 |
| Since the pandemic began, family violence is on the rise in France |
Days begin and end with numbers and statistics: how many new cases of covid-19, how many new deaths, how many new variants of the virus present on French or US soil?
We’re used to this; it’s our daily bread: sickness and death and numbers that in their enormity tend to sweep under the carpet the reality of suffering and loss. After all, if there are more than 5,000 deaths in one day but no one you know has died, it is easy to ignore the pain. Numbers add up the deaths; they also tend to deaden us.
In France, as in the United States, the corona virus pandemic makes headlines every day. Yet in January, there have been some other numbers and statistics in the news that have brought home an ugly reality to the French: one person in ten admits to being a victim of incest, which comes to 6.7 million French women and men.
Since January 7th of this year, incest, its numbers, its statistics, and the stories of its victims have been reported relentlessly. On that day, a new book was released; its title, La familia grande, seems at once light-hearted—it brings to mind a Spanish comedy—and ominous—when I first heard it, it made me think of the mafia and omertà, the law of silence imposed on those aware of mafia crimes. In fact, the title is both.
La familia grande, by Camille Kouchner, a 45-year-old lawyer and legal scholar, daughter of Bernard Kouchner, co-founder in 1971 of Doctors without Borders, is the story of one big happy family. It is also the story of incest. Camille’s step-father abused her twin brother in the late 1980’s. The step-father, Olivier Duhamel, is a leading specialist of French constitutional law. Until a few weeks ago, he was also a much-consulted media personality and president of the French National Foundation of Political Science. He is professor emeritus at the Paris Institute of Political Science, one of France’s most prestigious institutions of higher learning.
La familia grande in some ways resembles one of those light-hearted French comedies, the kind that take place in a beautiful country home inhabited by beautiful, luminous people. Outside in June, in the shade of a fragrant linden tree, adults drink wine and banter with brio as beautiful children run and play in the sun. The book is about that kind of family, composed of intellectuals, doctors, lawyers and actors, a highly distilled who’s who of the best and brightest of France. It is also about a family that kept silent about incest.
Many knew or suspected. Many kept quiet for all the reasons people keep quiet when they know wrong has been done. Some beyond the family have felt the repercussions. Elisabeth Guigou, a former minister of justice, resigned on January 13th from her position as president of an independent commission on incest recently put in place by the French government. She has been close to Olivier Duhamel for years and was close to him when the acts of incest took place. Many at that time, in the small world of Parisian power and influence, suspected and chose to look the other way.
Here I must make clear that Camille Kouchner’s book has not drawn such attention because it takes place among France’s elite. It tells a universal story of the abuse of a child by an adult with the power to humiliate, intimidate and destroy a life. Camille’s clear and powerful account of her step-father’s sexual abuse of her brother (it’s our secret, don’t tell your mother, it would only hurt her) has set off a “me-too” moment in France. Many who have never spoken are speaking out now and showing their faces for the first time.
At about the same time Olivier Duhamel’s abuse of his step-son began, a victim of incest chose to be the first to show her face on prime-time French TV. On a popular talk show, she spoke publicly of her father’s crime. In 1986, upon the publication of her book, Le viol du silence—The rape of silence, Eva Thomas came forward and spoke to a national audience about how her father climbed into her bed and raped her. She spoke before an assembly of “experts.” Viewers could call in with their comments, and here is what some had to say:
In 1986, on prime-time TV, a medical doctor protested, “You’re just trying to stir up trouble in families and destroy our happiness. I myself have daily sex with my 13-year-old daughter.” Another is in love with his step-daughter and the whole family knows and approves. Still another father speaks of the pleasure he takes in caressing his 10-year-old daughter. Should he feel guilty about that?
Eva Thomas’s response is a resounding “oui.” Incest is abuse of power and an act of violence of a parent against a child who cannot say “non.”
At that point, one of the experts, a well-known and respected gynecologist, interrupted Madam Thomas to “nuance” her point of view. Incest had changed; in most cases it was no longer violent. The parent sought to seduce with tenderness and gentle sexual games. In 1986, in those “enlightened” times, the act could be “romantic,” overflowing with tenderness if the right circumstances were put into place.
It is a crime, period, is the response of Eva Thomas.
While Camille Kouchner’s brother was being abused by his step-father, he tried to tell his sister, but she was too young to understand. To speak of incest, the victim needs someone who can. Such a person is rare, which is why in general silence reigns.
Eva Thomas created a national awakening in 1986, but then the French fell back to sleep. Today the same is happening again as more and more victims come forward to speak of their parents’ crimes. Many witness to lives destroyed.
How difficult for a child to speak a truth that no one wants to hear. How difficult to disrupt and perhaps destroy a family by accusing a parent or close relative of a crime. It is no wonder it takes years to “speak up.” It is no wonder so many victims choose sacrifice.
During the current world-wide pandemic, as families are confined to the home, domestic violence is on the rise. Statistics prove it, and behind every number there is a life.
