited by the husband,” he said. “Now that I am being told how the events unfolded, yes the acts I committed would amount to rape,” he added, but still claimed he was innocent of the charge.

Another man, a 37-year-old unemployed agricultural laborer, who is accused of raping Gisèle Pelicot on New Year’s Eve in 2018, asserted he didn’t intend to rape her. “As the husband had given me permission, in my mind she agreed to it,” he said. A 40-year-old computer expert with two university degrees had a similar excuse for his alleged crime in June 2020. “I did not go there with the aim of committing a crime,” he said. “I had absolutely no idea that Mrs. Pelicot was not consenting.”

If we take these men at their word—and there are certainly reasons not to—they genuinely believed that if a husband allows someone to have sex with his wife, then his wife is available for sex. Given that Dominique Pelicot fooled many people, including his relatives, who have said they had always thought theirs was a happy family, it’s plausible that the men thought they were dealing with a normal spouse who had an unusual kink. But, and here’s the rub, that means they also thought that husbands can grant access to their wives’ bodies. In France. In the 21st century.

What does it say about society that men still accord husbands this kind of authority? If it were a woman’s brother or father or cousin, would the men still have proceeded? Unlikely. They’d have called the police. If the shoe were on the other foot, and a wife invited women to commit a lesser violation, such as stealing a husband’s car and taking it for a joyride while he slept in the backseat, claiming that her spouse enjoyed the adventure of waking up in a strange place, would the women have gone ahead without checking in with the husband first? OK, maybe some, but 50? 

So sturdy is the reputation of husbands as protectors of wives and families that these men can claim they were fooled into raping Gisèle Pelicot, who has been at court observing their testimony during much of the proceedings and has testified. Many of the accused brought wives, girlfriends, sisters, and mothers to the court to attest to their character, to explain that these men were not real rapists, though their support is somewhat undercut by the fact that the men came in contact with Dominique via an online forum called “à son insu,” which means “without her knowledge.” Gisèle Pelicot, who has since divorced Dominique, addressed those women during her testimony on Oct. 23. She noted that she didn’t used to think her husband was a rapist either. “A rapist is not just someone you meet in a dark car park late at night,” she said. “He can also be found in the family, among friends.”

At least one of the defendants has argued that he was told Gisèle was pretending to be asleep because she was shy. Some claimed they had been manipulated by Dominique once they got to the home or suspected he had drugged them. Two said they were gay and had been hoping to sleep with Dominique. And a depressingly large number of them said they were sexually abused as minors. Nevertheless, “her husband said I could” has been a common theme in their testimonies, probably because their lawyers see it as the strongest legal defense they have. It is perhaps this, even as much as the psychopathic behavior of Dominique Pelicot, that is sending a chill down many women’s spines. This recognition of how vulnerable women are not just to husbands who have ill-intent, but to a community that holds husbands in such an exalted position that it does not question fundamentally sketchy situations if the man of the house is present.

So far, nobody has come forward to say they went to the Pelicots’ house and left in horror. Police have produced no reports from visitors who realized something was amiss and raised the alarm. Pelicot was unmasked only because he was caught photographing up women’s skirts by a security guard in 2020, and the cops found a cache of pornography on his devices, including videos of his wife in a folder marked “abuse.” There are no hero men in this story, except for those whose job it is to unearth crime. There is, of course, a hero woman: Gisèle Pelicot. If not for her determination to make this case public and her willingness to waive anonymity, it might have attracted very little attention.

Marriage has been a foundational institution for the organizing of society and raising of young children for hundreds of years. Many reports suggest that it is now in decline, despite the robust data that a good marriage improves health and happiness. Perhaps this case adds to the list of possible reasons why. The institution has become caught between two very different societal expectations. On the one hand, marriage is still viewed as a hierarchical power structure, with men at the head, rather than as an agreement between two equals to throw in their lot together. On the other hand, marriage no longer offers a robust assumption of monogamy, fidelity, or exclusivity. A wedding ring has less and less power as a repellent to other men’s sexual approaches. 

In other words, people hold Victorian ideals about the power in a marriage, but 1970s notions about the willingness of all people, including women, to be responsive to all sexual desires at all times, no matter the context. It is conservative and libertine at once. The combination of these two beliefs is uniquely treacherous for women, as this case has proved. When people believe that a husband calls the shots in marriage and can persuade themselves that anyone is available for sex in any situation, it leaves wide open the door for wives to be predated upon.

Women can now earn their own money. They can have children without a partner. There’s scant stigma attached to being single. Obviously, very few husbands are as diabolical as Dominique Pelicot and not all men are potential rapists, but one of marriage’s benefits for women used to be a measure of security: not just from poverty or physical attack, but from the expectations of other men. If marriage no longer makes women feel safer, maybe that's one more reason to go it alone.