I came upon it by accident, as I do most things, by trawling through the ever-more-depressing news in search of something to write about. So here it is: 60,000 young Christians from around the world held candles in the Atlanta night and pledged to fight against slavery.
They did more—they put up a bunch of cash by using tablet computers; last year they raised three-and-a-half million dollars.
I’ve written about this before. There is a building in my neighborhood with a Chinese restaurant on the first floor. The upper floors are rooms for rent.
Or are they?
“It’s a whorehouse for Asian guys who work the cruise ships.”
Words a co-worker spoke fifteen years ago.
Was it true?
It was strange, those mornings at five when I was heading for the bus to take to work, that there was frequently loud music coming from the upper floors of the building. Oh, and that the door to those floors which was always closed during the day was flung open. And certainly most houses in Puerto Rico have rejas (security bars or burglar proofing). But almost always they're on the outside, this one appears to have the bars on the inside. Odd, too, that the restaurant on the first floor is so often empty.
Five or six odd things. Which may mean nothing. Or it may mean that there’s a whorehouse in my neighborhood.
In the days when I was walking past the open door to the staircase to the upper floors with the blasting music, I wasn’t alive. I was middle management working at Wal-Mart, a circumstance so extraordinary I still can’t believe I did it. Somebody else had to deal with the world, I was dealing with Wal-Mart.
Now I have time. So I took an hour to read the report from 2010 that the Ricky Martin Foundation sponsored on human trafficking in Puerto Rico.
There is human trafficking here, as opposed to human smuggling. The difference? You’re a Dominican guy who has saved up the thousands of dollars that you will pay a guy with a yola (a small and probably leaking boat) to take you across the deepest and sharkiest (exists now, computer!) waters of the Atlantic to Puerto Rico. Once there, or rather if there, you’re done. Transaction’s finished.
That’s human smuggling.
Now then, you’re a Dominican woman and a Puerto Rican guy meets you at the resort where you’re changing the sheets and cleaning the toilets and he’s got money and you fall in love. And he takes you to Puerto Rico and you wake up in a room and you’re naked and bruised and he’s nowhere in sight. Oh, and he has your passport. And also the key to the lock on the door.
See the difference?
What isn’t known is how much and what kind. But some facts leapt off the screen. Puerto Rico. Starting, for example, on page 1:
Although specific statistics on cases of human trafficking in Puerto Rico do not exist, the high number of minors living in “upbringing” (crianza) or foster homes (close to 9,000), the nearly half of all families (48 percent) living in poverty and the high levels of immigration to the Island, taken together with gender discrimination, suggest the high potential for trafficking and exploitation in Puerto Rico. These factors, among others, contribute to Puerto Rico’s status as the third highest country in Latin America in which social inequality is most evident, preceded only by Paraguay and Brazil (El Nuevo Día, Nov. 12, 2009).
1 The terms “human trafficking” and “trafficking in persons” will be used interchangeably throughout the document.2
Wow! But then there’s the statement of a police chief, “fathers having sex with their daughters is a cultural pattern in the rural, mountainous areas.”
Or how about the report on the Dupont Plaza Hotel? Remember that fire, and all those people on the roof, and the helicopter rescues? Well, somebody had to go in there and find all the belongings and give them back to the owners, if possible.
What they found was shocking.
“They found everything, from substantial amounts of money—up to $40,000—to pornographic photos, especially of men having sex with minors. This was in approximately 20 rooms” (Interview with a police officer in Puerto Rico, 2008).
Right. I’ve read the report. I can give money. I can raise my voice and light a candle and feel good.
What can’t I do?
Get a bunch of people together and march up the stairs of a building in Old San Juan and figure out just what the hell is going on.
