“It’s a quiet little village, quite friendly. I never thought it could happen here. In fact, we’re shocked when we see the word Mazan on television,” laments Lina Blazy, a retiree living in this medieval town in the south of France.
Previously known mainly for its proximity to Mont Ventoux, this town in Vaucluse with 6,000 inhabitants has been associated since the beginning of September with an extraordinary trial, followed on television channels around the world.
That of Dominique Pelicot, accused of drugging his wife and recruiting dozens of strangers on the Internet to rape her from July 2011 to October 2020, at the couple’s home in Mazan. And even if only two of the 50 co-accused lived in Mazan, the embarrassment is present.
“Some people say we’re a village of rapists, but that’s not the case!” exclaims Annie Viau, who runs a bakery near the town hall.
“For me, the rapist is not from Mazan, he is from Paris (the couple arrived in Mazan from the Paris region in March 2013, Editor’s note), but it happened here unfortunately,” she adds.
Few customers speak to her about this matter: “People have a certain modesty,” she explains, unable to bear the reputation of her village being tarnished.
Tired of being bombarded by the media, consumers sitting on the terrace of a café prefer not to speak out on this matter any more.
A disturbing coincidence: Mazan still houses what was once the family home of the Marquis de Sade, the 18th century French writer.e century at the origin of the notion of sadism with his sulphurous writings describing scenes of torture, rape, incest or murder.
This term had been taken up by the Dr Paul Bensussan during his psychiatric analysis of Dominique Pelicot at the trial on September 9, referring to his “sexual sadism with the desire to humiliate his wife.”
“Anxiety-provoking” atmosphere
“It’s certain that (this affair) doesn’t create good publicity for the village and the region,” says Frédéric Raymond, leaning on the bar of a café, recalling that around twenty men recruited by Dominique Pelicot have never been identified.
“Sometimes, you come across people in Mazan and you think ‘maybe…’. It could be anyone… It’s not written on the forehead of the sick,” says this young retiree living in a neighbouring village, looking serious, highlighting the climate of suspicion that has set in since the start of the trial.
Although 72 men had been identified by investigators, based on photos and videos of the events taken by Dominique Pelicot himself, only 50 were actually identified and arrested. They have been on trial since September 2 before the criminal court of Avignon.
This is what creates a somewhat “anxiety-provoking” atmosphere, confirms the mayor of the village, Louis Bonnet (various right). The unidentified attackers “may be from the village… Or not,” he notes. Hence his questions about the hypothesis of “coming across them at the bowling alley, in the shops.”
However, for the elected official, the question of a possible psychological unit in the village or in the schools does not arise: “No one has yet come to tell me “I am marked, the town hall must help me psychologically”. But if it has to be done, we will do it.”
Others are thinking about it, however, like Cécile Paulin, “shocked and upset” by the Pelicot affair. This massage therapist founded a women’s shelter in Mazan and she would like to open “a space where people can speak out.”
Not only for the direct victims of Dominique Pelicot, but also “for all those who need it”, as well as “collateral victims, such as the partners of the other accused”, she adds.
“We need to talk about it so that it doesn’t happen again,” she insists, “we can’t act as if nothing is happening.”