Despite ample warnings about the prevalence of con men seeking to prey on easily malleable puppets like me, it is indeed a sad truth that I almost became the victim of a murky, seedy, dark, sex trafficking ring operated by equally murky, seedy, dark (-skinned) men. Eww! As we all know, prostitution—er, sex trafficking?— is never a victimless crime. Physical violence against prostituted women is underreported, which can only be true because…feminism! Indeed, all fact-based evidence to the contrary should be deeply scrutinized using right-wing silencing tactics and progressive rhetoric, ie: “You can’t possibly speak to your own experiences because your experiences perpetuate violence against women.” Furthermore, prostitution and sex trafficking are synonyms because if you disagree with that statement, you’re a pedophile! So, if you want to end modern day slavery worldwide, don’t talk about structural constraints like poverty or growing discrepancies in wealth. Instead, let the logical fallacy of “appealing to emotion” be your guide and, please, listen to my super sad story.
As a woman who dabbles in psychotropic drugs like cannabis and occasionally listens to rap music—both of which, mind you, glamorize “The Game”—I should have taken heed of cultural mouthpieces’ contentions that even consensual sex for girls like me is not consensual at all. That’s why academics, the state, and philanthropists must define consent for me. Of course, being the rebel that I am, I ignored all this socially inflicted self-doubt and left the house alone, anyway. Full disclosure: I was wearing a short skirt and was slightly tipsy off a glass of wine, so I alone am responsible for any and all violence encountered. But since I clearly suffer from false consciousness—I would have worn pants, after all, had I not suffered this insufferable condition—I am certainly incapable of being held accountable for any of my actions, ever.
It all started when I accidentally dropped my book, Getting Off, by the Christian radical Robert Jensen, onto the subway train’s grimy linoleum. A dark-skinned man in his late fifties retrieved the dog-eared paperback and handed it to me with a smile. Obviously, he was objectifying my crushing intellect, reducing me to mere fodder for his own masturbations—a strategy these blank-faced men learn from years of porn addiction. And of course, sluts are complicit in this cultural addiction because they nasty! Anyway, I snatched the book and spun around, even jumped off the train two stops before my original destination.
I’ve done my research. I know anti-prostitution organizations masquerading as anti-trafficking organizations like All We Want is Love find that sex trafficking is the second largest criminal industry in the world. It doesn’t matter that what they’re really referring to is “human trafficking into the private economy,” within which forced sexual servitude reportedly happens rarely and, more importantly, is noted to be insanely difficult to pinpoint given the global conflation of sex trafficking and sex work. But whatever! Ugh, statistics. So I totally knew this demon of a man had elaborate plans to sex traffic me. And please save your skepticism, you victim blaming, porn watching, child molesting apologist.
I immediately contacted the authorities. After all, my city is “ground zero” for sex trafficking in the United States. Just like Lincoln, Las Vegas, Portland, and Atlanta. Of course, winning the esteemed tragedy porn title for “sex trafficking ground zero” rightly comes with financial benefits from the federal government, so it’s important to report all illicit sex as sex trafficking. We needn’t look further than the turn of the century to uncover the social benefits of doing so—yellow journalistic accounts of the so-called “white slave trade,” for example, successfully stigmatized interracial sexual relationships and criminalized single women in poverty 1. You see, moral panics over young white girls’ chastity have historically served as false pretenses for waging war against whatever social “evil”—prostitution, interracial sex, queer sex, etc.—happens to be most en vogue. Yay!
Heck, just the other day, truckers on Interstate 80 became immortal martyrs after proving, without a shadow of a doubt, that the hot chicks washing their windows for a small fee were indeed dirty, trafficked whores. Trafficked by whom, you ask? Well, Joseph Shaffier, a local trucker, is intent on finding out. And rest assured, he’ll “take justice into [his] own hands” when he does. Larry Siegler backs him up by saying, “they’re not human.” Who’s the elusive “they,” you ask? OMG, you’re a sex trafficker.
Anyway, back to my story. Thankfully, law enforcement already had surveillance on The Bad Man from the Subway, as they do for all perverts who reside in the United States. Turns out, my perpetrator is into leather and something called “Bears,” further evidence that this sick sadist is a subway piranha for young girls. Local law enforcement teamed up with a group of nice white saviors to entrap the depraved communist. Our law enforcement friends spent many months scouring the internet for tangible proof of his involvement in the global sex trafficking underworld. Funded by taxpayers’ dollars, they humbly took it upon themselves to watch every porn video in which the terms “leather” and “bear” appeared in the title. Inevitably coming up empty handed (these sex trafficking ringleaders are notoriously slippery), they decided to raid a massage parlor instead. It was all terribly exciting! Clad in full riot gear, assault-style weapons, and facemasks, militarized SWAT teams saved these poor “happy ending whores” from a life unimaginable. But our team of America’s Finest didn’t stop there! After abusing the women’s civil liberties and threatening physical and sexual violence (in the name of gender equity!), law enforcement offered the shameful hos redemption through either Christ or jail time.
Now, Christ may seem a strange bedfellow for progressive feminists like me. But just because “the personal is always political,”2 , political affiliation is not necessarily political. Sometimes it’s just a political strategy that’s rooted in no political nor moral agendas whatsoever. Trust me, I have letters after my name. And I represent all women. Because women are homogenous. Except in the cases wherein women’s stories don’t fulfill this mythical homogeny. Those women are naïve victims of patriarchy and/or clever, cunning pimps.
Anyway, never forget that the shattering of innocence through sex trafficking happens more often than we think. Despite not having any evidence to back this up, I’m certain that unbeknownst to us, it’s happening in our neighborhoods, in our backyards, and in our basements. It’s not easy to think about all of the awful things pimps could force young trafficking victims to do, but thankfully, anti-trafficking organizations don’t shy away from fantasizing speculating about it, down to the number of sex acts a day your little girl could be forced to perform. You want data? Do you support international terrorist organizations?
I survived to tell my story. Others aren’t as lucky. If you’re looking to help, there are several things you can do. First, don’t listen to sex workers. We, as women, are the class affected most by sex work. Thus, we have a right to be listened to as the affected class. Women in the sex industry are not part of this class, duh.
Second, donate to Exodus Cry, a for-profit, God fearing organization behind much of the anti-trafficking legislation sweeping the nation. The org’s founder, Benjamin Nolot, takes pride in his intimate relationship with God. God, after all, confirms his own zeal by validating the heroic efforts of philanthropists who’d rather see whores sew Nikes than unrighteously spread their legs and sluttily fornicate in passionate lust like pagans 3. As God himself said, “If thy neighbor is prostituted, lock her in a warehouse and live off her slave labor instead.”
Third, despite young people claiming their reasons for entering the sex industry are nuanced, diverse, and complicated, keep in mind that that perspective insults my sensibilities, forces me to question my worldview, and sends Mercury into retrograde. If you suspect a homeless youth is engaging in transactional sex, be sure to notify your local authorities so the youth may be arrested, thrown in juvenile detention, and given a permanent solicitation record. Finally, remember, doing good is never enough. You must impose your religious and moral values on others at all times, censor those whose life experiences are unlike yours, and plump up the prison industrial complex while simultaneously advocating progressive feminist politics. After all, freedom isn’t free. And neither are those 300,000 innocent white girls whose sexual virtue hangs on our ability to portray their agency as either false consciousness or slavery.
Having trouble parsing all that ideology about consent? Read on: