Saturday, February 14, 2015

What You Don't Know: Sex Trafficking & Minors in the US

She’s tired, because she’s been up all night, every night for almost as long as she can remember. She’s cold, because the room she’s in has little more than a bed in it, and the window doesn’t close all the way. She’s sore, because the last john hit her across the face when she didn’t move fast enough. She’s hungry, because she’s still growing, and today she realized that her clothes don’t fit very well anymore. She’s thirteen years old, but she feels like she’s a hundred.

This little girl could live anywhere in the world. She could be from Himalaya, sold by her unwitting parents to be used by men in Indian cities. She could be from a small village in Ghana, kidnapped and forced to service men on the shores of Lake Volta. She could be a Ukrainian girl, promised a job and a better life and finding only debt slavery and prostitution on her arrival to London. She could be an American runaway, an abandoned and unloved girl regurgitated so many times by the foster care system that they finally lost her, and it was a pimp that found her.

Most of us learn what hookers are pretty early in life, even though we may not completely understand at first. They’re in movies, in books; sometimes bright and hopeful, sometimes degraded and trashy, and always the butt of some joke or a transparent plot device. We see it in magazines, on billboards-images of women being dominated or controlled. In a country that over-glorifies sex and image and lives to sell the next big thing, prostitution always sells. What is there to worry about; it’s not liked the movies/books/pictures are real. The truth is a bit more complicated than what it’s painted to be, though, and the truth of the matter is that sexual trafficking and exploitation is as big of a problem in the United States as it is anywhere else-and it’s one that very few people are talking about it.

Sex trafficking and commercial sexual exploitation is a world-wide epidemic, and is the fastest-growing criminal enterprise in the world. There is no corner of the world that is not touched by this plague. 2012 statistics report that as many as 20.9 million adults and children yearly are bought and sold into commercial sexual servitude, forced labor or bonded labor. Women and girls make up 98% of the victims of trafficking for sexual exploitation. They are promised a better life, a job, a home-and all they receive is a forced introduction to the world’s oldest profession.

The United States is not an innocent bystander in all of this. In 2013, the National Human Trafficking Resource Center hotline received reports of over 3,000 sex trafficking cases inside the U.S. Sex trafficking in the United States operates on the streets and off. Fake massage parlors, online escort services, strip clubs and brothels provide permanent places of business, while the classic haunts of prostitution-motels, truck stops and street corners serve as more transitory options.

According to www.traffickingresourcecenter.org, “In street-based sex trafficking, victims are often expected to earn a nightly quota, ranging from $500 to $1,000 or more, which is confiscated by the pimp. Women in brothels disguised as massge businesses typically live on-site where they are coerced into providing commercial sex with 6 to 10 men a day, seven days a week.”

Are the prostitutes to blame? Who are these people who sell themselves? Of course there are always those who make the choice themselves to engage in prostitution, but regardless of your rhetoric detailing women’s choice and feminism, becoming a prostitute is no one’s first option. Most people (outside of Amsterdam, I’d assume) do not enter this profession voluntarily-they are victims, lied to, coerced, enslaved, and abused both physically and sexually. Many victims of trafficking and exploitation aren’t even of age: in the United States, runaways and homeless youth are the most common victims of exploitation.

In the case of child sexual exploitation, the statistics are alarming. One study estimates 30% of shelter youth and 70% of street youth are victims of commercial sexual exploitation. They may engage or be coerced into prostitution for “survival sex” to meet daily needs for food, shelter or drugs. A history of physical and sexual abuse is common among victims, and 75% of minors engaged in prostitution are under the control of a pimp.

These pimps are always on the lookout for new children, and prey on victims as young as 12-14 years old. Many times, they are willing to invest a surprising amount to break down their victim’s natural resistance and suspicion. If they succeed in winning the child’s trust, this investment can be returned many times over; it’s estimated that pimps make hundreds of thousands of dollars selling children every year.

Pimps buy presents, provide a place to stay, and give emotional support-all without revealing their true intent. Causing the child to believe that the pimp truly loves and cares for them, as well as using threats, drugs, and violence, causes what’s called a ‘trauma-bond,’ where the victim feels trapped and powerless. It can be very difficult for children to break free of this bond.

Today in the U.S., the Federal Trafficking Victims Protection Act defines the crime of human trafficking as:

       A.      The recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for the purpose of a commercial sex act where such an act is induced by force, fraud, or coercion, or in which the person induced to perform such act has not attained 18 years of age, or
       B.      The recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for labor or services, through the use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjection to involuntary servitude, peonage, debt bondage, or slavery.

This important piece of legislation makes it easier to prosecute both ‘johns’ (those that pay for the services of prostitutes) and pimps, while subsequently protecting minor victims of sexual exploitation. Although a negative attitude continues towards prostitutes who have reached the age of majority, minors who have commercially sexually exploited are not required to prove to the court force, fraud or coercion; the age of the victim is considered to be sufficient cause for conviction. This distinction is necessary to both more freely prosecute those truly guilty as well as to decriminalize the minor victims of sex trafficking and exploitation.

While this law is an important step for America, there are still many children and youth that need help. Resources are being put into place to reach out to likely victims, but it is a painfully slow process that is only now gaining momentum. Countries such as Sweden, Norway, and Iceland have taken monumental measures in decriminalizing prostituted persons and criminalizing their buyers, measures which have reduced street prostitution and sex trafficking in their countries. Along with stricter laws that prosecute johns and pimps while protecting their victims, what America largely lacks is awareness.


The thing that stands out most to me about the statistic I shares is how starved these children are for affection. These are children who have been rejected. They may have been cast off from their parents, sometimes at birth or at a young age. Maybe they were in foster care and ran ways because of abuse or mistreatment. Maybe they have a parent who doesn’t want them, or is too high to care about them. Maybe their parent is in jail. So they turn to someone who seems to care, only to find out too late that they have been betrayed by their own need for love. By then, they are trapped in a list that they can’t get out of, trained to lie, obey, and take whatever comes at them because, what other choice do they have?

We all know people like this. We know kids that make us wonder about their home lives, about what they do when no one is around. We know the questions we “should,” as polite people, ask, and which ones we shouldn’t. But what if we began to ask the hard questions? What if we opened our eyes to the possibility that horrible things could be happening to people we know? What if we decided to care?

This blog, this series is nothing more than a battle cry for awareness. We live in a twisted world, and the bad stuff is closer to home than we may want to believe. You have to decide for yourself if you’re going to act, or stay silent and condemn others with your inactivity.

What you don’t know may not be hurting you,

but it’s definitely hurting them.

“…Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Matthew 25:40

Reading List for this Post

Girls Like Us Rachel Lloyd
Not for Sale David Batstone
The White Umbrella Mary Frances Bowley
Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave Sibel Hodge

Sources

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Sunday Nights

Have you ever felt like the most ineffective person on the planet? Maybe this is a question for all the parents out there, because I think you have to be a parent to experience the kind of crippling embarrassment children can provide you with. However, nieces and nephews exist, too, so I won’t be exclusive. Let’s just put it this way: nothing makes you question your own personal level of effectiveness like a child.

All I had to do was one job. Just take the kids down to dinner. Easy, right? It’s Sunday night, so the kids whose family visited earlier in the day wouldn’t be eating. Just three kids need dinner. It’s okay. I got this. I’m a missionary, people. God has equipped me.

And then all the sudden the supervisor who was going to stay with the rest of the kids can’t stay. But it’s okay, we’re good. The day I can’t handle nine kids! I escort the children down to the community center as five of them protest vehemently at the injustice being done to them of having to eat dinner-two of whom, mind you, don’t actually have to eat anything; they just like to protest.

Let me tell you something straight here-once you walk into the community center, all bets are off. There’s no telling who’s in there, who’s doing what, whether or not dinner is actually ready, and forget trying to control the children if they are not previously disposed. You may think that this is commentary on my control over the girls; I respect you opinion and humbly invite you to spend a day corralling them. The community center is our dorm’s personal kryptonite.

Just outside the doors, I drill the girls. We walk in the community center. We go directly to the table. Those who are eating can line up. Everyone needs to get a cup of tea, because none of you drink enough. Do we understand?

Nine heads bobble solemnly at me. Yes Alisha, we understand.

And then I open the door and chaos ensues.

Within five minutes, Italia is crying because Jenifer has knocked her sweet bread on the floor. Ingrid is making a royal mess with two cups of tea and a spoon. Teresa has somehow managed to paint almost her entire face with her dinner, and Erika is crying because dinner is avena (oatmeal), which should just universally be renamed to “Your children will have a fit if you make them eat this.” Evelyn discovers there’s pie and runs to get herself a bowl of oatmeal, surprisingly having remembered my no-dessert-without-dinner rule, but in her enthusiasm slops the floor with the contents of her dinner plate. Andrea is on a hunger strike and also refuses to drink the tea, and in the middle of it, Ada and Satyuri are calmly sitting and chatting. The dinner table looks like a warzone, and I see several people shooting me covert looks that say, “Should we help Alisha? Nah, she’s got this.”

Yeah, I don’t got this. This parenthood thing is hard. It’s stressful. I just want peace! And quiet! And no one looking at me with a mix of pity and shock! Most of all, I just want my children to behave, and they don’t because they’re children, and because they’re my children they have even more on their plates than normal children.

Of my nine children, all of them got to see their families that Sunday. Some parents had good news, about jobs and better health and improved circumstances. Some of the parents were nice to their children, and brought them presents and treats. But the majority of their parents didn’t have good news. Pregnant siblings, families breaking up, deaths-these are the kinds of things that get shared with my five to eight-year-old girls. Sunday’s are hard for us, because after a week spent anticipating the next time they see their families and building up their hopes that maybe this time, things will be different, they are once again hit with the reality that life really isn’t perfect, their families haven’t changed, and things are still just as messed up as they ever were. None of my kids are here because they come from happy families, and on Sunday’s it shows more.


Somehow, we survive dinner. It involves a mega-temper-tantrum (on Erika’s part) and some possibly empty threats (on my part, “I will make you scrub this place with a toothbrush! And a sock!”), but we survive. Somehow, I get everyone upstairs and bathed, although Teresa manages to shower once again in her socks, and soaks her towel in the process. Somehow their uniforms get sorted (after two sweaters get lost and then found again), their cupboards organized (and I forbid Evelyn from stuffing one more article of clothing in hers, as she has more clothes than I do) and their little bodies get into bed. I fish Jenifer from under her bed where she’s fallen asleep and somehow, we’ve all survived the evening.

And at the end of the night, as they all sleep quietly and not-so-quietly in their beds, I think to myself, “I really do love these kids.” They’re not perfect. They’re dealing with some stuff that would be difficult for people three times their age to process, but in the midst of all of it, I can see Jesus working in their little hearts. He’s at the center of everything, and while I may be the most ineffectual supervisor and worst candidate for parenthood in the history of the sport, it’s imperative to remember: His grace is enough, for me and for them.



Especially on Sunday nights.