It is desperate. Screaming for help when everyone is complicit. When confessing to being a victim only brings out fingers and tongues pointing at you from the windows. When because you are not the aggressing party, your social interactions will be deformed into whispers and slanted glances. When the real threat looms over you of having to marry someone who deliberately finds satisfaction in cutting off your humanity.
With the possibility of passing the Sexual Amnesty Law in 2016 in Turkey, where a rapist would be pardoned if he marries the victim, every Turkish woman felt the unique fear and disgust born by being betrayed by the one who swore to protect you: The Government. With that blatant risk that what is unforgivable might armor itself in the legitimacy of justice, that filmmaker Sevin Yaman managed in her film I, You, He/She, We, You, They, to synthesize in a little more than four minutes, all the anxieties triggered by that shameful proposal. The Act. The Damage. The repercussion. The lie that society pretends is the solution. The style in Sevin Yaman's work is intelligent, precise, and at the same time sharply sensitive and creative. From the choice of angles and images to editing and photography. Never explicit, but deeply and frighteningly intimate.