ThrillWriting: Contemporary slavery

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Being the Victim of Human Trafficking - Prt 2 Information for Writers

Trafficking In Persons Report Map 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Once again, I want to thank Brynn, the survivor of a human trafficking ring, for her bravery in sharing her experience with us. I hope it helps my fellow writers to capture the truth in their writing. Since the time when this crime took place, Brynn has earned her LMSW and focuses her work on victims of crime.

“If you’re a good girl, we’ll let your family find your body,” A phrase that to this day, reverberates in my ear on a daily basis never changing. I can still hear his voice, smell him, and remember the chill that went down my spine as he said the words.

I never knew his name, still do not. But I can describe what he looked like, how he spoke, the utmost authority he seemed to command from all those around him. I can describe being dragged through an empty field and how I tried to run. I didn’t get far before he had me in his grasp again, chuckling as he puffed on his cigar. He casually pulled a pistol from his pocket and stuck it to my temple before whispering in my ear that horrid phrase.

I was a nineteen-year-old college student at the time, living in an upper-middle class neighborhood in the United States. That night, March 18 2004, I had just come home from work as a gymnastics coach and was more than ready to enjoy my dinner and a home to myself. My family had left for Spring Break the night before, but because of my schedule I elected to stay home.

I was distracted, unaware of my surroundings—my home—my driveway. I was safe. I was home. I only realized something was wrong when I heard something behind me. In an instant my world seemed to go in slow motion, a bag was suddenly thrown over my head at the same time that I unlocked my front door.

I was abducted by strangers, abducted by three people I had never seen or talked to before that night. They had no concern for my life, no concern for what they did to me. They delivered me to a house a few miles away from my home. They traded me for drugs. I was abducted and traded into a human trafficking ring in exchange for three “dime bags.”

Human trafficking.. modern day slavery. It occurs everywhere, including in the USA. Before my abduction, I didn’t think “that” happened HERE, only in other countries. Human trafficking is in itself a cluster of other violent crimes occurring at the same time. At least it was in my experience.

I remember literarily being “bought” and my traffickers being paid upwards of $1000.00 depending on what they were requesting. This is not a small crime, in one night, I “made” close to $10,000. None of which went to me.

FBI Badge & gun. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There were no rescuers coming to me. There was never a missing person alert. No Hollywood scenes like I prayed there would be -- the FBI busting into one of the abandoned barns I was locked in, or the police department running in and wrapping me in a blanket as they helped me get to freedom. No. There was none of that.

In fact, on multiple occasions, I was in direct view of first responders. Once, while at a fast food restaurant awaiting another “customer,” I was seated directly across from two police officers. I silently prayed they would look at me, see the signs of trafficking, see the signs of despair. My heart sunk when they smiled at me and spoke to my traffickers about some meaningless topic. I almost cried when they walked out the door.

I was in stores, restaurants, parks, out in public view and nobody could see what I was so desperately trying to plea. Help me. I look back and realize it wasn’t anyone’s fault, after all could anyone who is reading this tell me the signs to look for in human trafficking?

My ordeal lasted four days. During those days and nights I was tortured; I was buried alive as a form of punishment for disrespecting the leader and saying “no.” I later found out they didn’t want to kill me YET because I brought in the most money for them. On the fourth day I was taken to a motel out of state and sold again to a particular man who abused me.

Since then, this man has been identified. He killed himself in prison. While there is no concrete evidence that this man was tied to my case in anyway, I KNOW it was him. I cannot “prove it.” I cannot tell you much about him because he simply saw me and treated me as an object. But I can guarantee that this man was the man who screwed up. He screwed up because after he had handcuffed me to the bed, he proceeded to take a hit of heroin. He passed out cold and left the key within my reach.

I rescued myself when I unlocked those cuffs, stood up, dusted myself off and walked out that door without looking back.

Human trafficking in the real world is nothing like it is displayed in movies or books. Victims and survivors are not always gorgeous, do not always have someone looking for them, do not always fight and struggle.

And then there is this...

I was assaulted by well over a hundred men, the vast majority of them are free. Some of them seemed to believe that I was going to die because they didn’t bother covering their faces, some told me about themselves. A few were doctors, some were lawyers, one was a cop, one was a teacher, another a priest.

Human trafficking. Main origin (red) and destination countries (blue). Data from United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) 2006 report (http://www.unodc.org/pdf/traffickinginpersons_report_2006-04.pdf) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s been nine years since my abduction and every night I still have nightmares, I still feel like I am still there. It doesn’t just go away. It never will. I am still scared.

If you looked at me, I am not what most people think of when they think of a human trafficking victim. That’s because I am not. I am a survivor of trafficking, I am a daughter, a friend, a sister, a cousin and so much more. Those four days in hell have drastically changed my life, and I know that for the rest of my life it will haunt me. However, I can advocate for change, advocate for awareness, advocate for accuracy in portraying this problem. And hope that anyone who reads this has gained some insight into this crime.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Surviving Human Trafficking - Prt 1 for Writers

English: Moon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My guest blogger this week is Brynn. She is a LMSW (Licensed Master of Social Work) who specializes in victimology. Check back later in the week for another post by Brynn.

I look back on this month, March to be exact, and cannot help but think about what happened to me nine years ago. Nine years ago I became a victim, a victim of sexual assault, a victim of kidnapping, a victim of torture, a victim of human trafficking- modern day slavery. Essentially, nine years ago I felt as though I had become a victim. I was labeled that actually and referred to often as the “victim.” My name was never used by the police, or really any advocates, I was just “the victim.”

What a derogatory adjective. The victim. Never once during my four day captivity was I called anything remotely human- instead often being hollered at using inexcusable language. I was called “fresh meat, live bait, the white one,” and so on. So by the time I was called “the victim,” I was almost accepting of the title. Almost.

And then I began realizing something, very, very slowly. It took almost nine years. I am not a victim. Yes, some awful things happened to me, something that many people will never experience, yet I still have a name.

To the three strangers who abducted me at gunpoint and promised me as they held a gun to my head that I would never see my family again. I did. I do and you taught me something and it wasn’t to fear people. Instead you taught me that every single second is something that can be cherished, that you won’t realize what you can lose until that is taken from you. Now, every day, I tell my family how much they mean to me. Thank you for that.

To the man I now know the full name of, the man who died in prison. I am free and I am alive. You died after being caught by the people who you thought you were smarter then. The people you vowed “would never find you.” You died in a small concrete cell, I am alive and living my life without any barriers. Thank you for teaching me the true meaning of freedom.

To the literally hundred or so men and women who paid to “see me.” You did what you did, I have no way of changing that, but you taught me on valuable lesson. That there are cruel, cruel people in this world but regardless, I am still me. You took away nothing from me, instead gave me strength to speak out against people like you and create awareness of the crime you commit. You gave me strength to vow to put you behind bars, and get the justice I deserve. And as every day, one more of you is arrested I know I am doing the right thing.

To the counselor I first told about my experience and did not touch me, thank you. You gave me the courage to begin to heal; you believed me though this horrific experience and offered to fly to the trials with me. Thank you.

To the federal investigators who began addressing me by name and provided personal cell phone numbers should I need it, thank you for seeing me as a human being not just a victim.

To the university police department who after a bomb threat at school where I was named as the target, thank you for protecting me, and reassuring me that you would protect me.

To my friends who see me as me, not a victim, but me. Thank you.

Thank you to everyone who has allowed me to realize that I am not a victim. I am a survivor, an advocate, a social worker, a daughter, a friend, I am Brynn- and I have a name.