Sexual Assault Allegation: A French National-Team Climber Says the Federation Failed Her

A few hours after Alain Carrière publicly announced he was stepping down, a French national-team climber emailed the entire French Mountain and Climbing Federation (FFME) to call out what she described as the federation’s “problematic” handling of her case—an alleged sexual assault by another member of the national team during a World Cup stop. Vertige Media collected her account, then put the allegations and the process to Carrière, the FFME president at the time. Here is what our reporting shows.

© David Pillet

It’s been a strange end of year for the FFME. On December 6, Alain Carrière announced his resignation. That same evening, a bluntly titled email landed in the inboxes of everyone with an @ffme.fr address: “Sexual assaults on the France team.”

The author—whom we’ll call Emma*—is a member of the French national climbing team. In the email, she says she filed a criminal complaint for sexual assault against another national-team member. She also says she does not intend to focus on the accused as a person, but on “the way the federation’s disciplinary bodies have handled this issue, to this day.”

Over several paragraphs, Emma—who says she is “deeply angry”—accuses the federation of failing to put adequate protection and safety measures in place, for her and for others. She points directly to Carrière as the main person responsible. Later in the email, she describes the months she has lived through: insomnia, injuries, anxiety—six months in which, from her first report to the public prosecutor to two successive disciplinary panels, she says she never once felt protected by her federation.

Vertige Media spoke with Emma, then questioned Carrière. The facts and their responses raise a broader question for French climbing’s federation system: how does it handle sexism, sexual harassment, and sexual violence?

Anger, an Olympic dream, and a long dark stretch

It’s close to 11 p.m. when Emma’s long message hits the inboxes of FFME staff and officials. In the email, which Vertige Media obtained, she says she filed a complaint for sexual assault against another member of the French team. She adds that her goal is to discuss “the way the federation’s disciplinary bodies are handling this problem right now.”

Paragraph by paragraph, Emma says she is furious. She writes that the federation has not taken the protection and safety steps she believes it should have taken—for her, and for other athletes. She places responsibility on Carrière. She also describes what she calls months of ordeal: sleepless nights, injuries, anxiety. Months in which she says she “begged” a federation president to act in response to a situation she now calls “unthinkable.”

Like many elite athletes, Emma started climbing young. Training, discipline, and talent took her into the Pôle France program, then the youth national team, and eventually the senior team. She made finals, landed podiums, and began dreaming about the 2028 Los Angeles Olympics.

“When I wake up, it’s like when someone taps you on the shoulder. You know you woke up because someone tapped you—but you didn’t really see the person do it.”

Emma

It’s summer 2024. The Paris Olympics are about to begin, with a month of major competition ahead. Emma says she likes being part of the national team. When she shows up to a new team gathering she’s been called into, she finds the vibe “great.” She likes competing, and she likes the way her athletic status makes her college life more flexible.

She also says she had no idea an event was about to blow up her life.

Now, on the phone, she tells Vertige Media what happened—and what led her, six months later, to alert the federation.

During summer 2024, on the night between the two competition days of a World Cup stop, in the very hotel the federation had booked for its athletes, Emma says she was subjected to unwanted sexual touching by the man she later reported. She says he repeatedly ignored her lack of consent.

She says it wasn’t the first time. In 2023, she says, the same person tried to assault her while she was asleep.

“When I wake up, it’s like when someone taps you on the shoulder,” she says on the phone. “You know you woke up because someone tapped you—but you didn’t really see the person do it.”

She describes a pattern of conduct that, in her view, fits what France often groups under “VHSS”—sexist and sexual violence and harassment. Beyond the alleged assaults while she was asleep, Emma describes repeated behavior and says the accused even admitted he’d “been pushy.”

“Except that the ‘pushiness’ is touching,” she says. “And it’s violent, coercive, and threatening. He crossed the line. The line was my consent.”

That night, she says, felt worse than anything before. But for weeks afterward, she stayed silent.

She says the Mazan rape case—dominant in late-2024 French news—triggered obsessive thoughts. “Radio, TV, Instagram—everything dragged me back into it,” she says. “It got extremely anxiety-inducing.”

She kept a lid on it for a few more months. Then, in May 2025, she told her coach, who immediately escalated it to the federation’s National Technical Director (DTN). Under Article 40 of France’s Code of Criminal Procedure, a public official who becomes aware of a possible crime has a duty to report it to the public prosecutor. A report was made. The justice system was notified.

In the meantime, Emma says she kept receiving messages from the man she reported. She says he knew she’d spoken up. And then, buried inside a longer text exchange, one sentence hit differently—because it was the first time she says she truly felt afraid.

A threat—and the president’s shadow

“I’m tired of trying. I’m going to make you disappear. I hate you with every cell in my body.”

For Emma, the placement doesn’t matter. She says she read it as a death threat.

At the time of the report, she says she was supported by the federation’s VHSS point person—support she still calls “exemplary.” In summer 2025, she filed a formal complaint at a police station.

“I ended up begging a federation president”

Emma

At that point, the question became what the federation president would do next.

After first consulting the head of the federation’s ethics body—an former magistrate—Carrière decided to refer the matter to the FFME’s first-instance disciplinary commission.

Reached by Vertige Media, Carrière confirms: “As soon as we learned about the allegations, the DTN made a report. We were monitored, supported, and advised by the ministry and by our legal counsel.”

On August 29, 2025, the commission issued its decision: it said it lacked jurisdiction. The stated reason was that “the facts, even though they occurred during a night between two competition days, concern the strictly private sphere.”

Emma says she was stunned.

“It’s unbelievable,” she says. “It’s like they said, ‘What happens at night isn’t our business.’ So the sun goes down and it becomes a lawless zone?”

A few weeks later, her lawyer noticed something else. The decision cites Article 2 of the FFME disciplinary regulations—but stops right before a key paragraph. That paragraph states that disciplinary bodies are competent in cases involving breaches of the federation’s ethics charter, including “violence or sexual and/or psychological harm,” including when the alleged acts happened locally “in the context of the activity of an affiliated association.” In the written decision, the paragraph explicitly addressing VHSS was omitted. How do you explain that?

On the phone, Carrière first says: “I can’t explain the decision. I was very surprised.” He says that surprise is why he ultimately decided to appeal—after a brief period where he says he consulted the Ministry of Sports, the DTN, the federation’s director general, legal counsel, and other federations.

Emma disputes the sequence.

According to her, Carrière initially told her he felt “uneasy,” that he wasn’t sure he would appeal, and that he would get back to her after a few days of thinking. She says he called her again less than a week later.

“He explains that based on the advice he got, an appeal has little chance of working, and so he won’t do it,” Emma says.

She describes the moment as devastating. With her mother beside her, she says she fell into acute distress. She says she relayed that distress to the VHSS point person, her coach, and the DTN—and she pressed Carrière again.

“I ended up begging a federation president,” she says. “I was angry. I was crying.”

She says she couldn’t understand his reaction and felt a lack of empathy. “When I told him that not taking my side is taking the attacker’s side, he just answered, ‘Alleged attacker,’” she says. “Even if that’s the legal term, it’s not what you say to someone who filed a complaint.”

Carrière, for his part, describes Emma as “extremely shaken” by what was happening and frames the disconnect as “a matter of perception.” He does, however, acknowledge that there was “a phase” at the beginning where he did not think he would appeal.

Then, five days after his initial refusal, he changed his mind. At the last possible moment, Carrière referred the case to the appeals commission. He attributes the reversal to “consultations.”

Emma offers a different read: “I think he got scared of the consequences,” she says. “If a court decision doesn’t go his way later and he didn’t appeal, people could hold it against him.”

The drop

The appeals commission met quickly, in October 2025, after accepting the president’s referral as admissible. A different panel sat than the first-instance commission. On October 17, it first reversed the earlier ruling on jurisdiction and held that the federation was, in fact, competent to rule on the matter.

But the decision went on to state that “no element makes it possible to establish that X** would have overstepped the consent of Ms. X**.”

For Emma, it was another gut punch—especially because she says she had provided, this time, “testimony from other people that strongly supported [her] account,” along with the harassment messages and the death threat. In the email she sent to federation members, she writes: “I don’t know what would count, in cases like this, as proof of my consent (…) But obviously, I don’t have a video of him assaulting me in my sleep.”

Asked what he thinks of the appeals commission’s ruling, Carrière says he does “not want to comment on judicial decisions”—even though disciplinary commission rulings are not court judgments, since they are not issued by courts.

He also says he never read the harassment messages or the death threat. “I know these elements were transmitted to the commissions, which I want to stress are independent,” he says. “If I have access to the initial report, I can’t have access to the entire case file, which is protected by the secrecy of the investigation.”

In the end, Carrière says he believes he was properly advised and does not think he made a mistake.

The appeals decision ended the federation process. For Emma, there were no more internal remedies. The man she reported was not sanctioned by the FFME. He continued to receive federation funding and to attend national-team gatherings.

Emma argues that, independent of the final ruling, the president could have taken interim protective measures under Article 12 of the FFME disciplinary regulations—what amounts to a temporary suspension or separation: removing the accused from gatherings, keeping him away, barring participation until matters were clarified.

Carrière says he never considered using that power.

“I thought there was no reason to,” he tells Vertige Media. “The DTN told me the program and coaches had put measures in place so that Emma and the alleged attacker wouldn’t cross paths. I trusted my teams.”

Internal sources at the FFME confirmed to Vertige Media that such measures were discussed and implemented. Emma, however, says she was the one who repeatedly pulled back “without being asked by staff.” She says she was harmed most by being the one who had to step aside—and she argues the federation failed its duty to protect other athletes as well.

“Given the complaint, it’s reasonable to question what threats could be hanging over the safety of the other athletes,” she says.

Carrière responds: “If we stopped selecting for the France team the person she denounces, he could also file a complaint.” (An interim protective measure is meant to be protective, not punitive.)

Legal caution, institutional self-protection, or a lack of empathy? The reporting leaves the question open. The result for Emma, she says, was the same.

“Me too”

Beyond any speculation, one thing is clear in Emma’s account: she says she spent six months getting through it with antidepressants, sleeping pills, and Xanax. She says anxiety combined with lack of sleep made her far more injury-prone: tendinopathy, shingles, back pain. The day before our call, she says she threw her back out again.

“My Olympic dream moves farther away with every sleepless night, with every new injury,” she says.

What she describes, above all, is abandonment. “Except for a few people I still want to thank, I was very alone,” she says. “Dozens of messages went unanswered.”

At times, she says it tipped into the absurd. “The VHSS prevention campaign the federation posted on its social media at the beginning of October made me sick,” she says.

“It’s easier for me to testify now because it was much harder for others before. And if, in any way, I can make it easier for the women who speak after me, then that matters.”

Emma

Carrière disputes that. He says the FFME is exemplary on VHSS, pointing to recognition he says the federation received from the Ministry of Sports. Again, he frames the gap as “a matter of perception.” He says he discussed Emma’s case weekly with the DTN and his teams.

“And she didn’t perceive that,” he says. “She even perceived it as a lack of interest. Updates about Emma came to me indirectly. It’s true I didn’t reach out to her directly when she was doing badly. But I’m not a psychologist.”

In the end, Carrière says he believes he was properly advised and does not think he made a mistake.

Emma disagrees. She says Carrière ran from his responsibilities.

“I’m not saying he’s responsible because it’s his fault,” she says. “I’m saying he’s responsible because it’s his job. And the fact that I had to fight him the way I did—that’s not normal.”

Emma says she is speaking now because, after a year and a half of what she calls a nightmare, she reached a conclusion: “I told myself there was no point in me going through this if other people were going to go through it too.”

She continues: “As a woman who grew up in the 2000s and 2010s, I’m part of a generation that was still raised with a lot of awareness of these issues. It’s easier for us to talk about sexist and sexual violence because other people spoke before us. In other words, it’s easier for me to testify now because it was much harder for others before. And if, in any way, I can make it easier for the women who speak after me, then that matters.”

Emma says she spent two months writing the email she sent to the FFME. She now describes the support she received afterward as something that made her feel “much less alone.”

“That also gives me more strength,” she says. “At the beginning of this, I thought it would be impossible to keep my sports career going. Today, I think it’s possible.”

Her decision to break the silence changed the terms of an affair that, until then, had been known only to a small handful of people inside the French Mountain and Climbing Federation. The timing was striking: it came just moments after the federation publicly announced the resignation of Alain Carrière, who had been president since 2016. The federation insists it was a coincidence.

Name changed.*

Labels used to protect anonymity.**