Gisèle Pelicot and the mental health burden of rape culture

Like many French women, women around the world, and feminists everywhere, I have been deeply consumed by the Mazan trials over the past four months.

For those unfamiliar:

The Mazan trials centre on Dominique Pelicot, a 71-year-old man accused of orchestrating one of France’s most appalling mass rape cases, alongside 50 accomplices. Pelicot is charged with drugging his wife, Gisèle Pelicot (thereafter as Gisèle), and facilitating and filming her repeated assault by over 70 men across nine years, from 2011 to 2020. Not all perpetrators have been identified or prosecuted.?

The trial, held in Avignon, started in September and has brought to light harrowing video evidence documenting the abuse. While Dominique Pelicot and a few defendants have admitted guilt and apologised to Gisèle in front of the court (too little too late), many co-defendants claim they were manipulated into thinking it was consensual (she was fully unconscious) or unaware of the full extent of their involvement.

Most importantly, at Gisèle’s request, the trial was open to the public. She declared: "Je voulais que toutes les femmes victimes de viol se disent : ? Madame Pelicot l’a fait, on peut le faire [...] Je ne veux plus qu’elles aient honte ?.

Translation: “I wanted all women who have been victims of rape to say to themselves: ‘Madame Pelicot did it, so we can do it [...] I don’t want them to feel ashamed anymore.’"

Please take a moment here to recognise the immense courage this decision required—a woman in her seventies, with children and grandchildren, willingly subjected herself to the scrutiny of a courtroom filled with journalists and the public. She endured countless videos of her abuse viewed and discussed, knowing they would also be detailed in the press. She did it for justice, she did it for women.

In stark contrast, the accused displayed a glaring lack of any courage. They attended court wearing masks and sunglasses, with some engaging in aggressive behavior—pushing journalists and feminist activists. They were even described in the press as exhibiting a “herd mentality,” gathering outside the courthouse to smoke and laugh together.

“Not all men”

You might assume, as many have voiced throughout this trial, that the accused must have been monsters, thugs, or sick men—somehow fundamentally different from the men we encounter in our daily lives. Newsflash: this assumption, as has been demonstrated time and time again, is false.

In most cases, sexual offenders are ordinary men—our colleagues, neighbours, friends, or family members—who often exploit societal norms and power dynamics to commit their crimes without detection or consequence. They aren’t distinguishable by appearance, profession, or demeanour, which is precisely what makes rape culture so insidious.

In this case, the accused included journalists, firefighters, postal workers...—men of varying ages, ethnicities, and social backgrounds. These were not outcasts or caricatures of evil; they were embedded in society, holding jobs that often place them in positions of trust or authority.

This truth is uncomfortable but necessary to confront: rape culture thrives because it is normalised, perpetuated not only by individuals but by the systems and attitudes that allow them to act without accountability.

Why this matters in a human and professional context

For anyone who thinks this topic doesn’t belong on LinkedIn, I respectfully disagree. Conversations about rape culture have a place in every sphere of society. As the diverse backgrounds of the defendants demonstrate, rape culture permeates every stratum of it.

The uncomfortable truth that women have known for centuries—and that men must now confront—is that all men, in some way, have been complicit in upholding rape culture. Whether it’s staying silent when a friend makes a sexist joke or allowing atrocities like the Mazan crimes to occur (many men saw Dominique Pelicot’s ad online and did not warn the authorities) without challenging the systems that enable them.

Complicity takes many forms.

But for the sake of framing this discussion in a professional context (even though really I’m just angry and sad), let’s give this article a workplace lens and link it to women’s mental health/mental load

This trial has deeply affected my mental health, both as a survivor of sexual assault and as a woman/ person with empathy. I know I am not alone in feeling this way.

Many women, whether survivors themselves or not, have been emotionally impacted by this case and or are constantly impacted by other cases, stories and fears for their sisters, their mothers and their friends.

Women do not have a choice, we are forced to confront the realities of living in a world where violence against us is both pervasive and normalised.This is a monumental mental load that men will never have to face and most of the time are not even aware we carry, not just in their personal lives, but in our professional ones as well.

Women navigate workspaces while grappling with societal expectations, systemic sexism, and, for many, the trauma of past experiences. This invisible burden affects productivity at work (even though I do not believe this should be the main metric to judge someone’s professional qualities), emotional well-being, and how women engage in their careers.

When we talk about mental health at work, we cannot ignore the unique challenges women face. From dealing with microaggressions and discriminatory policies to managing the emotional toll of news like the Mazan trial, the mental load women carry is an ongoing issue that demands attention—not just in personal conversations but in workplace policies and culture as well.

After Mazan and Merci Gisèle

In other words, I can’t help but wonder: do male coworkers or bosses ever read news stories like the Mazan trials, the case of a woman disappearing in a park, or yet another femicide, and think beyond, “That’s horrible”? Do they ever ask themselves: “How does this make my female colleagues feel? How heavy must it be to navigate the world under the weight of rape culture?”

This year, the United Nations Children’s Agency reported that more than 370 million girls and women alive today—one in every eight worldwide—experienced rape or sexual assault before the age of 18. And let’s not forget, these numbers are drastically underestimated due to the burden of shame, lack of institutional support, and the fact that most assaults occur within the home.

Bringing this back to the workplace, all I’m asking is for men to become more aware of how these realities affect us. This isn’t just a private issue—it’s personal for many of your female colleagues. The chances that you’re surrounded by women who have, at some point, experienced sexual violence are statistically high.

As an intersectional feminist, I must emphasise that these issues disproportionately affect women of colour and other marginalised groups. If we are serious about fostering inclusive and supportive workplaces, these conversations need to be part of the dialogue.

If you have made it this far, thank you. I will conclude by sharing today’s outcomes of the trial:

The 51 defendants, most of whom were tried for “aggravated rape,” received sentences ranging from 3 to 20 years in prison. Dominique Pelicot was sentenced to the maximum penalty of 20 years, while the others received sentences between 3 and 15 years.

I will not comment on these sentences directly, but I will say this: the fight is far from over. Many of these men were also found to have victimised their partners at home and other women, and some were discovered?to be involved in paedopornography.

We must continue to push for justice—not only for Gisèle, but also for her daughter, Caroline—and advocate for better handling and criminalisation of chemical submission. The work doesn’t end here.

But most importantly I would like to say Merci. Merci Gisèle. Merci pour votre courage et pour votre force, merci d’avoir changé le monde.

I wish you and your daughter the smoothest recovery one could pray for, and a life full of sorority, please rest now, we will keep fighting for you and for women everywhere.

Resources

I could share many resources here, but honestly, even writing this article has been emotionally overwhelming. So, I will mention just one:

A great discussion by the independent media outlet Blast, titled "AFFAIRE PELICOT : QUE DIT LE PROCèS DES VIOLS DE MAZAN DE NOTRE SOCIéTé ?" (The Pélicot Case: What Does the Mazan Rape Trial Say About Our Society?), with Paloma Moritz and featuring:

• Victoire Tuaillon , author, creator of podcasts, and journalist specialising in masculinity.
• Louise Colcombet , police-justice journalist for Le Parisien, who covered nearly every session of the trial.
• Emmanuelle Piet, president of the Feminist Collective Against Rape, maternal and child protection doctor, and gynecologist in Seine-Saint-Denis, and former member of the High Council for Gender Equality.

The video is in French, but subtitles can be added in any language. If you can do it for movies, you can certainly do it for this too.

To support the Caroline Darian's (Gisèle's daughter) collective against chemical submission: https://mendorspas.org/#aider