“I wanted, by opening the doors of this trial on September 2, that society could take up the debates that took place there. I have never regretted this decision.” With these words, Gisèle Pelicot, moved, closed fifteen weeks of the intense trial of her 51 attackers. Next to her is a youthful face: that of her grandson Nathan, 18 years old. It is also for her grandchildren that she “led this fight”. “I respect the court and the decision of the verdict”, added the woman who has become a global icon in the fight against sexual violence.
A little earlier in the morning, her ex-husband Dominique Pelicot, the instigator of her decade of torment, was sentenced to the maximum sentence of twenty years in prison. Standing in his box, the 72-year-old man feels the blow, staring at his feet, his shoulders heavy. Then sits down again. And the president pronounces in one go, in 1 hour 15 minutes, the sentences of his 50 co-defendants.
It begins with Jean-Pierre M., the only one prosecuted for several aggravated rapes not of Gisèle Pelicot, but of his own wife, with his participation. The 63-year-old man is sentenced to twelve years of criminal imprisonment. The public prosecutor had asked for seventeen years. We immediately understand that the five magistrates of the Vaucluse criminal court stood out from the indictment of the two attorneys general. In a particularly calm atmosphere, the president continued and handed down sentences ranging from three years in prison – two of which were suspended – to fifteen years in prison.
Each man gets up, one after the other. Gisèle Pelicot leans over to look at them, contorting herself to see the 18 detained defendants, squeezed into their box, at the very back of the room. Among the accused who appeared free, several kept their coats, ready to leave immediately: 23 were immediately taken into custody.
No handcuffs at the bar: they are calmly exfiltrated into two adjoining rooms, each carrying their own bag containing their belongings. No tension, no angry cries. One accused, however, sheds a few tears. Gisèle Pelicot’s children do not seem satisfied, but contain themselves. Like Caroline Darian, who cries silently, arms crossed.
Outside, a completely different atmosphere reigns. From the four broadcast rooms, mothers and companions of the accused burst into tears. Several exclaimed, in shock: “Nine years, damn, nine years!”shouts one of them. A few cameras film them. Insults come from the grieving women. Some want to go out for some fresh air, but don’t dare, fearing the crowds outside.
Since the morning, a crowd of journalists has gathered in front of the entrance to the court. The first ones arrived at 5 a.m. Nearly 180 media were accredited to cover the event, including 86 foreigners for a total of 350 journalists, with duplexes in English, Spanish, German, Portuguese, Dutch and even Japanese. At 7:30 a.m., most of the media contingent was on site. Everyone is already watching for the arrival of Gisèle Pelicot. One woman came from Portugal to support her, another traveled from Cologne, Germany.
“Justice for Gisèle! Justice for women!” suddenly shouts a feminist, very alone. She is soon joined by around ten others. All belong to the Amazones d’Avignon collective, which has been making its voice heard since September 2.“Rapist, your dick in a blender”, “Prison for everyone”, is it written on the few panels that they hold at arm’s length.
It was around 7:45 a.m. that the accused arrived, alone or in small groups. The first ones went unnoticed, returning in a hurry, head down, surgical mask on their face. Others are quickly spotted and try to make their way through the pack, to the cries of “Rapists, we see you!”. Some activists hand them oranges, “for their stay in prison”. A defense lawyer is accused of “pseudo-avocate”. “Pseudo-feminists!”she yells back. “It’s madness,” whispers a policeman.
The release of the verdict is even more tense. Since dawn, the crowd has grown, with other activists, but also curious people and a few curious people. And the judges’ decision is considered too lenient by many. Some of the nine accused who come out free (three of whom are subject to a deferred committal warrant) take the adjacent exits. But others decide to voluntarily break through the crowd. They are copiously insulted, violently pushed around. A policewoman trips.
Not frightened however, Christophe Bruschi, a defense lawyer, insults the feminist activists of“hysterical” and of “furies”. “Asshole!”, “Son of a bitch!”, some answer. The situation degenerates, the police exfiltrate him. He then returns to justify himself to the media: “I accept the contradiction, but with a smile and in a non-aggressive manner”.
And then, around 1:15 p.m., Gisèle Pelicot comes out in turn. A late departure, more than two hours after the end of the verdict: we had to wait for the agreement of the police services outside. For the first time, the septuagenarian enters the Salle des Pas Perdus, surrounded by the police to protect her from the pack of journalists.“Even for [Emmanuel] Macron, I’ve never seen that!”observes, amused, a reporter accustomed to political meetings.
When she arrives at the top of the court steps, she is applauded like a rockstar. “Gisèle, Gisèle, Gisèle!” the crowd repeats in unison. Behind, his sons and daughter follow as best they can. Just like her daughters-in-law, who made the trip. Young Nathan seems amused by the situation, but also a little scared. Anne-Sophie, the lawyer from the France Victimes association, who has accompanied Gisèle Pelicot since the beginning, has tears in her eyes. “It’s beautiful, I don’t know what to say”blurted out the young woman, upset.
Gisèle Pelicot walks a few meters on the sidewalk, still surrounded by the crowd of cameras. We can’t even make out his auburn bob anymore. Soon, she disappears, around the corner of the street perpendicular to the court. And quickly, the journalists disperse.
The tension goes down again. The deputy prosecutor, responsible for relations with the press since the start of the trial, seems stunned. He received around a hundred emails and phone calls the day before the verdict. The bailiff, caught in the crowd a few hours earlier to transport the accused into court, laughed nervously. The police officer who supervised the entrances and exits from the courtroom for 65 days also acknowledges the shock: the Mazan rape trial is over. “I’m moved, it does something to me”he confides.
In front of the court, the invectives gave way to the feminist choir of Déferlantes, which sang joyful songs in French and Catalan. They dance, hug each other. “Shame changes sides!“, they rejoice in unison. They remember the words of Gisèle Pelicot at the end of the verdict: “I have confidence in our ability to collectively seize a future in which everyone, women and men, can live in harmony with respect and mutual understanding.”
