The high-profile criminal trial of Dominique Pelicot is wrapping up. The French man is accused of drugging and raping his 72-year-old wife, Gisèle Pelicot, and also inviting 50 other men to rape her while she was unconscious.
What’s captured global attention isn’t just the sensational allegations in the case, but Gisèle Pelicot’s decision to publicly appear before the court and to speak with the media.
Pelicot has been praised as a feminist hero in France.
“I’ve decided not to be ashamed, I’ve done nothing wrong,” Pelicot told the court in October 2024.
“Above all”, she said that same month, “I’m expressing my will and determination to change this society.”
Using their voices
Courts around the world, including in France, provide special measures to shield the identity and testimony of rape survivors, including the use of protective screens in the courtroom or prerecorded testimony.
Vulnerable witnesses in France and elsewhere also have the right to testify in closed proceedings, and news organizations generally do not name and identify victims when they report about rape. These measures aim to protect survivors from face-to-face confrontations with perpetrators, as well as from victim blaming and shaming.
But the Pelicot case and others show how some sexual assault survivors across the globe are rejecting these legal protections and are choosing to reveal their names, faces and voices. Their decisions don’t just challenge perpetrators – they challenge the courts, rape culture and the way people often understand shame.
As a former lawyer and a researcher on sound and voice, I study how rape survivors and their allies speak out about sexual violence, in and out of court. Filmmaker Bremen Donovan and I are working on a documentary film, “Big Mouth,” about women’s testimony against sexual violence in the West African country of Guinea.
A rape survivor in Guinea speaks out
Some aspects of the Pelicot case resonate with recent events in Guinea, where a rape survivor named Fatoumata Barry chose to testify on live television in a major criminal trial in 2023.
Barry’s high-profile testimony took place in a trial against Moussa Dadis Camara, the former president of Guinea, and his top military commanders. In 2009, Camara oversaw mass violence against pro-democracy supporters in the capital, in which Guinean soldiers killed 157 people and raped more than 100 women.
A Guinean court found Camara and other leaders guilty for these crimes in July 2024.
The trial included dozens of victims and witnesses who testified. But while rape survivors were allowed to testify in closed proceedings, Barry chose instead to testify publicly.
In the Guinean case, defense lawyers in court repeatedly tried to shame Barry for appearing before the cameras. One lawyer accused her of “embarrassing” herself and the country by bringing the case before the media.
Barry saw through this well-worn silencing tactic and said on the stand that she spoke out for justice.
A ripple effect
Sexual assault survivors are often deeply vulnerable. Many of them fear being threatened and intimidated, or publicly blamed and shamed. Legal protections are hard-won rights that exist for a reason, and many survivors continue to need and use them. But some decide otherwise.
While the #MeToo movement started a cultural shift in 2017 around the world by encouraging survivors to tell their stories, public testimony goes even further, as survivors show their faces and broadcast their voices while under the glaring scrutiny of a trial.
Other sexual assault survivors, including Adji Sarr in Senegal and Nikita Hand in Ireland, have also publicly testified in recent years.
In Senegal, Sarr has faced death threats since 2021, when she accused a prominent politician, Ousmane Sonko, of assaulting her. She reaffirmed her accusations on television a month later, and she and her supporters called for a televised trial. Sonko was acquitted of rape in June 2023 but was found guilty of “corrupting youth” for having had a sexual relationship with Sarr before she turned 21.
‘Shame must change sides’
There are clear ramifications for Barry, Gisèle Pelicot and others who choose to step forward to publicly discuss their abuse in a courtroom.
Their private lives and histories are dissected as evidence. They are cross-examined by defense lawyers determined to undermine them.
And they are exposed to criticisms and further violations. Barry was attacked by the defense and by anonymous people online as “crazy” and “dangerous,” while Pelicot admitted that publicity was a difficult decision for her because it left her feeling violated.
Public commentators and the media often describe rape as an “unspeakable” act.
By creating privacy protections to mediate or close off testimony, the courts may – inadvertently or not – reinforce silence by assuming that it is victims, and not perpetrators, who will be shamed.
Like Gisèle Pelicot, Barry and her allies, including the Guinean women’s rights activist Hadja Idrissa Bah, have said instead that “shame must change sides.”
I previously received funding from the Wenner Gren Foundation and the National Endowment for the Humanities.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
