Ending Human Trafficking: Is Toxic Masculinity to Blame?

I’m not entirely sure where to begin this post. I’m feeling a mess of emotions as I write. It’s been 5 days since the super bowl … I anxiously watched the stats of men being arrested and charged for soliciting prostituted women for “sex” rise all week long. I’m not entirely sure of the last number of this stat, but if I’m being honest 1 person is more than enough to bring tears to God’s eyes and thus mine.

Our last post, “Angelina’s Story” was by far our most viewed and shared post on the blog. We’re incredibly excited about this. It reached thousands of people’s computers and hopefully the heart wrenching words of her experience pierced through the walls and barriers people have. Our prayer is that her story is a beacon of change, that spurs in the hearts of everyone who read it and now they’re ready to take the next step.

Awareness of a problem is so important. You know what they always say, “acknowledging the problem is the first step to recovery”.

Well – we’ve acknowledged it. Don’t get me wrong, I love awareness projects and events. They are so incredibly important to our fight, but if I’m being honest sometimes I think we get a bit caught up in “awareness” events.

This makes me worry because no change can come from just being “aware” of the problem.

We have to move. We must act. We have to critically think, plan, pray, and problem solve the issue. As I mentioned in the very first blog post, this is a scary and tough next step. But we must take it. We must, or we will continue to see stories like “Angelina’s” have record breaking views and shares.

Truth be told; I don’t want to hear anymore victim/survivor’s stories. I don’t want there to be anymore victim/survivors of violence. I want violence to go away – especially violence that is so easily changed.

Violence against women, purchasing “sex” from others, and selling humans – it all just doesn’t need to happen. It does not benefit us as a society, and it certainly doesn’t bring glory to the kingdom of God.

I watched the super bowl this year (and every year) simply for the commercials. I used to watch football with my dad when I was growing up, but lately the amount of violence off the field many players have committed against women and children (and other men) has been enough for me to dislike it. Don’t even get me started on the suicide and mental illness that is caused from injuries in this game…

The last couple of super bowls I have been “excited” to see domestic and sexual violence PSA’s broad cast during the commercials. Considering the amount of people that watch the super bowl strictly for the commercials the awareness that happened was amazing!

So, this year was no different. I sat down and waited for every commercial break in a state of anticipation.

I waited … and waited … and waited … and nothing.

Not a singled PSA highlighting violence against women and children, sexual violence, domestic violence, human or sex trafficking…

In a year of #MeToo and #TimesUp. With stories of Harvey Weinstein, and our political and media climate where everyone is being accused of sexual misconduct, how could there not be one single PSA?

What is so different about this year than any other year? I can’t help but wonder if folks wanted this super bowl to be “light” and “fun” for their viewers.

There’s nothing wrong with this, right Jess. I mean, sometimes It’s nice to just watch a good ol’ sports game with the kiddos and not feel ashamed …

And then I think of “Angelina’s story” and the countless other untold stories of women and children, and men out there whose stories are anything from “light” and “fun” on super bowl night, weekend or ANY OTHER DAY/NIGHT of the year.

I think of the 25 MN residents who were murdered in 2017 by abusive partners and spouses; and the fact that not a single [major] reporter or journalist showed up to the conference that the Minnesota Coalition for Battered Women held last week (whereas in previous years they were always there.)

What were they doing? Covering the super bowl of course. . .

I realize there are a lot of “ …” in this post, but it’s hard to finish a thought in this moment. There is so much I want to say, so many things I want to convey, and so many hopes I have for how this post and all futures posts will be received by each of you.

Like I said, “Angelina’s Story” received the most shares and views out of any of our posts – like 600 more shares and views than our other posts. So, I ask myself, what’s the difference in this post Jess?

Since I don’t have the answer because I’m pretty sure it’s subjective, here is what the Lord softly spoke into me as encouragement during this week.

We live in a culture of gore and graphic everything. Her story brought tears to my eyes, as well as everyone who read it ( I can’t be sure everyone cried, but I’m pretty confident I’m right). Hitting the share button felt like the right thing to do in a time when it feels like there is nothing we can do.

If I share this, it’ll stop. Right?

If more people read stories like this, it’ll wake them up too. Right?

And these are all valid reason’s to share testimonies, hold awareness events and become aware! But… as I said before – being aware solves nothing if we don’t dig deeper and ask ourselves the scarier question.

How did I let this happen?

I watched the new documentary “Liberated: The New Sexual Revolution” by Exodus Cry – the same creators that brought us Nefarious, on Netflix. I was so excited to see another powerful documentary by them, and was really looking forward to the new hope I would feel after watching it.

After 10 minutes of watching it, I hit the pause button and took a break. I felt nauseated.

The amount of sexual violence, sexual exploitation, violence against women, rape culture and coercion in this documentary is hard to swallow. It took me an entire day to watch it. Some of my fellow anti-trafficking justice fighters couldn’t make it through the documentary period.

It is just “unbelievable” what our world has come to. No… It’s heart breaking. I know, I’ve said that word a lot but I can’t come up with a better word for it.

God is weeping.

Liberated takes a look at rape culture in a raw way, by showing it for all to see. And while many may claim that there needs to be a larger discussion about our drinking culture, I stand firm in my belief that drinking culture isn’t the problem. There are countless people who’ve been under the influence who’ve not violated another person!

The problem is the way we are conditioning our boys to become men who are afraid to speak up for themselves, for women, and be honest about the way they feel about toxic masculinity.

We live in a world were being “a man” means taking what you want, most often times in an aggressive nature. This is highlighted to an extreme in the documentary. Not all men experience this extent of masculinity, but ask any man and they will tell you they feel pulled to behave a certain way in order to continue claiming their “manliness”.

Masculinity has unfortunately become synonymous with words like, powerful, player, aggressive, and dominate. Boys are expected to lose their virginity in order to hold onto their “man card” with other men around them. Women and girls become conquests rather than partners, friends, and lovers.

Losing your virginity as a man (and women too), has become a rite of passage rather than an experience two people share together in the way God intended. It’s become a commodity, one that has now required the selling of human beings in order to achieve and maintain your status in society.

I spoke briefly two posts ago about the importance of men getting involved in this fight. I’ll reiterate, we need men in this fight like we need air.

“We will not survive this if we don’t deeply consider the way we are raising our young boys into men.”

We will not see a decline of sexual violence towards women if we continue to use phrases like, “boys will be boys” when they are caught snapping the bra straps of their female friends at school instead of holding them accountable. We cannot continue to police the clothing our girls wear instead of teaching boys to not  sexualize women. (Don’t worry… There’s a post on this coming soon!)

We will not see a decline of sexual violence towards women if we continue to encourage boys to “toughen up” and “be a man” when dealing with normal emotions.

Toxic masculinity leads to the gang rape of girls and women all over the world. {read here … and here … and just do a google search, there’s too many to list…} Toxic masculinity is killing our men, our women and our children.

It is one of the biggest lies Satan has convinced us is truth.

I know if I asked the men in Liberated if they felt like rape was okay, they’d all say “no!”

If I showed them the tapes of what they did, perhaps some of them would be ashamed, but I fear that most would continue to look at it and deny it was violence.

The problem is we have mislead our boys into believing violence is actually manliness… How can we possible change violence against women if we’ve conditioned men (and women) to see sexual violence and aggression as “sexy” or “manly”?

If what it means to be a man is to be aggressive … than what does that say about God? God made man into his own image.

As we raise our boys into men, let us remember that.

Men, you are more than our culture has raised you to believe. I’ll fight for you, and not solely because you are worth it.

But because my very life depends on you knowing it.

-Jess

 

 

“Angelina’s” Story: Any (Other) Given Sunday” – A Survivor’s Testimony.

** Disclaimer: This is written by anynomous, who helped a survivor write their story. Trafficking Justice does not own this piece of writing **

“This piece is based on “Angelina’s” true experiences of Super Bowl Sundays during her childhood when she was sex trafficked. While names and telling details are fictionalized for her protection, it is still true in essence. The goal of Angelina’s story is not to churn stomachs or shock or shake our head in disgust; instead it is to meant to pull back the curtain on what modern day slavery looks like so we are moved to action—to shed light and awareness into our communities to save others. Even if it’s just to save one.” – anynomous

” First off, Super Bowl Sunday isn’t one special money-making Sunday for sex traffickers.

It’s not like they aren’t selling us any other given Sunday. But the Super Bowl brings in more men, and more men bring in more money. Big money.

Especially if you are young. I was nine for my first one. It was 2005.

(Patriots vs. Eagles. I had to google who played. I had no idea then).

We flew into Jacksonville from Thailand the last week of January. Nobody in customs looked twice at me with my pimp, let’s call him “Darrell,” who appeared to be my father. I was white, so was he. Why would anyone look twice at us? He had all my papers…he always had them–and me–close.

Somehow the rest of the girls got to FL, too…. maybe with our Mademoiselle? The whole operation was run by her from the “compound” she owns back in Thailand.

How I got there is a whole other horrific story for another time.

Let’s stick to this one for now.

Traveling was no big deal for me. I did it all the time. By then I had been properly “broken in and trained” ….and was loyal. I was given no other choice if I wanted to live. Over the previous year I had been sold in Dubai, South Korea, Japan, Thailand and various other countries.

And this wasn’t the first time I was in the United States.

Our driver picked us up and drove us to the hotel. I was so little that I could barely see out of the window and strained in my seat, curious to peek at the outside free world I barely remembered.

Once at the hotel we were ushered in through side doors and back stairways. Unseen. Off the radar until a paying customer wanted to see.

Inside the large suite the pit in my stomach grew as they strung up curtains and sheets to make several “bedrooms.” I wasn’t hungry anymore when I saw flip phones and thick laptops came out as the ads were placed on the Dark Web illegal sites. Don’t know what the Dark Web is? You might want to google that. Back then they used words like “cherry” “new in town” “sweet.” Basically, I was advertised as property to be sold: a young, ripe virgin to be bought and handled as the customer saw fit.

But I wasn’t a virgin: I was a nine-year-old sex professional.

I was worth A LOT of money to my pimps. Because the youngest girls make the most as they are marketed as virgins.

Over the course of the next week and a half I made them about $5000. Per night.

Do the math and let that sink in.

By Super Bowl Sunday everything hurt. I learned early on how to turn my brain off, but this night was going to be even worse. Pregame business started early with frenzied customers that were high on drugs or alcohol and low on inhibition. One guy literally threw me all the way across the room onto the bed. It had to have been like 15 feet because I weighed so little.

I remember seeing the Alltel Stadium on TV or maybe when we drove around it to the hotel. The US

Military Academy’s trumpet section did the National Anthem that year.

Not that I watched it. Apparently, the Patriots won 24-21.

I was trapped in a hotel room. Being sold to men of all ages so they could have sex with a child. Sometimes tied up by well-dressed rich men smelling of booze and popcorn. (I can’t even eat popcorn to this day because the smell of it reminds me of being “in the life.”)

On average it was about 17-18 men per night. My pimps would let me sleep whenever we didn’t have customers. It’s the worst thing to be woken up from a nightmare only to have the real nightmare continue. Or when you hear the other girls getting beaten or slapped or cussed at while their bodies and souls are crushed in two.

I learned to bite the sheets when I knew it was going to be rough. So hard sometimes that my jaw would hurt worse than my body. Often times I’d try to provoke them as I wanted them to just kill me and get it over with.

Ugh, I haven’t thought about that in a while.

Can we move on?

Fast forward. By the time I was seventeen I had been trafficked to several Super Bowls and sporting events. The one in Indianapolis in 2012 was particularly bad.

I had given birth ten days before. I was maybe 80 pounds.

And I was 15. It was my third pregnancy. My traffickers took my baby from me and sent me back to work. Because it was Super Bowl week.

Giants vs. Patriots.

Technology had changed dramatically since my younger years. With smartphones and Backpage.com it’s a pimp’s greatest moneymaking tool there is. Instead of code words, emojis can describe the age, what the girl will do, and specifics that customers want. Like ordering up a pizza with just the right toppings.

I was past my prime in terms of salability. And now I had quotas.

When I was young the men came to us. Now that I’m older I go to them.

Which leaves us less protection by our pimps. We had to get into the cars they told us to.

As Kelly Clarkson sang the National Anthem I sold my body. That night it was 20-30 men. I lost count. And I only made $2000. I think… because of the “fishbowl.” It’s a bowl passed around among the girls that’s a mishmash of various colored pills. Kind of like Russian Roulette with drugs. I did know that the blue ones would make me chill. So that helped numb me—which I am still grateful for.

Away from the protection of our sellers I had grown used to a harsher reality. It’s still sickening to me that men inherently know they can beat and hurt us as long as they don’t touch our faces.

Back at the hotels or motels, the girls would fight over toiletries. There are only one or two soap bars in the room, you know. Between five to six girls, plus pimps that will even use soap as a reward for being loyal, being clean came at a cost.

A church lady approached us once by the stadium. She gave me a gift bag with toiletries/soaps and a salon card in it that had a phone number on it to call. It was a number and a possible way out to get help. But I had learned my lesson before: pimps often test their girls by faking a rescue attempt. Let me tell you: that’s a beating I will never forget. And a lesson learned—Never. Trust. Anyone.

I remember being mad at the woman that she put me in that predicament. Because if it wasn’t the pimp testing me and he found that card—or that soap—I’d be punished for it. Now I look back and wish I had just gone with her or called the number. My eyes were always screaming, “HELP ME.”

What a mind bend.

Know what else is a mind bend and why girls like me have a hard time being rescued? We were often used as payment to officials to look the other way. Police officers, government officials, servicemen. All of them.

“Don’t take money from this one,” said my pimp.

The next year, in 2013, the Super Bowl was in New Orleans. Ravens vs. the 49ers.

Alicia Keys sang the National Anthem. I wonder if she nailed it? She’s such a good singer…

There are bits and pieces of the game I remember. Depending on how they positioned me I could see the TV and would focus really hard on it. But then I’d stuff my face in a pillow trying to suffocate myself trying to escape life. Often times I would.

It’s also known as the Black Out Bowl. The power went out in the Superdome for 34 minutes. I had been blacked out the whole week beforehand because I needed to…to survive.

So many men at all hours of the day and night–it’s like they took all their anger and energy in trying to cause pain.  For enjoyment.  For fulfillment.  For the pigskin sport of it. For wanting to feel like the men on the field they adored and revered. My body was a repository for all of that. Forced to serve.

Slave.

As the Super Bowl inches closer this year, I cannot help but get anxious. Yes, I’m free and under protections that I wholeheartedly trust: a government agency AND my Lord and Savior, Jesus. But I cannot not think of the countless girls (and boys) that will endure the same hell I went through.

On any given Sunday.

Here’s my plea and message to you: look up. Notice things. One of the reasons the Super Bowl and other sporting events are hotbeds of illegal activity is because it’s an exciting escape and reason to behave badly. Nobody wants to notice morality being skewed. We get that enough on the news and twitter.

Want to know what to look for? Here’s a few: tattoos/branding (often times with words like “Loyal” “Queen” or bar codes), evidence of violence like bruises, looking spacey or out of it (hello drugs), third party control—pimp/older male present, inappropriate clothing for the weather, broken English.

You’ve probably noticed some of these and averted your eyes thinking it’s none of your business…or that it’s crude and you don’t need to get involved.

Don’t do that next time.

Because time is running out for minors involved in sex trafficking. The average expectancy of children “in the life” is seven years. Which means that kid probably won’t see their 20th birthday.

Make the call to the trafficking hotline next time you see something.

There’s zero risk in being wrong.

You can leave an anonymous tip. There’s ZERO RISK for you and a possible RESCUE for her.

You don’t have to provide your name or any identifying details about the situation unless you want to. The National Hotline will protect your anonymity when sharing information about a potentialtrafficking case with authorities.

Whatever you do: don’t try to step in and confront a suspected trafficker directly or alert a victim to your suspicions. Your safety as well as the victim’s safety has to come first. I’ve seen bad things happen by well-meaning people trying to help. We’re the ones who pay for it.

Just make the call or send a text.

People that are overwhelmed by my story ask me what they can do, how they can help. Here’s how-

-put this number in your phone right now: 1 (888) 373-7888.

On this year’s Super Bowl Sunday, indulge on amazing bean dip and gourmet burgers in Minneapolis or your respective town or living room. Yell, jump up and down, banter. Do what football fans are supposed to do: Enjoy the big game.

But… look around.

Be aware.

Don’t allow warped morality, over-indulgence, addiction, illegal activities and slavery happen to a human being.

 Notice what’s going on around you. Look at the girl/child/boy/possible pimp or John in the hotel lobby, bar, event, parking lot, airport, Uber.

Notice them.

Then call the National Human Trafficking Hotline 1 (888) 373-7888. Or text 233733.

There’s zero risk in being wrong. There’s zero risk in being wrong.

There’s zero risk in being wrong…and possibly a life rescued if you are right.“