You noticed I'm holding q-cards.
I'm holding q-cards
because they are going to help me focus on my message
while at the same time, shielding me from painful memories,
and intrusive thoughs,
because my story isn't an easy one to tell.
In fact, every time I tell my story,
I'm re-traumatized.
But if sharing my story means
that one more girl has a chance of freedom,
then it's worth it for me.
Growing up in my family wasn't easy.
Mental health problems and abuse
can destabilize a family.
But, abuse doesn't just exist in a vacuum.
It doesn't just start or stop in one idividual's life,
it permiates every action and activity of their being.
Mental health problems and abuse led to neglect.
And neglect left me on the streets of Scarborough,
a very young girl.
I distinctly recall going back to school.
Remember, each year the teacher would ask us.
"Write down what you did last summer."
I was so ashamed, I was paralyzed.
I didn't go to summer camp.
No, I didn't go to the cottage.
I was the kid that played outside all day long.
There was no regular structure.
There was no routine for most anything.
One summer, I was raped by a stranger,
and other, abuse integrated by the neigborhood boys.
I was always in fight or flight mode.
It seemed like danger was lurking around every corner.
What I learned that summer
was how to remain hypervigilant, how to avoid attack,
something that no young girl should ever have to learn.
But it didn't stop with the neighborhood boys.
I would later be abused at the hands of a multi generational pedofile.
And it was his words that kept me trapped.
When he said,
"your parents won't love you anymore if you tell on me."
In my isolated environment, I believed him.
And my behaivors started to reflect the environment that I lived in.
I don't remember a time back then
when my boddy ever felt like my own.
At 17, I started moving from club to club.
I first started stripping.
Then later, I worked for a smut magazine
where I would meet
some of the most dangereous people I've ever encountered.
Still, I was on this never ending quest
to have some form of agency over my own body,
a source of power I had never had before.
One day, my phone rang,
I was looking at my gas gauge sitting on empty.
It was my old co-worker from the magazine company.
He called me to tell me that
he was running Toronto's largest massage parlour,
and he wanted me to come and join his stable.
The word "stable" didn't even give me pause.
Well, on the outside it looked like a normal bussines
except it wasn't.
This massage parlour had ten rooms, and they were always busy.
There were between forty to sixty women and girls on rotation in the spa.
A massage was between 40 and 50 dollars.
We'd get a 10 dollar commission,
if you didn't have a fine.
And you could have a fine for just about anything,
being late, talking back or not having a perfectly primmed body.
It was expected that the girls could earn considerably more money
by doing extras.
And by doing extras,
I am talking about some of the most unimaginable and degrading acts.
Police raids? They occured in these places,
but no police officer, no by law official ever offered me help.
No one ever said "Hey, is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"
or "I know somebody you can call.
Can I connect you two?
And this would be my life for the next nearly nine yaers.
Maybe you are listening to my story
and you're thinking "how foolish is this girl!"
But I wasn't foolish.
I was vulnerable,
I was naive,
and I was a perfect target.
I didn't have a sense of belonging.
I didn't feel wanted or valued for anything other than my body.
I had started to deceive myself,
this is my choice, I'm making this money.
But in hindsight,
there wasn't my choice involved at all.
This wasn't work, it was trafficking.
I was told how to dress, who to have sex with
where to live, everything.
I felt scared almost all the time.
The man who recruited me
he manipulated me into thinking, believing that he was my protector,
my boyfriend, except he wasn't.
He was my trafficker and I was little more than his property.
Over time, he made me a manager.
Made me. This was not an act of saving me.
This was not a promotion.
This was him trying to build his status and grow his power.
On paper, he ran a licenced body rub parlour.
This allowed him to look like a legitimate bussinesman.
This licence allows you to rub need or stimulate
any muscle in human body.
Officially, these words don't mean that sex is on the menu.
But in my experience, and thousands of others suggests differently.
Somewhere between the letter of law
and the predatory practises of massage parlour owners and operators,
the willingness for police to look the other way,
our city has created a licenced brothel system.
A massage parlour keeps the schedule,
manages all of the advertising,
and fields all of the calls,
freeing up the trafficker to look for another victim.
Buyers! They don't have to go to a seedy motel.
Massage parlours an holistic centres
ones on the way to and from your home and work.
They provide a facada of acceptability
safety and option on a woman's part.
But even worse, the fact that all this happens
inside of a licenced system means that
we are enshrining a man's right to buy a living breathing human being.
That's what we are talking about.
This is what sex trafficking looks like in Canada.
It is the brothel hidden in plain sight
where women are trapped and many enslaved.
And here all of us,
all of us are deceived into believing that
what's hapening is a woman's choice.
You see, our cities licence these parlours
and holistic centres.
And in their point of view
they're not officially granting a licence for a brothel,
but they are well aware of what's happening behind closed doors.
Not all massage centres are like this.
No, legitimate owners, they're not open until 4:00 am.
They don't advertise their staff in scantily clad clothing
on escort websites.
So, how these massage parlours, how are they able to thrive?
Here in Canada, each municipality
has the power and control to grant the licences for their area.
The higher levels of government, they know these problems exist,
yet they take no responsibility
by saying they don't make the decisions,
the municipalities do.
Even one of our more celebrated and successful politicians
was found inside a massage parlour with no negative impacts to his career.
It's as if we're saying "we're ok with this.
But I refuse to believe that, I just simply don't.
I was in a meeting with the most high senior officials
from the municipal licencing.
I specifically asked,
I said "You guys know that it isn't just massage, right?"
Their response "Yeah, we know that these are just fronts for brothels."
Everyone knows about this proplem,
yet no one is taking the lead to solve it.
I eventually escaped from my circumstanes.
I literally slept for three days straight.
It was my soul that hurt where there was no hospital.
Discovering my faih in a supportive community
guided me to seek counselling where my journey to recovery began.
Because you see, getting out is one thing
but staying out, that's just as hard.
With this understanding, I started BridgeNorth.
I want to be a part of solution.
I want to help end sex trafficking in Canada.
We offer services to women.
They'll contact us for peer mentorship and support,
medical care, food assistances, many other services as well.
We also provide ..
Sorry, we also provide a pulic education,
and we advocate to change our laws,
because this problem is still so hidden in plain sight.
There really are more victims than you think there are.