By Pooja Walia, Contributing Writer

There’s no escape

it’s an infinite loop

chained with addiction, hopelessness

lack of opportunity

lack of a chance

hunted by wolves

eager to drag me 

down into the deep dark forest

I tried to escape, yes, I did

they dangled false hopes in my face

lured me through the candies of addiction and money

I wanted out … of that life, the prison

of the roads they want me to take

out of the trap …

with a bruised body

showing scars of the times I stood up

soulless, numb

making me feel worthless

just want it all to be over

either this torture or my life

so, I can be finally free

no going back

be what I can be.

Prisons have become hunting grounds for prostitution. This piece is inspired by research from The Guardian’s video “The Trap: the deadly sex-trafficking cycle in American prisons” which underscores chilling testimonies of ex-inmates who were dragged back into a life of addiction and prostitution over and over again. The unfortunate fact: it was done so easily. The documentary highlights the infinite loop of incarceration, recruitment, release, trafficking, and then incarceration all over again.

According to the video, Richard Rawls was the first sex trafficker convicted in the United States for trafficking women from prisons. He recruited women released from prisons to prostitute for him and had over 25 women in his house at one point.

Kate, molested and raped when she was 16, was one of the many women Rawls pimped by giving hope that “everything would be okay.” She narrates how the pimps sift through the inmates to target their ‘commodity’ and start making conversations. “They see whom they wanna write, how much is this face gonna make me?” “Anybody can write to anybody in the prison.” It is through these incessant unwanted letters that the pimps are able to create that relationship to dupe the women into trusting them and falling bait to their false promises.

The whole business is possible because of a vital flaw in the prison system. “When someone is arrested, their personal data is immediately put online - mugshots, criminal records, release dates, and home addresses.” This becomes crucial in enabling the perpetrators to cherry pick their victims and initiate the process of intruding on the inmates’ already difficult lives.

Jill has been in and out of jail 22 times and explains the reason for falling back into the same misery. “Without them [the pimps], you have nobody. It’s lonely.”

“Women released from Worchester, MA have no recovery or support facilities.” This makes it even easier for the inmates to fall prey to the vultures waiting patiently on the other end.

The documentary reveals some of the sickening details of what goes on in the minds of these pimps, currently in prison, and of their business model.

Anthony Harris explains “Once you start doing it [sending money and letters to inmates] with a person, over a period of time they become loyal to you, so you just got you a new girl.” He defines pimps by categorizing them as “Boyfriend pimp, gorilla pimp - beats the victim, finesse pimp - doesn’t care, do the work or get out the door, and druggy pimp - keeps them addicted to the drugs.”

He goes on to justify and take pride in his actions, “All I was doing was showing them a better way to do it. I didn’t force them, I just finessed them.” On the other hand, he took advantage of factors in our society that prevent the women from leading normal lives. “You have nobody, nowhere to go to, hard to get a job, can’t get an apartment ‘cause you’re a felon, don’t have any money to get an apartment. We are creatures of habit.” 

Jasmine Johnson, another imprisoned pimp, very casually, shares her violent management style. “A few times I had to put my hands on them. Just like, rough them up, choke them out or slap them. If you disobey, you get punished.” 

Anthony Harris mentioned that all they need to do is “approach released women and ask “You alright?” and it goes from there.” This suggests further ignorance on the part of the prison officers and staff.

Former Correctional Officers John Meekins and Theresa Davidson share stories of their attempts to put an end to this ignorance, or at least do their part in ensuring the safety of the released prisoners. John was met with disrespect when he raised his concerns with people saying, “Who the hell are you and why should we care?” According to his experience, 99% of the department didn’t even know what human trafficking is, let alone do anything about it. When prisoners are released, they are given a mere sum of $50 to start a ‘new life’.

Theresa says that all that the officers say at the time of release is “Here’s your money, your civilian clothes, and the property you can take with you, and we need to see you get in a car with somebody.” They don’t care who that somebody is or what disgusting road they will drive you to or if that somebody will become the reason for the released prisoner to return to the prison, stuck in an infinite loop. Theresa reported to her supervisors when she heard a prisoner on the phone. The superiors didn’t care, didn’t want anything more added to their plates and just wanted “to have a pleasant day and move on.”

Marian Hatcher, a former inmate living in Chicago, was a victim of domestic violence, which triggered her downfall into drug use, prostitution, trafficking and into a prison cell. Thanks to the services and support she received in jail, she now works for the Sheriff of Cook county, just a few hundred yards away from where she was jailed. 

The support that the inmates receive is extremely important in helping them understand the monstrosity that has been clouding their judgment. It aims to prevent them from becoming victims of human trafficking in the hopes of giving them a near-normal life. Prisoners devoid of these services, like Jill, often find themselves wondering “what options do we really have, we feel TRAPPED in it.”

Nikki Bell, having experienced these emotions first-hand, explains them in her own words, “feeling soulless, waiting to die and your body to catch up.” Such victims lack self-esteem and fail to recognize their true identities. They feel that they have “taken the identity that this was my only worth in the world.”

Nikki’s ordeal started when she was just 14 years old. Seeking love in a 24-year-old boyfriend, she complied when he asked her to sleep with his friends in the false hope that he would love her in return. 

Overcoming past struggles and trying to give the help she may not have received, Nikki runs a drop-in shelter where she and her team provide the necessary clothes and accessories the women need. “You don’t turn down people because they’ve been arrested 20 times, maybe the 21st time works. You keep helping.”

While journeying through the area where Kate used to work, she spotted a former co-worker, Jessica, and exclaimed, “Can’t believe she’s still out there, still alive.” Kate reflects on where she is now in life and says, “This is past history, isn’t what I have to do, isn’t a necessity anymore, just something that I used to do.”

On the one hand, human trafficking is flourishing because of the inhumane pimps, uncaring correctional officers and countless cracks in the system. On the other hand, the high-spirited people who were determined and were fortunate to escape the trap, are now making an effort to help others build their lives as they themselves try to build their own.

References and further reading/viewing:

The Guardian: The Trap: the deadly sex-trafficking cycle in American prisons