Tonight my heart weighed heavy as I was working on writing up some stuff about human trafficking, doing some more research and trying to figure out ways to abolish it. During my research and writing, something it me very heavy. I realize a lot of people- actually most- still believe, whether they say it or not, that human trafficking does not affect them. Yes its sad and horrible. But then that is it. I have had the burdening pleasure of being brokenhearted over human trafficking since I was in the 9th grade… 10 years ago. I have actually encountered victims during missions work overseas. But it hasn’t been until recently, the past few years, that I will literally break down and cry at random moments just thinking about the victims, nameless faceless people to me. But they’re still people. They’re still someone’s daughter, son, child, wife, sister, cousin, brother.

My little cousins Joey, Gracie, and Anthony

That’s what hit me tonight. For some reason I thought of my cousin Gracie, she is 9 years old. Beautiful, lovely, funny, sometimes crazy, and completely special.


I love her to death. She is now at the average age of when many victims around the world are forcefully entered into the sex trade. She is only a child. A CHILD. And that’s the point. Where do we draw the line at not being affected? Just because my child [that I don’t actually have] isn’t a sex slave… It isn’t my kid therefore it isn’t my problem? My brother. My sister. My cousin… but it still should matter. I have to draw the line that all trafficking, all sex trade, all of the sex industry, all of child tourism, all of pornography is bad. ALL OF IT. Because every person is someone’s daughter, son, sister, wife… every single one of them- child, teen or adult is someone’s family member and we should care. Its a humanity issue.

I picture what the scenario would be if that were my cousin Gracie and I want to throw up. I just feel so sick even thinking of the possibility of some man looking at her badly. But then I get angry. Angry that such an injustice actually happens. This is a reality that I cannot forget or pretend doesn’t matter. Neither can you.

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