This is an underground economy in which a sex slave can be bought for the price of a gun, but Cacho's powerful first-person interviews with mafiosi, pimps, prostitutes, and those who managed to escape from captivity makes it impossible to ignore the terrible human cost of this lucrative exchange.
Shocking and sobering, Slavery Inc, is an exceptional book, both for the colossal scope of its enquiry, and for the tenacious bravery with which Cacho pursues the truth.
This is an underground economy in which a sex slave can be bought for the price of a gun, but Cacho's powerful first-person interviews with mafiosi, pimps, prostitutes, and those who managed to escape from captivity makes it impossible to ignore the terrible human cost of this lucrative exchange.
Shocking and sobering, Slavery Inc, is an exceptional book, both for the colossal scope of its enquiry, and for the tenacious bravery with which Cacho pursues the truth.
Slavery Inc: The Untold Story of International Sex Trafficking
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Slavery Inc: The Untold Story of International Sex Trafficking
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Overview
This is an underground economy in which a sex slave can be bought for the price of a gun, but Cacho's powerful first-person interviews with mafiosi, pimps, prostitutes, and those who managed to escape from captivity makes it impossible to ignore the terrible human cost of this lucrative exchange.
Shocking and sobering, Slavery Inc, is an exceptional book, both for the colossal scope of its enquiry, and for the tenacious bravery with which Cacho pursues the truth.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781619023994 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Catapult |
| Publication date: | 04/21/2014 |
| Sold by: | Penguin Random House Publisher Services |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Roberto Saviano is the author of Gomorrah, a best-selling exposé of the Camorra Mafia in Naples. The 29-year-old first-time author spent five years researching the book, working undercover at a mob-owned construction site and even waiting tables at a Mafia wedding. Following the release of Gomorrah, Saviano received a series of death threats. He has spent the last two years in hiding under police protection.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Turkey and the Golden Crescent
I check my passport, ticket, and Turkish visa. I am ready to begin my trip to central Asia. As I study the map, memories of my previous trip come back to me.
Some years ago, I traveled to Finland, and then to St Petersburg, Moscow, and Kiev. Later, I flew to Tbilisi, Georgia, where I came to know and respect the journalist Anna Politkóvskaya, who helped me understand the complexities of the region. I traveled through Azerbaijan and Armenia. I visited Tashkent and Samarkand, once one of the most beautiful cities of the Persian empire. From Uzbekistan, I went to Ashgabat in Turkmenistan. It was October, and I suffered the winter as only a woman from the tropics can, incapable of stoically tolerating temperatures of ten degrees below zero.
This time, it is February, and the cold will not be as cruel. I return to the map and trace my route, following the path of the slave traffickers. I will fly from London to Turkey and visit Ankara and Istanbul, the principal cities of that beautiful country.
I have mixed emotions. How many times as a young girl did I dream about traveling the world, admiring civilizations and cultures that were new to me? I imagined myself walking through the underground cities of Cappadocia, an underworld whose giant stones might whisper their secret stories to me. I also remember my mother telling me how much it meant to her to visit the church of Santa Sofia in Istanbul.
I am going to a country that represents a bridge between civilizations. Before leaving Mexico, I re-read Orhan Pamuk. This time I will not be chasing the voices of the past. I will be visiting a secular republic that plays the important role of connecting Asia and Europe. The country's borders are porous, and I can imagine the surveillance challenges faced by the authorities. In the northeast, Turkey is bordered by Georgia; in the east, by Armenia and Azerbaijan; in the southeast, by Iran; in the north, by the Black Sea; and in the west, by Greece, the Aegean Sea, and Bulgaria. Iraq, Syria, and, of course, the Mediterranean Sea lie to the south. The ancient trade routes have not changed much, but my goal is to discover how the pattern of smuggling has evolved to operate in the globalized world of organized crime.
Turkey is a country of seventy-five million inhabitants. Since signing a free-trade agreement with its European neighbors in 1996, Turkey, like the majority of other countries that have opened their borders, has faced the paradox of fostering the growth of the free market while also experiencing the growth of an illicit one. Turkey is an associate member of the European Union, but it has not yet met EU requirements for admission as a full member.
The plane lands in Turkey at night. The beauty of the starry sky painted with violet brushstrokes takes my breath away. Sitting in a taxi, on my way to the hotel, I roll down the window. The smells of Istanbul reach me: the diesel, the spices, and the salty breeze from the sea. Every city has its unique aroma.
The taxi driver, proud of his country, decides to give me a tour. He explains that we are in the area that separates Anatolia and Thrace, encompassing the Sea of Marmara, the Bosporus and the Dardanelles — the area known as the Turkish Straits, which form a boundary between Asia and Europe. "We are about to be recognized as a member of the European Union," he informs me in a friendly tone, using touristy English that hints at various accents. "Here everything is good," he assures me. "Muslims, Jews, Christians, Agnostics, Protestants all live together," he adds. He speaks as though he is repeating a slogan. I smile and think about the reports coming out of PEN International, an organization that defends freedom of expression, citing the persecution and incarceration of Turkish journalists. However, I remain silent because I know that the world is not black and white and that all countries, just like the people who inhabit them, are diverse, complex, and magnificent at the same time.
The kindness of the people, their smiles, the warmth of the bellhop's eyes as he greets me at the hotel, and the sweet voice of a receptionist who speaks perfect English, make me feel welcome. These things remind me that one cannot see the darkness without also seeing the light, and that kindness exists everywhere. I suppose that some of the 200,000 women and girls who have been trafficked to this country over the last five years have at one point experienced the kindness of someone who saw them as human beings, someone who made them smile, helping them to feel less alone.
I contact Eugene Schoulgin, an extraordinary writer, novelist, and journalist, born in 1941 of Russian-Norwegian descent. Eugene has lived in Afghanistan and Iraq, and he is now in Istanbul, serving as director of PEN International. He helps me to schedule some meetings with political analysts and direct sources. This dear friend affectionately takes care of me, and I intend to keep him informed as to my whereabouts and the people I meet, just in case something happens and he needs to know how and where to find me. I would not have been as successful at getting information on this trip without his security advice.
The Informant
It is Friday in Maslak, a neighborhood known as the "Manhattan of Istanbul." The skyscrapers in this modern financial district embody the cosmopolitan mix of this jewel of a city, half European and half Asian. The February chill invites people to seek refuge in the bars and cafés that smell of dark tobacco, strong coffee, and, in some cases, of recently cooked lamb. Slim young women, fashionably dressed in Italian or French styles in mini-skirts, leggings, and tall boots, enter the bars as though they own the world. Others walk absorbed in their own thoughts, with their heads covered with fine silk scarves and wearing modest dresses. Young men wear cologne and look very polished in their Hugo Boss suits — some authentic, some fake. They greet each other with a hug and a firm touch of the cheeks — the masculine form of the double kiss, as learned from their grandfathers. The voice of a Turkish pop singer who sounds like Britney Spears fills the air.
I am standing at the bar drinking a beer and waiting for my contact to arrive. After a little while, a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair and bushy eyebrows, wearing a brown leather jacket, stops beside me. His nose still red from the icy air outside, he removes his wool scarf, and, without even giving me a glance, he says my name and asks for a drink.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye and in halting French mumbles that we cannot speak here: "In five-star hotel. We can meet tomorrow in five-star hotel." I reach into my purse and retrieve a card from my hotel and give it to him. He looks at it, observes me, and then returns his gaze to the card. "That is the Taya Hatun neighborhood," he says. "Yes, it's a small hotel, only tourists," I insist. "At nine in the morning. Only you, madam," he adds. He pays for the drink without having touched it. He leaves the bar and jumps on a streetcar, looking over his shoulder.
Mahmut is a police officer — one of the good ones, according to a colleague who is a foreign correspondent. He was trained by the International Organization for Migration (IOM), an inter-governmental agency based in Geneva, as part of a special group to combat human trafficking in Turkey. The US Department of State has invested seven million dollars in Turkey to fight trafficking. The Norwegians have also invested the same amount. Mahmut is a secular Turk, a remarkably well-educated man. He believes that the fight against the sexual exploitation of women in Turkey and on the Silk Road, which Marco Polo once traveled, is a farce and this is why, after months of negotiations with contacts, he has decided to tell me his story.
I am waiting for him at the small boutique hotel and drinking a delicious, fragrant Turkish coffee. A group of Spanish tourists chat happily in the restaurant. Their tour guide arrives and, as they stand up, they ask me if I will be joining them. "No," I answer. A woman from Seville warns me that I will regret not taking this tour. "Absolutely," I reply. I say goodbye, and I think about these tourists going down the avenue that runs parallel to where the Turkish brothels are, unaware that the darkened windows hide slaves from other countries.
I take a seat at the bar. It is an elegant place with a luxurious atmosphere, straight out of a novel. It is furnished with honey-colored armchairs with velvet scatter cushions embroidered in different styles. The place is bright, and soft music is playing. Nothing suggests that someone might have a conversation about the sale and purchase of human beings here. The policeman arrives and the young receptionist barely looks at him as he enters.
He approaches me with such stiffness that the tension between us remains unbroken. I invite him to sit down. He looks around and in a low voice he says, "If they find out that I was the one who gave you the information, I will rot in jail. That is, if they don't kill me first for violation of Article 301 and for treason against my country and against the police code. According to the state, the media is our enemy; we are never to trust it." I know. On the basis of the penal code of this country, thousands of writers and journalists have been prosecuted for daring to give their opinions on the Turkish government. The legal case against Orhan Pamuk, banning his freedom of expression, is perhaps the best known in the West. The authorities maintain that the law has been changed, as required by the European Union, but judges in Turkish courts continue to hear such cases. Pamuk provided evidence of the killing of one million Armenians and 30,000 Kurds in Turkey in 1915. According to the Turkish government, Pamuk's statements insulted Turkish identity and warranted a three-year jail sentence.
We order a large pitcher of an exquisite, fragrant cardamom tea. We smile politely. Suddenly, silently, he points out the cameras on the bar's ceiling. I tell him that we can go up to my room, and he accepts.
He is cautious. The room is small, but it has an armchair and a desk chair. I offer him the armchair. Little by little, he loosens up. He asks me if I know about Turkish corruption and trafficking in women. While I speak, he pays close attention to every word. He asks permission to remove his jacket. I agree with a nod. I freeze at the sight of a gun in his shoulder holster and for a second I lose the thread of my thoughts. With a pen in my hand and a notebook open on my lap, I realize that I am in Turkey, in a hotel room with an armed man, and that we are the only two people who know this. He intuits my anxiety and begins to speak about his wife and about the admirable women he has met at the IOM. With a sigh, we make a silent pact of trust. Without such pacts, we reporters could never survive.
A surprising statistic in Turkey has puzzled experts. Despite an increase in the number of trafficking cases involving women worldwide, the Turkish police have reported a decrease in the number of women trafficked to Turkey from Russia, Moldavia, Georgia and Kyrgyzstan. How is it possible that in a few years the Turkish police force has been able to lower the incidence of women trafficked from these countries by 50 percent?* Why are there no statistics on domestic trafficking?
Mahmut delicately picks up the small crystal glass of tea and takes a few sips. He studies his shoes and explains to me that the Turkish government's new strategy to gain EU membership consists of signing all international agreements and accepting a dialogue on human rights. At the same time, the government has strengthened the army and the police force dedicated to national security. However, Mahmut warns me that the police and army bosses see prostitution as a business, and they are customers themselves.
They believe that North Americans and some Nordic Europeans are the ones who call it sexual slavery, but that's someone else's problem, not ours. It's a question of approach, madam. For example, a lot of Norwegians and Swedes come to Turkey for sex tourism. In their countries, they don't do it, and here they do, because it is legal and nobody recognizes them ... Today, more than ever, the Albanian and Russian mafias collaborate with the local mafias to transport women who end up in the prostitution business. It has always worked this way. The difference now is that so-called "civilized" countries have decided to fight this crime, making it a better business for everyone: the traffickers, those who make pornography, and those who simply sell a false dream to women. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, with all their blackmarket opportunities, have fueled the smuggling of drugs, weapons, and women. Nobody speaks of this. You will see that in a few years the media will be surprised to learn how much money the terrorists and North American mercenaries have earned from the sale of women in the region. The Yakuza buy amphetamines processed in Iran and take them to Japan, Italy, the United States, and they also buy girls all over the world.
As I write these lines, I stop to look at the photographs I took and to listen to the recordings I made a month after my trip to Turkey. I interviewed a North American and a Colombian woman who were sold to the Yakuza in Tokyo and in Osaka. I also recall the story of a Mexican girl who was murdered by the Yakuza. I realize that the information is there for anyone who chooses to see it. The problem is what governments choose to address or ignore once they become aware of these tales of globalized slavery.
I decide to tell Mahmut about an interview I had with Dr Muhtar Cokar, founder and director of the Human Resource Development Foundation, a Turkish NGO that runs a shelter for female victims of human trafficking. I interviewed him in his office in downtown Istanbul. Cokar, a calm man incapable of looking me straight in the eye, confirmed that many young women from Moldavia, Russia, and other neighboring territories are first forced into prostitution in their own countries before they are brought to Turkey with promises of better work and more money. However, once they arrive in Turkey, they find themselves alone, without work. There is a preconceived notion that Turkish men go crazy for Eastern European women, who are known as natashas, especially blondes and redheads with pale skin and long legs. According to Dr Cokar, there are few Turkish prostitutes; Istanbul is a city with solid morals, and it is impossible for a religious family, regardless of their faith, to accept a daughter becoming a prostitute. The current law, which dates back to the 1930s, prohibits prostitutes from marrying or having children.
Foreign women make perfect prostitutes for Turkish and foreign men alike. According to rescued women, 40 percent of Turkey's sex tourists come from Russia. According to Dr Cokar, many prostitutes work independently. They save money and when the police start harassing or extorting money from them, they usually end up being extradited or, to put it in politically correct terms, repatriated. On average they spend two weeks in a shelter in Istanbul (although some have stayed up to six months). After that they are sent back to their countries, to their families and children and to a life of poverty and hunger. Some attempt to return to Turkey, paying $15 for a visa at the border; from there they can make their way to Greece or Italy, where the Albanian mafia will take them to England or France. They have to pay for the journey, but, according to the doctor, many of them will do anything in order to send money home.
I was surprised by his calm, clear conviction; the way he spoke of the natashas disturbed me — it was almost condescending. When he noticed the surprise in my eyes, he made a strange observation: "Look, Lydia, sometimes foreigners do not understand our customs and they judge without thinking ..." He stood up and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the window. "For example, now there are discussions about whether women should wear the veil in Turkey. You may call it sexist [I never said anything on the subject], but in reality it is a good thing because it allows orthodox women to leave their houses. It is a feminist measure," he assured me. "These are customs that, if not understood, can never be appreciated properly," he said to me, as he threw his cigarette out of the window. "There are 3,000 registered sex workers in Turkey. In the government brothel, divided into three buildings, there are 131 adult sex workers. There are foreigners hidden in private houses that operate as illegal brothels." Dr Cokar described how sex tourism adopts the same rules as in the rest of the world: there are five-star hotels where wealthy clients obtain high-priced "call girls." Regions with a lot of tourists or military groups always attract and foster prostitution. He said that, according to reliable sources, there are about 100,000 illegal prostitutes in Turkey, although he could not corroborate that figure.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Slavery Inc."
by .
Copyright © 2014 Lydia Cacho.
Excerpted by permission of Counterpoint.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword: The Power of Ethics Roberto Saviano,
Introduction,
1 Turkey and the Golden Crescent,
2 Israel and Palestine: What the War Hides,
3 Japan: Mafia of Geishas,
4 Cambodia: Europe's Hideout,
5 Burma: The War Against Women,
6 Argentina-Mexico: Arms, Drugs, and Women,
7 Clients: A Man's Secret,
8 The Military and Prostitution,
9 Money Laundering,
10 The Pimp Profession,
11 The Mafia and Globalization,
12 Shifting Numbers, Moral Panic, and the Debate,
13 Conclusions,
Glossary,
Appendix,
Acknowledgements,