The Girl inside The Glass Box - the reality of human trafficking

The below chapter is an excerpt from 'The Stories We Carry,' by best-selling author and anti-trafficking ambassador Jas Rawlinson. *Content warning: discussions of human trafficking & sexual abuse.

So often, when people think of human trafficking, they picture a young girl sitting in a dirty basement, her limbs chained to a wall or tethered to the floor.

This is just one of many visual assumptions and stereotypes that people often lean toward and one of many that fails to address the complexity of exploitation.

In reality, exploitation occurs in every culture and country across the globe, and those who are trapped inside the sex trade are rarely held under physical lock and key.

They are not physically ‘chained to the wall,’ as we often see in popular movies. Instead, the chains that often hold them in place are mental and emotional; their bonds born of financial inequality, cultural expectations, and internalised shame.

This is especially true in many South East Asian communities, where young women experience intense pressure to provide for their families – not only their parents, but also male siblings. Girls learn early that they are expected to care for others and that they must do whatever it takes to ensure their mother, father, and siblings are financially safe. As a result, many young women find themselves being groomed into – or ‘choosing’ – to take jobs in karaoke bars and clubs (illegal brothels).

Here, in Thailand, poverty certainly had a lot to answer for when it came to the sheer number of women and children who existed within the sex trade. As I soon discovered, many girls came from Hill Tribe villages, where passports and photo identification didn’t exist – another factor that made it all too easy for exploitation and trafficking to occur. After all, with no ID – let alone a university degree or certification – the ability to earn a well-paying income or enter meaningful work becomes extremely difficult.

Add to this the stigmatisation around women’s sexuality and you can begin to understand why so many feel powerless to leave the sex trade; regardless of whether they entered knowingly, or were coerced or trafficked. As many girls shared: I’ve lost the respect of my family, so who will want me now?

There were many stories that I learned of, throughout my time in SE Asia, that were hard to shake – but there is one in particular that I’ve never forgotten.

At the time, we were in a more remote part of Thailand where a number of prevention and rehabilitation homes had been created for survivors (or those who were at high risk of being exploited), and I met with dozens of teenage girls who had once been in the industry. There was a young woman who had been studying and working towards one day opening her own hair salon and while in the area I had booked in with her for a wash and style. With a round face and a thick button-nose, she was quiet and shy, often smiling softly as other girls in the salon laughed and joked with us. I’d been warned prior to my booking that she wouldn’t be able to provide the massage part of the treatment and to please ensure I didn’t take any photographs.

As I later discovered, this young woman had encountered horrendous mental abuse while in the sex trade and was often laughed at and tormented by the Mamasan (the female manager of the brothel/club) about how ‘fat’ and ‘ugly’ she was. Her days were spent being degraded by men, and then laughed at by the managers and bar girls, who would point her way while oinking like a pig.

I looked into the gentle eyes of this lovely, timid woman and wanted to cry.

The cruelty. The trauma.

Was it any wonder so many girls felt trapped and unable to leave? What did they have to go to? What self-worth or confidence did they have?

There were many stories like this; thousands of young girls with different names but near-identical experiences.

What astounded me most, however, was not only their ability to survive, but to find a way to begin thriving.

How are these girls not rocking in a corner, unable to function or speak? I wondered.

Only recently I’d learned of two 13-year-old girls who had been tricked into leaving their village for a job in a restaurant, only to be kidnapped and raped so violently that they were returned, rather than sold.

That story, in particular, broke me.

I couldn’t get my head around how so many of these women – many of whom were only 15 and had already been out of the sex industry for several years – had been able to find peace, joy, and renewed confidence.

I watched them giggling and joking as they rode bicycles with our group through a park, making fun of us as we attempted to speak basic phrases in Thai.

I watched the way that they played – just like little girls should – and the courage that they showed as they took charge of their lives.

Had their lived experiences been wiped away? No. Did they still live with anxiety or other mental health challenges due to the abuse they had experienced? Yes. But at the same time, they were so full of hope; that’s what astounded me most.

They had chosen not to allow their trauma to become a life sentence…

Over the fortnight that I was there, I was blown away by how much I witnessed and experienced. I scrubbed, painted, and renovated a two-story building for a young woman who was opening her own hair salon. I dug trenches and played soccer with kids at a local prevention home, where I also met a young woman I’d been sponsoring for many years. Most importantly, I had the opportunity to learn from these young girls, as they shared their culture, taught us how to cook traditional Thai recipes, and demonstrated every day just how strong the human spirit really is.?

Hope and gratitude, in particular, seemed to be a staple within Thailand and it astounded and moved me profoundly. One afternoon, I walked to a small stall in a country market, and saw a Thai woman literally dance with joy as she collected money for the goods she’d just sold. ‘Lucky money, lucky money!’ she grinned, fingers clutched around the colourful notes as she waved them in the air, touching them to each of the items that hung on the shelves.

Things that we took for granted were appreciated and honoured; minute moments in time that were acknowledged for their beauty and magic. Just like sunshine after a storm, the people of this country had learned that light could always exist within darkness. They understood that nothing in life was to be taken for granted and it was never too late to try again.?

_______________________________________________________________________

An excerpt from ‘The Stories We Carry’ by Jas Rawlinson - a memoir about finding your voice and re-writing trauma into triumph. Grab your copy today via www.jasrawlinson.com/thestorieswecarry.