They all looked so happy. Wearing next to nothing, young Asian women lined up in front of the bars in one of Thailand’s famed Red Light Districts, Soi Cowboy.
They appeared to be having a blast. Their makeup was perfect, their hair smooth and straight. I can’t comment on their outfits because they really didn’t have much on. It was clear, to the average person passing through, that these ladies were more than happy to “service” any man who paid the right price.
After all, their smiles were so big. They literally called out to passing men, “You come see me!” they yelled. “I make you happy,” others screamed. They were begging for business, and hoards of Western men were happy to oblige.
One outside table caught my eye. Under the glow of a neon sign, there were four white men having drinks, and each of them had two Asian women at their disposal. The women were rubbing their arms, laughing, giving these guys all the attention they could possibly desire. I rolled my eyes and wondered how great it really made those guys feel to know they were only getting that attention because they were paying for it.
The music was bumping in each bar we passed and the flashing lights that spilled out of the doorways was sometimes blinding. We passed a woman holding a sign that read, “The Doll House- Maybe 20 gorgeous girls, plus a lot of ugly girls, and a few fat ones!”
So what was I, a 34-year-old Christian from Fort Wayne, Ind., doing in a Thai Red Light District? I was on a mission trip.
Our group had spent the week learning about Destiny Rescue, an organization that rescues girls from sex trafficking. And let me tell you one of the most important things we learned from the staff who work with rescued girls: they do NOT want to be there selling their bodies. I repeat, they do NOT want to be there.
The smiles are fake. The begging is fake. The pleading is fake. The excitement they get when a man pays for sexual favors is fake.
The girls are some seriously talented actresses. And why wouldn’t they be? If they don’t smile, if they don’t beg, if they don’t perform, they pay a penalty. Their mamasan will beat them. Once that happens enough times, the girl gives up. She becomes the greatest actress ever- pretending to be happy in a never-ending hell. Some girls then turn to the only things that will make work easier- drugs and alcohol.
Before we made our quick walk through Soi Cowboy, we were told to keep an eye out for girls who weren’t out front begging for customers. Look for the girls who don’t see people coming, and take note of what you see.
I saw a few of those girls. They sat back, almost as if they were on break. They weren’t smiling. Their eyes were eyes filled with pain and fear. For most of them, their eyes were just empty.
But aside from the women we saw on Soi Cowboy, aside from those calling out to men because they had to, aside from the girls in the shadows who were empty, there lies a part of Soi Cowby and other red light districts that you don’t see: trafficked children.
Children. When I was in Thailand, I met young girls who had been trafficked. Sold. Raped. Demoralized. So even if you don’t believe me that the girls on the streets hate what they do, you can’t ignore the fact that these same places have children for sale.
Children. For. Sale.
On our brief walk, there was one specific girl out front who caught my eye. We made eye contact, but she didn’t smile like the other girls in the street. She looked like she was holding back tears. I wondered, was this her first night? Would she suffer the consequences of not calling out to men? How horrified was she of what would happen to her that night, whether it was being raped or beaten?
In that instant, everything became real.
The stories I read about trafficking.
The accounts we were told from those who rescue girls.
The documentaries I watched.
It all became real in that moment. I was surrounded by a sea of trafficked girls and there was literally nothing I could do in that moment to fix any of it.
My trip to Thailand to learn about Destiny Rescue was a powerful one. I got to experience their rescue and prevention homes, as well as see how their programs really do rehabilitate girls and prepare them for a normal life outside of trafficking. What I didn’t realize, though, was that the walk through a red light district on the final night of our trip would bring everything together for me. It was like it all clicked.
Our walk was quick, less than 10 minutes. We got back in the van to head to the hotel, and I put my head down and cried. Trafficking is real. These girls, these children, are real. Their stories are real. And we can’t sit back and let it continue to happen.
“And the King will say, “I tell you the truth,
when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters,
you were doing it to me!””