This week, we had a front row seat to one face of sex trafficking in the Tenderloin.
The vast majority of women in the TL are "older" - somewhere between 30 and 80. Some 30 year-olds look 50. Hard lives have etched the years onto their bodies and souls.
Young women in the TL seem to represent a few distinct populations: immigrant women from families working hard to get out of the neighborhood as soon as they can; young addicts deep in their addiction - in real danger of death by overdose or violence; lonely transgender runaways and transplants looking for "someone like me"; and former foster kids who aged out of the system and find themselves without home, family or marketable skills.
after all...kids enter the foster care system because their parents are guilty of neglect so great that even this broken, underfunded system finds them incapable of safely caring for them.
Then, at age 18, the state basically says, "Well, you're 18 now. So long. Good luck." One expert called foster care a "feeder system for sex trafficking in America."
So - back to this week at BJM.
G, a beautiful young woman, has been coming to Nail Day with friends for the past couple of months. She has deep brown eyes and a sharp sense of humor
This Monday she and a new friend seemed to fly into the room. They were laughing and smiling. They announced, "We're leaving on Monday. We're getting out of here."
The story unfolded - told to the volunteer painting G's nails. To Lindsay, the director of The Well. And, to me.
G pointed to her friend. "Her boyfriend is taking us to [another state about 1,500 miles away]. We're going to live on a ranch. It's really big....we'll have our own rooms."
G laughed. "There are going to be horses. HORSES! And cows and animals." She giggled and said she wanted to baby calf of her own, "I'll keep it in my room."
all of us - the volunteer, Lindsay and myself - asked similar probing questions.
"So, how long have you known this boyfriend?" (Couple of weeks)
"Have you met his family?" (Nope..."but he said he inherited the ranch from his grandparents...Isn't that cool! A ranch!!")
"Where is this ranch?" (Out in the country. We're going to fly to A [city] and he'll pick us up.")
What will you do if you don't like it there? (No problem...He says he'll just buy us a plane ticket and we can come back.")
"What will you do for work?" (He said we can get jobs if we want to, or we can just help out at the ranch." G's friend announced, "I'm not going to work at first. I need time to get to know him."....She told the volunteer she was going to marry him.)
In short, a young man they had known about 2 weeks was promising these homeless, family-less young women a place to live. Food. Employment. Maybe even marriage.
All they needed to do to cash in on this paradise of promises is to move to a place where they know no one. Have no support. No transportation. No money. And live in an isolated ranch miles from the nearest city.
Many of you who read this blog have heard the term "sex trafficking." Sometimes people think of children sold as sex slaves in Thailand or orphans in Moldova or other former soviet block nations sold or kidnapped. Latin American or Asian immigrant women enticed to the U.S. with promises of work.
But here, less than half a mile from the wealth of the financial district in America's most expensive city, sex trafficking is happening to some of our most vulnerable children - girls and young women who have aged out of the foster care system and now struggle to feed, clothe and provide for themselves.
So...as the young women enthusiastically described their promised dream on that far-away ranch, the volunteer, Lindsay and myself said things like, "This is sketchy."
"I'm worried about this. You don't know this guy. You could be in danger."
"I'm afraid you might get there and things won't work out like you expect. I'm afraid you won't be able to get help or get away."
The volunteer bluntly said, "This is bad. This is how sex trafficking happens."
I said, "This isn't good. Let's talk about this...."
We were all met with shrugs and eye rolls. Their expressions reminded me of teenagers giving their moms looks that say "you are old and don't know anything....get out of my life."
G and her buddy slipped out the door before I had a chance to connect with them again. Worried, I left messages at the shelter where G stays. I texted another friend who might see her. And, sent an email to K - one of my especially "precious stones" who has been homeless since she fled an abusive home as a pre-teen.
"HELP" I wrote. This isn't good. I described what was happening. "Can you find G?" I asked. "Will you try to convince her this is too risky?"
I asked K to meet me at The Well today "anytime between 1 and 4."
She showed up at 2. "Just got the email and I ran from the library to here." She said. "This isn't good...."
We talked about G and the situation. K was agitated. Worried. She seemed to understand when I said, "G doesn't trust me. She thinks of me as somebody's mom....Maybe she will listen to you."
K left a bit later, promising to find G and "convince her this is really dangerous."
I went home. Fixed dinner. Worried and prayed.
Then, an email came from K. One word,
DONE.
Although I'll probably worry and pray some more before the night is through, I trust that K did as she promised....found G and talked honestly with her. Maybe told her some of her own experiences.
You see, a year ago, K met someone who promised her work in sunny southern California. A house to live in. Food. A beautiful city far from the dirt and craziness of the Tenderloin. K jumped at the chance.
And, K found herself trapped in a strange city without money or friends. Forced to go sell her body on the streets every day. Threatened with beatings and even death if she failed to earn enough money.
So, when K said, "This is bad. This is really bad." she knew what she was talking about. K escaped and made her way back to San Francico about a year ago. Thin, sick, and terrified, she came first to the YWAM base. "Where else would I go?" she said.
She still looks over her shoulder to this day, seeking the faces of the people who trafficked her and held her against her will.
today, as I pray for G and wonder what's happening with her, I'm counting on K's calling from God as a leader. And as someone gifted to love unconditionally. I'm counting on K's compassion and willingness to help others.
Hoping G will listen to Ks' story. Trust K's honesty. And decide to stay here - in the not-so-safe, not-so-pleasant Tenderloin. where, at least, some people love and care about her. Myself. Lisa. Lindsay. the Nail Day volunteer. And K, of course.
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