Their teachers beat them, and no one helped. Now they鈥檙e seeking justice.
| Paris
Pascal G茅lie has repressed some of the violence he lived through as a 14-year-old student at a private Catholic boarding school in southwest France in 1989.
But some days, the memories of what he witnessed wash over him: teachers punching students in the head, slapping them, or forcing them to stand outside all night long as punishment.
鈥淚 told my parents, 鈥楪et me out of here.鈥� But they said, 鈥榊ou begged us to go; you鈥檙e going to finish,鈥欌�� says Mr. G茅lie, who attended the Notre-Dame de B茅tharram school for one year. 鈥淏etween us [students], we didn鈥檛 talk about it. We each stayed in our corners.鈥�
Why We Wrote This
The scope of abuse at the Notre-Dame de B茅tharram school has shocked the French public. But the survivors of the violence are taking the opportunity to reclaim their agency and trying to force the private school system to change.
Today, he is part of a 2,000-strong victims advocacy group that is breaking that silence, as former students at B茅tharram come forward with testimonies of physical and sexual violence 鈥� including rape 鈥� between 1950 and the 2010s.
Over 200 complaints 鈥� half of which involve sexual abuse 鈥� have been lodged against the school, making it the biggest abuse case involving minors in France鈥檚 private Catholic school system. Accusers from at least a half dozen other private Catholic boarding schools are also coming forward with similar testimonies of abuse, some of which date back 40 or 50 years.
The revelations have created a movement similar to the #MeToo sexual abuse awareness campaign, along with a sense here that the taboo around talking about physical and sexual violence against minors is weakening. As more survivors feel empowered to come forward and talk about their abuse, French society as a whole has had to listen 鈥� giving survivors more control over their destiny.
鈥淭his is not just my fight but everyone鈥檚 fight, and we鈥檙e trying to do it with dignity,鈥� says Alain Esquerre, a former student at B茅tharram who has led the campaign against the school. 鈥淲e鈥檙e finally starting to understand that what happened back then was not OK. We鈥檙e finally being listened to. But we can鈥檛 stop now.鈥�
When corporal punishment was acceptable
Set in a picturesque town by a river in the Pyrenees mountains, B茅tharram 鈥� run by the Priests of the Sacred Heart of Jesus of B茅tharram 鈥� has welcomed students since 1837. It has largely enjoyed unquestioning respect from parents, both due to its own standing and for the prestige that French parents universally associate with the private Catholic school system.
But former students who attended during the 1970s, 鈥�80s, and 鈥�90s, when most of the abuse is alleged to have taken place, say some corporal punishment was socially acceptable in French schools at the time.
鈥淲e were hit over the head or slapped in front of everyone. It was a form of public humiliation,鈥� says Gilles Parent, the spokesperson for the victims group of Saint-Fran莽ois Xavier d鈥橴staritz, a private school in the Pays-Basque region.
It was not a secret that such things went on at private Catholic boarding schools, says Mr. Parent. B茅tharram was known anecdotally in the region as being the severest. 鈥淢y father鈥檚 response to [school] abuse was, 鈥榃ell, maybe that will teach you to not make mistakes next time.鈥� Other parents would use these schools to threaten their children: 鈥業f you don鈥檛 behave, we鈥檒l send you to B茅tharram.鈥欌��
But despite the rumors, not much was known publicly about what was going on there. Even though B茅tharram and other private schools were under government contract 鈥� meaning they received funding from the state 鈥� they were not being officially monitored.
A recent parliamentary study found that the government inspects the 7,500 private schools that it helps fund at a rate of just five per year, and that most of the inspections focus on schools鈥� budgets, not on their staff.
鈥淭hese schools are closed environments, inward-focused and out of the public eye,鈥� says Michel Fize, a sociologist who studies violence in the French school system. 鈥淭hat makes it much easier for abuse, rape, and other bad behavior to take place.鈥�
鈥淲e are not going to let it go鈥�
It was in 2021, after a Catholic Church-initiated independent commission since 1950, that survivors and victims鈥� advocacy groups began to really coordinate.
鈥淲hen the report came out, [survivors] started to organize on social media, get groups together,鈥� says Arnaud Gallais, co-founder and president of Mouv鈥橢nfants, a nonprofit dedicated to fighting violence against children. 鈥淲e felt mocked, like we had already spoken out, but no one had done anything. Now, we are not going to let it go.鈥�
Mr. G茅lie and Mr. Esquerre have worked with victims from other schools to help them create Facebook and WhatsApp groups, speak to the press, and use their strength in numbers. There are now eight collectives representing thousands of survivors of private school abuse across France.
Accounts of abuse have snowballed. And the B茅tharram case took on a political hue when a journalistic investigation alleged that Prime Minister Fran莽ois Bayrou had been aware of the abuse while he was minister of education in the 1990s. His eldest daughter has since said that she herself had suffered abuse at B茅tharram in the 1980s. Mr. Bayrou, whose wife once taught catechism at the school, is due to appear before a parliamentary inquiry Wednesday.
鈥淣ot every scandal reaches the proportions this one has, and there is a mysterious alchemy to the way this affair has gotten so much attention,鈥� says Arnaud Mercier, a professor of communication at the Universit茅 Paris-Panth茅on-Assas. But he attributes the publicity partly to 鈥渢he capacity of victims to get organized and assert themselves.
鈥淚t鈥檚 also due to the current climate, where a certain number of scandals in the Catholic Church have come out,鈥� he says. 鈥淣ow we鈥檙e more ready to hear victims and to believe them.鈥�
Is change afoot?
While the #MeToo movement has set the stage for French society to listen when survivors of abuse come forward, there is still some hesitancy within families to accept what happened at B茅tharram.
鈥淲e talk about freeing the taboo [around abuse], but many victims don鈥檛 want to hurt their parents,鈥� says Mr. Esquerre. 鈥淔or those who do share, we have parents responding with, 鈥榃hat do you want from all this? Why didn鈥檛 you speak up before? Do you want money? Are you trying to kill me?鈥欌��
But there is a sense that the level of abuse that once took place in French schools is no longer possible today. Society has evolved, say observers, and the threat of being filmed on a student鈥檚 smartphone 鈥� and being publicly shamed 鈥� is ever-present.
In mid-March, the B茅tharram priests launched a new truth commission, including representatives from victims groups and members of a previous commission, to inquire into the potentially systemic causes of the yearslong abuse. The priests also apologized for the abuse, admitting their responsibility and promising to compensate their victims.
This month, the secretary-general of Catholic education in France announced the launch of an awareness campaign that will include informational posters to be displayed in schools, giving emergency phone numbers and advice for teachers and students on how to identify and call attention to abuse.
Parent groups say it is a good start to protecting children, and that the days of defending bad behavior in schools are over.
鈥淲e need to listen [to students] better, believe them, and break the silence,鈥� says H茅l猫ne Laubignat, president of Apel, a national nonprofit that represents parents of students in Catholic education. 鈥淭hey need to know that they can speak out and they won鈥檛 be punished for it. This is an opportunity to do better.鈥�
