Gisèle Pelicot presses for answers after France’s largest rape trial
Gisèle Pelicot, the woman at the centre of a landmark criminal case, has used a new memoir and high-profile interviews to set out how she survived years of drugging and sexual violence at the hands of her husband and dozens of other men. At 73, she has declined anonymity, says she was "crushed by horror" when she learned the full scale of the crimes, and insists she still has questions for the man convicted for orchestrating the abuse.
From discovery to public testimony
Pelicot has described a moment that changed everything: an encounter at a police station in which officers showed her images and footage taken while she was unconscious. She recalls not recognising herself in the material and feeling an inner explosion that she likened to a tsunami. It was then that she first used the word "rape" to describe what had happened to her.
She chose to waive her legal right to anonymity before the four-month trial that followed. The decision was deliberate, she says, part of a campaign to shift shame from victims to perpetrators. Her forthcoming memoir, A Hymn To Life, and a series of interviews have underlined that choice and given her a platform to demand accountability and answers she feels remain outstanding.
Crimes, convictions and unanswered questions
The sequence of events laid out in court established that her husband systematically drugged her and invited other men into their home to assault her while she was unconscious. He filmed many of the assaults, catalogued the material and stored it on a hard drive. He has since been sentenced to a prison term of two decades.
Dozens of men were identified and faced charges ranging from sexual assault to rape and attempted rape; some were convicted. Still, the woman's account highlights the incomplete nature of justice in the case: numerous perpetrators remain unidentifiable because material could not be tied to named individuals. Pelicot has made clear she wants direct answers from her former husband about the full extent of what happened and who was involved.
She also revealed the personal cost: the shock and humiliation shattered family bonds. Contacting her three adult children to tell them what she had learned was among the hardest acts she remembers. Family photographs were destroyed in the aftermath, and she says suspicion and grief reshaped her relations with relatives.
Composure, public presence and the work ahead
Despite the gravity of what she endured, Pelicot presents herself with deliberate composure. In public appearances she has combined candour with a calm, measured manner that some observers have described as quietly formidable. She speaks about surviving rather than succumbing to indignation, stating that she felt "crushed by horror - but I don't feel anger. "
She describes how the police advised her not to be alone immediately after the revelations and how it took hours of questioning before she could name the crime done to her. She has also spoken about practical details of the abuse: substances placed in wine and food to render her unconscious and the systematic way footage was taken and stored.
Pelicot has sought to transform her personal ordeal into a wider conversation about accountability, consent and the responsibility of bystanders. By foregoing anonymity and publishing a memoir, she has put pressure on institutions and public opinion to confront how such crimes can persist for years without detection.
At a meeting with an interviewer she introduced a new partner and continued to emphasise the need for answers. She says she does not regret stepping into the public eye: the move has given her a voice and a platform to insist that shame belongs with the perpetrators, not the victim.
As legal processes continue to resolve remaining questions, Pelicot's testimony and writing will likely remain central to debates about victim visibility, the limits of evidence in digital investigations, and how societies reckon with crimes carried out behind closed doors.
