Johannesburg, 25 November: The recent Gisele Pelicot rape case in France has once again thrust the issues of consent, sexual violence, and societal accountability into the spotlight.
The case that has gripped France on the eve of the Sixteen Days of Activism has prompted feminist protests, and should cause all of us to re-examine the meaning of consent in the context of rape and sexual violence.
The trial concerns 51 men charged with raping Pelicot after her husband drugged her and invited the men into their home to abuse her over the course of almost a decade. The men, from many walks of life, occupations, and backgrounds they said they thought they were just participants in a husband’s sexual games, and were unaware their acts were rape.
In her closing arguments, Pelicot lambasted their cowardice. “It is time for society to look at this macho, patriarchal society and change the way it looks at rape,” she said. “When you walk into a bedroom and see a motionless body, at what point (do you decide) not to react? Why did you not leave immediately to report it to the police?”
At the heart of the Gisele Pelicot case lies the issue of consent—an unequivocal, informed, and voluntary agreement to engage in sexual activity. Consent is not implicit, cannot be assumed, and is invalidated by coercion, manipulation, or power imbalances. Despite these straightforward principles, many still struggle with understanding what constitutes clear and enthusiastic consent.
This lack of understanding fuels the normalisation of harmful behaviours. It allows men to engage with another man’s sleeping wife and try to justify themselves by playing the blame game and putting all the fault on the husband which makes it hard for accountability. It allows men to drug their wives and expose them to sexual violence and the creation of pornographic material for their own pleasure. It allows for men to not call out this behaviour or report it but to rather engage in it and then feign indifference.
The Gisele Pelicot rape case is the kind of horror story that makes you question everything we think we know about humanity, decency, and basic common sense. Pelicot’s husband didn’t just betray her trust; he allegedly drugged and raped her for years, invited other men to do the same while she was unconscious, and even filmed these assaults. If that weren’t enough to boil your blood, many of these men now claim ignorance.
They didn’t know she was drugged, they say. Really? She was snoring. Let that sink in. Somehow, these grown men want us to believe that encountering an unconscious, non-consenting woman didn’t raise even the tiniest red flag. Instead, they shifted the blame entirely to Pelicot’s husband—as if their own complicity doesn’t matter. It’s a bold strategy, but it doesn’t hold up.
This case isn’t just about one man’s monstrous behavior; it’s about the broader culture that enables it. How do you walk into a room, see a motionless woman, and decide, “Yes, this seems fine”? How has our understanding of consent become so warped that these men genuinely believe they were justified—or at least, not responsible?
Consent isn’t complicated. It’s enthusiastic. It’s mutual. It’s clear. The very absence of these qualities should scream, “Stop!” But instead, we see excuses and finger-pointing, where one predator blames another while the victim gets buried under layers of trauma and societal neglect.
What’s worse, this isn’t just about ignorance—it’s about complicity. These men didn’t just stumble into a bad situation; they chose to participate. They didn’t report the behavior. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t leave the room. Their silence and inaction are just as damning as their actions. And yet, society often gives these “secondary” perpetrators a pass, as if not being the mastermind of the crime somehow absolves them.
This is what makes the Pelicot case so infuriating: the audacity of men who actively participated in this violence yet claim to be victims of deception. Their actions reflect a disturbing willingness to prioritise their own desires over someone else’s humanity.
It’s easy to dismiss cases like this as extreme, a rare aberration in an otherwise respectful society. But let’s not kid ourselves. This isn’t about one man, one case, or even one woman. It’s about a pervasive culture that teaches men entitlement over women’s bodies, that normalizes silence in the face of wrongdoing, and that still treats consent as a murky “grey area” rather than a bright red line.
The fact that some people will read this and feel more outrage about the “tone” than the crime says it all. It’s the same culture that allows men to joke about “locker room talk” and shrug off assault allegations while women are left to rebuild their lives from the wreckage.
What would have happened if just one of these men had stopped to think, This isn’t right? What if they had reported the husband instead of joining him? What if they hadn’t been so complicit, so indifferent?
It’s not just about individual choices; it’s about a collective failure. Where are the conversations about toxic masculinity, accountability, and bystander intervention? Where’s the outrage at a system that allows predators to thrive while survivors fight for scraps of justice?
The Pelicot case should be a turning point—a moment where we stop tiptoeing around these issues and confront them head-on. Consent isn’t a buzzword or a checkbox; it’s the foundation of respect and dignity. If we can’t get that right, what does that say about us?
This isn’t just about justice for Gisele Pelicot; it’s about demanding better from everyone. It’s about calling out harmful behaviors, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s about teaching boys that respect isn’t optional and holding men accountable when they fail to meet that standard.
Because if we don’t, cases like this will keep happening. And honestly? We should all be too angry to let that slide.
(This article is written by WOSSO fellow Nokwethemba Mnomiya with assistance from Mbalenhle Mbatha. For more information on GBV in Southern Africa refer to the latest GBV chapter of the Voice and Choice Barometer here. For more information on consent, contact nokwemnomiya@gmail.com).