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“You Are More”:

An Exploration into Popular and Problematic Trafficking Discourses

A Thesis presented

by

Kelcy J. Dolan

to

The Department of English

In Partial fulfillment of the requirements for a Degree of Master of Arts

in the field of

English

Northeastern University

Boston, Massachusetts

April 2018

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“You Are More”:

An Exploration into Popular and Problematic Trafficking Discourses

A thesis presented

By

Kelcy J. Dolan

ABSTRACT OF THESIS

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements For the degree of Master of Arts in English In the College of Social Sciences and Humanities of Northeastern University April 2018

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Abstract “You Are More” is an attempt to analyze the current discourse concerning trafficked persons to establish the reoccurring problems that inevitably serve to hinder the progress in combatting human trafficking on a domestic and international scale. Under the framework of socio-narratology, genre studies, and oral history studies, “You Are More” claims that the ways our most public and accessible narratives present trafficked individuals are in need of revision.

This piece looks at three different texts (The White Umbrella, Amirah’s advocacy website, and I

Am Jane Doe) and discusses their success and failure in constructing a positive and beneficial portrayal of trafficked individuals. “You Are More” critiques these texts for their depictions which manipulate the life stories of trafficked persons to make them appear culpable, in need of saving and helpless. The argument is that this rhetoric actually stalls progress in curbing the increase of trafficking across the world.

Following this critique, “You Are More” looks to two women, Carmen and Maria, who have been trafficked, one through labor trafficking and the other through sex trafficking, to see their take on popular representations. As insiders to this community, Carmen and Maria provide important insight into ways this rhetoric can be improved for the sake of intervention and prevention. Finally, “You Are More” makes an attempt to present the life stories of Carmen and

Maria in a manner that more closely resembles their actual experiences of trafficking and its aftermath. Carmen and Maria collaborated closely with the interviewer to ensure the final oral histories were to their liking. The hope is that through these more realistic illustrations of trafficking we may, as a society, be better equipped to address this issue in our local communities and on a global scale.

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Acknowledgments I would like to first thank my advisor Dr. Ellen Cushman for her unwavering support throughout this project. Her enthusiasm and guidance helped propel “You Are More”: An

Exploration into Popular and Problematic Trafficking Discourses forward. It has been an honor to work with her. I would also like to thank my second reader, Dr. Mya Poe for taking the time to go over this piece and offer such insightful recommendations for future research. A heartfelt thank you also goes to the entire faculty and staff of Northeastern University’s Graduate English

Department who inspired and encouraged me throughout my time in the Master’s program.

Thanks must also go to my cohort, Christopher Suprenant, Karla Gaitan, Meg Stefanski and

Haile Pruitt for making my time in this program as fulfilling as it has been.

A deep gratitude goes out to my parents, Amy and Terence Dolan, who have always been a source of motivation and reassurance when I needed it most. Similarly, I must thank Joan and

Ken Johnson, my grandparents, for their steadfast belief in me and my education. My younger sister, Allyson Dolan, deserves so much gratitude and love. As my best friend, Allyson has always been someone to turn to and find comfort in. Thank you also to Joshua Pacheco, who stood beside me through the interviewing and writing of “You Are More” with support and encouragement. I love you all.

Most importantly, I must thank Carmen and Maria; without these phenomenal, strong women “You Are More” would have never come to fruition. They took the time to share their remarkable life stories with me in the name of awareness for trafficked individuals across this country and across the globe. It is their strength and resilience that serve as the foundation to this project. Carmen and Maria are absolute inspirations and for that I am utterly grateful.

Kelcy Johnson Dolan 5

Table of Contents

Abstract…………………………………………………………………………….2 Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………...4 Table of Contents…………………………………………………………………..5 Preface……………………………………………………………………………...6 Introduction……………………………………………………………………….10 Theoretical Background…………………………………………………………..13 Methodology………………………………………………………………………19 Religious Rhetoric and Trafficking for Jesus……………………………………..26 I Am Jane Doe’s Failure of Secular Ambition……………………………………35 From and For the Women Themselves……………………………………………44 Carmen Will Always be Free……………………………………………………..47 Maria: Trafficking, Dancing, Writing and the Art of Advocacy …………………57 Conclusion………………………………………………………………………...66 Bibliography………………………………………………………………………69

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Preface: When the story broke in the early 2000’s that Paramount Restaurant1 was prostituting trafficked women out of their basement, the news traveled mostly in rumors, whispers, and an article buried on page eleven in the local newspaper. People were interested enough to gossip, joking about “happy endings” with every meal, but no one seemed invested enough to actually care. Personally, I didn’t know whether to be more surprised by the actions taken by the restaurateurs or the quickness with which the story was consumed by the banality of other more

“pressing” matters by the local news agency. Over the next couple of days the news described what would happen to the traffickers, the restaurant, as well as the impact on the community, but the women? Their circumstance received sympathy and compassion from readers, but very little was disclosed about what would happen to them in the aftermath of what turned out to be a statewide sting. These women had endured abuse for years, but the community had only given their stories a few lines of coverage over a couple of days. As quickly as the story “broke” it was lost to newer headlines, the stories of these women’s lives replaced with run of the mill reports on local politics, neighborhood quarrels and upcoming events.

Although I was only in high school at the time, I had to pass Paramount every day on my way to work after class. For months previous to the discovery I had been just five minutes down the road, completely unaware that anything untoward was happening. I was astounded; whether this was because of the success in secrecy Paramount experienced for so long or the proximity of this event in my own life, I’m still not sure. Either way, as the news surrounding the trafficking ring became non-existent, I began looking for other material that could help explain not just what

1 The name of the restaurant has been changed to ensure privacy. Ownership of the restaurant has switched hands, but it continues to operate under the same name. 7 trafficking entailed, but how it could so easily navigate in the shadows, leaving so many—me— oblivious to what was transpiring right down the road.

I asked family, friends, and coworkers what they knew, but no one could tell me much; people were similarly unaware of everything trafficking involved. The local news organizations didn’t provide much more, the news clips passing in just minutes and written articles ignoring the part I was most eager to learn about—what happened after? It wasn’t until I was in college that I became dedicated to the subject. Participating in the honors program, I took a course that operated similarly to an independent study. Throughout the semester we were to research anything we desired, producing a final project of our choice. I had far more research resources at my disposal and I became consumed. I was no longer astounded, I was enraged. This crime was rising exponentially, but policies and available services didn’t appear to be developing accordingly, the efforts for good paling in comparison to what traffickers were able to accomplish. Not to mention, the survivors who had first incited my curiosity, I still knew very little about them. The few stories I had been able to get my hands on, mostly blog posts from advocates, focused only on the abuse women had been subject to while being trafficked. These advocates often worked alongside and for non-profit agencies steeped in religious fervor. An entire story line was being overlooked.

My research led me to global interventions, specifically the United Nations Policy. I wrote a piece about how this policy could be improved. My ambition far exceeded my success.

Outside of a few classmates who had followed my progress learning about trafficking, and a final grade from my professor, I hadn’t achieved anything. In reality I had provided nothing for the community I was looking to impact. I had spoken more for the U.N. and policy makers than I had those who were affected by this crime. 8

With the project finished I continued to explore trafficking as a global phenomenon, but was quickly rerouted back to my local experience of it when I was hired as a journalist for

Beacon Communications. The newspaper group, run out of Warwick, Rhode Island, produced three local publications throughout the state. Fresh out of my undergraduate education I was eager to make a name for myself and vied for larger, more important assignments. Before long I was assigned a trafficking story—a panel discussion with local government officials, policy makers, and survivors. I was officially a participant in the very institution which had left me wanting years previously. Although the women taking part in the panel discussion were not the ones involved in the Paramount sting, I saw this as an opportunity to remedy the disregard I had witnessed other publications perpetuate, to give recognition to those who had been affected by trafficking. The two young women, barely out of their teens, were spotlighted in the article rather than the policy makers. The voices of the survivors contextualized the congressional policy in my piece rather than the perpetrators of the crime.

Throughout the years I was serving at the Beacon I encountered trafficking stories from many different angles: workshops preparing airport personnel to spot the signs of trafficking, fundraisers hoping to curb an increase in trafficking following the earthquakes in Nepal, and statewide initiatives to prevent domestic child trafficking. Whether my editor wanted the story or not, I was there covering every event I could. There wasn’t much I could do, but at least I was contributing to the conversation, hopefully better than those reporters that first left me dissatisfied. More importantly, hopefully I was opening up a space for voices that had been previously muted.

Now, I am hoping to expand on that effort by creating a platform that will cultivate a larger conversation and get closer to these women than ever before. “You Are More” is a 9 platform that seeks to spotlight the voices and narratives of these women in a way I have yet to achieve. Through this project I was able to meet Carmen and Maria, two women who have been trafficked. Carmen, a native of Senegal, was labor trafficked in the United States; Maria was sex trafficked for more than a decade. They opened up to me about their experiences with trafficking, but more importantly they shared their goals and aspirations. The news story that first sparked this interest, and the numerous texts that I have read since, insinuated these women disappeared after their escape from trafficking, that they simply moved on or were inconsequential to continuing the fight against trafficking, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Carmen, Maria and so many of the men and women who have been trafficked are on the forefront of this battle, not only for themselves, but for the entire trafficked community.

“You Are More” was born out of an utter frustration with the continuously problematic ways in which this population is discussed in our most public of discourses. Trafficking is a pervasive and insidious global epidemic; it transcends national borders, socioeconomic class, race, and gender and yet, much of the research and information disseminated to the masses remains limited. Popular depictions in film and television concentrate on the graphic detailing of abuse, tallying survivors by their bruises rather than by their triumphs. Even advocacy groups and activist writing, masquerading as efforts towards awareness, are often mediated through religious ideologies, seeking out souls to save rather than individuals to help. These endeavors, in their attempt to place human trafficking in a public spotlight, risk diluting the experiences of trafficked individuals.

“You Are More” is an attempt to re-conceptualize the way we discuss and interact with survivors of human trafficking. This project hopes to provide a secular and comprehensive addition to the current discourse. “You Are More” highlights the voices of survivors instead of 10 their perpetrators or those who believe themselves to be saviors. In doing so, I aspire to contribute to current dialogue through the voices that are most significant.

Introduction: Across the globe human trafficking is quickly becoming an epidemic, for governments, law enforcement, and vulnerable populations. The International Labour Office (ILO) estimates that nearly 25 million individuals are currently being trafficked across the world, in every country and nearly every community (Global estimates 9). With the most recent data estimating the illicit industry generating $150.2 billion annually, human trafficking is the fastest growing facet in the black market (Profits and Poverty 3). Although many countries and governmental institutions have different conceptions of what trafficking entails, the United Nations, in an effort to combat trafficking on an international scale, provides a comprehensive definition, which is as follows:

“Trafficking in persons is a crime that includes three elements: 1) the ACT

of recruiting, transporting, transferring, harbouring or receiving a person; 2) by

MEANS of e.g. coercion, deception or abuse of vulnerability; 3) for the

PURPOSE OF EXPLOITATION. Forms of exploitation specified in the

definition of trafficking in persons include, sexual exploitation, slavery and forced

labour, among others. Slavery and forced labour are also addressed in distinct

international treaties” (UNODC 14-15).

Generally, trafficking falls into two categories: labor or sex trafficking. In the first, individuals are forced to work for little to no compensation whereas the latter implies that individuals are sold for the purposes of performing sexual acts (8). These two forms of trafficking are very 11 distinct from one another, but there is often crossover between the two. There are numerous ways to be trafficked—such as rehoming or children forced into the military— but sex and labor trafficking are the most prevalent (8).2 In the United States alone, The Global Slavery Index indicates nearly 60,000 Americans are being trafficked, but the Polaris Project, one of the nation’s leading anti-trafficking organizations, believes that number is much higher (“United

States”). Polaris operates the country’s National Human Trafficking Hotline and in their 2017 report the organization received 26,884 individual phone calls that year—a 13 percent increase from 2016 (2017 Hotline Statistics). The Polaris Project reports, “The data do not represent the full scope of human trafficking. Lack of awareness of the crime or of these resources in certain geographic regions, by particular racial or ethnic groups, and by labor trafficking survivors, can lead to significant underreporting.” Where labor trafficking is more prevalent globally, sex trafficking it the most prominent manifestation of trafficking in the United States (2017 Hotline

Statistics).

Despite the seemingly rampant nature of trafficking and its growing popularity with criminals, our public facing discourses fail to account for its global relevancy. The topic’s prevalence in popular mediums is disproportionate to its actuality. Many fields throughout academia have taken on the task of researching more on this topic and some law enforcement, hospitality as well as transportation organizations offer training on spotting “the signs,” but endeavors to reach the general public remain surprisingly deficient in contrast. If we as a society hope to curb trafficking and offer comprehensive assistance to those in need, the general public is a critical component in fighting back and supporting efforts for intervention. It is the most

2 Rehoming is the process through which, “guardians of adopted children illegally and immorally change the guardianship of a child. There exists an online community in which children in unwanted adoptive homes are advertised and adults advertise themselves to be the new “guardian” for unwanted children. These children can be sold to pedophiles, into sex trafficking, to people who have lost their own biological children or are denied adoption privileges due to abuses mental, physical and sexual, or existing criminal records” (Dolan). 12 accessible and digestible formats that will inform the average media consumer and therefore the most people overall. Thus, these iterations, such as advocacy websites, non-fiction literature, and documentaries, have the greatest power to influence the general public’s opinion of trafficking and those individuals under its yoke. The attempts that we are offered through these platforms are highly flawed. Predominantly these forms utilize “survivor stories” and the preconceived identity structures of the “trafficked victim,” to garner support and sympathy from this population of unaware, but concerned citizens at the expense of the men and women they seek to aid. Rather than offering a platform for trafficked individuals, these publications take advantage of their circumstances for self-serving agendas. In attempting to contribute to this dialogue this piece will explore currently relevant sources from the public sphere on trafficking for their successes and failure to positively and accurately represent this community. A pattern emerges in which these trafficked individuals, predominantly women—women and young girls are the most affected by this crime— are used and exploited as a means of restricting the boundaries of identity for those who have been trafficked for the purposes of sympathy or support, self- congratulations and ideological conquest (7).

The issue that arises is that this problematic utilization of survivor stories is not reserved to a few mediums, but rather permeates nearly all of those outlets available to the average media consumer. In substantiating this claim, we will consider texts that inhabit three divergent mediums, a non-fiction book, an advocacy website, as well as a documentary and are considered characteristic of their platform. Due to the popularity and relevancy of these formats, they can be considered not only as the first interaction for those seeking to learn more about trafficking, but also the most sought after. The texts were chosen based on their reputations, ease in accessibility 13 and widespread circulation Because of this we also know these texts are not isolated, but regularly encountered by potential viewers.

The first section, “Religious Rhetoric and Trafficking for Jesus,” will look at The White

Umbrella, a book that presents itself as “walking with survivors of sex trafficking,” as well as the supplementary website for Amirah, an advocacy organization based in Boston. This section will address how Christian rhetoric constructs trafficking representations for the purpose of maintaining and propagating their ideologies. The second section will analyze a recent and secular documentary titled I Am Jane Doe. Predominantly this section will critique the infantilizing and anonymizing of the trafficked women used as the film’s entry into the trafficking world. “You Are More” then moves into a methodological presentation informed by the perceived insufficiencies in the first two sections. These sections are based on Carmen and

Maria, the two women who have been trafficked and volunteered to be interviewed for the sake of this project. An analysis of their interviews will be followed with the interviews themselves— oral histories.

Theoretical Background: These limitations of the trafficked self are not isolated within the confines of their mediums; on the contrary due to the lack of diversity, volume, or accessibility of these texts they have real world consequences. These representations become prescriptive towards those who have been trafficked, establishing a preferred norm for them. Especially when trafficked individuals are seeking to escape their abusers to reintegrate into society, textual representations become the method through which acceptable identities are pigeonholed. Not only do these men and women feel the need to adhere to this model, but so too do those seeking to help. Individuals who hope to learn more about the crime and potentially become an advocate or get involved will 14 similarly come to expect trafficked persons to conform to the depiction they have become accustomed to, in essence furthering this potentially damaging rhetoric.

Following sociologist Arthur Frank’s theory on socio-narratology, we know that the stories we tell can have a tangible and recognizable impact on the world around us. Although his earlier works focused specifically on illness narratives, Frank’s 2010 Letting Stories Breathe delves deeper into the ways the stories we tell about ourselves and others influences the world we live in and the lives we create for ourselves. Frank demonstrates the symbiotic nature between narratives and those who encounter them. In questioning how “life becomes social”

Frank argues that through socio-narratology we come to understand stories as “actors.” As such stories “do something” more than simply offering a “portal” into the minds of storytellers (Frank

13). “Stories act in human consciousness, with individuals sometimes being aware of what story is acting and sometimes not” (14). Narratives, like trafficking survivor stories, serve as established “templates” and recognizable “structures” we use to understand then construct the world around us (14).

This is never done within a vacuum; instead Frank recognizes that this process occurs at the “dialogical” intersection of “a story, a storyteller, and a listener” (16). It is through making sense of the stories we tell and hear that we make sense of ourselves and the world. By following these preexisting templates, which “share expectations that life will unfold according to certain plots,” both in telling and listening to these stories, we are “creating the social that comprises all human relationships, collectives, mutual dependencies and exclusions” (15). This is a cyclical process in so far that every time a narrative is shared, “the story animates some individual or collective entity,”— here the lives of those who have been trafficked. By 15 continuously retelling and reaffirming that structure, by “reanimating” it countless times we perpetuate and solidify that structure and narrative in the public eye (16).

This ability to shape the world around us transcends just the stories we tell one another, either verbally or written. Rhetorician Charles Bazerman argues that all, “acts of literacy draw on and have consequences for how we and others act and interact in the world” (Bazerman 392). So, not only survivor stories themselves, but all ways in which we talk about trafficking influence those affected by it. Bazerman’s “Textual Performance: Where the Action at a Distance Is” stakes the claim that literacies, in all its manifestations, inform how we interact with the rest of the world. Texts asks us to “perform novel selves that may have unanticipated consequences”

(398). Because we as human beings do not exist in a world of meaning inherent, texts serve a mediator for that meaning. According to Bazerman texts then are “culturally available tools” that operate as “sense-making mechanisms” that work alongside our physical world and “orient” us towards certain modes of thinking and activities (387). Therefore meaning is made

“interactionally” between the text and a reader or writer (380). It is, “out of such observations we make sense of ourselves as social beings. We use this social sense of self to shape, monitor, and evaluate our own behaviors as well as to formulate a sense of identity” (386).

Not only does Bazerman offer us a methodology through which to understand how texts impact the ways we interact with those who have been trafficked and how those who have been trafficked interact with themselves, he similarly underlines, why public and popular mediums are crucial. Bazerman argues that these mediating texts not only establish a method of meaning making, but attempt to “coordinate writers' and readers' meaning-making processes so as to coordinate the resulting meanings as we attend to the same documents,” to solidify our own idealized worlds (381). Outside of the act of reading these texts have little power as a 16

“communicative medium” to fashion the world around them; “in this respect the texts do not exist meaningfully if we do not somehow have them in mind, activated in some cognitive operation. The meaningful text is always a performance, whether by the writer or the reader”

(382). Because of this, those texts that are highly circulated and most available for public consumption have the greatest opportunity to determine the outcome of this meaning making process. By focusing on these highly visible formats, which we will soon discuss in length, we see the representations that are directly contributing to the dialogue about trafficked persons.

Under Frank’s theory of socio-narratology and Bazerman’s textual performativity, we come to understand stories as models and perpetuators of representation and self-hood. Frank himself understands this ability to be both a constructive and destructive mode of identity and culture making, but what are the palpable consequences and implications of a detrimental narrative? Judy Segal, a professor and rhetorician at the University of British Columbia, attempts to answer this question in her article “‘Breast Cancer Narratives as Public Rhetoric’

Genre itself and the Maintenance of Ignorance.” Segal explores the power of the personal narrative in the public’s perception of breast cancer, and argues its dependency of the genre actually, “[produces and maintains] ignorance about breast cancer” (Segal 4). Segal’s work is founded in agnotology. Agnotology, established in 1995 by doctor Robert Proctor Schiebinger, is the theory of culturally induced, and the proliferation of, ignorance or doubt (Sega l4).

Specifically, this theory looks at research and scientific data or the lack thereof, but Segal argues that personal narratives are a way of collecting and dispersing “data” for public consumption. As such, personal narratives begin to determine what is and is not acceptable in the realm of cancer patients and cancer survivors. Segal writes, “The standard story, furthermore, includes a prescriptive coda, and that coda…is, ‘Be like me’. These homogeneous stories, for which the 17 public seemingly has an endless appetite, suppress or replace other stories, and personal narratives suppress or replace other genres in which breast cancer might be queried and explored” (4). In the popularity of the genre, personal narratives have been “co-opted” by opportunists in an attempt to profit from them (6). Segal doesn’t mean to argue that there is not a place for personal narratives in our realm of research, but does assert that there needs to be a

“counter-discourse” to allow for non-typified alternatives.

For breast cancer specifically, she insists that the happy go lucky, actively fighting survivor, can be “coercive” in establishing an “assumed moral authority” of how one should handle illness. Those who do not prescribe to that archetype then are not only ostracized from the conversation, but also made to feel inadequate. Similarly then, those narratives that delineate from the norm are also subsequently disregarded and not allowed safe passage into the public sphere. According to Segal, “a standard story of breast cancer had emerged, and that it functioned as an epideictic rhetoric, a rhetoric of praise and blame. That is, illness narratives not only document and catalogue experience, they also reflect and reinscribe a hierarchy of values for such experience,” (13). Narratives surrounding those who have been trafficked operate parallel to Segal’s formulation because a singular representation of the individual in need of rescuing has emerged dominant. Segal states the, “formula is so compelling that, often, without the will or even the knowledge of individual narrators, the story writes itself” (10). The prevailing narrative structure is increasingly problematic in our case because the stories are often mediated through a third party. Not only does the rhetoric allowed in the public sphere become standardized, but the individuals making the decisions for that criterion are not the story tellers themselves, rather the supposed advocates. Nonetheless, these stories are often presented under the assumption of transparency and personalization, when in truth writers often, even if 18 unwittingly, adhere to and sustain the current narrative form. This creates the foundation upon which trafficked victims are expected, both independently and within the public consciousness, to model themselves after to be qualified to receive resources and assistance.

Even though many of these representative ventures transgress mediums, they often share a singular motivation, and operate under the guise of awareness. These narratives emerge in a plethora or formats; the pretense that accompanies is one of awareness. These texts seek, in theory, to educate others about the “realities” of human trafficking, not only from a legal and moral standpoint, but often also an individualized one. Through this unifying and singular purpose, these texts share similar if not identical exigencies. As such they can be considered a singular “genre” and can be analyzed through Carolyn Miller’s definition in her piece “Genre as

Social Action.” For Miller a genre is a collection of discourses used “recurrently” to accomplish similar goals—a social action (Miller 151). For the purposes of our research then the genre is trafficking awareness and the support of any anti-trafficking efforts through the continued use of depictions of survivors as in need of rescue and incapable of self- efficacy. For Miller, because genre is the amalgamation of motive, situation and subsequent action, genre, “becomes more than a formal entity; it becomes pragmatic, fully rhetorical, a point of connection between intention and effect, an aspect of social action” (153). The implication of this is that genre becomes more than a “pattern of forms or even a method of achieving our own ends”; it is a way to better comprehend the moments we exist in and, “the potentials for failure and success in acting together. As a recurrent, significant action a genre embodies an aspect of cultural rationality (165).

Despite the interrelatedness of these factors in establishing a genre, Miller makes it clear that the situations these genres arise from are, “social constructs that are the result, not of 19

‘perception,’ but of ‘definition’. Because human action is based on and guided by meaning, not by material causes, at the center of action is a process of interpretation. Before we can act, we must interpret the indeterminate material environment; we define, or ‘determine,’ a situation”

(156). It is through this interpretation that representations of people and communities become

“typified”; that in turn begins to inform our meaning making processes and the way we approach and understand diverse experiences (156-157). Despite the outcome of anyone genre, Miller argues that the separate facets of genre don’t necessarily need to be positively aligned. Even a well-intentioned rhetor, “can be ill-informed, dissembling, or at odds with what the situation conventionally supports. The exigence provides the rhetor with a socially recognizable way to make his or her intentions known. It provides occasion, and thus a form, for making public our private versions of things” (158). This is what we find in many of the attempts to explain the

“survivor experience” anti-trafficking texts, especially the three we will look to later, often have good intentions, but their execution remains flawed. Overall these texts serve to complicate the representations of trafficked individuals because the genre as a whole dilutes their experiences for the sake of achieving a “social action” dedicated more to the benefit of the rhetors than the community at the center of its discourse.

Methodology:

“You Are More” implements a mixed methods approach in utilizing both text analysis and personal narratives to explore the current discourse landscape surrounding trafficked persons. The textual analysis relied on genre studies to elucidate common trends and tropes throughout the texts that begin to establish an archetype for the trafficked individual. The personal narratives of Carmen and Maria were informed by oral history theory in an effort to assert the authority of the interviewee rather than the interviewer. Contrasting current 20 publications, characteristic of the genre, with the perspectives of the individuals this genre seeks to represent exposes how these narratives fail to serve trafficked individuals and may actually be detrimental.

To postulate a comprehensive image created by the current discourse, this project looks to three public facing textual documents, The White Umbrella, Amirah’s advocacy website and the I Am Jane Doe documentary. All three of these texts concern themselves with sex trafficking.

Although there are many forms of trafficking, sex trafficking continues to be the most written about; therefore this sampling mirrors the actuality of the genre. One of the women interviewed was labor trafficked and will attest to this problem. She claims, especially in the U.S., that there is little documentation readily available outside of academia concerning trafficking that isn’t sexual in nature. She will also stake the claim that this is damaging to the overall conversation around trafficking because it makes other forms of trafficking invisible for the majority of the population (Carmen).

Our texts were chosen because they have the best chance of informing the general public.

They are easily accessible, well reviewed, and popular. Due to their prevalence these publications are the easiest means through which people can learn about trafficking. As such they would highly influence the public’s perception of trafficking and those who have been trafficked, whether or not they do so in an advantageous manner.

The White Umbrella: walking with survivors of sex trafficking, written by Mary Frances

Bowley, was published in 2012 by Moody Publishers, a Christian publishing firm. The 200 page book appears as one of the top listed when looking for books about trafficking on Amazon.

There it has as a 4.5 out of 5 star rating on Amazon, which also lists over 100 positive reviews 21

(Amazon). On Goodreads, a popular book rating website, The White Umbrella is listed as 4 out of 5 stars with similarly praising reviews from those seeking to learn more (Goodreads). These high ratings may insinuate to the average reader that The White Umbrella is factual or thoroughly illustrative of the crime whether that is the case or not. Inevitably, this contributes to continued success as people purchase the book on the pretense of quality material.

Amirah is an anti-trafficking organization based in Boston and their website features a blog from staff and clients. Amirah, a religiously based group derives its name from, “the Arabic and Persian meaning [sic], ‘daughter of the king/princess’ and ‘female leader’” (Who We Are).

Beginning with the letter “A” this website receives a lot of traffic online because it appears early on, if not first, for lists of anti-trafficking sites when searched. Similarly, based in Boston, a big city with a known trafficking problem,3 Amirah would have a lot of viewers to their website.

Many of those seeking more information about trafficking would be escorted to this webpage because of its placement.

The documentary I Am Jane Doe is the most recent text as it debuted in 2017. The hour and 39 minute documentary, directed by Mary Mazzio and narrated by Jessica Chastain, focuses on the legal battle against Backpage.com in the United States.4 Specifically, this documentary follows the progress of three court cases. M.A. v. Village Voice Media Holdings d/b/a/ Backpage,

3 According to the Polaris Project, the leading anti-trafficking organization across the United States, nationwide there has been an increase in trafficking cases over the last year. Whether this is due to increase in activity or better reporting infrastructures is still to be determined. Massachusetts has seen a relatively proportional growth in cases (“Massachusetts”). In 2015 Massachusetts only reported 62 human trafficking cases, but saw an uptick every year since. As of January 2018, there were already been 346 calls to reported to the National Hotline with references to Massachusetts and 92 cases of trafficking reported (“Massachusetts”). 4 Launched in 2004, Backpage.com markets itself as a “classified advertising website” offering free access to classified listings according to its homepage. These listings range from automotive repairs, job opportunities and real estate. Although due to pressure from the court cases and general public outrage, Backpage claimed to have shut down their adult services section just days before a Senate Committee hearing which sought to investigate the potential criminal activity of the website (Mazzio). Although this may seem like a win, traffickers have found a way around this and have manipulated their vocabulary to be accessible to Backpage’s weak attempt at censorship. Young trafficked girls continue to be traded across the internet through this platform (Williams). 22

J.S. v. Village Voice Media Holdings and Doe V. Backpage, all of which attempt to accuse

Backpage.com of an unlawful negligence or direct responsibility towards the child trafficking that takes place on their website. Because these cases are ongoing and the film is still new, the documentary has received a lot of media attention, which only increases its popularity. This film is available on numerous platforms, including Amazon, Vimeo and iTunes, but most importantly it is accessible on Netflix (I Am Jane Doe). As the most popular streaming service, many viewers across the globe have the means of watching it for no additional cost. If one was to search for trafficking on Netflix this would be one of the newer documentaries listed. The film also has an educational license for k-12, universities, and libraries which increases its accessibility by making it a teaching tool (I Am Jane Doe). With so many channels to access this film and media outlets promoting it, I Am Jane Doe is at the forefront of the trafficking debate.

In tandem with these textual pieces “You Are More” also looks at personal narratives of two women who were trafficked. Because the intention of this project is to produce a form of writing that more accurately reflects survivors’ experiences, I sought to meet one on one with these women for in depth interviews. Leveraging connections from my old line of work I was able to secure two interviews with simply incredible women: Carmen and Maria. Carmen, an avid writer, was labor trafficked for two years after coming to the U.S. legally from Senegal to pursue a graduate law degree. She was forced to clean office buildings for her abuser for little to no money. Following her escape from her abuser she dedicated herself to charity and advocacy work. Maria spent much of her childhood and young adult life being sexually exploited after being kidnapped at 14. Now she preaches about the benefits of self-care and endeavors to educate others on the process traffickers use to groom potential victims. Both of them volunteered to meet with me because, as hard as it can be for them to talk about their 23 experiences, they are similarly dissatisfied with how popular media represents this community.

They believe the best way to combat trafficking and improve the resources currently available for trafficked individuals is through speaking out about what they endured. Because trafficking only continues to grow, despite governmental and international efforts to condemn it, the importance in telling these stories cannot be understated.

Before any of the interviews took place, I knew I wanted to privilege and prioritize what mattered to Carmen and Maria. So removed from this experience I knew I couldn’t dictate what moments were or were not critical in their trafficking experience or their recovery from it. As

Carmen and Maria will illuminate, to be trafficked is to constitute a different approach to and understanding of life, one that I couldn’t begin to conceptualize

Maria said, “Everything is hard afterwards. Relationships are hard and nasty and so difficult that you have no idea what’s happening…It is hard to see what a good relationship and relationship boundaries are. You may think you know and you may read all these papers, but it doesn’t click as easy as other people it would. And it’s not just with boyfriends or girlfriends; it’s with family, friends. You don’t know what a really good friendship is. You don’t know if you can really connect with that person or what that person may think of you”.

Carmen similarly stated, “Because of [trafficking] I have very bad trust issues. So, every time when people tell me something, I will say ‘oh yea, great’, but in my head I don’t worry about it because I know something’s going on or things like that. It really affects my life even right now”.

As an interviewer I wanted to remain relatively inconsequential in the trajectory of the interview to allow Carmen and Maria to develop their own storyline with minimal interjection 24 from myself. I was influenced by Donald Ritchie’s Doing Oral History. Ritchie, a historian emeritus for the United States Senate, is responsible for the conducting the oral history program with former Senate and staff. He is also the senior advisor to the Oxford Oral History Series

(Ritchie 335). For Ritchie oral history is the collection of “memories and personal commentaries” about important figures, groups, and events through recorded interview (1).

Ritchie explains that this form of history making can revolutionize our understanding of both the past and present because it often seeks input from disenfranchised voices. For example, Ritchie claims that oral history “fundamentally altered” the way we understand American slavery because oral historians had recorded interviews with current and former slaves themselves and did not rely on plantation owners’ point of view (4). If oral history was so revolutionary for

American slavery then, why shouldn’t it play a role in redefining modern day slavery?5 “You Are

More” seeks to do similar work in listening to those who have been trafficked—enslaved—to offer a comprehensive and authentic glimpse into this crime and those who have suffered from it.

Researchers have often embraced oral history when they work with communities that have been “marginalized, oppressed or otherwise excluded from the historical narrative” as a means of enabling and projecting those voices (128). Oral history projects, such as “You Are

5 Human trafficking is often colloquially considered modern day slavery. It may not be as blatant or visual as the enslavement of African Americans in early America, but trafficking nonetheless enslaves those subject to it whether that be forced labor, forced prostitution, child marriages, child soldiers, etc.(Ryder et. al). Part of the reason this crime has been able to flourish is because slavery is considered an “anachronistic” occurrence. Modern slavery incorporates child/forced marriages in its definition as well. With a comprehensive tallying of trafficking offenses, with forced marriage (over 15 million worldwide), which could be argued as a form of trafficking, the International Labour Organization estimates that over 40 million people across the globe are enslaved (Global Estimates 9). Kevin Bales, author of The Slave Next Door: Human Trafficking and Slavery in America Today, actually argues that there are more “slaves” in the world currently, “than were taken from Africa during the entire 350 years of the Atlantic slave trade” (Bales 3). This is not to undermine the experiences of those affected by the Atlantic Slave Trade, but rather to show that slavery never disappeared despite the abolition of slavery in most first world countries throughout the 19th Century. Bales argues that between globalization and an ever growing population worldwide improves conditions of slavery despite its illegality (6). It is the hidden nature of trafficking and slavery that allows it to prosper and avoid penalty. Because of oral histories success in reimagining the way we look at antebellum slavery, and the fact that slavery continues to thrive in this country and globally, oral history can also serve to reconceive the ways we address modern day slavery. 25

More,” “concerned with empowerment point to the power imbalance between interviewer and interviewee, and seek to shift the balance of power from the interviewer to the interviewee, and thereby democratize the project’s product. Theories about empowerment view oral history as a form of social justice” (128). To ensure these voices are liberated instead of restricted my interviews would not “shoehorn their responses into a prepared questionnaire,” but rather leave space open for both Carmen and Maria to talk about what they found to be the defining characteristics of their experience (16). I wanted to have a limited impact on the subject matter of the interviews themselves as well as the subsequent texts produced from them. As I was writing there were minimal edits to interviews, some rearranging to follow a chronological format and deleting filler words such as “like,” “um,” etc. Similar to Ritchie, my “goal [was to sharpen] the focus without putting words in the interviewer’s mouth or altering the essence of what was said”

(130). I wanted to be the chronicler of their stories instead of the author of them. So much of what I’ve read had obviously manipulated texts, using them to further a self-serving narrative.

Texts focused so much on the abuse or the psychological trauma as a means towards sympathy and therefore support for the cause, but at the expense of detailing the full personhood of their subjects. Trafficked women in these stories were one dimensional, victims and nothing else.

To avoid following in those footsteps I did not specifically question either Maria or

Carmen about the abuse they experienced, but rather allowed them to offer up the information they saw pertinent to understanding where they are now in their lives and why. I asked for their background, what they thought of how this crime is represented and what has been most helpful for them in re-acclimating to society. Everything that was shared about their experiences with trafficking was offered on their own volition; thus, these were the most crucial and defining moments of their stories. 26

Religious Rhetoric and Trafficking for Jesus:

The battle against trafficking in the United States has been historically defined by its religious, specifically Christian, undertones. As a consequence, the way we converse about this crime is characterized within the framework of a crusade in the name of God—perpetrators are agents of evil while those being trafficked are in need of salvation. The rhetoric of victimhood that defines this logic impedes both legislative and narrative progress for the women being described. Because of this governmental preference for religiously affiliated discourses on trafficking, especially under the Bush administration, Christian anti-trafficking groups have been able to flourish.6 These self-proclaimed advocacy organizations are the first line of defense, not only for those seeking to escape trafficking, but also for those civilians interested in learning about ways to help. These biased agencies have been able to monopolize the conversation around trafficking in the public eye. Organizations, such as Amirah in Boston, Massachusetts and

Wellspring Living in Atlanta, Georgia, are given the opportunity to present the stories of the individuals they come in contact with as popularized advocacy agents. Regardless of intentions to provide assistance and awareness, the representation of these women is tainted by the

6 Human trafficking became a hallmark of George W. Bush’s presidency when just nine days after his inauguration he established the White House Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiative through executive order (Zimmerman 87). This office intended to foster partnerships between the federal government and religiously affiliated service providers. Although this office did not concern itself with strictly trafficking organizations, it was in control of which faith based trafficking organizations received federal funding. Nearly $35 million dollars was allotted to these organizations between 2001 and 2004 alone (87). Due to an increase in funding, the prevalence of these organizations in public media skyrocketed, leading them to be the “most prominent media and policy spokespeople on the topic” (Soderlund 68). This assured that faith based organizations were a “significant presence” in the lives of sex workers (81). Thus, these organizations were given the opportunity not only to define the crime, but also those who are “victim” to it. Yvonne Zimmerman, author of From Bush to Obama: Rethinking Sex and Religion in the United States’ Initiative to Combat Human Trafficking, found overwhelming evidence that proposals for funding that came from Christian based groups were favored whether or not they demonstrated a sufficient ability to address the issues (Zimmerman 88). Zimmerman writes that the “unintended consequence of the availability of the faith-based funds was to place undue emphasis on organizations’ religious credentials at the expense of their actual technical competency in anti-trafficking work” (90). Although we do not intend to argue the legitimacy of the work Wellspring Living or Amirah do, this governmental policy goes to reinforce the ability of these Christian based organizations to dominate over the conversation and establish a foundational discourse concerning trafficking and those who have experienced it due to their governmental preference. 27 theological dialogue the agencies privilege. In doing so, these organizations perpetuate the demeaning and agency stripping rhetoric of the Christian religions they hold dear. Their publications manipulate the representation of the community they serve for a religious agenda, while simultaneously self-congratulating themselves for all the “good work” they do in the name of the lord. This distorts the reality of trafficked individuals within our public consumption and hinders our ability to best serve this population.

Wellspring Living and Amirah are products of this political history and their publications perpetuate this discourse. Mary Frances Bowley, founder of Wellspring Living established the nonprofit in 2001—at the very beginning of the Bush Administration’s push to address trafficking—after her “eyes were opened to the plight of [young women struggling] against the storms”(Bowley 17).7 The previous kindergarten and Bible teacher went on to publish

The White Umbrella: walking with survivors of sex trafficking. This was Bowley’s attempt to share the narratives of several women. Similarly, Amirah initially began in 2009 through a coalition of parishioners from different churches, but it was through the leadership of current

Executive Director Stephanie Clark that the organization was rejuvenated in 2015 after having their only safe house shut down for financial reasons (Luca).8 Clark was a pastor before leaving the church to devote her time to anti-trafficking efforts. In an interview Clark said God was the reason behind her career change: “I prayed a ton and felt a peace about saying that I wasn't called

7 Wellspring Living “desires to embody servant leadership” and is named after “the living water Jesus promised to the Samaritan woman at the well” (Bowley 9;17). Integral to the work done by Wellspring Living is “offering survivors a safe haven…therapy, personalized education, life skills, and spiritual renewal”(9). Through this we see that religion is not solely the motivating force for founders and volunteers, but is essential to the way in which individuals who are trafficked are believed to be helped. 8 In contrast to Wellspring Living, which places spirituality at the core of their practices, Amirah claims, that although they my see religion as a motivation, they ”recognize that not everyone shares [their] faith, including the survivors [they] serve in [their[ safe home and programs….Although the Christian faith is inextricably tied to our motives and methods, we place no obligation or requirement on our residents, volunteers, or referral partners” (Statement of Faith). 28 to be a pastor, but I was called to work within the world of anti-trafficking,” (FAQ). Regardless of intentionality these publications write trafficked individuals as victims without the agency to speak for themselves and in need of rescue.

Bowley’s The White Umbrella operates under the pretense of sharing “survivor stories,” but the book privileges the stories of the organization’s volunteers and staff members. The first chapter is ambiguously titled “Her Story,” despite the brief description following it clarifying the chapter to be based on “Sheila’s” experience (Bowley 21). Without a secondary byline, we know Bowley appropriated this story herself. Throughout the remainder of the text, Wellspring staff contributors commandeer the stories of the women they work with. For example, Chapter

7—“Peeling Back the Layers”— is written by Mindy Pierce, a therapist with the non-profit. The chapter description reads, “No one is in a better position to describe the complex journey toward a girl’s healing than a therapist who has listened to her stories and worked with her through her pain” (81). What about the individual themselves? A therapist may have a privileged insight, but the fact of the matter remains, that so removed a therapist cannot be in “the better position” to tell this story than the women who is inherently doing the “healing.” While discussing legal proceedings and whether or not individuals decide to move forward with court cases, Pierce asserts that it is essential to her work that she “honors” the voice of a trafficked woman. In the same breadth, Pierce overshadows that obligation with her more pressing duty in “honoring the

Lord’s ability to bring justice at the time and in the manner He chooses” (89-90). Not only does

The White Umbrella mediate the stories of women who have been trafficked through the use of proxy storytellers, but that story is simultaneously manufactured for the purpose of maintaining

God as the judge and juror of these women. 29

Even when Bowley attempts to present a story from a survivor archetype she undermines it by writing it herself. Chapter 9 is “Healing Comes Full Circle” and claims to be the story of

Angela, a Wellspring volunteer who wasn’t trafficked, but experienced similar issues with sexual assault and rape that the text equates to trafficking. Again, we know this chapter to be actually written by Bowley because it lacks a secondary byline alerting us to a new author. The character of Angela had attended church throughout her troubled childhood, but, “found it difficult to accept His love… how could He love [her] after [she’d] done these things” (106)? The chapter recounts her continuous life turmoil and depression until she “let go of the anger and blame

[she’d] placed on God,” took a hard look at her life choices and looked to Him wholeheartedly

(107). Her “terrible track record with men” turned around and she found the man God

“intended” for her. If The White Umbrella implies that Angela, who was molested as a child, needs both God and new man to be “saved,” what then can the text be implying about survivors of trafficking who may have experienced years upon years of abuse? One who may not have had any relationship with God? Or worse yet, didn’t believe in one?

The White Umbrella portrays trafficked individuals as needing salvation, or divine intervention from a third, all powerful entity. Bowley blatantly admits, “Often, I am totally overwhelmed by [their] obstacles and realize the only way to overcome them is through God’s intervention and His people stepping up” (175). These women then have no means of helping themselves without God’s assistance. This insinuates that trafficked individuals are powerless and it is their lacking relationship with God that led to their circumstances. Therefore, without a religious figure in their lives these women do not have the agency to act within their own right.

Much of the work Bowley calls for is prayer and she praises the work of her “prayer warriors,” men and women who “devote extraordinary amounts of time to pray for…rescuing, restoring and 30 renewing” Wellspring Living’s clients (166). For Bowley, “God has given these [“prayer warriors”] the unique capacity to stand in the gap and intercede for those who cannot pray for themselves” (166). These women cannot cultivate a relationship with God, there is a “gap” according to Bowley; in her eyes this is where the anti-trafficking efforts need to be, filling up the spaces between trafficked women and god.

Bowley blatantly situates these women as broken, defenseless individuals in the preface.

Bowley clarifies that throughout the text the women will be referred to as “girls” or

“affectionately” as “our girls” because “regardless of literal age, the children and women who come to Wellspring Living are all wounded little girls inside” (18). Bowley believes this causes women to make poor choices because, “once a girl is molested, she is emotionally arrested at that age, making her vulnerable to unhealthy people and giving her a tendency of making life choices based on the age at abuse”(18). This disregards the very adult experiences women have endured and mirrors the possessive and demeaning language of trafficking itself. 9 Suggesting that these women are girls infantilizes them. Although this reinforces the “innocence” The White Umbrella seeks to highlight, it simultaneously implies that these individuals are not capable of making decisions for themselves. Faith based anti-trafficking organizations often frame their work as an

9 Traffickers have long used seduction and inclusion to recruit various individuals into trafficking. In 2010 a study was conducted through DuPaul University School of Law in which 25 previous pimps—read traffickers—were interviewed about their experiences trafficking women. Although researchers Brenda Meyers-Powell and Jody Raphael focused mainly on the reasons these men and women turned to pimping as a profession, the study does include a section on recruitment which highlighted the grooming tactics of pimps and their focus on vulnerable populations to do so (Meyers-Powell 5). The pimps remained anonymous, but their quotes included, “Any player can tell when a girl has the look of desperation that you know she needs attention or love”; “I helped girls who no one else would. I picked up throwaways and runaways and dressed them up and taught them how to survive”; “I liked to get my best girls from another state and bring them back where they knew no one and I was their only friend and focus”(5). Meyers-Powell and Raphael stated that many of these pimps justified their actions by arguing they were helping girls, girls no one else wanted and showing them how best to live (5). The White Umbrella operates similarly; just as the pimps argues they were providing a better life for these women , teaching them the right way to conduct themselves, so too does Bowley. Her argument is that trafficked women need to be brought to God for salvation, where the pimp saw himself as God, offering the best path. Traffickers specifically seek out “broken” women and Bowely reaffirms that same identity in the preface of her book offering salvation just as the traffickers did, a promise of a better life. 31

attempt to “restore childhoods to young children exploited by sex trafficking” (Soderlund 81).

Like a child who needs to be watched and instructed by a parent to avoid heading down the wrong path, by “restoring” childhoods, so too does Bowley suggests that Wellspring Living and the overall anti-trafficking movement have an obligation to steer trafficked individuals back onto the right path, through a rebirth under the guidance of God. Bowley categorizes the work she does as uncovering, “the purity these girls still possess and the motivation we have, without any agenda, to help them recover it….look beneath the surface to glimpse the person God created them to be. Part of our call is portraying their innocence and worth to others who might not believe in them “(Bowley19). Gretchen Soderlund, author of Running from the Rescuers: New

U.S. Crusades against Sex Trafficking and the Rhetoric of Abolition, argues that the key part of this framework is that the women who seek help must ask forgiveness from God. She argues that

“neo-abolitionists” seek to “rehabilitate fallen women,” requiring their clientele to be “repentant and accountable to their sins” (Soderlund 80-81). This implies the trafficked women are culpable. Faith based organizations, like Wellspring Living, then focus so strongly on prostitution as an “issue of conscience and morality” that they inherently prioritize “protection over autonomy and empowerment” (81).

Bowley makes it clear in her preface that trafficking is an abomination against God and as such, situates the women she writes about as sinners in need of salvation. She writes, “This book tells the stories of girls who are victims of the dark underworld of sex trafficking and of the volunteers and caregivers who try to cover them with the love of Jesus” (Bowley 19). Jesus then is the one to save these immoral women, to offer salvation through the proxy of Wellspring volunteers. Yvonne Zimmerman, an Associate Academic Dean at the Methodist Theological

School in Ohio, argues that by, “[identifying] human trafficking as a violation of divine 32 intent…anti-trafficking work is characterized as a spiritual task, either freeing people into service to God or freeing people as service to God” (Zimmerman 86). The White Umbrella specifically operates under both of these points. Not only does Bowley and the other contributors, all staff at

Wellspring Living, talk about these women throughout the book as in need of God for their restoration, but the authors simultaneously self-congratulate one another on their efforts to assist trafficked individuals to that point. The White Umbrella eclipses the narratives of trafficked women by prioritizing their own and that of Jesus Christ.

Although not as audacious in its attempt as The White Umbrella, Amirah’s website and blog posts similarly uses language that incriminates the women it seeks to benefit. The anti- trafficking organization’s “goal” is to have “each woman served… restored and empowered with a sense of her inherent value and God-given strengths” (Who We Are). Alongside physical and vocational therapy, Amirah privileges “spiritual recovery”; in Phase 2 of their three step recovery program, Amirah, “[gives] each woman time and space to be able to explore the spiritual questions they have as they have endured years of abuse and trauma…. She is working through her trauma, building a savings as she works and beginning to restore the brokenness that is in her life” (Amirah’s Whole-Person Care Program). Amirah is contrasting their clients perceived, if not, prescribed fragility against the strength and inherent power of Christ. The privileged entity in this makeup then is Christ instead of the women themselves. Rather than portraying their clients as individuals in need of assistance, by addressing these women as

“broken,” Amirah positions trafficked persons as those in need of saving. Alongside stripping individuals of their agency, this savior rhetoric allows for the minimization or complete erasure of the systemic issues that allow trafficking to prosper. By formulating trafficking as a moral issue, incited by a lack of god and resolved through the restoration of that god, neo-abolitionists 33

, like Amirah, “casts women as victims in need of protection from harm rather than as subjects deserving of positive rights,” by privileging the “protectionist scenarios” we “overshadow demands for other forms of social and economic rights” (Soderlund 82).

Stephanie Clark, executive director, herself warns against this “savior complex” by supposedly reminding herself daily that she cannot save these women, but can only, “walk alongside them, offer them support and love them unconditionally.” Rather than commend the women working hard to re-acclimate to a life outside of trafficking though, Clark instead praises

Amirah’s volunteers and their, “gifts, talents, time and treasure” that lead to miracles for the women seeking Amirah’s help (FAQ). The only time Clark does mention the work necessary of trafficked women is to mention how difficult it is for her to watch a women leave the program

“prematurely.” She admits there are a variety of reasons women leave, from mental health issues to drug addictions, but she focuses on the hardship this causes her in her line of work, how her

“heart is broken for their choice.” She said, “I am a bit lost as there is nothing that I can do to stop them from making that decision.” These women begin for Amirah as “broken,” but in leaving the organization outside of what the agency deems appropriate these women are believed to be similarly turning their backs on God, therefore the rhetoric surrounding them shifts. They are no longer “broken,” but rather blameworthy. As Soderlund writes, this allows organizations like Amirah to disregard the harm that may come from their lack of representation. She writes,

“By offering this dubious yet morally rigorous aid to sex workers, abolitionists can comfort themselves that they were not responsible for any deleterious effects caused by their elimination of harm reduction programs. The abolitionist logic seems to run: ‘we did offer them a way out, after all”’ (Soderlund 81). 34

Women who do complete the 3- phrase system are considered “Amirah Graduates.” This rhetoric is highlighted in the blog posts where the byline stipulates the women as graduates, a problematic label. This affirms Amirah as a gatekeeping mechanism: clients have to prove their selves before deemed eligible for the world outside of trafficking. The organization then is given the power to say who is and isn’t allowed back into that society. They then provide the credentials and approval for their “salvation” stories. This allows Amirah to construct the identities of these women in their own image rhetorically before authorizing a transfer from one world into another. The most recent blog post written by an “Amirah Graduate” is dated from

January 2018, and exemplifies the Christian ideology that is necessary to be considered a graduate. The author, “Jessie,” battles with her definition of home after so many years of abuse.

She credits Amirah with helping her redefine “home” after 2 years in their program. She tells readers she is a recent graduate finally living on her own, but her description of that home focuses on the level of Christianity that surrounds her. She boasts about her Christian landlords and immediately followed this characterization with, “I could not asked [sic] to be next to more awesome and safer feeling people” (Jessie). Although there isn’t anything inherently wrong with this, it is an example of how graduates may come to equate their safety and goodness to

Christianity, serving as evidence towards Amirah’s self- image replication.

This discourse with a focus on privileging a Christian rhetoric does not serve the women who turn to Amirah in the aftermath of trafficking, but rather serves to hinder legislative and community action by masking the benefit of secular opportunities. This is not to say that secular depictions of this population aren’t questionable in and of themselves. Faith based representations may focus on the ways in which anti-trafficking efforts can further a religion’s 35 narrative and provide substance to the holiness of staff, but secular conversations around trafficking can similarly be a detriment to the community of trafficked persons at large.

I Am Jane Doe’s Failure of Secular Ambition: Whereas The White Umbrella and Amirah continue to traffick stories by mediating them through and for a religious agenda, the 2017 documentary I Am Jane Doe does so by perpetuating possessive and dominating rhetoric. The entrance into this documentary, which follows the legal proceedings of several cases against Bakpage.com, is through M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does, all of whom were sexually exploited by their traffickers through suggestive ads placed on Backpage’s website while underage. Through the misuse and appropriation of anonymity, the infantilizing of now adult women, as well as the usurpation of agency this film fails to represent the experiences of the individuals it seeks to highlight.

The documentary seemingly privileges anonymity; the title in and of itself avoids identifying any of the characters it goes on to depict; then those individuals are subsequently denoted by initials (Mazzio). Although this can be understood as an attempt to keep the identities of the participants concealed, it is undermined by the fact that video and photography of M.A. and J.S., both as children and in the aftermath of their experiences, are showcased throughout the film. J.S. and M.A. are specifically used as the faces of the documentary’s advertising campaign—J.S.’s silhouette is the first image on the movies’ online homepage and a profile still appears of M.A. at the bottom of the same page; J.S’s profile is also used numerous times as the top banner on other pages of the supplementary website (I Am Jane Doe).

Substituting initials for names does little in the wake of so many other identifying markers being paraded throughout the film. In contrast “The Jane Does” themselves, as well as their mothers, are shrouded in darkness or shown from behind whenever they appear on screen (Mazzio 36

00:38:01). Therefore, the documentary lacks uniformity in its methods to keep identities private, seemingly adhering to the wants of the family. In actuality the character given the most anonymity in I Am Jane Doe is a former Backpage employee tasked with scanning new postings for potentially underage girls (13:40). This nameless character is not only shown from behind, but even that image is blurred and the voice is changed.

Especially when the film puts forth much more of an effort in concealing the identities of other participants, the attempt at anonymity seems minimal if not pointless for M.A. and J.S.

They obviously had the opportunity to have their images obscured, yet actively decided against it. So, why does Mazzio continue using the initials instead of names, masquerading under the strong pretense of preserving anonymity? If nothing else, the use of initials strips M.A. and J.S. of the ability to take ownership of their identities in the wake of trauma. By implementing this strategy for women who seem willing to discuss their experiences, I Am Jane Doe, reinforces the notion that it is shameful to be trafficked—you don’t want your name associated with it10. This is not to say trafficking is a positive experience for these individuals, but rather that in pedestalling anonymity we may risk shaming those we force it upon. Therefore, the initials themselves, in an effort to mask identity, only perpetuate the sentiment that survivors should be ashamed.

Alongside initials Mazzio also utilizes the anonymous pseudonym “Jane Doe” 11 and appropriates it for her title; however, Jane Doe has its concerns too. Jane Doe is most commonly

10 Although Mazzio doesn’t directly say the girls she interviews should be ashamed d, she has continued to equate trafficking with something disgraceful since the film’s release. In an interview with both Vogue and Women in Hollywood Mazzio admits she questioned why these young women would participate: “The children were remarkable. For them to not only participate in the film, but also in a lawsuit where they would be at risk of unmasking their identity? I said why would you do this” (Felsenthal)? Yes, this is done to comment on the bravery of the women involved, but in doing so Mazzio has to first situate being trafficked as something disgraceful, which may inherently place blame on the survivors. 11 Although the characters of Jane Does may have been called such for legal reasons and to align with their court case pseudonyms, appropriating that title for the film itself and to use the pseudonym as the rallying, especially 37 used to preserve the anonymity of women in legal cases as well as to name unidentifiable bodies12. Despite the commonality of the practice, many have come forward to criticize it. One woman, a Jane Doe herself, contributed a chapter to Lessons from the Identity Trail: Anonymity,

Privacy and Identity in a Networked Society, which chronicles her own experience and dissatisfaction with anonymity. The chapter is titled, “What’s in a Name? Who Benefits from the

Publication Ban in Sexual Assault Trials?” and sections of it come from Doe’s personal work—

The Story of Jane Doe: A Book About Rape published in 2007. More often than not, Doe found that the participants in her study, all Jane Does in rape cases themselves, resisted the pseudonym and felt restricted by it. The author herself wishes she had come out publically in retrospect, but is now legally bound to continue using Jane Doe or risk legal repercussions both for herself and those who may want be anonymous (Doe 277). For Doe and her key informants the pseudonym lies on the intersection of race, gender and agency. Jane Doe obscures race, age, and many of the key informants said Jane Doe is, “coded as white,” they see her as a “thing,” a container for “pity

[that] holds all the stereotypes of a hopelessly destroyed woman, emotionally mangled, who requires circling off and rescue” (Doe 271). In its hopes for anonymity Jane Doe erases the personhood behind the individual; “Jane Doe is their epithet, and the true identities of these women are forever lost. We view their bodies as piecework, as evidence, as information. There is no power in a Jane Doe identity” (269). For many of the informants this meant that others are allowed to “impose their judgements” in the absence of a determinable selfhood, which makes it easy to discredit or blame said person (278). Similarly, this dedication to anonymity “reinforces” since the film has a preference throughout towards M.A. and J.S., can be seen as controversial and troublesome to the greater community of trafficked victims at large. 12 Derived as the female version of “John Doe,” the term has a long history, both in legality and public media. The term was first used under the Magna Carta in the 1200’s when witnesses in legal actions wanted to remain anonymous (Safire). What was often the case is that John Doe would be listed as the plaintiff and Richard Roe would be listed as the defendant. Because historically there were separate names for plaintiff and defendant, “John Doe” becomes synonymous with the victim or complainant. This is problematic for our own Jane Does. Legally, yes they are the plaintiffs, but this long history has its own negative connotation. 38 rape as a “public/private” matter. Because we assume women do not want to be known or argue they should not be known as someone who has experienced rape, affirming the crime “as a private matter between one man and one woman,” we force the conversation to inhabit the same unapproachable space (270).

Although the cases in I Am Jane Doe are not suing Backpage for sexual assault or rape directly, these crimes are inherently the experiences of the young women represented—the purpose in the use of “Jane Doe” runs parallel for them. By using these modes of dis- identification, I Am Jane Doe, continues to allow trafficking to be obfuscated in public discussion. By maintaining this level of secrecy I Am Jane Doe mirrors the very impersonal narratives traffickers pray on and for.13 This does not bring the anti-trafficking movement to the forefront of public discussion, but instead depersonalizes the experiences of trafficked individuals by stripping them of and distorting their selfhood.

In furthering this pattern of identity alteration, I Am Jane Doe continuously infantilizes individuals despite the very adult nature of the crime M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does underwent and their current ages. Not only does their testimony get paired with home video of their own childhoods, but b-footage that appears alongside the stories also feature young girls happily playing in various settings (i.e. a field a beach, etc.). The parents and legal counsel refer to the women as girls. When questioning the morality of Backpage’s spokesperson, Liz McDougall,

13 In outlining the different characteristics of traffickers and their victims the Polaris Project, one of the leading anti- trafficking organizations in the United States, highlights the susceptibility of young men and women who often come from poor backgrounds. Although this is not always the case, which I Am Jane Doe attempts to prove with their participants, The Polaris Project says the majority of those trafficked are, “runaway and homeless youth, as well as victims of domestic violence, sexual assault, war or conflict, or social discrimination” (The Victims & Traffickers). The traffickers seek out these “vulnerabilities” because it is easier to “leverage” them and make trafficked individuals dependent on their trafficker. These individuals are often already on the outskirts of their community, their circumstances often unknown, which makes them feel isolated and therefore easily manipulated. In terms of I Am Jane Doe, by anonymizing and pilfering their participant’s identity, the film similarly, depersonalizes these women for easy manipulation. 39

M.A.’s mother, Kubiiki Pride, says, “I’d like to know how she feels about who should be responsible. If it was her child, who do you think should be responsible” (00:24:12). This is not to argue against the commendable efforts to end child trafficking by the participants in this film, or the documentary itself, but rather to point out the inconsistencies in representation after the fact. By infantilizing these women they are presented as children needed to be cared for, to be watched over, to be rescued, rather than women bravely sharing their story. Although M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does were children or young adults when they were subject to trafficking, by situating them still as children, despite their growth as individuals, assumes they lack agential control of themselves, allowing for the usurpation of their stories.

Not only is this problematic for the documentary as a site of storytelling, but it may also be detrimental to the women I Am Jane Doe seeks to serve. A 2014 study published in the

Journal of Interpersonal Violence found that this infantilizing behavior can be directly correlated to the success or failure of a woman’s recovery after sexual assault14. This study doesn’t recognize itself as contributing to the research around human trafficking specifically, but this crime is inherently repeated sexual assault and as such this research can help inform the ways we discuss those who have been trafficked. Overall, the study sought to explore the ways in which, different factors after disclosure, specifically “controlling measures,” of which infantilizing is a variable, affects participants levels of PTSD and their use of drinking as a coping mechanism

(Peter-Hagene 1). It found that, “negative reactions [to disclosure] such as trying to control the victim’s choices or infantilizing the victim can further reduce feelings of control over one’s

14 This study, conducted out of the University of Illinois at Chicago Department of Criminology, Law & Justice, recruited participants through advertisements through several free and local sites such as newspapers, Craigslist, and university mass mailing systems. The study specifically focused on women and had nearly 2000 participants ranging from 18 to 71 and “ethnically diverse”(Peter-Hagene 4). These participants filled out a mail in survey that was then analyzed by the researchers. Although authors Liana Peter-Hagene and Sarah Ullman admit there is a margin of error because participants self-accessed themselves and everyone’s experience with sexual assault varies, they believe their structural equation modeling is well situated in “past theory and empirical research in the area”(8). 40 recovery, and in turn increase PTSD symptoms and the need to drink to cope with symptoms”(1). The structural equation model implemented by the researchers looked at multiple reactions to sexual assault (i.e. emotional and tangible support as well as controlling and distracting behaviors towards the abused individual), but found infantilizing reactions to sexual assault to be one of the most harmful in an individual’s proclivity towards drinking and PTSD because it can affect an individual’s self-efficacy: “It makes theoretical sense that treating the victim as if she were incapable of caring for herself, or in some way incompetent, would reduce her belief in her ability to cope with assault and control her recovery, which in turn relate to reduced ability to heal, and perhaps increased reliance on drinking to cope” (8). These infantilizing responses serve to “reinforce the loss of control survivors experienced during the assault” (9). The producers of I Am Jane Doe may not have been there for the initial disclosure or M.A., J.S. or the Jane Does, but this documentary serves as a secondary disclosure for these women as they share their stories on a public and international platform. By portraying these women as children then subverts their sovereignty over their life experiences, leaving little room for them to determine their own self-hood in the film.

Alongside “reinforcing” the experiences these “survivors” may have had during their time abused, I Am Jane Doe also mirrors the possessive nature of trafficking.15 With the absence of a name, M.A. and J.S. are coded as the “daughters of” their parental figures, who quite literally appropriate the stories of their daughters as well as ownership over the cases the documentary focuses on (Mazzio 00:04:19; 00:11:53). By naming M.A. and J.S. the daughters of their parents rather than speakers in their own right, they become possessions of their parents.

15 Ironically enough, I Am Jane Doe utilizes a “former pimp,” Homer King, to highlight aspects of the nature of traffickers. In discussing the money women made in his service, King makes it clear that these women were his “products” and provides a perfect example of this possessive nature in describing how as such, any money these women earned, was rightfully his. He said, “It wasn’t their money, it was mine. I made an undetermined amount of money. That was not their money. Don’t play with my money. Ever” (Mazzio 19:17:01). 41

This also highlights the parents at the forefront of this documentary rather than M.A. and J.S. themselves. All of the characters that follow are made in reference to the parents and not the individuals I Am Jane Doe advertises itself as documenting. Not only are the parents made the central figures, but through this privileged platform the experience of trafficking is told from their point of view rather than that of their daughters, who actually lived the experience themselves.

For example, as the film opens up it is J.S.’s mother, Nacole, who begins the tale of when her daughter ran away from home followed by M.A.’s mother, Kubiiki Pride, describing the kidnapping of her daughter. M.A. and J.S. don’t have speaking roles until nearly 5 and 12 minutes in respectively. By their entrance their full story has been explained. For M.A. she doesn’t speak until after a clip of her mother becoming choked up and unable to finish her sentence. This first interaction is not even 10 seconds and all M.A. says is, “next thing you know boom,” before her mother continues (00:04:19). J.S. enters the documentary similarly, interjecting briefly to say, “It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t at fault for what happened to me,” before her mother continues the tale (00:11:53). Even in the case of the Jane

Does it is one of their mothers who is shown on screen first and is given the opportunity to speak

(38:01). In this make up the parental figures have the authority to speak to the experiences more than their daughters who are only minimally given voice throughout I Am Jane Doe. These too seemingly crucial characters are given very little screen and talk time; their home videos, featuring them as children, receive equal if not more space in the documentary. When these individuals do receive time to talk, it is always in reference to blame, culpability, or referring back to their parents’ experience of the trafficking they endured. After M.A.’s case was dismissed M.A. does not explain her own reaction to it, but rather says about her mother, “She 42 was torn up” (00:15:43). J.S. says, “I wanted to blame myself for my dad’s drinking, for my mom crying all the time and her emotional breakdown” (00:30:30).

Although there is little doubt this provides some insight on the true experiences of M.A.,

J.S. and the Jane Does, it remains that I Am Jane Doe emphasizes footage that solely spotlights their guilt and shame. It is this one dimensional presentation of the trafficked women that becomes a questionable matter. The documentary makes claims about rallying around survivors, but we as an audience have very few opportunities to hear from said survivors themselves outside of this framework. Despite being integral to the legal proceedings, these women are never shown commenting on the legal actions being taken in their name unless it is to congratulate their lawyers. The audience is encouraged to rally around the mothers and the legal team who are commended on their efforts more often than the girls who not only survived, but are fighting back. Narrator, Jessica Chastain claims, “M.A., J.S. and the other Jane Does are standing up and reclaiming their voices. Not just for themselves, but for thousands of other children across the country” but in actuality, despite admitting the crucial involvement of these women, the majority of the documentary itself speaks for them, whether that is through their parents or legal aids (01:28:44).16

The cases themselves, are often considered the “mother’s fight”: Nacole and Kubiiki

Pride often state how they were on a “mission” and legal counsel often refer to the cases being

16 M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does role in I Am Jane Doe was so brief that there were multiple reviews in well-known publications that barely, if at all, mention their contribution to the film. The diminutive space I Am Jane Doe allots M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does is reflected in their absence from reviews. The New York Times found the lack of clarity and transparency in I Am Jane Doe troublesome, but nevertheless the women are only mentioned in a quick on sentence description of the plot as descriptors for their mothers’ distress: “Spearheaded by a handful of anguished mother whose daughters were sold into sex slavery” (Catsoulis). Oddly enough this review focuses on the pimp used as a source in this documentary and one of the lawyers (Erik Bauer). The Washington Post was far more favorable to I Am Jane Doe, and even praises the “heroes of the film… the young Jane Does who courageously share their stories,” but early on recognizes that it is “mostly mothers” who speak within the film (Hornaday). 43 the mothers’. Erik Bauer, the attorney serving over J.S.’s case, says towards the end of the film that, “the mothers are changing this more than anything” (01:30:09). This notion is complicated numerous times in the film as the court cases themselves are pictured throughout the documentary. Ironically though, where M.A.’s mother and the mothers of the Jane Does’ are incorporated as plaintiffs in the case, that is not so for J.S. Her name, along with a few other anonymous women, is presented as plaintiff twice, but never Nacole (00:29:52; 00:43:41). This is not to diminish the efforts of Nacole; however, in terms of providing an actual and truthful representation of this endeavor why isn’t J.S. given the opportunity to speak about her case, its proceedings or its outcome? Why deny these women credit for their role in the success of these cases and the overall movement against Backpage? This only furthers the claim that they are being utilized superficially. I Am Jane Doe is exploiting the images and dialogue of these women while keeping them relatively silent throughout the documentary. Their “tragic backstories” are utilized to fuel and power the plot of what was admittedly meant to be a documentary that solely focused on the legal proceedings themselves (Berger).17

Although presenting these women as broken girls in need of rescuing and protection may be beneficial from a legal standpoint, to mobilize viewers behind a cause (a worthy one at that) by quite literally stealing the stories of these young women for its own uses, I Am Jane Doe does

17 In an interview with Laura Berger for Women in Hollywood Mary Mazzio admits that the documentary was meant to be about the legal process in suing Backpage, and the survivors would only be considered essential to the film later in the filming process. Mazzio said, “We originally started out with a film concept that focused heavily on the lawyers involved in this fight, particularly as the attorneys for Backpage continued to outmaneuver legal skirmishes on several fronts. And then I met the children involved. And their mothers. That was a game changer” (Berger). Although it may be admired that Mazzio intended to spotlight the “children,” the initial focus on the legal teams is quite evident in the film. Mazzio does a far better job of outlining the cases themselves, than how she uses M.A., J.S. and the Jane Does. Several reviews of them film pick up on this discrepancy and point this out as well. Specifically, Film Inquiry’ review, titled “Remarkable Story, Flawed Film,” argues that the first half of the film, which focuses on the interviews with the trafficked women and their families “feels clunky” (Kukla). Between oddly placed still images and score Film Inquiry claims the film to be “far too busy and frantic.” The second part, which focuses on the court battles, is where Film Inquiry believes the film gains momentum. Whether aware of Mazzio’s change in focus, this review nonetheless notices a quality shift that aligns with it. 44 a disservice to the admirable efforts these individuals made in coming forward publically against

Backpage and to their complicated and intricate identities. These women deserve more than a shallow depiction; I Am Jane Doe‘s representation of trafficked individuals makes them appear helpless. Even if they may struggle, the fact of the matter is, the women in the documentary are implied to be far greater actors in this legal battle, than Mazzio and her fellow filmmakers allow to be seen on screen. Continuously, the words that are preached are undermined in practice.

For and From the Women Themselves: These texts, and others like them, generate an image of trafficked individuals that suggests these women and men are helpless, powerless and broken. Interviewing two women who have been trafficked, I found this to be far from the truth. In sharing their stories Carmen and Maria were confident, self-assured and well spoken. They did not resemble the incapable and invisible women so many texts portrayed them to be. They were insightful far beyond their years. They may have been victims of circumstance, but Maria and Carmen did not let victimhood define them. There may have been agents of assistance throughout their life stories, but Carmen and Maria were at the forefront of their escape from trafficking and their transition back into civilian life. They work within their communities to share information and resources in the hopes of helping others who continue to be trafficked. They help themselves and one another in the aftermath to begin life anew. They give back through charity work. They meet with policy makers and take part in legislative panels. They have aspirations of formal advocacy work. Why isn’t this image the one we present to the general public?

Because current texts endeavor to emphasize the victimhood of these men and women we must understand where the trafficked individuals see themselves in the victim/survivor binary.

The comparison of discourses is necessary if we strive to improve this rhetoric so we may be 45 equipped to rectify the failures of previous attempts. The texts we have looked at suggest these women to be nothing more than victims. During their interviews though, it became obvious that the victim/survivor dichotomy is a contentious one. Carmen and Maria both make allusions to victimhood, but situate themselves as more than just survivors. Carmen hopes to one day look back on her time being trafficked as space for self-growth, where she rebuilt herself rather than broke down. Maria thinks trafficked individuals must recognize themselves as victims first to subsequently see themselves as survivors; however, she argues men and women can actually be stronger after being trafficked because they have been “to hell and back” and persevered nonetheless. For Maria though it is up to that individual whether or not they consider themselves a victim or survivor and those seeking to write about this population should neither assume this identity marker of trafficked individuals, or try to force it upon the people they are working with.

This portrayal may foster spaces within our communities for trafficked women; they would be seen as productive, competent and most importantly agential. This would allow them to be more successful reintegrating into civilian life, or more comfortable with doing so, because there would be fewer restrictions to their self-efficacy if we could only see trafficked individuals as sovereign over themselves. Just because they may have been captive under the authority of another before does not mean they require a substitutive authority after the fact.

By undermining the role these women play in their own lives, their own escape from trafficking and their recovery in its aftermath, this genre currently fails to provide a comprehensive and favorable platform through which survivors can share their experiences without risking manipulation. There is a duality in harm caused. By perpetrating over the top narratives, drastic visual abuse, and culpability, trafficking exists in two very different planes within the consciousness of the general public versus in the undertaking of the crime. It is 46 because of this that trafficking prospers; unable to recognize the signs of trafficker manipulations not only do people become susceptible to this crime, but their ability to intervene is similarly diminished. This is why a more realistic portrayal is of such consequence to combatting trafficking on a local, domestic, and international scale. If more men, women and children were aware of the signs, they may be less susceptible to traffickers or we could draft legislation and policies that provide more opportunities for intervention.

How then do we begin revolutionizing the genre of survivor stories? How do we begin constructing narratives that not only highlight these women’s stories, but doesn’t usurp their authority in the process of retelling it? We must step back as authors inherent, but rather serve as chroniclers, or cataloguers, of their experiences. Writers, researchers and advocates should simply serve as intermediaries between the individual trafficked and the world they seek to interact with.

To produce a piece that would align with how Carmen and Maria see themselves, “You

Are More” collaborated with them throughout the writing process. Not only were participants asked how they would like to see themselves portrayed, but Carmen and Maria also saw several drafts of the work before its final iteration. The two women made suggestions as to how the pieces could be improved and clarified parts of the interview that were misunderstood. For example, with Carmen, seeing the first draft she was adamant that her part in disobeying her trafficker be stressed (Interview Follow-Up). It mattered to her that her role in her own escape be highlighted. The oral histories produced from these interviews try to restrict the focus on the abuse these women faced. These interviews could have focused heavily on tallying the abuses

Carmen and Maria experienced, but instead the women led the conversation and they decided to discuss what they felt actually defined their experience: for Carmen not having the knowledge, 47 whether it be background on trafficking or the language used in a new country and for Maria her susceptibility to grooming and then trafficking because of her past. The White Umbrella, Amirah and I Am Jane Doe didn’t address any of these concerns, but rather focused on their part in ending trafficking. So in these interviews I didn’t push any subject, but followed the line of thinking determined by Carmen and Maria. As such, these interviews focused heavily on the advocacy work both women are taking part in. Carmen and Maria were excited to talk about their futures and aspirations, a side of trafficked individuals we are rarely offered in the current rhetoric, but this is how they see themselves.

Carmen Will Always Be Free:18

Carmen19, who came to the United States from Senegal more than two years ago, volunteers regularly at her local soup kitchen while waiting on her work Visa. She says she is

“limited” without the visa, but hopes it will only be temporary.” When she isn’t volunteering she is practicing English to prepare for the TOEFL, taking courses with Sojourner House or taking part in public summits at Brown University, where she sat on a panel to discuss ways we can address trafficking.

Intelligent and optimistic, the now 24 year old came to this country two years ago with the hopes of a graduate education. She had received a degree in Business Law at a university in her home country and was excited to continue her education. She had hoped to continue her

18 The subject of this interview write up has collaborated on the final project. Carmen received and reviewed drafts of this piece. She made comments and suggestions that were essential in the final product of this interview write-up. 19 Because this interview was with a woman who has been trafficked a pseudonym has been used to protect Carmen’s privacy. At the end of the interview participants were asked specifically what name they would like used in lieu of their own. This woman chose Carmen because it was the name of the main character in a book she had read as a child: Carmen by French author Prosper Merimee. It is interesting to note that the character of Carmen, a gypsy woman, is known for her cunning as well as her refusal to be tied down. This character’s famous line is, “But Carmen will always be free.”(Merimee 123). 48 studies with an opportunity to study law in France, but her mother’s boyfriend, who she met over the Internet and lived in the U.S., had suggested that an education in America would be more advantageous. Carmen then came to America on her own, hoping to help provide for her family back in Senegal after she received her graduate degree.

“At first I didn’t want to go. Like culture, in my culture you need to obey your parents.

So I said yes. So, I came here around almost two years ago. And instead of going to school I was working for him,” she said20.

This man, who Carmen’s mother had met online, took advantage of the family after the death of Carmen’s stepfather. When Carmen finally arrived in the U.S. this man became her trafficker, her abuser. He was a janitor and put Carmen to work cleaning several office buildings with little to no pay for the long hours she worked. There were times she was only given $90 a week for working more than 12 hours a day.

“Every time I was asking him ‘where is the money’, he used to say, “Oh, I opened a bank account for you, for your studies. So when you are ready you can go to school.”

Because this man was also dating Carmen’s mom she felt that she had to trust him and believed that she would be able to go to school when she had raise enough funds. Carmen was also under the impression her abuser was working towards getting her a green card, which meant another “$5,000” she would have to work off towards her “bank account.” The two had even gone to see a lawyer to fill out paperwork, but just before everything was finalized the trafficker backed out, claiming he didn’t have the funds to pay for it. This left Carmen not only without the

20 All of the direct quotations utilized in this piece have undergone little to no editing. The only editing that takes place is the removal of repeated words, and fillers such as “um,” “like,” etc. Otherwise the quotations are raw and exact from Carmen herself. Although the sentences themselves were not edited, the quotes do not always follow the chronological order of the interview itself. 49 money she had rightfully worked for, but also without her passport, her only form of identification.

“Every time I was asking more questions for information he started to yell at me. He was acting really violent towards me when I was trying to get more information…I tried to understand, but at first, when I came, I was speaking English not very well. So it was hard for me to ask questions and to get more information. He was the only one because he speaks French and my native language. That was the only person I could get information from. And he was giving me, every time, the wrong information. So it was complicated for me to know what was really going on.”

Not long after the incident with the lawyer, Carmen asked for her passport so she could return to her home country; two weeks later her abuser disappeared with her passport for about a month until her visa expired. Upon his return he threatened that if she tried to go home she would be imprisoned by ICE because she wasn’t a citizen, but he promised, if she worked even more he knew someone who could fix her status, especially because at this point Carmen had been forcibly married to another man to “help her stay here.”

There were many reasons she ended up leaving her trafficker, but Carmen knew something needed to change when her abuser didn’t let her attend her first English class. Carmen has signed up for an English course, but on the day it was supposed to begin, her abuser asked her to cover a couple of shifts. Of course Carmen said no, but she was promised the shift would end before the class started and her abuser would pick her up and drop her off.

“I thought okay I can do it. The more I work the more money I have for school. So in my mind that’s how I saw it.” 50

He was four hours late.

“I was so upset, because that’s the only thing. You can mess with everything except with my studies. Don’t get between me and school or my studies. I told him I’m going back to my country. What you did just proved to me. Just for my English classes, if I’m not able to go to then what about my college?”

The abuser said Carmen was just complaining, and people all over the world want to come to America, but Carmen had never wanted to come to America in the first place. The trafficker claimed that even Carmen’s mom had said she was there to work, not for school.

Carmen knew her mother wouldn’t say something like that and called to verify. Carmen called her mother only to find out that had been a lie. The mother then reached out to the trafficker and

Carmen was able to start her English classes the next week.

Also a victim of this trafficker, Carmen’s mother was under the impression the trafficker was planning on marrying her. Because of this Carmen felt compelled to stay; her mother and family back in Senegal were counting on her. Since the death of her stepfather and the economic crises in Senegal, the family was looking for some extra support.

“He fooled everyone.”

It was January 23rd, 2017 when Carmen was able to leave her trafficker. Her trafficker threw Carmen out after she stood up for herself and refused to work for him.

“He didn’t need me anymore or maybe because I really stopped obeying him and all that because I knew he was just a terrible person. Maybe he sensed that so he threw me out of his house.” 51

By this time the trafficker had another girl working under him. Carmen tried to explain to her that she was part of a scam, but because she only spoke Portuguese there was too much of a language barrier for Carmen’s message to get across.

“I tried to let them know, but at that point they didn’t trust me anyway. He has convinced them I shouldn’t be trusted. I tried to tell them he is just going to use you and he will never get you what you want, but they never believed me, but at least I tried.”

Carmen called one of her classmates to pick her up that night and ended up sharing everything and it was only then that this classmate said Carmen was trafficked, and had a crime committed against her.

Previous to her experience in America, Carmen didn’t know much about human trafficking, just what she had seen in movies. She thought only Asian and Spanish women were trafficked—that’s what happened in the movies right?

“When I used to watch movies I thought they put people in a boat and smuggling people to get here. They never showed other ethnicities or races. I didn’t know about it; I thought I was safe, but I was not. I had the wrong information about human trafficking and that’s unfortunate.”

Even though Carmen’s classmate had assured her it would be okay to reach out to the authorities, Carmen remained apprehensive because she wasn’t a citizen; however she did end up reaching out and was put in contact with Sojourner House, an advocacy agency in Providence.

Her case is now with Homeland Security, the FBI as well as the Attorneys General Office. 52

“They are still investigating. I went to Boston and Fall River two or three times to testify in front of the grand jury. I am feeling confident about it. It is a bit sad though, because I wish I knew what is human trafficking because in my country they just don’t know.”

Luckily, Carmen journaled. Extensively.

“I wrote everything that happened to me”

When she left her trafficker, she left with a backpack full of all different sized journals depicting her experiences.

“So when I went to Homeland Security they were like wow all that was proof. They were kind of glad. I love to write, it really helps me to remember so that I won’t forget and I don’t know why, but it helped me for my case; it really helped. Every time something happened and I knew in my gut it wasn’t right I was telling myself I need to write that just in case. Maybe because of my law degree. I went to law school; the first thing they told me when you want to win a case the first thing you need to have is to have proof. If you don’t have proof, tangible proof it’s going to be hard. So, I knew I needed proof, but my problem was who was going to believe me. That was my main problem because I was scared. Because I am an immigrant and because of my status I was like, even if I was right because of my status they won’t believe me.

And that’s one of the lies that he that told me. So, I thought that’s how this country worked; even if you are right, he’s a citizen and I am not. I thought they were going to take his side not mine, but I told myself at least write, even if they are going to bring you to jail that’s fine, at least you have something to kind of support your story. So that’s what I did.”

Those journals ended up being crucial evidence in Carmen’s case, but writing served as more than just a way to catalogue injustices. For Carmen, writing was also therapeutic. 53

“It helps. It was a way for me to put my anger, to express my anger but by writing it down. I couldn’t just yell at him, he was going to kill me. Writing was the only way for me to just get everything out.”

Since she’s been out TVAP21 has been the best resource for her. It has put her in contact with an immigration advocate, let her take English and Spanish classes, as well as provide gift cards for clothes and food.

Despite how little information Carmen had on human trafficking previously, since working with her advocate and other women who have been trafficked, Carmen has learned a lot about the pervasive and transgressive nature of this crime. It is not only Spanish and Asian women smuggled in the depths of boats, but rather trafficking is a far more vast issue.

“It’s more common than I thought. You can see somebody that just, can be like anybody.

The girl next door, your neighbor or just somebody outside. You don’t know because it’s not something that’s physical, hard to know. Usually the victim will not talk about it, maybe because he or she is scared or sometimes if the person is an immigrant they just won’t talk about it. It’s really complicated to deal with, but it’s here. .. I’ve learned human trafficking affects not only immigrants, but also citizens, Americans. It’s also one of the misconceptions I had it is only with immigrants or outside the U.S., but also Americans, they are living it; it’s not only strangers.”

Because of Carmen’s experience and research on the topic, done both through her work with others who have been trafficked and by reading articles online, she believes that despite

21 TVAP, or the Trafficking Victim Assistance Program is a governmentally funded program that provides grants to foreign “victims or potential victims” of trafficking for case management services over a limited amount of time (“Trafficking Victim Assistance Program”). 54 the various people this crime affect , the “circle of trafficking” remains the same throughout.

Traffickers make promises that they can’t keep, promises they never intended to.

“At first they gonna let you think that they like you, or love, or here to help or that you can trust them, it’s just a way for them to gain your trust. And then the more it goes, the more the situation just gets worse. Once you are already inside it’s hard to remove yourself from it because when you are inside you find out, but sometimes too late, that the person you think is going to help you will not. So, they just trying to abuse you or just use you for their benefit and profit, but not for you. They don’t care about you; you are just something that they are going to use and just toss it. You are not a human being; you are just a thing for them. If you are not useable they are going to replace with getting another person. And they know how to recruit they know how to target people they will target somebody that is helpless or has a need. They know how to pick.”

Now Carmen hopes to help others like herself both by being an advocate for others, but also speaking out about her experiences as a way to raise awareness. For the summit at Brown

University Carmen was happy to see participants asking questions, because it means people are genuinely trying to become more educated on the topic. For Carmen it’s important that individuals recognize the signs of not just trafficking, but of traffickers to hopefully stop others from going through what she did.

“It helps me because it’s another way for me to recover. I’m trying to let them know human trafficking is here and you need to be aware of the signs. Don’t just think maybe it’s just other ‘oh it won’t be me’, it can happen to anybody… 55

Sharing this story is not just a way for Carmen to recover, but is also helping her towards her long term goal of working with men and women who have been through a trafficking experience. Whenever she talks to someone about it, she finds she always gets information back a form of knowledge “exchange.”

Essential to this exchange is a greater focus on labor trafficking. The conversation around anti-trafficking often focuses on sex trafficking in particular, but Carmen knows labor trafficking is not only more common than people think, but can also be intertwined with sex trafficking as well.22 By sharing her story, Carmen wants to simultaneously put a spotlight on labor trafficking.

“I used to clean buildings where people were working and they were seeing me, but they didn’t know. So, it can be the person who works at a restaurant, or just a cleaner, or just a house maid, just a regular job, but focus on maybe that person can be a victim, or she is a victim of labor trafficking right now. So do not make it dramatic like in the movies trying to smuggle people put them in a boat or tie them up, it’s not always like that it doesn’t happen like that, it happens so ordinary. Just regular person doing a regular job, but inside she is a victim of labor trafficking. You need to see beyond that person because you never know.”

Now safe and secure away from her trafficker, Carmen is excited to be pursuing her dreams and hopes that in the near future she can have a positive outlook on these experiences.

She wants to look back one day and see her time being trafficked as a time in her life that helped create the woman she will be.

22 Although most people consider Carmen to have been labor trafficked, she admits that “10 percent” of her experience was also sex trafficking. Having been forced to marry a man, she was similarly forced to have sex with him, “to keep him happy.” 56

“I am trying to see the good side of it. Maybe in a few years I will talk about it not like something that really destroyed my life, but something that really helped me rebuild my life and my person. So, that’s my goal, not to think of it as something that really messed me up but something that helped me regain self-esteem. And then I can help others victims of human trafficking to see themselves not as victims, but as a survivor. Because unfortunately, they some are killed and people don’t care or for some it takes years to escape and get away. I want them to know they are not alone.”

Carmen is looking forward to becoming an advocate because she knows what many of these women have been through and understands that the detriments of human trafficking go far beyond the physical. Being trafficked can cause psychological damage that these women also have to overcome both while they are being trafficked, but also once they escape23.

“For me, first when it happened I was really down. He really made me think that I was nothing. It was really hard for me to trust people first, but also trust myself, to tell myself I can do it I’m not what he said I was. First it’s a problem because you’re not only fighting your abuser, but you are also fighting yourself. Because if you let his words get into you, you are just going to destroy yourself. You need to know you are not the problem; he is the problem. Don’t affect yourself. Everything that happens to you and just putting yourself down because of that?

23 These women may have been held captive, beaten, drugged, and persecuted by law enforcement along with numerous other horrid possibilities. Many victims of human trafficking don’t live to see their own emancipation, those who do often suffer from mental and physical illnesses According to the American Psychological Associations’ Task Force on Trafficking of Women and Girls, those who have escaped trafficking often suffer from malnutrition, brain injuries, gastrointestinal concerns, sexual and reproductive health issues, high rates of HIV/Aids and other STDs, and have an increased risk for infectious diseases (44)The American Psychological Association found that 95 percent of women experienced depression after escaping their traffickers, upwards of 91 percent of women experienced anxiety disorders. Their U.S. study found that 68 percent of women met the criteria for PTSD, but argued that a more proper diagnosis would be Complex PTSD because their trauma was “persistent” (Task Force on Trafficking 40-43). We do not mean to claim that women who have been trafficked can’t go on to lead successful lives or overcome their tragedies, but we do recognize that this period in their lives can be traumatic and it can be a struggle to first escape human trafficking and then to cope with it in the aftermath 57

It just happened. But that’s not your fault and you overcame it, so, you are a survivor. That’s one of the beautiful parts of it. You are a survivor; you are not somebody who just went through human trafficking. You are more than that.”

Maria: Trafficking, Dancing, Writing and the Art of Advocacy:24 Growing up Maria25 loved to dance; it was her whole life. She used to write songs that she could dance to and used her hobby as a way to escape. Maria lost her love of dancing for more than 10 years because she was forced into sex trafficking at the age of 14. After a decade of abuse Maria was able to escape her abuser and has returned to dance as a therapeutic outlet to

“express how [she] is feeling at any one time.” Maria sometimes struggles with reconciling her former self with her new self after being trafficked, but dance serves as a constant throughout, a way to connect the pieces.

Dancing now is also a form of advocacy for Maria as she speaks out against human trafficking. She participates in various summits and panel discussions that bring together different players in fighting trafficking, from survivors, legislators, advocates to healthcare providers. She occasionally performs her dance routines at these events; most recently she performed to Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song.”

Maria does a lot of advocacy work outside of dancing. She also helped to organize a survivors running group when she was working with VAST26 programs in Pennsylvania. She is

24 The subject of this interview write up has collaborated on the final project. Carmen received and reviewed drafts of this piece. She made comments and suggestions that were essential in the final product of this interview write-up. 25 Because this interview was with a woman who has been trafficked a pseudonym has been used to protect Maria’s privacy. At the end of the interview participants were asked specifically what name they would like used in lieu of their own. 26 VAST or Valley Against Sex Trafficking is an anti-trafficking agency in Pennsylvania that seeks to provide women who have been trafficked with support, education and advocacy through community action (VAST). When Maria first escaped trafficking she was referred to VAST’s services and argues they were an integral resource for her. 58 also seeking to begin an S.A. program—Survivors Anonymous—similar to an Alcoholics

Anonymous, where men and women who have been trafficked can come together to share their experiences and offer support and guidance. Having been trafficked for more than a decade

Maria has vital insight into the ways traffickers operate and what other trafficked women need.

Maria’s story began when she was only 14. After being sexually abused as a child Maria was taken advantage of once again when an older man expressed interest in her. This trafficker sought Maria out for her vulnerabilities. This man would go on to sexually exploit her, forcing

Maria to perform sexual acts against her will.

“This gentleman wanted to be my boyfriend, but in the long run he said if I love him I would sleep with other men for him. This is what they call the grooming process.” 27

She was eventually kidnapped and then moved from pimp to pimp, sometimes through sale and other times through force. In one instance, Maria had to run away from her trafficker without even a pair of shoes. At the time she had been imprisoned and couldn’t risk losing her chance to escape with or without shoes. She went to the authorities, but this regrettably put Maria back into harm’s way.

“When I got out with no shoes on that was because another pimp kidnapped me from the pimp I was with and when I went to the police they brought me to the hospital. What they didn’t know is that my emergency contact was my pimp.”

27 All of the direct quotations utilized in this piece have undergone little to no editing. The only editing that takes place is the removal of repeated words, and fillers such as “um,” “like,” etc. Otherwise the quotations are raw and exact from Carmen herself. Although the sentences themselves were not edited, the quotes do not always follow the chronological order of the interview itself.

59

Trafficking is insidious in this way; traffickers control numerous factors of their victims’ lives, often leaving individuals incapable of escaping, or unable to thrive in the absence of said trafficker. Maria knows firsthand that it can be extremely difficult to leave or escape trafficking.

There are very few opportunities to do so safely. Individuals who have been trafficked often do not have any form of identification or money on their person, making it difficult to get far enough away to the point that your trafficker can not find you.

“There are chances, but it’s very hard. It’s not easy. You can try and get away, but if you’re gonna get away you have to leave state. You can’t just go to your momma’s house or whatever because my ID has my grandmother’s house’s address on it and he had the ID and he knows I had a daughter, so that puts them at risk. You do not go there. You have to go outside the state. So, I never really had the opportunity until I got arrested because he had all this information on me. He knew where I would go.”

Maria finally saw a moment to escape when she was arrested. At the time she had been sold to another pimp for $20,000 and told she had to work off that debt. While at the police station this trafficker was waiting for Maria just down the hallway, but instinct told Maria this was an opportunity.

“When the police officer was talking to me, there was one particular police officer, and I kind of just broke down. I don’t know why, but I just broke down and told him what was going on. He gave me his card and card of the FBI to contact and they did it all. And I don’t know what happened there was just something in me that said do it, just tell the truth, tell what’s really going on.” 60

Unfortunately, Maria had to spend the night in jail while she was waiting on the FBI, but once they arrived Maria had to be smuggled out of the back of the station. With a trafficker and another one of his girls waiting for Maria’s release, the FBI couldn’t risk Maria being seen leaving the station. Maria was instructed to lay down in the back on the car with her head down until they had all reached the FBI headquarters to ensure the trafficker had not seen or followed

Maria. The experience was all very surreal for Maria. She only really felt safe and as if she had escaped her trafficker with the woman organizing the safe house Maria would be staying at arrived.

“Honestly, after I spent the night at the FBI station, it was when the woman, they were having me stay at her house for like 30 days, when she walked into that building, I knew I was getting the hell out of this office with all these police officers, but I am going to be safe. They told me I was going to be out in the sticks and no one is gonna know where I’m at. Seeing that woman’s face walk through the door, I just went ‘ah’. I do remember that moment. She was so pleasant.”

Even though it has been nearly 5 years since Maria got herself away from her trafficker, the case remains open for investigation because so many different people were involved.

“These people are good at covering their tracks.”

Now, Maria is focusing on taking care of herself. She attends classes on peer mentorship to further her aspirations of becoming an advocate for others like herself. She takes self-defense courses and goes to the gym. She also visits her psychiatrist and counselor regularly and says self-care is essential in the aftermath of being trafficked. Although many advocacy groups offer 61 services or suggest taking just 30 days to recuperate, Maria argues that those who have been trafficked need at least a year to “get up and get going.”28

“It takes a long time to get to where I am at. You need me time after you get out. Find out who you are first, find out who you really are again. From the old you before it all happened, to the person you are now and somewhere in the middle you’ll find the right one… It’s all about self-care, but it’s all about self-care for the rest of your life. And that’s not a bad thing either.

Because what you’ve been through, and especially if you’ve been in it as long as I have, you’re gonna need it. You might not need the psychiatrist or counselor or whatever, but you do need someone to talk to about it. It could be your best friend.”

Maria preaches self-care for both herself and others who have been trafficked. Self-care is important because even after someone escapes the world of trafficking triggers often continue.

Maria continues to experience triggers after five years of being free, but triggers don’t necessarily always constitute a bad thing.

For example, just recently a young woman was dropped off by police at the safe house

Maria is staying at. Maria was asked to try and help translate for the young woman despite only knowing a little bit of Spanish. Maria began to feel overwhelmed as she thought back to her own experience of the first night free. Friends tried to console Maria, assuring her the police weren’t

28 The American Psychological Association recognizes that every case of trafficking is different, but states in their Report of the Task Force on Trafficking of Women and girls that trafficked individuals often suffer from a multitude of psychological traumas ranging from Complex PTSD to anxiety and depression (Task Force p. 44) These psychological concerns are often paired with physical ailments as well, malnutrition, STDs, drug addiction, and brain injuries (44). The APA argues that time is necessary for both trafficked individual and psychologist to work through these issues, but has yet to come up with a comprehensive plan or timeline to do so. A lack of research and trained psychologists make addressing this population difficult. “In many parts of the United States, survivors have limited access to service providers with specialized training in the unique psychological needs of trafficking victims. Because victims of trafficking are likely to have experienced multiple and persistent traumas, a trauma informs approach to treatment is essential” (5). If psychologists continue to struggle with how to treat trafficked individuals Maria is right in suggesting that the individual needs time and self-reflection to overcome what they have experienced. 62 there for her, but this wasn’t what Maria was concerned about; rather, she was concerned for the young woman reminded of how conflicting that first night is. Knowing you are safe, but still feeling confused and unsure of yourself.

“That’s why I say self-care is very important because stuff like that will happen. It’s just the situation because I know what this person is feeling and it just triggered something in my mind. Having all the questions coming at you all at once when you get out. They are asking a million questions and your like can I just get water? Can I get food? Just something simple and can we wait a little bit, let me process what the hell is going on. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad trigger. There are bad triggers and there are good triggers and I am still learning this. This wasn’t a bad trigger per se because when it happened to me I was safe, but just knowing what that process is.”

Self-care for Maria incorporates helping others who have experienced trafficking as well as trying to raise awareness. This advocacy work, like her dancing, gives Maria the opportunity to speak out against trafficking. She wants people to see what trafficking really looks like, not just what they see on TV or in the movies. Maria participated in a news channel’s special report documentary focusing on human trafficking29. She received a call asking her to partake with only

15 minutes notice. Despite the extremely short notice, Maria agreed.

“They wanted a survivor themselves involved instead of just people that worked with it, so they asked me because they know I can speak about it. We actually had a premiere for it. It was in a theatre and everything. It was actually pretty cool. I got to meet the author of Nobody’s

29 The title of this documentary has been omitted because Maria’s real name is disclosed in it. 63

Girl, Barbara Amaya30 But it was difficult because they had done some reenactments of it and it was kind of hard. They had counselors because there were several girls involved, but I made it through. I am proud of myself that I did it because now it’s on YouTube and anyone can see it to know what really happens. And this is not what you think it is. It’s not just walking on the street, it doesn’t always have to be that way and it’s not always our choice.”

The reason speaking out is so important to Maria is that she is displeased with the current discourse around trafficking. She doesn’t feel that the conversation around and the depiction of trafficking always does justice for those who have actually experienced it. Before being trafficked herself Maria didn’t know much about trafficking, only what she heard in lyrics and saw in music videos, but these often glorified prostitution and drugs, but know she understands that this isn’t indicative of the actual experiences men and women face.

“I can’t stand it the way they talk about us. They say that we are just people who went through something and now we want help. They say we are playing a victim, that it’s our choice to do this stuff. And they have no idea what we’ve been through, no idea what’s happened. All they see is the movies and the TV shows. They probably think the bad stuff is just theatrical or think something like Taken is just theatrics, but that stuff does happen and it sucks.”

Maria takes every opportunity she can to speak up about her experiences. Alongside the documentary and her dance performances she also partakes in summit and panel discussions. She argues that people need to see the real side to trafficking. If people were to know the how

30 The full title of this text is Nobody’s Girl: A Memoir of Lost Innocence, Modern Day Slavery & Transformation. Author Barbara Amaya was sexually trafficked as a child and this memoir follows her journey from “trafficking victim to human rights advocate” both in Washington D.C. and New York City (Amaya). Maria aspires to have her book alongside Amaya’s one day as sources for people who have been trafficked to see they are not alone, but also for policy makers and advocates to learn from. 64 trafficking actually manifest within their community they may be able to step in and offer help or prevent someone else from falling into the hands of traffickers.

“Anytime I have the chance to do something I do. There are people out there with blinders on and I am trying to rip everyone’s blinders off.”

Maria especially wants to shine a light on the grooming process traffickers use to manipulate young men and women. She argues that most people are unaware of how calculating and conniving traffickers are in exploiting young people to do their will. Maria, who was especially vulnerable because of her previous sexual abuse as a child, sometimes questions whether she would have been so easily influenced if she had known the signs to look for.

Learning about and understanding the recruitment procedures of traffickers are key in fighting against trafficking. Especially because traffickers often approach young children, Maria believes it’s essential to be able to recognize when grooming and recruitment is taking place.

“The key thing is vulnerability and the grooming process. How they groom you is very important because if someone doesn’t know what to look for how do you know what they are really going through? Because my family still has no idea what I went through. They think I was just a prostitute and that was it. My lawyer had to explain it to my father.”

To spotlight the grooming process and to educate others, Maria is planning a book that will pair practical and technical information on the process undertaken by traffickers alongside her own experiences. Maria hopes that her own story will help to contextualize the ways in which traffickers target and recruit men and women for a real world application.

“I want there to be a point about my book, not just another book about someone’s story. I want it to actually mean something and for someone to actually understand terminology, the 65 grooming processes, why someone being abused sexually when they were younger can turn into something like this, and be more vulnerable because of something like that that.”

Maria hopes her future book will one day dispel myths around trafficking and illuminate the actual experiences of those who have been trafficked. Currently, she thinks available resources today paint a very disturbing picture of those who have been trafficked. These texts, mostly movies and news clips in Maria’s case, either push an individual’s culpability or distort individuals into helpless and hopeless victims.

“I would like to sit people in a room and have them watch my documentary or make another movie on what really happens for them to really understand. Because I can talk until my face turns blue and a lot of people might not listen. It’s going to go in one ear out the other.

Some people do listen, but that doesn’t mean that they understand.”

Maria believes the public discourse that considers trafficked individuals as those seeking to play the “victim” is problematic; however, she believes that, to an extent, recognizing oneself as a victim after an experience with trafficking can be important to overcoming the experience.

She believes that it is the choice of the individual to own “victim” or not and not the place of writers, researchers, and journalists.

“I hate ‘victim’ so much, but you have to accept that you were a victim of a crime in the beginning. Accepting being a victim of something will get you to actually make you feel and make you know that you are a survivor. You have to accept you were a victim first. That’s one thing, a lot of people have too much pride and don’t want to accept it, but once you do it will help you understand that you are a survivor and there is pride in that…I want people to see how we can become stronger as women, men and transgender people after going through this process. 66

We can actually be stronger than others because we know what it can be like. We went through hell, and now we survived hell and now we are back here.”

Maria admits it can be hard for her to write about being trafficked because she has to relive it, but thinks it is crucial, and will be for her own benefit in the long run, to help others see what it really means to be trafficked. She is still in the planning stages of this book, and continues to work on herself every day. She is looking forward to her future as an advocate and writer, working hard to help others like herself.

“I’m still figuring things out to be honest. Who I am? I guess you could say broken, but

I’m fixing the pieces. Who I want to be? I’m getting there.”

Conclusion:

Sharing stories has always been about more than passing the time with one another; stories are how we construct the world we live in. When it comes to human trafficking, the stories we tell affect not only what we think of the people involved in that world, but also how we approach combatting the crime as a whole. If the story is flawed, then so too are our methods towards ending trafficking. As important as it is for trafficked men and women to feel properly represented in the discourse that concerns them, it is equally as important that these portrayals help us cultivate successful policies and resources to help this population.

The solution for domestic and international trafficking has to be born from the individuals most equipped with insight, those who have been trafficked themselves. Women like

Carmen and Maria make it clear that trafficked persons are not only willing, but excited to play a part in helping others like themselves escape and hopefully prevent others from being exploited 67 through trafficking. Why should they be denied that opportunity when so much in their life has already been denied them?

If we continue to present the narrative that trafficked individuals are nothing more than souls needing saving, or children incapable of taking care of themselves—like the portrayals offered by The White Umbrella, Amirah and I Am Jane Doe—we continue to restrict the areas in which trafficked individuals can operate. Limited representations may impede the recovery of these individuals, because there are expectations for them to align with the depictions the public has access to. Deviating from this mold puts trafficked individuals at a disadvantage. Either they may not be recognized as trafficked or they aren’t seen worthy enough for services. Their adhesion to the expectation stipulates what services, sympathies and safeguards the individuals are allowed.

Traffickers benefit from the public’s inability to recognize the crime taking place around them. To perpetrate this rhetoric is to perpetuate the crime as well. Without real depictions of what these individuals go through, we may be risking the lives of others too. Revolutionizing the way we talk about trafficking may help us restructure the way we address the crime. Trafficked individuals are already making an effort to be a part of this conversation and it is our duty to let them inhabit that space.

Speaking with more Carmens and Marias we may discover that there are many ways we can diversify and expand our current efforts to curb trafficking. Especially because trafficking is quickly becoming one of the most popular crimes on a global scale, it is pertinent that we address our insufficiencies now because the population of trafficked persons is growing rather than declining in our current predicament. We can do more to fight back against a crime we have 68 allowed to flourish. We can do more to open dialogues for disenfranchised men and women. We can do more than present antiquated images of how trafficking manifests within our communities. We can do more than to write trafficking off as a crime for third world countries.

These men and women are more than the falsehoods we prolong through our public discourse.

They are more than the stories others tell of them. They are more than the abuse they endured.

They are more than prostitutes, maids and immigrants. They are more than invisible lives obscured by damaging conversations. They are more than helpless children and the decisions we make for them. They are more than victims in need of salvation, or survivors seeking pity. They are more. You are more.

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