All language subtitles for Woman.en-CA

The bravest thing I've done

was to stand in front of an audience

and say,

"I'm a survivor of sexual violence
and human trafficking."

And I climb mountains.

I run deserts.

I broke the Guinness record
for the longest triathlon.

Swimming 122 miles,

cycling 2,932 miles,

and running 735 miles.

But I have never been more afraid
in my life

than that moment,
the first time I said it out loud.

I hesitated so much!

As my words were leaving,
I wanted to take it back.

Because I was so terrified.

But I got through.

It made me stronger and better.

Because what I wanted
was to break the silence.

I do know now
that it was through the silence

that all of this was possible.

Violence only thrives in silence.

When we don't talk about it.

People always say
the victims have no voice.

We do have a voice!
You just don't want to hear us.

You silence us.

I love being a woman.

I've always loved being a woman.

And I was a pretty little girl!

I liked wearing the pretty dresses.

I liked dressing up
in my mom's high-heeled shoes,

and sneaking off
to put her make-up on.

I love the tenderness,

the sensitivity,

the uniqueness
of what it really means

to be a woman.

I am a woman

even if I was not born a woman.

For many women,
womanhood is a gift of nature,

but for me,
it was a gift I gave myself.

I am in a wheelchair,
but I've fulfilled

my dream of dancing,

of feeling happy and free.

I'm a happy, strong, crazy woman.

I am a real woman.

And I think I deserve
to be called a real woman.

I feel good.

It would take all day

for me to list
half of the qualities I possess.

Women are not weak!

They are very strong.

People think if they're women,
they're weak.

But no, women are not weak.

You're tough,
because of your biology.

You're tough, because...

every month, you bleed!

You're tough,
because you can bear children,

and that is not an easy thing.

You're tough, because emotionally,

you would stand a great deal.

When problems arise,

I think, if I were a man,
I could fix this.

Women have to work hard.

When I'm tired, after a long day,
seeing men do less,

I think, to be a man,
and rest in the shade!

On any given day,

a woman is as busy as a CEO.

You have to remember 20,000 details.

In fact, you can't think of them.
It has to be automatic.

"Am I properly groomed
for my date tonight?

"If I do an epilation after work,
I'll have red marks.

"Should've done it before.

"Last night,
I should have washed my hair, too."

When you open your closet
to get dressed,

it has to be work-appropriate,
but comfortable,

because you're supposed
to exude self-confidence.

Then you try
to match bra and panties.

You can never find a pair
the same color!

In the subway,
you have to avoid men's eyes.

"Is he groping my ass?
No. I can go out."

In the street, it's the same thing.

You get to work,
after a few sexist remarks.

For your date,
you have to get dressed up.

Make like you haven't had a hard day.

Like you're freshly bathed
and relaxed,

even though you're not.

It's so much work!

The first time I got my period,

I was really happy,

because all my girlfriends
got theirs two years before.

I was very late.

I was 15.

And so...

when I saw the toilet bowl
filled with red water,

I yelled for joy to my mama:

"Ma mama!

"I finally got my period!"

I remember,
I started to bleed, one evening.

I didn't tell anyone.

The next day, I woke up...

Everywhere.

My father said,

"What? Did you kill a cow?"

It looked like I killed an animal.

There was blood everywhere.

The subject was taboo.

You never spoke of it, back then.

We called sanitary napkins "biscuits."

It was simply an honor for my father

to buy me my biscuits.

All of a sudden, I had breasts.

It kind of sucked.

I had a hard time
with this sexualization.

It was really unpleasant.

At the time,
my sexuality wasn't very developed,

so I felt as though there was

an imbalance.

My body was very sexualized
in the eyes of others.

I didn't feel ready.

Today, I still feel

like that was a traumatic experience.

When I was 10,
and my body started to develop,

I hated it.

I noticed
that my Dad was looking at me more.

And I became more aware that,

as my body was developing,

he was taking more interest in me.

I used to try to flatten my boobs.

And I cut off all my hair.
It was very long,

and I got it cut off
like Madonna at the time.

My mother cried at the hairdresser's,

but I wanted it all hacked off.

When I look back now, I think it was

to take away any feminine parts of me.

The boobs kept growing.
My body kept developing.

By the time I was 13,

my father was treating me
like a girlfriend.

And from 13 to 18,

there wasn't a day that passed
that he didn't...

sexually abuse me in some way.

At least once a day.

He'd bring me
anywhere he was going in the car,

if he was going on a visit anywhere.

When my mother went to work,
I was grounded.

My friends wondered
what was going on.

He wanted me
to be constantly in the house.

I had short hair until...

I was in my 30s before I let it grow.

I tried everything to...
just turn him off.

I was 5 years old.

I was a happy little girl.

My parents are against cutting.

They always have been.

So this woman came to excise me

without my parents' knowledge.

We went into the room.

There were little girls on the ground.

They were screaming.

There were elderly women.

Three of them, in the room.

Before I understood
what was happening,

they grabbed me.

They threw me onto the ground,

pushed me next to the other girls.

I didn't understand
what they were going to do.

They put me in front of a hole

about the size of a coffee cup.

They raised my dress,

and held me firmly on the ground.

They spread my legs.

I told the lady,

"Please don't hurt me.

"Please don't hurt me."

But they didn't listen.

They did not listen.

I remember
the shrieking of the other girls.

I also remember

the smell of blood.

The smell of the soil wet with blood.

Then one woman took a blade,

and she cut me.

The worst pain
I've ever felt in my life.

I didn't understand
what she had cut.

Then it was over.

A lot of blood. A lot of silence.

A lot of taboos.

A great indifference.

They didn't let go. They persisted.

They ripped it out,

what they were supposed to take.

This...

This little bit

of my flesh.

"Why?" I asked
the only person who spoke freely,

my uncle.

It was a few days later. He said,

"Because you are a girl."

It seems
that a girl is not like a boy.

A girl...

I don't know.

Maybe I think so
because I've had two daughters.

But...

Girls have to be well-equipped

to survive
all that will happen to them later.

Yes. Being a woman is...

I think you go through phases.

More phases than if you are a boy.

As a woman,

what I've noticed occasionally

is my vulnerability,

this physical weakness I had,

compared to a man.

A man can...

attack me,

follow me in the subway,

talk to me
as if I were less than nothing.

Weakness is what scares me.

If I get into a taxi,

I have to count
the women in the taxi,

to make sure I balance out.

If there are as many women as men,

then it means I'm safe.

If there are more men than women,

it might potentially mean
I'm in danger.

If I'm walking down a street,

I have to walk a certain way,

because if I walk a certain way
and I'm too sexy,

then my sexy
might bring on somebody

who wants to grab my sexy
and make it theirs.

So the difficult moment

for me now is just

having a female body.

I just have one suggestion

for every woman,
for their daughters too:

they must learn that they can
physically defend themselves.

I remember bringing
my granddaughters and my daughter

to one of my boxing practices.

In front of the punching bag, I said,

"Go ahead and hit it.

"Imagine you have
to defend yourselves and hit it."

Their first reaction was...

I said, "No!

"Hit it!"

Men are often wrongly judged.

A man is blamed
for the behavior he displays to us.

Ask where it comes from.

People forget that behind every man,

there's a woman who raised him,

telling him he's king of the world,
and women must serve him.

Even now,
children are raised that way.

People forget that behind each man,

there's a father who raised him,

who allowed him to yell at his mother,
to speak insolently,

and to treat her disrespectfully.

So he thinks
that is how you treat women.

I don't just blame women.

I blame this macho society,

for constantly reminding me
I'm a woman.

It won't let me forget I'm a woman.

And it constantly reminds the man
he's a man,

and has to prove it to everyone else.

If I were a man, this is what I'd do:

I'd write bibles,

I'd make it so you can't work,

I'd be making it
so that you can't read,

can't vote.

Can't get an abortion,

can't have a baby unless I say so.

Can't take care of the baby
once you have it.

Can't do a lot of shit.

If I were a man,
these are the things that I would do,

to control
that which is more powerful than me

and what I can't understand.

I, Anita,
was born into a family of 8.

In this family, I am the sixth.

My father told us, he told me,

he could not endow us
with an inheritance.

Instead,
he endowed us with schooling.

"Don't neglect your schooling,
or you'll regret it."

I thought it was a joke.

But if I'm alive today,
and here with you,

speaking into your mic,

in front of you people
listening to me,

it's because I studied.

That's how I became
the woman I am today.

When I learned to write my name,

I was very happy.

I rolled around with joy,
I danced, I laughed.

I yelled for joy.

"Lord! Now I, too, can write my name!"

I was so happy that day,

I didn't even eat.

I was full of joy.

In my room,
I wrote my name. "Jeanne."

And again. "Jeanne."

And again. "Jeanne." Over and over.

I wrote it again and again
on the paper

The second word I learned to write
was "Mama."

I was so happy,

I wanted to die of joy.

I was always writing
"Jeanne" and "Mama."

I was so happy.

There was no kindergarten
in rural areas.

I started primary school
when I was 6 or 7.

And I loved school.

When I was in 6th grade,
my family was poor,

and the nine years of free education
didn't exist yet.

School was hard
for my family to afford.

Then, one day, my mother hinted

that if my brother
was admitted to secondary school,

I wouldn't be able to continue.

And then...

If I'd wept and protested then,

my mother might have given in.

Actually,
I've told this story several times,

but each time,
it makes me so sad that I cry.

The happiest day

was when I graduated
from Harvard University.

Oh, my gosh! I got that diploma,

I did invite my husband and family
on the stage with me.

And the dean allowed it to happen.

And that feeling
of getting that diploma,

Harvard Kennedy School of Government,

was the best!

Here I was,

an African-American woman.

There were only five black women
in our class.

And that included
our sister from Kenya!

There were only five of us.

And we all had kids.

And we all received our diploma.

What a moment!

The thing I said after that was,
"And I don't type."

Because when I was 14 years old,
at my first job,

and when I went to work

for my husband and my family
for graduate school,

the question was, "Can you type?"

When I got that Harvard degree,

I said, "And we don't type."

The first time I got a card
with my name on it...

Yeah, I was really happy.

The first time
I went to withdraw money,

I didn't believe it.

I had to withdraw everything,
look at my money,

and again go inside the bank

and put the money
in the bank again!

Can I tell you
the first day I went to work?

My husband still lived at home,
because he had no place to go.

We were already separated,
as a couple.

And the first day of work,

he got up at the same time that I did.

He saw me and said,
"Where are you going?"

"First of all,
it's none of your business.

"But I'm going to work."

I told him I was going to work.

And my husband was so surprised!

Like, "Who gave you a job?"

Not "Where did you find a job?" No.

"Who gave you a job?"

He thought that nobody would hire me.

I said,
"I found a job with Mrs. Sarah,

"and I'm working as a cake decorator."

Just to see that shock in his face...

Just that alone was worth it.

It was good
that he was still at home to see that.

When I went to work in Spain,

far from my family, it's incredible...

All month,
you hear nothing from your family.

But at the end of the month,
the telephone rings.

The husbands call
because they need your money.

Even if they say,
"Don't send all the money,"

you send it.

You don't want your children
to lack anything.

At least,
your money makes up for your fault,

your absence.

So you send it.

My daughters ask for yogurts,
not sneakers.

Yogurt or a loaf of bread:

that's a strain on our budget.

I remember a touching moment,

a few months ago.

I was in the car
with my older daughter.

She saw me shed a tear.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

I told her, "I can't manage.

"I'm fighting every day.

"I've had so many jobs.

"I've worked so hard.

"And now I'm fighting a disease.

"I'm fighting to buy food.
I'm overwhelmed."

She hugged me.
"Mom, I trust you. You'll make it."

It's her support that keeps me going.

The sacrifices that I made

choosing to be on Wall Street,
writing a book,

doing workshops, were significant.

I gave up school plays.

I gave up family picnics.

I gave up doing homework
with my sons.

I gave up going to college weekends.

I gave up knowing myself.

I gave up doing things that I liked,

as opposed to
what everybody else liked.

I gave up men
who wanted long-term relationships

instead of a night or a weekend away.

I gave up

playing in the garden.

I gave up having a dog
I wanted desperately.

I gave up taking long baths at night.

And I...

I gave up making memories

with a lot of people
that I should have made memories with.

I love everything about sex.

I love kissing.

I love petting.

I love penetrations.

Actually, what I love is the freedom

to make all sorts
of different connections,

every time.

So I love the creativity

that sex releases.

And it makes me alive.

When I'm penetrated, for example,

I feel totally fulfilled,
in all of my potential.

I feel myself become
an animal-woman.

I feel like

a she-wolf, a lioness.

I feel strong and powerful.

What I like best
is when we lie together,

and this stuff comes out of his penis

and enters my body.

I feel as though
it is the vitamin of my life.

I feel satisfied when it is bombarding
the inside of me.

It's as if I were in Paradise.

There are no barriers,
because we love each other.

And I am very much in love.

It really is Paradise.

With my co-workers...

Women, of course.

I wouldn't talk to a man
about my sexuality,

I've said that, sometimes.

I've said how I feel.

"You don't care.

"You go home, you've got a man."

Not that I'm obsessed with sex.

That's not what I mean.

But it's important
to feel your womanhood,

to feel loved.

I'll tell you quite frankly

that the older I get,

the more I miss it.

There was a time...
Is it because...

I think it must be that way
for all mothers.

We're focused
on our children's education.

Training them for life.

Afterwards,
when they start to leave the nest,

you begin to realize you're alone.

And that's when you realize
you miss it.

When we make love,

he starts.

Always.

He kisses me,

he caresses me,

he kisses my forehead,

sometimes he kisses me more here...

Sometimes he wants to nibble on me,

but I tell him to go easy,
that I'm too old

to go around
with a hickey on my neck.

I won't tell you.

Oh, God.

Oh, my God.

Okay. The first time I had sex...

I can't remember his name.

I know that's really bad,
but I can't.

We were, like, 16 years old.

He was incredibly awkward.

Me, now, would never, ever fuck him.

But back then, I thought,

"You've got to lose your virginity
at some point!"

He's, like,
"Do you want to watch porn?"

And he opens a beer,
and I say, "Not really."

He drank half a beer, and so did I.

He says, "I'm wasted!"

and starts making out with me.

I was, like,
"Oh, my God! Is this what sex is?"

So, you know, we start doin' it,

and I really didn't understand

why everyone says it's painful.

I found out later
that he had a really small penis.

They tell you...

They describe
what it's like to make love.

But when you see

the man's enormous penis, and it's...

perpendicular to his body,
it's a little scary.

You wonder,
"Is that whole thing going to fit

"inside my organ?"

I think porn has been very bad for us.

It makes men think

that if they touch you,

or if they lick your clitoris
like this...

you'll come in a minute,
and it's not true.

Sex play has to progress gradually

before you feel good.

They start saying,

"You like that, don't you?"

And I'm, like...

"Please go more slowly?"

But they think
they're in a porno film,

so they want sex
to be fast and intense.

And really,
that doesn't get me off at all.

What I like is when it's slow

and gentle,
then gradually, faster and faster,

and then slow again...

It's not "I'll bang you fast
and you'll love it."

When they have sex,
lots of men imagine

they're in a porn movie.

But those girls are actresses.

It's not real!

Actually,

I was able
to really explore my sexuality

with women.

It's true that you can explore it
with men too,

but we have to explain it to them.

They don't have the same sensitivities,
they're not curious.

Few men want to learn more
about women's bodies.

When I'm with a woman,

my body is like an open book.

Only a woman knows
how to read it perfectly.

Physically,

at first,

I was surprised that it worked.

I explored things,

like my clitoris.

I figured out how it worked,
what excited it.

I didn't always have an orgasm

from a penis.

There's not only the penis,

you can use fingers,

the tongue, the vagina.

Anything's possible.

I began understanding my body better

when I started having sexual relations
with women.

One day, he was making love to me.

He touched my clitoris with his penis.

And I screamed.

I said, "I feel things in my mind.

"As if I were in another world."

And he said,
"No, you have reached orgasm."

So I was happy.

After that, when we were having sex,

he made sure I reached orgasm.

Even today,
if we have sexual intercourse...

He doesn't breathe
until I've reached orgasm.

I don't know what it is.

One day,
I heard about it on television.

I didn't understand.
They were talking about orgasms.

One woman said

she had had kids
but didn't know what an orgasm was.

Never had one.

They made love,
but without any pleasure.

That's what I understood.

If somebody was to ask me

what was the most beautiful moment
in my life...

There were many.

But most of all is the moment

I had my first orgasm.

And I actually thought

my head was going to lift off.

And I didn't know
what was happening to me.

I ran to the bathroom

and sat on the side of the bath,

thinking this was a brain hemorrhage,

because it was just, "Whew!"

And now I know,

but it wasn't funny
when it was happening,

you know, I didn't realize

what I'd been missing out on!

For all those years!

You know, and...

Such is life.
Ignorance is a terrible thing.

But it was wonderful!

I got engaged last evening,

and I'm pretty excited about it!

Because...

I'm 58 years old,

and I had said, a couple years ago,
"Never again men."

No. I don't need any man.

I do not need a man.

I don't want a man.

I'm done.

To heck with love. It's not for me.

I'll just be a rancher all my life.
Fine.

Well, things changed.

You find somebody
who is just perfect for you.

And you fall in love,

And everything flows,

just like I was talking about.

Everything works right.
Everything's easy!

Work is easy!
Everything happens so wonderfully.

And then he asked me.

First he asked my dad.

And then he asked me to marry him.

And I said yes.

People talk about love at first sight,
and I don't know if it was.

But the first time I saw Rachel,
I felt like I met

the person that I was supposed
to be with for the rest of my life.

And I had never felt that way before.

I really was in love with her.

And what that means is

there was this person

who is passionate and loving,

and a little crazy at times,

and beautiful,

and we just connected
and we can talk

about things that I've never been able
to talk to anybody before about.

There's just this sense

of being at one with somebody,

but,

also being yourself.

There's not a better feeling
in the world than that.

And it took me to 48 years old
to find that out.

On my wedding day,

the dress I wore

had ruffles on the skirt.

I wore a pretty blouse,
sewn onto a skirt

with ruffles all around it.

I looked pretty as a picture,

with my bosom...

I wasn't really beautiful,

but it was enough for me.

People would say,
"What a beauty Gena has found!"

And I was out-of-this-world happy,

with this handsome boy
standing next to me.

He had brown hair
and arching black eyebrows.

He was so handsome,

I was dazzled,
and couldn't see anyone,

not even my parents.

That's how I loved him.

It's impossible for words
to express my love.

He died 13 years ago,
but I still love him.

I remember him, and live on that.

That's how I loved him.

I don't know if it's a sin
to love like that.

I cannot tell you. How I loved him.

So very much.

Married men...

Married men feel entitled.

They typically bring home the bacon,

and they feel like
they should get dessert on the side,

without their wife knowing.

And that's what they do.

They pay for it,
and that's their justification.

I infer that...

losing something financially

helps pay off the guilt

they feel
about cheating on their partner.

But they are cheating,
and they don't have the balls to tell.

One married man
explained it to me recently.

He said, "I could tell her.

"I think she'd understand.

"But she might also leave with 50%.

"And I don't want
to disrupt the unit."

As a sex worker, I'm okay with that.

Treat me with respect.
Let's have a good time. No problem.

But I certainly am disillusioned

about the institution of marriage.

I will have no part of it.

I will never get married.

Never!

I found out that he was...

I had strong suspicions that he was...

that my husband at the time
was seeing prostitutes.

I found a prostitute's business card
in his wallet!

I didn't even know
prostitutes had business cards.

So even that was quite a shock.

I confronted him,

and he said it was for a friend.

That was really...

Honestly...

Honestly...

Case closed.

It was hard, I remember...

It was as if my world had collapsed,

as if I'd lost the strength in my legs.

I knew
there was prostitution in Thailand.

I knew it was culturally acceptable.

But I never thought
it would happen to me. Why us?

Impossible!

But we're not special, after all.

We're just normal.

So it happened to me.

The thing that worries my mother

is that if I don't get married,
and have a child,

there won't be anyone
to take care of me.

If my parents die, I will be alone.

She's afraid there won't be anyone

to take care of me.

But in the future,

in this society...

Actually, I'm not really worried.

I think
Artificial Intelligence will develop.

By the time I am old,
a robot will take care of me.

Nonni was a year and 8 months old

when I began caring for her.

At that time, I knew

she was the child

I would never be able to bear myself.

I took care of her
and cuddled her and treasured her.

I gave her all the love I had.

All I had.

Because God had given me a child

I could take care of.

I can live without a man.

But not without these children.

Because all I wanted in life

was to become a mother,
and it wasn't possible.

But now I have these two kids,

I'll always take care of them.

Even if it's hard.

The vision you have,
with your legs up,

is pretty frightening.

And the doctor is facing you,

and can see all your organs,

it's really disgusting,
incredibly disgusting.

And they tell you,
"Spread your legs, go ahead!"

And you're, like, "How?"

"When you feel a blow,
yell and push!"

When I had my first child, Emily,

I said to myself, "Oh, my God!

"I've produced a human being.
I am Superwoman!

"I can do anything,
now that I've had a baby!"

That didn't last very long.

That was the high
of the oxytocin hormones

just after giving birth.

I wish I could keep that Superwoman

forever, but unfortunately,

it fades away with the hormonal boost.

But seriously when she was born,

I could take on the world.

I just could take on the world.

After I had my child,

the attitude of my in-laws
and husband changed.

He was our first child,
the first grandchild on my side.

My son was the center
of all the attention.

They called me "Empty Shell,"

and told me to feed my son.

I began to doubt my purpose in life.

I wondered why I had studied,
if all I did was bear a child.

It felt like
I was just a channel for DNA.

I went through a period in my life
where joy mixed with sorrow.

Having a handicapped child
is proof, to me,

of a mother's infinite love.

This child made me understand

how much a mother's love

is something...

That's it.

Usually, when you love someone,

he returns your love,

and that's the reward you want,
in a way.

I've loved this child
with all my heart since the beginning.

I love someone
who doesn't often look at me.

He's not affectionate.
He doesn't talk to me.

He doesn't cuddle or hug me.

And I love him.

Around the clock,
wherever you are, whatever you do,

you're obsessed
by what's up with your children.

And trying to make sure
that you keep the connection,

the presence in their life.

Sometimes, they don't want you

to be so present in their lives.

So you have to fight
to occupy that space

and to be with them.

You can never be done
with a mother's work.

It's one of the jobs you'll have
for the rest of your life.

You have to be an ATM,
a social worker...

You have to be a lawyer.

A punching bag, sometimes.

Everything, every role

comes with that role
of being a mother.

At the same time,
you have to be the strong leader

that your job demands of you.

Again, multitasking!

I have friends

whose burning desire
from a very young age

is to have a baby of their own,
to have children.

And I also have a friend
who once said,

"I'd rather die
than not have children.

"If I can't be a mother,

"I would probably
not have a good life."

I never had such a feeling.

I never felt such a deep desire.

And so I decided early on.

As...

my "ovary expiration date"
was catching up,

like mid-30s, late 30s, 40s,

of course I kept thinking about it.

Even when I got married,

of course I kept thinking about it.

To this day, I keep thinking about it.

"What if, what if not?

"How will life change?"

My husband has expressed desire.

Maybe he wants to have one.

You never know.

When I was 15, I got married.

Or I was married off, so to speak.

I had my first daughter
when I was 16.

When I was 17, the second was born.

At age 18, I had another girl.

At 18 or 19...

When I was 20,
I had my fourth, a boy.

And at 23, my fifth, a girl.

Why did I have so many?
In just a few years?

Because my parents never talked to me
about birth control.

My mother taught me

that if a man touched me,
I'd get pregnant.

My husband
never let me use contraception.

He said it was up to him to decide

when I should be pregnant or not.

Have I ever had an abortion? No.

Yes.
I had an abortion when I was 24.

And I went to Manchester,

to have the abortion,

because it's illegal.

It's not legal in Ireland.

And our government
won't make it legal,

based on religious grounds.

The 8th Amendment was brought in
to protect the fetus,

and the female, supposedly,

while taking away
her right to choose.

So because of that law
(abolished in 2018),

I had to leave my own country

and travel abroad
to have an abortion.

I don't regret the abortion.

I made the right decision for me
at the time.

And I feel
if I had not made that decision,

my life would be different now.

I got pregnant
for the fourth time in 1995.

At the time, the family planning law
was very strict.

I had to have an abortion.

It hurt, and I was sad.

I had no choice.
I had an abortion.

My husband came
to the clinic with me.

I was hospitalized

for one month.

Physically, my health was fine.

But inside, I was devastated.

It's terrible for a mother

to have an abortion
after 8 months of pregnancy.

The local officials
and their superiors

forced me to have an abortion.

It's really weird, losing that value.

of not being a mother,
and not being a family.

Fuck! I really think that's tough.

'Cause who are you?

Who are you then?

It's one of the big questions.

If you're not a mother,

if you don't have a family,

then who the fuck are you,
as a woman?

I have to find out, now.

I took my first maternity leave
with full confidence.

I didn't give a single thought

to the impact it might have
on my career.

I was an excellent employee.
It was all fine.

No reason to worry.

When I went back to work
was when I woke up.

One of my bosses told me explicitly

"You are a good employee,
but you don't realize

"how much this baby
will change your life. Wait and see."

He was warning me about something
I wasn't going through.

"We can't rely on you
unless you prove yourself."

At that point,

instead of being brave,

I was just paralyzed.

Paralyzed, flabbergasted.

I was speechless.

To myself, I said,

"So that's how women know
it's over for them."

One of my co-workers
inspired me to bounce back.

He saw I was upset.

I told him what had been said
during the meeting.

And he was the one who got indignant.
I was just paralyzed.

He told me he was indignant.
He said,

"This is nonsense. It's disgusting."

This man was the one

who stirred up

my anger about the unfairness.

Otherwise...

I'd accepted my verdict.

The challenge I met in my career,
when I was younger,

was to see that, very often,

men who were less competent than I,
and I say it humbly,

were promoted
to higher positions than mine.

At first,
I thought it was discouraging,

and unfair.

Finally, I decided

to go on the offensive.

And to observe how they did it.

What did they do, to succeed?

Without adopting masculine behavior,

I made some changes

in the way I acted
in relation to a boss

or my co-workers.

I learned to assert myself,

to make my voice
and my ideas heard, in meetings.

I wanted to be heard,

and appointed to head projects.

Finally, I wanted my womanhood
to be invisible,

to avoid all the vague suspicions
about my skills.

Women have to work twice as hard
to prove themselves,

before they manage
to get the promotion.

I'll tell you my greatest pride

when I left my position
as executive VP

of Canada's
biggest medical assessment firm.

The CFO resigned
at the same time I did.

He revealed my salary to the board.
I don't know why.

But the funniest part was

the predominantly male board
discovered I had the highest pay.

It caused a big fuss,

whereas someone always has
to have the highest pay!

But in this case, it was a woman!

I realized I'd played my cards right.

I hadn't known, before.
I was happy to learn it, on leaving.

I was in Casablanca,
which is a big city of 3.5 million.

I decided to run
in the legislative elections.

There were incredible scenes,
when I campaigned.

People looked at me
as if I were an extraterrestrial.

They called friends: "Come see!

"A woman candidate! Come see!"

I was really breaking a taboo.

After that, I continued to run.

I was never elected.
There were zero women MPs.

I ran once more,
and again, and again...

Six more races.

Finally, the 7th time I ran, in 1997,

21 years after the first time,

I was elected to city council.

One of the 0.34%
of female city council members.

It took obstinacy. I've got that.

I was appointed minister.

Most of the meetings
where major decisions are made

are held at night.

And as a mother,

as a married woman,

it was complicated for me

to arrange to stay late into the night

to express opinions and vote

on the policies
to adopt for the country.

But I decided
I wanted to prove to everyone,

and to women, in the first place,
to encourage them,

that it's not a miracle.
Yes, women can.

Alongside men, we can.

Or perhaps, men alongside women,

we can succeed together.

I did it.
I succeeded, with the other women.

There were
four women cabinet members.

All four of us were there

even if the meeting was held at 1 AM.

We stayed.

To prove our commitment even more,

I served as the spokesperson.

That is, after the meeting,

I had to draft a report
on all that was said,

point out key statements,

and broadcast it to the public
on radio and TV,

in the name of the government.

I discovered I enjoyed politics.

I feel that, as a woman,

I can do something
to change the world, tomorrow.

When I was 18, my parents married me
to a 52-year-old man.

Of course, I didn't want to.

So they gave me an ultimatum:

either I married him, or I died.

My parents would kill me,
or I'd kill myself, my mother said.

"Drink bleach. That will kill you."

A few days went by.

I ended up accepting,

because my choices were limited.

The choice they gave me.

The first night,
I didn't want to sleep with him.

The second night,

I forced myself to sleep with him,

because my mother

came and peeked through the shutters.

And actually...

Actually, I let him do it,

with a pillow over my face.

It was like a rape.

It wasn't "like" a rape.
I felt I'd been raped.

I felt...

Besides the fact that this man...

was penetrating me

against my will,

my whole family
was raping me at the same time.

Because I had the impression,
and I was right,

that everyone conspired against me.

Everyone was conniving.
Everyone knew.

In my eyes,
everyone was screwing me.

Some girls kill themselves,
or drown themselves in the river.

I tried to drown myself.

The river was so deep.

People saved me, swimming,

holding me above the river.

I wanted a change.

I wanted to marry by choice.

I wanted to change forced marriage.

I got married at the age of two.

My life has been destroyed.

Look at my husband.

I didn't choose him.
I didn't love him.

I didn't know anything
about marriage.

I didn't rejoice at my wedding.

I didn't know the rituals.

I didn't know anything.

Why is getting married so important?

I could have stayed here
and lived my life.

I ask the world,
why do they force us to marry?

A man who throws acid on his wife?

What country could be so barbaric?

What law is this?

What tradition is this?

To be burned with acid...

In your sleep, even.

To burn someone with acid
because of a dowry,

it's evil!

It happens in India all the time,
every hour, every day.

Why not put an end to it?

Is an incomplete dowry
a reason to burn someone?

Are husbands really that petty-minded?

There was no sign

that warned me

of what was coming next,

which was a huge blow to my face.

He stopped the car and gave me

a huge blow in my face.

And I was so shocked.

It had never happened to me before!

I was so shocked that all I could do

was turn to him and ask, "What?"

And as I turned, and asked "What?"...

"Are you beating me?"

It was just, "What?"

And the next blow comes.

Straight into my right eye.

And the right eye just goes black.

One day, a slap.

The first slap.

Of course, I slapped him back,
because...

I may have been a beaten woman
for eight years, but...

I hit him, too. I defended myself.

From the first slap,
it escalated to two, and then...

a slap and a shove.

Next came the punches.

Once we crossed the line to punches,

there were no limits.

When I told him, "That's enough,

"this has become unlivable,

"never again,"

was when I saw him
suffocating my daughter.

That's when I said, "Enough!

"I wasn't born to live this.

"I can't permit it."

I couldn't permit him
to destroy my children's lives.

He'd already destroyed mine.

He had destroyed
my dream of being a mother,

of being a wife,

of having a family.

I wanted only one family,
and he destroyed it.

I could no longer permit it.

When I went to the police station,

the police believed my husband's lies,

that I had lovers,

and confiscated my phone.

The police officer said to me,

"Madam, you have many lovers."

I answered, "Really? Where?"

He pointed to men's numbers.

A carpenter, a plumber,
an electrician, a painter.

Some architects... What else?

I am an interior designer.

I run a business.

These aren't my boyfriends!

The officer asked
how long we'd been married.

"21 years."

The police officer said:

"Madam, you should try harder.

"You have to make sacrifices."

I told him,
"I can't make any sacrifices.

"My children's lives and my own
are in danger."

I never had a bruise or broken bone.

But what he would do,
like the first time,

he'd punch through the wall,
break a window,

smash things, throw things at me,

or push me.

Or if we were in the car,
he was the one driving,

he would speed up to 100 mph,

then slam on the brake,
to send me flying.

I lived in fear,

with the certainty that he was
eventually going to kill me.

And, unfortunately,

when I went to my family,
his family, and the rabbis,

and the Orthodox Jewish community
to ask for help,

they didn't see it
as domestic violence. They asked,

"Where did he hit you?

"He didn't hit you?

"So then, why are you complaining?

"What's the problem?"

Until yesterday, I was known

only to the man who attacked me,

but today, the whole world knows me.

I could never have imagined this,

but in this society

that placed great value on the face,

I have been able
to change the attitude about it.

Because I began to love my face.

And I understood

that the face is not that important.

If it was, I wouldn't be here today.

I started to love myself.

I put my life back together
all by myself.

I learned how to live with this face.

My mother explained it to me,

and I did it, to be beautiful.

I had my lips pierced.

We do this because we are women.

Men don't need
to make themselves beautiful.

We women

pierce the corners of our lips

in order to be beautiful.

I am the way I am.
I don't want to be different.

Each person has personal beliefs.

Some people like social appearances
and beauty.

I like to be natural.

That's why I don't wear lipstick.
Did you notice?

The only make-up I wear
is a little bit of kohl.

I'm proud of myself.
I look, and say, "But I'm beautiful!

"Why do I have doubts?"

When I dress up, I feel feminine.

I make myself attractive.

I like to be looked at.

I like to be looked at,
and told that I'm beautiful.

I like to be reassured.

For example,
I had boobs made for myself.

I had threads put in my face,

to make the contours more beautiful.

I had collagen injected

in my cheeks and lips,

and botox in my forehead.

I feel perfectly fine.

And I'm proud

to have obtained this

thanks to my work.

Now I can create myself
just as I please.

The appearance I have pleases me,
not other people.

Being in harmony with yourself

is the key.

Somehow, at the same time,
I show up in rooms

with professional confidence,

wondering is everyone looking at me

and thinking about
how unattractive I am.

Or about how fat I am
and how my dress is too tight.

And I'm constantly
comparing myself physically

to other women,

and thinking,
would I be more respected,

would people enjoy
seeing me speak more

if I looked differently?

It's a dark part

of how I view myself.

Now that my husband is gone,

though he loved my body,
loved me the way I was,

he always desired me, he...

Through our 25-year marriage,
he made me aware of his desire,

the love he had for me, as I was.

And what I was physically...
All that I was.

Really, all of me.

Now that he's gone,
the great difficulty,

and I'm not an exception,

is figuring out
how I'll be able to love myself.

That's it. How do you love yourself

if no one admires you?

It's hard to figure out.

Since he died, I feel ugly.

It's crazy!

I had delegated this man,

because I loved him,
and we were happy,

I had delegated him....

to be the keeper of my image.

I trusted him with that.

He was the key to my own self-image.

But I didn't know it.

Now that he's gone, I realize it,

but I didn't know.

When I had cancer, last year,

I lost all my hair in two weeks.

They tell you it'll fall out
in 16 days, and it does.

All my hair everywhere fell out.

Then I lost my eyebrows and eyelashes.

When you're in the bathroom,

even when they warn you,
and you do this...

and then...

Your whole head of hair comes off

in your hands!

You're bald except for three hairs.

It's atrocious.

I rushed to the barber
to have the rest shaved off.

The paradoxical thing

is that being bald
restored my femininity.

Cancer enabled me
to take care of myself,

to moisturize my face,

to spend time in the bathroom

putting on cream and make-up.

I didn't do that much, before.

I was too busy with work,
commuting, the kids...

this, that, the activities,
and on and on.

I didn't spend any time
putting on make-up

or taking care of my skin.

Nothing!

Suddenly, I had entire days
to spend on self-care.

Applying creams, trying on wigs -
blonde or brunette...

Changing my scarf,
putting on mascara -

when I still had eyelashes!

Or putting on false lashes,

or eyebrow pencil and lipstick.

I was beautiful!

Old age is wicked.
It sneaks up on you.

You think you're young,
you run and jump,

but suddenly
your legs won't cooperate.

One day, you wake up and look

at the skin on your arm.

Not that it's sagging.

It's all wrinkled! Like an accordion!

You can do without that kind of music,

and its accordion.

The morning
I first noticed the wrinkles,

I cried.

An old lady!

I don't want to get old.

I want to be pretty, not old and ugly.

I wondered, "Am I pretty?"

Youth is beautiful.

My cheeks are all wrinkled,

my vision isn't clear anymore,

and my skin hangs on my bones.

I'm drying up.

My hair is white.

All my teeth have fallen out.

I'm toothless.

I have lost all of my beauty.

Yet everybody calls me
pretty grandmother.

God gave me a gift:

to reach this age,
and see what it looks like,

to see
the physical expression of old age.

And it's good!

I saw myself as a 15-year-old beauty,

as a 30-year-old beauty,

and now as a 60-year-old beauty.

It's fine.

I'm not an old lady.

I'm getting older,
but I'm not an old lady yet.

When I remember
when it was happening to me,

when I was in the hands of ISIS,

it's terribly painful for me,
and I can't believe it.

I always tell myself
it was a nightmare,

something that happened,
and now it's in the past.

I just can't comprehend
that in our times,

in the 21st century, such a thing,

the sale of women and girls,
the massacre of men,

happened to me.

At that time, in that year,

it was in 2014,

how could that possibly occur?

How could we have been sold?

I simply cannot
make myself believe it.

What happened to humanity,

for that to be done to women,

for that to be done to me?

The first time I was sold,

I had no idea what that meant.

They put us all together,

and separated the virgins
from the rest.

Men who wanted a girl took her
by the hand and led her away.

We didn't know
how much we were sold for.

We were on display in a room,
on the outside.

They traded us for 5 dollars,

or a pack of cigarettes,

or we were given away.

It was very difficult to realize.

I didn't know where I was being taken,
how they would treat me,

any of that.

I had never heard in my life

that a girl could be bought or sold.

One day,

the guards came.

I mean, one of the ISIS guards.

He took a little 9-year-old girl.

He took her

upstairs with him.

He started raping her.

She was screaming.

How could we stop it?

There we were, 30 women,

listening to the screams
of a 9-year-old child,

and we couldn't say a thing.

I was 19 years old.

One evening,
coming home from the market

at about 5 PM,

I ran into armed rebels

from the Raia Mutomboki militia.

They captured us
and took us into the forest.

They started to kill

the women
who refused to lie with them.

I was terrified.

They raped me,

but they didn't stop at that.

They took a knife
and put it inside my vagina.

They even thrust the knife inside me.

Then they put grasses in my anus.

I felt horrible!

I was afraid to say I'd been raped.

A month later, I was pregnant.

I was able to get an abortion.

Unfortunately,

the effects of that abortion

are still with me,
even four years later.

We are respectable women,
but they soiled us.

Now, no one is going
to marry us.

Who'd marry a woman
who was raped?

So, we remain single.

No one wants to marry us.

People say,
"The military raped those women."

Now we are rotten stuff,

and that is my greatest pain.

Do I need to

tickle your empathic sensors
for you to realize

the extremity
of what I'm going through?

Do I need to cry or kill myself

for you to realize

the madness
of what goes through my head?

Do I need to...

be sensitive to your ears

because you can't handle hearing

what I went through?

What we are going through?

What we are continuing to go through?

I have to say it as it is.

It's not...

It's not my reality alone.

It's a reality
of many millions of women

everywhere.

And we have to be sensitive
about how we talk about this.

Oh, it's a shame. Don't tell anyone.

I'm here to tell all of you

I'm no longer going to wear
this coat of shame.

I'm no longer gonna be quiet

because it's embarrassing.

Because it's dangerous.

No.

Maximum respect to all women,

regardless of race color, ethnicity,

kinky hair or straight.

Women deserve respect.

Woman.

Strong.

Always.

I am proud to be a woman.

I am a strong woman.

I am a determined woman.

Decided,

and super simpatica.

I am a resolute woman.

I am a woman who does men's work.

Full of hope.

I'm an ordinary woman.

I am a persistent woman.

I'm a courageous woman.

I'm a clever granny!

I am a powerful woman.

I'm a warrior woman.

I'm a daring woman.

A feminist.

Woman of action.

A fighter.

Fearless.

Demanding.

Life-loving.

Dynamic.

Joyful.

Heroic.

Free.

I can be subversive. I say even God

must have been a woman.

And women must get busy
and claim their place.

Why wait until it's given to us?

We beg, "Give us a place!"

I say, "Why are you asking
to be given a place?"

Why are you waiting
to be given seats in the Parliament?

"Give us, please!"

I say, "Take it!"

I took my place,

and no one will ever
take it away from me.