Following its qualification for the 99th Academy Awards, The Witness writer-director Emir Kumova sits down to discuss shifting the lens of child marriage away from the victim and onto the community.
Why tell this story through the eyes of a witness rather than the young bride?
That is a good question. Stories about child marriage have been told from the perspective of the young bride many times. We have seen the suffering, the misery, the feeling of being forced into something, and the depression.
And honestly, I think we already understand that these emotions probably exist within young brides. The idea behind this film is a little different. The film is not necessarily centered only on child marriage, but more on the society that witnesses it.
That is why we don’t see the story through the eyes of the young bride, but through the eyes of a witness.
The goal was not to focus only on the suffering of the young bride, because that is something we can already understand, and it has also been explored in other stories about similar subjects. I wanted to ask a different question: What happens when someone witnesses something they know is wrong?
And I think that is a universal question that anyone can ask themselves. At some point in our lives, we may see something that we know is wrong, whether it happens within our close circle, within our community, or even while walking down the street.
Child marriage is one situation I chose to explore this idea. But the bigger question for me is what a person does when they witness something they know is wrong. Do they confront it? Do they stay silent? And what makes someone choose one or the other?
What inspired you to explore child marriage through this film?
Violence against women, especially against young women and children, was something that was very much in the news over the past few years, and it bothered me a lot. Child marriage and forced marriages felt like another form of the same kind of problem, which can sometimes take place within small or isolated communities.
I wanted to make a film about someone witnessing something that they know is wrong, but not knowing what to do with that knowledge. I needed a situation that was serious enough to create that conflict, and child marriage felt very powerful for that.
I also knew that this was a subject that had already been explored in cinema, but usually from the perspective of the young bride and her experience.
That made me think: what if we don’t experience it through the person directly suffering from it? What if we experience it through the person who walks into the situation, realizes what is happening, and suddenly has to decide whether to do something or remain silent?
That became the starting point for this film. Child marriage is the situation, but the film is really about witnessing, silence, and the moment when a person has to decide what to do with something they have seen.
Where does social pressure end and personal responsibility begin?
This is the exact question the film is asking, right? I am not the one to dictate that answer to anyone. This is something everyone has to decide for themselves.
In my personal opinion however, social pressure can explain why someone hesitates or stays silent, but at some point, we still have to take responsibility for our own choices.
I didn’t want the film to give a simple answer about exactly where that line is. I wanted the audience to ask themselves that question while watching Ramazan: if everyone around you accepts something that you know is wrong, how much can you blame the environment, and at what point does staying silent become your own decision?
For me, that’s where the idea of being a witness becomes important. Seeing something also gives you a certain responsibility for what you choose to do next.
But again, I did not make this film to answer that question. I wanted to put the audience in Ramazan’s position and make them ask themselves that question.
How did your Istanbul and Los Angeles experiences shape the film?
I think both places shaped me as a filmmaker, but not necessarily in a direct way where I can say, “I experienced this in Istanbul and this is why I made the film.”
I was born and raised in Istanbul, so Turkey is naturally a part of who I am and the stories I could feel connected to. Living in LA for many years exposed me to a lot of different people, cultures, and ways of thinking.
I think that combination helped me understand that a story can come from a very specific place and culture, but still be about something much bigger.
Child marriage is not something I see as a representation of Turkey. It is a situation that can happen in different parts of the world, in different cultures and communities. I simply chose to tell a Turkish version of that situation because that is the environment I know. And I think living between Istanbul and LA also made me interested in that idea of taking something very specific and making it understandable to someone who may have never experienced that environment. So the film is Turkish in its setting, its characters, its language, but the question at the center of it is not specifically Turkish. That is something I think anyone, anywhere, can understand.
How did you create tension within the wedding setting?
I think the tension comes mainly from the contrast between what we see on the surface and what is actually happening underneath.
A wedding is normally a very happy and celebratory environment. So I wanted the audience to enter the story with that same feeling.
Then slowly, we start noticing things that don’t feel completely right. Ramazan notices them too, but he doesn’t immediately understand what they mean. I wanted the audience to discover the situation at almost the same time as him.
I also didn’t want to create tension by constantly showing something obviously disturbing. I wanted the tension to come from small details and from the feeling that something is not quite right, even though everyone around Ramazan is behaving as if everything is completely normal.
So the wedding itself becomes almost a contrast to what we slowly discover. The happier and more normal the environment feels on the outside, the more uncomfortable the situation underneath is.
And I think that is what makes the tension work. Not knowing exactly what is wrong at first, but slowly realizing that something is very wrong while everyone else continues to act normally.
What do you hope audiences take away from The Witness?
I want them to put themselves in Ramazan’s position and ask, “What would I do if I were there? Would I speak up? Would I stay silent?”
Of course, I hope the film also makes people think about child marriage and the realities that can exist within some communities. But for me, the bigger message goes beyond that specific subject.
I think the first step is simply refusing to look away. Most people may not have the power to change an entire system, but they can listen, question what is being normalized, speak when something feels wrong, or seek help from the appropriate people or organizations.
Because sometimes silence continues simply because everyone assumes it is someone else’s responsibility. And that is really what I wanted the audience to think about. There are many situations in life where we witness something that we know is wrong. They can be very different from what happens in this film, but the question is still the same: what do we do after we become a witness? If someone walks away from this story and continues thinking about that question, then I think the film has done what I wanted it to do.
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