BEAUTY FEAR VIOLENCE

This film was born out of an unsettling experience, one that made me doubt myself, mistrust the authorities and wonder about women's condition.

One evening, as I was alone in my apartment, I heard a brief yell ripping up the night. First, I wasn't sure of what I had heard. Did I dream it? Was I sure it was a woman's voice? But when that haunting yell started again, there was no doubt left. It was a woman screaming in pain. She was close, close enough to feel her pain in my bones. She was just next door, in the building across the alley, thrown down and beaten up.

What could I do? I felt strangely paralyzed. Although I had seen similar situations in films, I realized it didn't help. I realized that in films you were almost always watching the victim from the point of view of her aggressor... I realized that in films you expected women - mostly women - to suffer and die because that was a good narrative ingredient!

But real violence was not a thrilling spectacle. It was just an ordinary experience of helplessness and despair. And violence against women, "domestic violence" as we euphemistically say, is just an everyday story of injustice and gender inequality. Not so much suspense, really.

So, what did I do? I thought about calling out loud at the window, with a deep voice pretending to be manly: "Stop that or I'll call the police!". But I didn't dare. I thought about going and knocking on a neighbor's door, so that we can act up together. But, why had none of my neighbors reacted yet? Were they used to it? Were they just pretending not to hear? So I didn't dare. I thought about going myself to that apartment and save her. But I'm a 5 feet tall and 105 pounds young blond girl. I didn't dare.

When individuals fear to stand up against brutality, society as a whole should, right? Isn't it what the police was made for? Protecting our safety. I thought no woman could be harmed with impunity as long as someone would bear witness and call for help. I was wrong.

When I called 911, no one wanted to write down my deposition nor the address of the incident - that was not urgent enough. When I called the local police, they refused equally - that was urgent indeed, 911 had to deal with it!

I tried a few times. The screams ceased. Silence and dark remained.

That night, I felt more powerless than ever. I measured how difficult it is to escape that moral paralysis know as "the bystander effect", which makes you less likely to help someone in need when there are other people around, because you think THEY should act. But I also felt that our society, as much as it was pretending to be concerned with women's rights, only wanted to close its eyes on their violations.

So I made a film. Not a film that would try to reproduce in a pseudo-documentary or realistic way the scene of violence I witnessed. A film that would document my feelings as a witness. A film that would reconsider the meaning of empathy. A film about saving ourselves from the bystander's apathy, collectively.