My Name Is Happy

On the 18th of May, 2015, at around 3:30am, a shot rang out in the small town of Ergani, in Turkey’s Diyarbakir province. It was followed by screams and a young man running full tilt along a road, for miles, to find a stranger who was willing to help. Although they drove at breakneck speed, by the time they got to the hospital, TV reporters were already announcing that the young Kurdish singing sensation Mutlu Kaya was dead. Had they been a moment later, the doctor told her brother Hakan, that would have been true.

Mutlu – whose name means ‘happy’ – narrates this documentary, but for years after the shooting she couldn’t speak. Because of her family’s fondness for filming everyday life, and her appearance on talent show Sesi Çok Güzel, there is ample footage of her here from before the incident, during the time when she was most severely disabled, and more recently, enabling filmmakers Nick Read and Ayse Toprak to tell her story as if it were unfolding in real time. They explore the events leading up to the shooting, the slow process of her recovery, the trial of her attacker and the further shocking act of violence which rocked her family, when one of her sisters fell victim to a similarly motivated attack.

Violence against women and girls is commonplace in Turkey, claiming 392 lives in 2022 alone. In the early part of this film we see Mutlu and her mother talking as a news report plays in the background, detailing the murder of Hasret Tutal, who was shot dead by her abusive partner because she wanted to leave him. As is commonplace in such cases, Tutal’s killer tried to pass it off as an accident, but her sisters were determined to see justice done. Mutlu, too, owes a lot to her family, including parents who had to cope with claims that they had shot her in an attempted ‘honour killing’ before the truth came out. They still blame themselves for not having somehow managed to protect her, something which anyone whose child has suffered harm will relate to, but it’s clear from their interactions as much as their words that they have done a fantastic job of raising their six girls and two boys in a home full of love, united by a passion for music.

That music runs throughout the film, folk songs which Hakan describes as “charged with rebellion,” full of energy and life which sustains family and audience alike. Every family member has a way of performing, and in that environment, Mutlu didn’t think she was anything special – the story of her discovery is the fairy tale which any number of young people dream about. Supported by the famous singer Sibel Can, she seemed to have a bright future ahead of her, capable of transforming her family’s fortunes – but before all of that, when she was just a 14-year-old schoolgirl, she had caught the eye of a local man, Veysi Ercan, who would later tell police that he was her boyfriend. Although that version of events is not given here, there is really no need to directly refute it. Mutlu’s story is one which most female viewers will find familiar on some level. Followed by him wherever she went, too young to know how to handle the situation (if indeed there could be any safe way to do so), she saw his behaviour gradually escalate. Eventually he gave her an ultimatum and, afraid for the lives of her loved ones, she walked into his trap.

When she was eventually allowed home, her mother recalls, she couldn’t even blink unaided. Everything had to be done for her. Her briefly famous voice couldn’t even form words. Hakan began using music in an attempt to draw it out again, and by way of TikTok and later media interest, she would gradually find a new kind of voice, a political one, sharing the stories of other women attacked by men and beginning to push for change.

There are all the elements of a classic hero’s journey here – even memories of hallucinations during that frantic drive to the hospital, of flying through the air, being borne aloft by soldiers, encountering huge whales in a vast sea. Her fans now call her Iron Woman because of the bullet, which she has tried to make peace with, telling it “It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to come into my head either.” Despite intense grief for her lost abilities, for the healthy body she once had – and for the later, worse loss – she has reinvented herself as young people sometimes can, and it does not seem likely that her journey will stop here. Hers is just one story, however, and she and the filmmakers are concerned with the bigger picture.

Why is violence like this so endemic in Turkish culture? Wherever killings like this occur – and the UN estimates that there are 470,000 per year worldwide – they are just the tip of the iceberg, with rape and domestic abuse affecting far more women and girls. Mutlu’s loving family cannot offer much insight into this, but they easily demonstrate that isn’t an inescapable product of living there. The father reflects on his masculine identity when his breakdown following the shooting leads to him becoming unemployed, but his concern is with his inability to be a breadwinner, and there is never any suggestion that he sees violence as a way in which a man might prove himself. Whilst the incident has caused difficulties in his relationship with her, that’s not something which either of them wants.

In the background of the film there is a supplementary narrative of sorts about poverty – Mutlu dropped out of school early to work in the school canteen and supplement her family’s income. She had hoped that a singing career would pay for her to attend college. When she was in hospital, her family camped in the car park as the only way to stay close to her. This is pertinent because of all the ways in which poverty makes women more vulnerable, and because it’s always harder for poor people with low expectations of life to assert themselves and drive cultural change. My Name Is Happy is an urgent film, raising a voice which needs to be heard.