I have been reading a brilliant article on Emma Thompson in the Guardian film section, about her latest project showing the horrors of the sexual trafficking of women cross countries.
Her anger and the shock of the reality, made me think how trafficking is a building block for the vast majority of girls and women who get trapped inside the sex trade.
Only we must look beyond just country to country trafficking, and see the reality of internal trafficking.
Be that from town to town, street to street, pass from man to man, move into one place to another, from one aspect of the sex trade to another, even from one room to another.
Trafficking is a great way to keep the goods – women and girls – disoriented, showing them they are sub-humans.
That is why it is the building block that makes the sex trade work.
Trafficking makes the prostituted women and girls silent and without hope. Then they are really for whatever porn-fucks the sex trade forces them to endure.
To be part of the sex trade, being the living dead is a way of staying alive.
To be trafficked is to know you are dead but somehow still breathing.
Looking back at my past with a clear eye, I know I was trafficked.
I was not knocked unconscious and throw into a lorry, and taken out of my country. I was not told anything was wrong.
I cope by telling myself over and over and over, I wanted everything that happened to me.
Only looking back, I see I was in a trap. The trap that pretended that I had freedom.
Being internally trafficked in prostitution has no road map, just that it was living in hell.
There are few words for that time, for all words are stolen or made into nothing.
There is only the silent screaming from millions of women and girls in almost every country, every city, every culture, every building that you choose to ignore.
That screaming is saying make us count – for god’s sake don’t dismiss us.
Look carefully at all prostitution, and you will see trafficking, see slavery laid bare right in front of you.
See in so many street, see young girls selling themselves.
See how often these girls are trafficked into indoors prostitution, how they controlled by others taking their money, others choosing to get them addicted to drugs for control.
That is not freedom, that is not choice – that is slavery.
See girls like I was who started in indoors prostitution.
See the trickery that said to us it was not whoring, it just all these men want you.
See as we learnt not to know the violence – we were told it was a mistake, told we would get used to it, it must be that we like it really, don’t tell no-one, go do just one more time.
We got used to the violence until we no longer felt it.
For we were the living dead.
I have know all forms of sexual violence, violence that meant I live in a haze of not knowing whether I was breathing or not.
I forgot days, didn’t know months and all flowed in one massive raping that never ended.
That is prostitution.
It has no words, no feelings, no future, no hope, no past, no laughter, no tears, no pain, no grief, no desire, no nothing that makes you human.
Only somehow the vast majority of women and girls that live in this hell stay alive.
But, the tragedy they stay alive to be fucked, to be used, to be brainwashed, to be trafficked, and to be made into dirt over and over and over and over.
That is prostitution, that is what you choose to turn away from.
For me, being trafficked was being made to move round different aspects of the sex trade.
I was used mainly by johns who wanted sadistic sex – wanted gang-rapes, wanted me to be unconscious, wanted to fill all my holes in any and every way they could.
I was moved around, moved from London and Cambridge, and other places. Even within the same building, my managers arrange many ways of profiteering from my hell.
I would be filmed, I would do extras for special clients.
Mostly I was just passed round by word of mouth, so I thought, but in a clearer eye I know it was organised to sell me out.
I was just goods to be pass to any man who had money and sadistic porn-dreams.
I lost my rights, for when you are in hell, rights are completely out of reach.
I have no memory of how, but gradually I slipped into being “girlfriend experience”.
For me, that was a fresh hell.
Johns who want girlfriend experience will possess the prostitute in her mind and body, they will owned her.
She must be at his beck and call, should be able to read his mind. She doesn’t just fuck him, she must love him, must think he is amazing in and out the bed.
She must have no thoughts that are not his, no friends or family, no life outside him.
That is slavery.
It may seemed nicer than other prostitution from the outside.
But from the inside, if the prostitute is not fully his “girlfriend”, she is beaten up, she is raped and on occasions she is murdered.
I learnt that the hard way, so many times the violence was so terrible, that my mind closes down as I remember the girlfriend experience.
I know that when I had a mind of my own, I was raped in so many viscous ways – ways that words cannot say what happened.
The silent screaming is at its loudest when I try to remember that time.
You may think this has nothing to do with trafficking.
But, it was all about being trafficked. Being move round different aspects of the sex trade is trafficking made invisible.
I was completely disoriented and made sub-human. I was a thing that any man could put any pain into me, and it would not mattered, for like all those trafficked into prostitution – I had long since lost ability to feel anything.
As I watched the Emma Thompson’s video, I slowly felt what I never did then.
Look at prostitution – see it is mostly hell.
Look, see and do anything however small.