Trafficking, Prevention and Empathy — Why giving out of one’s personal vulnerability is the best way to give.
PEOPLE tend to react to the sex trafficking industry in two ways:
1. This is just their culture, this is how they accept things. Sex trafficking is not really a big deal.
2. This is morally outrageous; how could this be possible?
Both types of reactions, in my opinion, miss the mark.
When I first learned about the industry a number of years ago, I had the second reaction: I was outraged. Outraged that it was a regular practice in Asia for virgins to be sold for sex out of a belief that it would cure HIV. Horrified that parents would sometimes sell or rent their children for sex in order to make money in a desperate economy.
I didn’t do much about my outrage, however, as I felt overwhelmed by the immensity of the problem; what could I ever do? But when our family learned about a nonprofit that focused on preventing kids from entering into sex trafficking in 2011, we saw a chance to actually make a difference and decided to sponsor Ying (her pseudonym) , a girl in Cambodia. I wanted to do more and volunteered my skills in web development for that nonprofit and eventually became a staff member. I thought that my colleagues and I were doing radical work, and I felt good about it.
Then I visited Ying, four years later, in 2015. And my assumptions shifted abruptly.
Ying was 19 years old when we met in person. I don’t know much about her backstory, but I do know that she is not a trafficking survivor — that was the point. The organization that sponsored her, mainly through the generosity of American donors, was unique in that it focused its efforts not on rehabilitating survivors, but on preventing children from ever entering into the trade. Some children are coercively sold into slavery, and some are sold by their parents, step-parents or grand parents. This organization identified children who were at risk of being trafficked and, after a screening process, offered a scholarship and relocated to a children’s home with a “house parent” where they were fed, clothed, and brought to school every day. They were free to return to their parents whenever and however often; most visited on weekends. The basic belief of the organization is that innocence, once lost, can never be restored — a child can be rehabilitated, but it comes at a much higher cost.
When I finally traveled to meet Ying at her home town in Cambodia, we talked about her studies in school and her daily life in a huge bustling city (a translator was present). It was a simple and limited conversation, but it was evident that she was so happy that I was there. I tried to, within reason and discretion, provide a kind of fatherly presence through words of encouragement and guidance. She started addressing me as ‘dad’ for the rest of the two-day visit.
Someone asked me later, “Did your conversations with Ying remind you of your conversations with your children?”
I responded, “No. Actually, Ying reminded me of my younger self.”
I grew up in a broken, unstable and middle-class home with an ever-changing cast of father-figures. After I learned from my mother at the age of 12 for the first time that I was born out of an extramarital affair, I remember, a few years later, wondering, “Can I ever overcome this sense of emptiness?”
When I looked into Ying’s eyes, I saw glimpses of that same search for identity from anyone equipped to offer it. Now that I was on the other side of life’s experiences, I could offer some affirmation and advice, to let her know that she will not always have to feel this way, and that it was possible to rise above her circumstances.
Many of the children in these children’s homes come from broken families. Some of them are, for instance, step-children, as their mothers moved between partners . To be a step-child is to be worth almost nothing; you were usually dispossessed or sold. The children’s home gave them support, structure and stability, but it was still not the same as a family. Yet the smiles I saw on the faces of the children in the children’s home far outnumbered the smiles I saw out on the city streets in Cambodia, a country that is riveted from the post-war trauma of an older generation.
While the level of family dysfunction can be starkly greater among poor families in Southeast Asia, the truth is that Western culture does not have the answers either. We have too many unhealthy and broken families and home environments where children struggle, for instance, with abuse, low self-worth and suicide.
When I first arrived in Southeast Asia on staff with that nonprofit, I thought the main goal of these children’s homes was to minimize the risk of the children entering into the sex-trade (and so far, these homes have been very successful). And while that is still an important goal, I now believe that the more fundamental task is to help these children normalize and develop a strong sense of their identity in a supportive and stable environment. In other words, their job is Child Development 101.
I have realized that preventing trafficking is not the radical work that I once thought it was. It’s really about normalization.
When a four-year-old girl crawls onto your lap, while you are visiting a children’s home, just to look at you closely, is it “radical” to give her your trusting attention? Is it “radical” to talk with a 19-year-old about academic struggles and give her some advice? I don’t think there is anything radical about being fully present and devoted to living life with these children — and yet to live out that ethos consistently in all aspects of your life can be quite difficult. I may be present with that four-year-old girl in the children’s home, but am I always giving my children my full attention when they are asking for it? Could I be more thoughtful and intentional in how I support my kids in their personal struggles? It is easy to tell tales of heroic trips to Southeast Asia to be with kids. It is much less glamorous to do the same thing with your family.
During that trip, a thought entered into my ruminating heart: “This is why I went through what I went through as a child and teenager, seeking after empty identity. Now I have a sense of purpose — I can now help somebody else who is at much greater risk than I ever was.”
You see, for the longest time, I believed that I was at a disadvantage compared to “normal” kids who grew up in healthy moral homes. I spent a decade of early adulthood searching for normality. Not until I became a husband and parent did I begin to feel a deeper sense of normalization. My relationships have compelled me to let go of old wounds and inferiority complexes and start giving to others —with my two biological sons, so that they could have, and now do have, a life different from the one I had as a child.
The overarching theme of my life has been cultivating resilience. Learning how to adapt and endure are life-lessons that I hope to be able to impart to Ying and others. I recently learned that Ying has decided to leave the children’s home to take a customer service job at a cosmetics company. We will probably have less frequent communication now, but I’m proud that she has decided to take the next step to move forward in her life. I’m really looking forward to traveling to Asia to see her and to meet Jon (pseudonym), a young boy whom we have recently decided to sponsor. I want to tell both of them that it gets better on the other side. Some of us are just late bloomers. And that’s okay.
This is my particular story, and perhaps you have your own similar story, but there’s a common thread in all our stories: Empathy is the best fuel for altruism. When I met Ying, she became not just someone whom I was trying to “save” out of my own generous good will; she became someone whom I understood, someone with whom I could empathize, even if just a little bit. Meeting Ying in Cambodia was one of many other similar experiences I had while visiting Southeast Asia. The personal transformation that I described did not happen all at once, but over the course of visiting many different places, all of which awakened me to the power of empathy. The seed of empathy is, I believe, a viral seed that can spark and sustain worldwide movements to end poverty, trafficking, and so on. It is a seed that will never “burn out.” It is ever-replenishing.
But accessing that empathy requires being comfortable with our own junk. It means being comfortable with turning inwards, being honest about our own thoughts and the things we would rather forget. As Dallas Willard once said, “The jackass never sees a saint when he gazes into a mirror.” Earlier, I stated that the two standard reactions to sex trafficking miss the mark. What both reactions have in common is that they distance themselves from “that culture over there” or “those terrible people who engage in trafficking.” What they miss is precisely that self-reflective gaze into the mirror, a gaze that leads to the realization that “I” am perhaps not so different from “you.”
Here’s what’s radical: We can’t stop there, mired in a pool of self-obsession over our “issues.” In fact, I believe one way to resolve our issues, after acknowledging them, is to turn outwards. To give unto others, not from a condescending sense of charity, but from a human sense of empathy. There has to be an interplay between our internal lives of personal vulnerability and our altruism. We must learn the daily habits of connecting the two into One. Then we can help heal not just others, but also find ourselves.
