Read an exclusive extract from A Hymn to Life by Gisèle Pelicot
One November day, Gisèle Pelicot was called to a local police station and life as she knew it ended. What she did next changed the world.
When her husband and 50 other men were put on trial for her rape, Gisèle made the courageous decision to waive her right to anonymity. ‘Shame must change sides,’ she declared, giving voice and hope to millions. Her words became a rallying cry and her decision marked a turning point in public feeling about sexual violence across the world.
In this exclusive extract from her memoir, A Hymn to Life, Gisèle reflects on her decision and its far-reaching impact.
This story is no longer just about me. It has roused a deep, silent pain as old as time. It has sparked an extraordinary seismic shift. How to make sense of what has happened, of what my ordeal has unleashed? All those women who write to tell me they have finally found the strength to speak out, to face up to their struggles, in some cases to divorce their husbands, all those thousands of letters; the man I met on a train platform who thanked me on behalf of his two young daughters; the teenage girls on the other side of the world who recognised me beneath Rio de Janeiro’s monumental statue of Christ the Redeemer and came up to me with tears in their eyes; the couple I met on the dunes not far from my house who told me they loved me. I smile and thank them, tell them I love them too, try to tamp down the overflowing admiration in their eyes. All I’ve done is pick my way along the fault line that runs through me.
When I was sixteen, I thought constantly about my purpose in life. At that age, it’s normal to wonder what it’s all about. But I had a yearning for something more; I wanted a mission. That was what I needed in order to escape the sadness that had engulfed my family and might well have destroyed me too. It was 1968, and women were coming together so they could fight to break free from a life mapped out for them, to fight for the right to abortion, for their liberation. I heard them, admired them, but was far removed from them. I couldn’t really grasp what this conflict between men and women was all about. I was haunted by the melancholy figure of my father who, like my brother, I had never been able to console. I had never been able to do anything for these two taciturn men, utterly devoted to Maman and lacking any sort of masculine brutality. I dreamed of love, of marriage, of having a family of my own that would make everything right, that would give me back what had been taken away. I yearned for the chance to grow old and grey alongside a man, holding my children close as they grew bigger and then began to wriggle free, gently shrugging off their mother’s embrace. I wanted all that; nothing could make me change course, and I believed I had committed myself to it by marrying, as they say, for better or for worse.
This story is no longer just about me. It has roused a deep, silent pain as old as time.
And here I am, in my seventies, a martyr, the symbol of a new feminist wave that I hardly know a thing about. This time I won’t turn away from it. I will stay as I am, without hatred, unable to set men against women, for I believe we are meant to live side by side. I imagine this might disappoint a few campaigners. I am not a radical person; all I’ve ever wanted is a conventional, quiet life. But I heard women transforming the pain of the trial into emancipatory chants that they sang on the steps of the Palais de Justice. I heard joy and anger prevailing over silence, and I am more than happy to offer my experience as an example and my name as a battle flag. It fills me with relief to think that a woman who wakes up, unable to remember what happened the night before, might think of me – or rather my story. Yes, I prefer to put it like that: she will think about what happened to me. I don’t like the status of victim, and I have never felt like an icon. Perhaps I actually did fulfil the sense of mission that haunted me when I was sixteen.
A Hymn to Life is out now.
If you have experienced or are experiencing abuse, there are ways to get support:
Find local support via the Women’s Aid Directory (www.womensaid.org.uk/information-support/womens-aid-directory). This will locate a domestic abuse service in your area that can offer direct support.
Find your local Rape Crisis centre via the Rape Crisis Directory (https://rapecrisis.org.uk/find-a-centre/). This will locate free support centres in your area which can offer direct support.
Contact the National Domestic Abuse Helpline (run by Refuge): Call 0808 2000 247. This is a free 24/7 support line. Or chat online at https://www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk/chat-to-us-online/
Contact Rape Crisis’ Rape and Sexual Abuse Support Line: Call 0808 500 2222 or chat online at 247sexualabusesupport.org.uk. These are free 24/7 support services.
Visit Women’s Aid’s Survivors Forum (https://survivorsforum.womensaid.org.uk): a safe, anonymous space for women (over 18) who have been affected by domestic abuse to talk to each other.
If you are in immediate danger, please call 999 or 999 BSL.
These services are available in the United Kingdom only. For a list of domestic and sexual violence helplines and services worldwide, visit nomoredirectory.org