Nurcan Yalçın and Beritan Elyakut
"Of course," she laughs. "What a funny question to ask a journalist from here. Two of our reporters are in prison as we speak."An all women's news agency in the middle east might sound bizarre, but for Fatima and the women of Jinha – Jin means "woman" in Kurdish – the agency was forced into being following a spate of violent attacks on women and the awful media coverage that followed."Jinha was born out of a conversation between six women journalists," Fatima says, as Caroline, an American PHD student who acts as a translator, offers up lunch.
"We were covering a story in Mardin province. Twenty girls had been raped by group of soldiers, bureaucrats and police officers. At the time we didn't know the best way to report it. We wanted to stay far away from the pornographic fetishisation often thrown on violence against women in our mainstream media. While we were discussing what to do, a headline dropped: "Little Whore Tries to Blacken Police Rep". One of the girls was only 14. I knew then we had to do something."For Fatima, this was a turning point. As more and more reports emerged, she realised changing the media from within just wasn't an option."I got to the point where I just saw widespread conditioning of women. It's everywhere, not just in Kurdistan, so we felt it was time to create an alternative."I strain to hear as Fatima's voice is drowned out by Turkish military aircraft en route to northern Iraq. This is a common occurrence, according to Guzzy, an animated translator in a woolly grey cardigan.I am dangerous. Every woman in this office is dangerous.
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Beritan Canözer at a demonstration against the curfew in Diyarbakır, five minutes before she was detained.
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Vildan Atmaca at work in August 2015.