A Story of Human Trafficking

Hi my name is Dai,* Im a survivor of human trafficking and exploitation. Let me tell you a little
history about my life. I have been an American for nearly 21 years. Abused as a child, I made a
promise to myself that I would never be abused again. As I continue with my speech, Im here to
share my story.
In 1995, I fell in love with a military man, who persuaded me to move with him to an undisclosed
remote area. There, I was raped and beat continually while handcuffed to a door of an abandoned
house. Eventually, through circumstances, I made my escape, but not before he had confiscated my
naturalization papers, drivers license and social security card. With no proof of my identity, I could
not acquire adequate shelter. I felt like an animal that has been cast into the street. My life became a
scenario of sojourning from one homeless shelter to another.
One day, I was approached by a middle-aged woman who had been watching my every move.
Unaware that she was a (Female Pimp), she insisted that I come and work for her in the Escort Service
(she assured me that it was only a dating service). My unawareness of this proposition was so
overwhelmed by my need for food, money and clothing that I desperately accepted her offer. After
several weeks I found myself well provided for and economically stable. Then the unthinkable
happened: a client bargained me for sex. After I refused his offer, he grabbed me by the hair, forced
me on the floor and raped and beat me. In terror, I fled to the police to report the violence. To my
astonishment, the police informed me that I had no rights because I had attained the status of a streetwalker.
Eventually, the female pimp who recruited me sent me to this gentleman who worked in Nevada
where my experience in Human Trafficking began. To this day, I am still haunted by flashbacks
regarding certain smells, as well as cold floors which numbed my bare feet. Many times, panic ensues
when I find myself in a line of women; it resurrects the nightmares of all the humiliating inspection
line-ups I had to endure. We were constantly paraded before a potential client; their lustful eyes
examining and perusing us before we became final choices for each predatory customer.
Being Korean, I remember the time when a prejudiced john demanded that I dress as a Japanese
prostitute/geisha. My vulnerability was made complete when I was taught to speak broken English,
fulfilling the racist image of exoticism. Although, I was one of the few that spoke and understood
English, my required masquerade as a foreigner brought more money to the Master through harboring
of immigrants.
The Master, knowing full well that I was an American, forced me to work both the Escort and the
Trafficking. If I refused or didnt comply, I was taken underground and sentenced to various methods

of punishment. The vividness of this maltreatment brought back such childhood nightmares of the
times I was locked in a closet. Each of these two scenarios mirrored the same cries for freedom; after
all, I was the submissive little foreign girl who was threatened not to tell anyone. In both cases, my
guilt-ridden confessions of bad behavior resulted in my temporary release. On my knees, I had to
convince my Master that I would be on my best behavior. After hours of interrogation, I was given
permission to return to do what I did best; being a concubine, and deluding myself into thinking that
I enjoyed it.
Most of the time we were transported by trucks with drivers who were not naive to our purpose, and
well informed of our identity. After months of these transports for trafficking our self-images had
been reduced to cattle being loaded on a cattle car. Thousands of dollars were exchanged on these
cross-country trips which kept us silent and our existence a secret. There were times that the
warehouse truck would stop, the tail gate door forced opened, then two or three were summoned out.
We were given shoes and clothing so we would not appear as homeless refugees. We had to walk a
block down to a nearby truck stop, given fifteen minutes to bathe ourselves, then return to the truck.
In degrading humiliation we had to beg for toiletries and other personal items. Sometimes, a
policeman would appear on the scene and I would be so tempted to cry out for help, but fear of
jeopardizing my life and the lives of the other women prevented me. The quick shower and change
of clothing signaled our soon rendezvous with the johns who requested for us. The women were
released a few at a time so as not to raise any suspicion.
After months of ongoing physical and mental agony I became apathetic regarding my life; I did not
care if I lived or died. With convincing death threats from my Master, I remained silent. If he
suspected that I was going to expose him he would verbalize threats against my family and friends.
It was at this time that I soul searched an alternative way to reveal this horror to the public.
Finally, I was able to escape from my master through a wealthy client who bought me for an
undisclosed amount of money. He was an older gentleman with considerable influence. Through his
kindness I planned my way of another escape. He admired my oriental beauty and encouraged and
coached me to be a (female pimp). He bought my companionship with jewelry, money and expensive
cars: He never physically abused me. With ulterior motives he taught me how to make my own money
as a Las Vegas Madam (Female Pimp). Therefore, to escape the daily abuse of the sex industry, I
found myself recruiting women and leading them into the same vile profession which had terribly
traumatized me. I was deceived and controlled by the power it gave me.