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.