Bought and Sold Read online

  Some Facts about Modern-day Slavery

  Every day, in countries throughout the world, countless numbers of men, women and children are being forced to work long hours, often in appalling conditions for little or no pay. Most of them will never be rescued or see their homes or loved ones again.

  It is difficult to estimate accurately the number of people who are currently being exploited for forced labour worldwide. Some research indicates that the figure is 20.9 million. Other reports put it even higher, at 30 million, including 5.5 million children.

  Not all victims of exploitation are trafficked across borders and to other countries. According to a report by the UN Office on Drugs and Crime, there were 2.4 million victims of human trafficking worldwide in 2012, 80 per cent of whom were being exploited as sexual slaves. But, again, other research indicates that the true figure is much higher, at around 9 million.

  Globalisation and the demand for cheap labour have helped to make modern-day slavery a lucrative business. The income earned by the criminals who buy and sell other human beings is estimated to be a massive $150 billion a year – an amount that is almost exactly equal to the entire UK budget for the NHS in the year 2013/14.

  In 2008, 42 countries had signed and ratified the Council of Europe Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings. When the Convention came into force in the UK the following year, this country became bound by its rules and the National Referral Mechanism (NRM) was set in motion.

  The role of the NRM is to identify victims of human trafficking who have been trafficked into, out of or within the UK, and provide them with support and protection. It also collects and passes on information to the UK Human Trafficking Centre for the purpose of gaining a better understanding of the extent and scope of the problem.

  In 2013, the NRM received 1,746 referrals of potential victims of trafficking from 112 countries. First on the list was Albania, with 268 referrals; then Nigeria with 186; Vietnam with 181; Romania with 104; and, in fifth place, the UK with 90. Trafficking victims can be referred to the NRM by numerous agencies – including the police, the Home Office, the Salvation Army and other charitable organisations – but only with their consent. As a result, these figures are a significant underestimate of the real situation in the UK – a fact that has become shockingly apparent following recent horrific reports of the sexual abuse of children and young people in Rotherham and Rochdale. The truth is that we can only imagine how many men, women and children in this country are living lives of abject misery while being subjected to ruthless exploitation.

  There are many reasons why people are vulnerable to slavery. Some victims are incredibly poor and have been offered jobs they thought would lift their families out of poverty. Some have put their trust in untrustworthy people and have been tricked by boyfriends, family friends or other people who appeared to care about them. And some have been displaced as refugees or left widowed or orphaned by war. Whatever their circumstances and whatever country they came from or were trafficked to, the one common thread that unites them all is that each and every one of them is somebody’s brother, sister, son, daughter, mother, father, husband, wife, nephew, niece or friend.

  It’s important to be aware of the facts and figures related to modern-day slavery. But it’s even more important to remember that behind the statistics there are human beings who deserve, as we all do, the most basic human right of being able to live their lives in peace and freedom.

  A Police Perspective on Human Trafficking in the UK

  by Robin*

  As a Detective Constable working for a UK Sexual Crime Unit, I’ve seen a massive change during the last 12 months in terms of the commitment of all agencies involved in tackling human trafficking. We now work a lot more closely with the NHS and local authorities, as well as alongside the Home Office Border Force in an attempt to identify victims of human trafficking as they pass through airports. My own police force is also in the process of training every frontline police officer and police community support officer (PCSO) to identify and assist possible victims.

  Perhaps as a direct result of this increased awareness, something else that has changed in recent months is the way traffickers operate. For example, many victims of sex trafficking are now being taken to hotels, rather than to the more stereotypical ‘massage parlour’ brothels. The traffickers advertise on certain websites, take bookings for three or four days and then move on to another hotel in another area. Other victims are being held in houses in residential streets, where they live and are visited by clients, rather than being moved about as they would have been in the past.

  Labour trafficking has also increased in the last few years – or, at least, it is being reported more often. But we are still a long way from establishing the true extent of the problem in the UK. One of the reasons for that is the fact that many victims of labour trafficking don’t really understand that they are being exploited. For example, what often happens is that someone living in abject poverty in an Eastern European country is promised a reasonably paid job in the UK. Then, when they get here, they are paid just a few pounds a day and have to sleep in a small room with five other men in the same situation. They may feel they don’t have any choice – maybe they’ve entered the country illegally or owe the traffickers money for bringing them here – and they tell themselves that at least they’re earning a couple of pounds more than they would be getting at home.

  There are many different types of labour trafficking and exploitation occurring in the UK today: young Vietnamese males forced to stay in buildings that are being used as cannabis farms to tend the plants; Vietnamese females working in nail bars for next to no money; males and females of all nationalities picking vegetables; and males working on fishing vessels who don’t set foot on dry land for months on end and who, again, earn little or no money.

  The police and the general public in this country have a greater awareness of trafficking and slavery than they did just a short time ago. But we are still nowhere near rescuing enough victims. To be able to make a real impact, the police need the help and support of the public – just as they do when tackling any sort of crime. We need people to be nosy about the local car wash or nail bar and about the house on their street that is visited by men at all hours of the day and night and lived in by women who rarely go out. The following are some of the possible indicators to look out for:

  Do people appear to be living and working at the same address?

  Are they collected very early in the morning and/or returned late at night on a regular basis?

  Do they have inappropriate clothing for the work they are performing and/or lack safety equipment?

  Do they have any signs of physical injury or malnourishment?

  Do they look unkempt?

  Are they isolated from the local community and/or appear to be under the control or influence of others?

  It is important, too, that victims of trafficking themselves understand that the police in the UK want to help them. There aren’t the issues of corruption here that there might be amongst the police forces in their own countries and they need to know they can trust us. Despite what the traffickers may tell them, if they are genuine victims of trafficking, there will probably be no immigration issues involved in our dealings with them. The same goes for British nationals who have been trafficked within the UK or abroad: whatever the circumstances, they can come to the police for help and support. Or, if they don’t feel they can go to the police for some reason, they can contact Crime Stoppers or the Modern Slavery helpline.

  Crime Stoppers

  Phone number: 0800 555 111

  Website: https://crimestoppers-uk.org

  Modern Slavery

  Phone number: 0800 0121 700

  Website: https://modernslavery.co.uk

  * Robin (not his real name) played a vital role in protecting and supporting trafficking victim Sophie Hayes (author of the book Trafficked) when she was pursued in England by the man who had traffick
ed her to Italy.

  Gripped by Bought and Sold?

  Read Trafficked, the story of how a British girl was forced into the dark and dangerous world of the sex trade – and how she survived.

  Read an exclusive excerpt now.

  Chapter 1

  My brother’s 18th birthday party was an elaborate event – a glamorous celebration that had been carefully planned by my mother down to the very last detail so that nothing could go wrong. We had a beautiful meal at a hotel with all our family and friends and when everyone had finished eating, my father took the microphone and announced that he’d been asked by my mother to give a speech about his eldest son. There were many good things that could be said about my brother, and a whole host of funny and touching anecdotes that could be told about him. So as the room fell quiet and everyone turned to look at my father, they were all smiling with a benign expectancy that quickly turned to horror when he announced that he could think of nothing to say other than that he was disappointed to have fathered such a ‘useless piece of shit’.

  For a moment, there was a stunned silence and then, as a low murmur of disapproval spread around the room, my grandfather leapt to his feet, snatched the microphone from my father’s hand and, with tears in his eyes, began to talk about all the good things his grandson, Jason, had done and how much everyone in the family loved him.

  When I eventually dared to look at my brother, he was sitting completely still, staring into the distance above everyone’s heads with an expression of almost physical pain on his face. I looked away quickly, feeling sick, and wondered how any man could do such a terrible thing to anyone, let alone his own child, who was guilty of nothing other than trying for 18 years to gain his father’s love and approval.

  I think I knew in that moment that my parents’ marriage was over, although it had a few more death throes to go through before they divorced.

  Another event that finally tipped the balance for my mother occurred one night not long after Jason’s birthday. I had come home from an evening out and, not realising that Jason and his girlfriend, Harriet, were babysitting for a neighbour, had locked the front door and gone to bed. Half an hour later, I was woken up by the sound of the doorbell. It rang just once, but almost immediately I heard footsteps thundering down the stairs and then Harriet’s voice calling my mum’s name and screaming, ‘He’s going to kill him. Help! Please! Someone help!’

  My mother had already reached the top of the stairs by the time I’d jumped out of bed and rushed on to the landing. As I ran after her into the hallway, I could see Jason standing on the doorstep with blood pouring from his nose.

  Harriet was sobbing and my father was waving his arms in the air and shouting, when suddenly Jason stepped forward, pushed Dad out of the way and yelled, ‘You’re a fucking wanker. I hate you. Why don’t you go away and leave us all alone?’ Then Jason rushed up the stairs and locked himself in his bedroom. My father smirked, shrugged his shoulders and went to bed.

  Luckily, the commotion hadn’t woken my younger sister and brothers, so Harriet, my mum and I went into the kitchen. For a few moments, we sat together around the table in a state of shocked disbelief, until Mum eventually broke the silence by asking the question that was in all of our minds when she said, ‘What the hell just happened?’

  It turned out that my father had been so annoyed at having been woken up by Jason’s tentative ring on the doorbell that he’d flung open the front door and, without saying a word, head-butted his own son.

  My mother sighed and lifted her hands off the table in a gesture of weary defeat as she said, ‘Well, that’s it then. I can’t stand by and allow him to hit my children. That’s one thing I’m not prepared to put up with.’

  I felt terrible about what had happened – not just because I felt so sorry for Jason, but also because I knew it was my fault. Jason didn’t have a key to the front door and I hadn’t made sure he was home before I locked it that night. Even now, I can’t bear to think of the distress my thoughtlessness caused him.

  So that was the second of the three ‘final straws’ for my mother. The last one came as a result of someone telling her that my father was seeing other women. When she confronted him, they’d been shouting and arguing for ages by the time I walked into the living room and heard Dad shout at Mum, ‘She was a dead ringer for you, only much younger.’ Then he stormed out of the room and Mum burst into tears.

  It turned out that Mum’s ‘dead ringer’ hadn’t been the only woman Dad had been sleeping with. There were dozens of them. Apparently, he’d joined a group of swingers – not the sort who swap partners, but the ones who go to parties that have been organised for the specific purpose of having sex with total strangers, who are paid to do whatever weird and kinky things men like my dad want them to do.

  When Mum left him, she discovered he’d remortgaged the house, not for financial reasons – he earned a considerable income and didn’t have any money worries – but because he’d been siphoning money into foreign bank accounts. So Mum got very little money from the divorce, but she didn’t really care, because all she wanted by then was to get away from my father and make a new home for herself and her children, where no one shouted at her and told her constantly that she was useless and stupid.

  I was 17 when my parents separated, and I’ve rarely spoken to my father since then.

  I was just a few hours old when I was placed in my father’s arms for the first time. Apparently, I started to scream and he glanced down at me, handed me back to my mother and promptly lost all interest in me. It was an indifference that soon became mutual, and by the time I was in my early teens, I’d learned to accept the fact that I didn’t like my own father. Fortunately, though, I’ve always loved my mum – as well as being a really good mother, she’s my best friend and I can talk to her about almost anything.

  I don’t remember ever feeling any real affection for my father. He wasn’t physically abusive when I was a child, but he was a bully, who only really communicated with his wife and children by shouting and swearing and telling us how useless we were. Gradually, over the years as I grew up, I almost got used to the way my heart started to thump whenever he was angry – which seemed to be most of the time. But I never got used to the things he’d do quite deliberately to frighten us, or to his sick jokes, which often reduced me to tears of shock.

  I was one of five children, all of us unplanned, unwanted by Dad and loved completely by Mum. My childhood was lived under the shadow cast by my father’s verbal and emotional abuse, but it was Jason who suffered most as a result of his bullying.

  Jason was a shy, cheerfully energetic child who hated the thought of doing anything wrong or of drawing people’s attention to himself for any reason. Just imagining being late for school could reduce him to a state of hand-wringing anxiety, which our father always referred to as ‘girly fussing’ and which never failed to make him scornfully angry. In fact, Jason was about as far removed as it was possible for him to be from the kind of son our loud-mouthed, brashly over-confident father might have wanted – had he wanted a son at all.

  It was heartbreaking to watch Jason trying so hard to please Dad, and although I learned from quite an early age to accept that none of us would ever be able to do anything right in his eyes, my poor brother never gave up hope of one day winning his affection. It was what Jason wanted more than anything else in the world, but it seemed that the more he tried, the more Dad intimidated and belittled him and the more nervous and, eventually, emotionally unstable Jason became.

  Jason was the sort of child who always had everything organised for school the night before – his books in neat piles and his clean clothes laid out on a chair in his bedroom, so that all he had to do in the morning was get washed and dressed and he was ready to go. For me, however, the most important rituals of every morning revolved around making sure my uniform looked perfect and my hair was immaculate – which meant that I took rather longer to get ready than he did. And while I was rushing a
round the house searching for my school bag or my books, Jason would stand by the front door, white with distress as he watched the minutes tick away on the grandfather clock in the hallway. Eventually, my father – who drove us to school most days on his way to work – would shout at him for looking so ‘fucking pathetic’ and then at me for being so disorganised and stupid.

  I still feel sad and guilty whenever I think about all the times I made us late for school, although I didn’t do it deliberately. We went to a good school and I think that, because I’d already accepted my father’s opinion that I was ‘inadequate’, I was afraid of failing to meet the standard expected of us, to the point that making sure I was well turned out became almost an obsession. But I knew how much Jason dreaded the thought of having to walk into assembly on his own when everyone else was already sitting down, and I know it was my fault when, breathless with humiliation, that’s exactly what he had to do on many occasions.

  One morning, when Jason was 10 and I was nine, we were running late as usual and when I finally found my school bag, ran out of the house and jumped on to the back seat of the car beside my brother, Dad gave a self-satisfied smirk and said, in mock dismay, ‘Oh dear, Jason, you’re going to be late. Assembly will definitely have started by the time you get to school. You’re going to have to walk in all on your own. Perhaps if you crawl on your stomach like a snake they won’t notice you.’ Then he threw back his head and laughed, amused by the image he’d conjured up and by Jason’s clearly apparent anguish.

  Jason began to cry and to plead, ‘Please, please, Dad, try to get us there on time.’