News Desk
I listened to Balance ton quoi in French, which was part of my French lesson, and even without understanding every word at first, its melody was mesmerizing. “Balance ton quoi” is a song by Belgian singer-songwriter Angèle, released in 2019. The title refers to the #BalanceTonPorc movement, the French equivalent of #MeToo, and addresses issues of sexism and misogyny in contemporary society.
The lyrics criticize the way women are treated and challenge gender stereotypes. While the song denounces sexist behavior. As I focused on the lyrics, their depth became undeniable.
Angèle’s voice, both smooth and assertive, carries a message that resonates far beyond the music itself. Released in 2019, the song is more than just a catchy tune—it is a statement, a call to challenge everyday sexism and rethink the way women are treated in society.
France, long revered as a beacon of sexual liberation and gender equality, now finds itself at the center of harrowing revelations that challenge its progressive ideals. The country that gifted the world the philosophy of liberté, the sensualism of Parisian nightlife, and the feminist movements that shaped modern discourse now stands accused of fostering an underbelly of silence and impunity, where the most horrific abuses unfolded for years unnoticed.
Two criminal cases, one involving a former surgeon accused of abusing nearly 300 children and the other exposing a man who drugged his wife and allowed dozens of men to rape her, have shocked the nation. The accused, both unassuming men embedded in the fabric of everyday life, raise unsettling questions about how such atrocities could persist in a society that prides itself on its progressive values.
When French police raided the home of surgeon Joël Le Scouarnec in 2017 following a report of a six-year-old boy’s rape, they uncovered a grotesque secret: a hidden warehouse filled with inflatable dolls, wigs, and a meticulous archive of child pornography. Among the evidence was a series of electronic diaries detailing his assaults over nearly three decades.
Despite a 2005 conviction for possessing child pornography, Le Scouarnec continued to work in public hospitals. He operated on children, some of whom he assaulted while they were under anesthesia. The scale of his crimes makes him the most prolific pedophile in French history, with prosecutors identifying 299 victims. His trial is set to begin next week in Vannes, Brittany.
One of his victims, François, now an adult, voiced his anguish: “I was put in the hands of a predator. How was this allowed?” The case has prompted scrutiny of the French medical establishment, which failed to prevent a convicted offender from continuing to practice medicine.
While Le Scouarnec preyed on children in sterile hospital rooms, Dominique Pélicot transformed his home into a house of horrors. Over the course of a decade, Pélicot drugged his wife, Gisèle Pélicot, rendering her unconscious while he invited strangers to rape her.
Videos and images, found in neatly labeled folders on his computer, revealed the extent of the abuse. Some 50 men participated, many of whom have since been convicted. The case shocked France not only because of its brutality but because it called into question how a culture that prides itself on championing women’s rights could allow such systemic degradation to occur in silence.
Gisèle Pélicot’s courage in demanding a public trial turned her into an emblem of resilience. “He stole my life,” she told the court. “But I will not let him steal my voice.”
France’s feminist movements have long been at the forefront of global advocacy for women’s rights, from Simone de Beauvoir’s seminal texts, which many of us studied during our university years, to the present-day #MeToo-inspired #BalanceTonPorc movement. Yet these cases expose a grim contradiction: a nation that celebrates sexual freedom but still struggles to protect the most vulnerable.
France’s feminist movements have long been at the forefront of global advocacy for women’s rights, from Simone de Beauvoir’s seminal texts, which many of us studied during our university years, to the present-day #MeToo-inspired #BalanceTonPorc movement.
Why did these crimes persist for so long? The answer, in part, lies in the reluctance of French institutions to challenge figures of authority. Le Scouarnec’s position as a surgeon granted him unchecked power, while Pélicot’s abuse was shielded by domestic privacy norms that, for too long, discouraged outside intervention.
Doesn’t that sound very Maldivian? It does to me!
Moreover, French legal culture, while progressive, has often leaned towards the preservation of personal liberties over aggressive state intervention. The protection of reputations, particularly in elite professions, has sometimes taken precedence over victim advocacy. That reluctance allowed predators like Le Scouarnec and Pélicot to remain hidden in plain sight.
France finds itself at a crossroads. The revelations of these crimes have sparked a national conversation about accountability and the limits of its celebrated freedoms. If the nation that prides itself on the ideals of égalité and liberté is to live up to those principles, it must confront the uncomfortable reality that unchecked freedom, without safeguards, can serve as a cloak for the darkest abuses.
In the words of one victim’s lawyer, Florence Rault, “France must ask itself: what is the true cost of our silence?”
