Hi my name is Kim, I go by the name: Jules.  I’m a 28-year-old female currently residing in Bloomington, MN.  I’m a survivor of many things, but the one I would like to point out to you is trafficking.  How I got in and what steps that I took to get and to stay out.  The title of my anthology is my explanation of who I was to society, and what I’ve learned from it. 

I grew up with sexual violence in my childhood and was known as an ugly duckling.  I would find pornographic pictures of women hidden up on the roof of the house I was brought up in.  To myself, I have thought about becoming a woman with power and control having every man fall at my feet.  I was not sure I was able to pull this off, but the thought was definitely there. 

I was an exotic dancer for one year.  Soon after that, I was involved in a abusive relationship with a military personnel. I was held hostage with restraints against a doorknob, left in an abandon apartment to starve and was beat day in and day out.  In June of ’95, I was able to escape, but only without my documents. 

It was a set up for me to come back to my batterer.  I couldn’t risk going back and going through that much torture.  Without those, I could not find work, housing, or even being ‘existed".  I couldn’t bear to go back to the relationship and had hoped that our system would be there to help me. 

Since I knew I was a citizen, I started out residing at a Domestic Violence Shelter and I only had 30 days to come up with my documentations and prepare myself to move out.  Little did I begin to realize the cruelty of our own society?  I went to the Social Security Office to reapply for my card; I didn’t know that all they could do is look up my number, which I already knew, and submit me a new card.  The only identification I needed at the time was hospital or school records.  If I ‘d known that, none of the running around would have even occurred.  Instead, I was told, "Because you don’t have a birth certificate from the US, you would need to go back to your own country get a birth certificate there and come back to the US, and exchange it for a US certificate." 

I was so naive I had no idea that the information I received was all false.  I stayed at the shelter and used up my days thinking how I could get my papers.  Because my 30 days were up, I was not allowed to stay at the shelter any longer, so then I was transferred to a transitional shelter where the women had to sleep on mats under the basement of a church.  I felt like an animal in a dog pound.  I couldn’t believe I was actually going through this. 

I knew in my heart something was wrong, but who would listen to me, I was just a "nobody".  One day, a lady came up to me and mentioned work.  I was desperate to get out of the situation I was in, so I began to listen.

 She mentioned to me about Escort Service and told me that it was only a dating service.  Little did I know that it was all a lie?  She gave me the number to call and when I did, the lady on the phone reassured me that this occupation was not a prostitution ring.  I was naïve to believe that women making $100 to $5,000 an hour would never trade services for sexual satisfaction.  The lady in charge set me up with regular clients that wouldn’t ask me for sexual favors.

Once the business got started and the money started flowing, I got use to the pay.  One evening, I was seeing a new client that demanded to have intercourse for cash and when I denied him, I was raped and beat.  Afterwards, I complained to my Madam and she said to me, "Sorry hon, but this isn’t Vegas."  When I went to the police to report the rape and officer denied services for me and told me that I got myself into the mess and I can get myself out.  When I had to face the harsh reality of our cruel justice system, I had no other choice but to give up.  I stayed up all night, crying wondering what I was supposed to do.  I had to decide that evening whether I was going to remain homeless and no money to survive, or I had to swallow my pride and continue with the Escort Service.  The more I was involved, the more I became lost with myself.  In the beginning I had the glamour the money and the power, but I also didn’t have myself. 

I became someone else.  I was known as the "High Stakes Girl".  I didn’t take any fee less than $250.  Because of my race, just like a buffet I was worth more than some of the other girls.  Each woman with different race came with a price.  At first I was so excited to be the "Asian Girl", but the more I realized that I was only used for sexual stereotypes.  Instead of getting paid for satisfying men or women, I was paid to be the punching bag when men request to play "bondage", but I was the one with restraints.  There were many roles I played and some I couldn’t emotionally take, so I got heavily involved with cocaine. 

After being involved in the Escort Business for two years, I took on a role as being the Madam myself.  I wanted to know how the women/pimps made the money.  I thought if I just kept my portion and the girls kept there then I was no pimp, but either way I was.  The reality of the whole sex trade was too much for me.  I thought I was in a movie or a nightmare, and when I woke up all of this would disappear, but the more I began to see reality, the more I was realizing I was disappearing. 

I was using about five to six grams a day, which was about $1500 a day to spend on cocaine.  I couldn’t go on with the industry all on my own.  I needed an escape goat.  The more the drugs became apart of my life; my prices went down as well.  I became desperate with money for my use of drugs.  Many times, I would see clients for only $20.00 instead of $250. 

The word, Concubine was used on Asian Women who were known to be servants of men of power.  Most of my clients were not divorced miserable men or truck drivers; they were lawyers, teachers, politicians, preachers, therapist, and doctors.  I was truly surprised with what I was faced with.  That’s when my trust with the system decreased.  These men lived double lives; the sad part was we either denied the truth or some of us remained unaware of the circumstances. 

Soon after, I was able to get a social security card and identification, but still I didn’t have my Naturalization Papers.  I remained in the industry not for the cause of survival, but because it was familiar with me.  I was desperate for someone to love me; I didn’t care who the man was, as long as I was cradled into their arms.  Many times, I had to see myself at a different angle in order for me to disassociate from the shame.

 In the summer of ’96, I was romantically involved with one of my clients and we shared a house together.  I thought I was able to have the chance to be the "Pretty Woman", and be rescued by my prince.  The fairytale in this romance turned into a nightmare.  I became his sex slave, I was forced to have intercourse with other men and women and was video taped for his pleasure.  I was also beat and raped if I didn’t follow orders.

 He knew I still didn’t have my papers, so he threatened deportation if I caused a riot.  I was not aware that he could not deport me, but I didn’t know.  Inside, I felt like I was slowly dying.  My family at the time was not aware of my previous occupation as a prostitute and he threatened that if I left, he would disclose the videotape and other information about me to my family.  I stuck through the relationship out of fear and also hoping that the man I once loved would come back.  

In the fall of ’96, I found out that I was pregnant.  I felt excited and was hoping with this child; maybe he would change, but that hope didn’t last at all.  He didn’t want the baby and wanted me to abort the child. 

I had my personal views about abortion and I was against the idea.  I did everything I could do to keep the baby.  When the abuse in the relationship started escalating I couldn’t imagine having my child repeat the same pattern that I was going through.  The only option I felt was best was to give her a positive home to go to.  When I was about 3 ½ weeks pregnant, I was transferred to Abilene, TX.  I lied to my child father and led him to believe that I was getting paid for the adoption in order for him to let me go.  Otherwise I was stuck with him. 

I remained my sobriety during my pregnancy; I didn’t feel that it was fair for me to put my baby through any further complications for my bad habits.  On July 3, 1997; I bore a healthy baby girl.  I was at an emotional loss after the placement, and didn’t want to deal with the grief, so shortly after the placement I relapsed with drugs and prostitution.  I was hopping from one state to another trying to escape my own personal fears. 

In the spring of ’98, I met Carlos at a hospital in Southside of Pittsburgh, PA.  He was an alcoholic and I was this prostitute and we had a history of abuse.  We were both in common with life and how it had treated us, but as for Carlos he was determined to help me instead of himself.  This is the part I didn’t get at the time.  When Carlos and I first got together he made a commitment to stay sober as long as I didn’t continue with the prostitution.  I was not aware of the "Dry Drunk" term.  I didn’t realize he was struggling as well with his addiction.  I didn’t have trouble struggling with mine, since I had someone to take care of me. 

This relationship was very unhealthy in a lot of ways, but also he inspired me to get angry and fight for my life again.  We were together for three months total, and in that short amount of time, he helped me to know the difference between being sexy in a classy way and being degrading to myself.  He also helped me find my first "real" job as a sales clerk in a convenient store.  I wasn’t use to the pay, but the job itself made me feel like a real person for once.  I loved him for he would look at me with admiration instead of lust, he would caress me instead of hit, and he would hold me and comfort me when I was in need. 

When his personal problems began to escalate, he gave me signs that he was not doing so well, but I was so blind and was depending on him to take care of me.  It was too late to figure out what was wrong, and by that time, he had already committed suicide on November 11, 1998.  I was so lost and devastated.  I became angry with God, wondering why my life was full of losses and hopeless dreams.  Why he took Carlos away from me.  I was so hurt and lost myself completely. 

My dreams and hope of a new future had perished along with Carlos’s existence. Every time I thought about him, I just wanted to cry.  There were times I would think he was still talking to me.  I was going insane and couldn’t find the courage to get out of my misery.  After a month later, I made plans to kill myself on the same mountain that Carlos went to kill himself.

Hoping in some spiritual form I’d see him there, but instead I was waken by a different kind of spirit.  As I lay on the pallet on the ground, I saw him and he warned me that if I chose to kill myself that I would also commit murder, for there was our baby inside of me.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing or seeing, so the next day I went to the clinic to see if I was hallucinating, but sure enough, I was going to be a mother.  

At that moment, I didn’t know what to think or feel.  Apart of me felt angry, because I wanted to grieve and the other part was still in shocked.  I never had a spiritual awakening before.  In January 1999, I traveled back home in Oklahoma and resided with my family.  Things went well with my pregnancy, and I was able to work full-time.  My son was born on August 26, 1999.  After my six weeks after care, my depression and grief had fallen so fast, that I relapsed into addiction once again.

In the fall of 1999, I had disappeared for days and sometimes weeks, and left my baby with my mother to care for.  I didn’t care anymore and didn’t want to go on living.  I went back to the Escort Business to give myself a reason to give up.  In February 22, 2000 I made plans to die that afternoon.  I drove to the lake in Oklahoma; I had about 3 grams of cocaine in the passenger’s side and a handgun.  I turned the radio on to distract my fear.  Instead, and inspiring song touched me in many ways.  Celine Dion sang, "That’s the way it is," I sat there crying like I’ve never cried before and couldn’t believe how the song had influenced me to keep going.  When the song played, I felt as if God played that song to me.  Giving me a sign that he was there and was feeling every bit of my pain. 

That afternoon, I threw the drugs and the gun into the lake and made a promise to myself that I was going to make an effort to fight for my life.  In the early spring of ‘2000, I was involved with a program called, "Amy’s Friends". 

It was pretty brand new, but a survivor like me, Amy Dupree and I had a lot in common.  She inspired me in so many ways.  In June of ‘2000, I fell out of the group due to my family trying to linger their way into my life with abuse.  I couldn’t live my life that way, and I was very vulnerable to stand up to my family and I needed farther space from them, so I moved to Bloomington, MN in the fall of 2000. 

I wanted to finally receive my documents so the only way, I could do it was to file for Disability.  In the spring of 2003, I was finally able to receive a copy of my Naturalization Papers.  Since 2001, I’ve been going back to school to obtain my High School Diploma, been able to give myself a chance to heal, attended seminars for therapy purposes, and has been a volunteer for various non-profit organizations and for the Hennepin County Department.

I’ve been writing in my book called, "Silent Cries".  I’ve created a support and resource program online and am in process of creating a program to end re-victimization and to find other ways to empower these women to 100% self sufficiency, so that in the long run these women will be able to assist someone else.   I thank you so much for taking the time to read my anthology and I hope that you will find this story to be a triumph of hope and faith and to give you additional knowledge on how to assist other women that are suffering out there.  Take care and God bless!

For more information related topics of:
Trafficking in Persons, Pornography, Sexual Violence, Children of Trafficking,  go to your local Human Rights Department about Trafficking.
You may visit my website at:   www.wbiav.org
You can now read about and/or pre-order Not For Sale:

Feminists Resisting Prostitution and Pornography at:
http://www.spinifexpress.com.au/non-fict/nfs.htm

Thanks,
Chong N. Kim, Director/Legal Advocate
ckim@wbiav.org

 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 

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