We don’t need heroes ... Part 2
What does rescue and rehabilitation mean for survivors?
We need to find alternative indicators of impact. However, doing this raises fears that a) survivors may not endorse the saviours’ theory of redemption—of rescue and ‘enlightenment’ and, b) donors may get uncomfortable if they were to realise that their money and work doesn’t necessarily transform lives.
The money generated through activism usually reflects in large assets—of land and buildings on which shelter homes are constructed. These tend to be closed institutions to rehabilitate survivors, where they are provided with education, healing, and empathy. However, in most cases homes rarely help survivors become heroes themselves; nor do they offer employment beyond meagre wage-earning jobs in the informal sector.
As representatives of survivors, the anti-trafficking organisations’ access to governments and philanthropists increase and they are able to monetise this access and influence. However, we rarely see survivors themselves benefiting from these resources or assets. Importantly, we almost never hear from them on what parts of the rescue and rehabilitation were useful to them and what was not. We don’t engage much with their disappointments, disagreements, or disillusionment with their saviours.
Almost a decade ago, while making of a documentary film, The Return, I interviewed a young woman from Bangladesh who had been trafficked into sex work in India and was subsequently rescued and placed in a shelter home run by an anti-trafficking nonprofit in Maharashtra. I asked her, “Between your home in Bangladesh [where she felt deprived], the brothel in Pune [where she felt violated], and the shelter home [where she was at the time], which place would you say was the best?” She replied, “All three were good. All of them demand subservience and obedience, and if you follow the rules, you get rewarded. And if you break the rules, you get punished.”
What role can anti-trafficking organisations play?
Rescue is one of the most contentious issues in the anti-trafficking system. The anti-trafficking law in India doesn’t differentiate between a sex worker (not in trafficked situation) and a person in commercial sexual exploitation. However, given that there is a sharp distinction between the two, interventions for the latter should be the responsibility of the system.
In 2010, the Ministry of Home Affairs issued directives to state governments to form AHTUs (anti-human trafficking units)—specialised investigation cells which could build an organised response to the crime and focus on cases of trafficking, rather than penalising sex workers or any other group of workers. But a 2020 report AHTU Watch by Sanjog reveals that less than 10 percent of these AHTUs are functional.
The anti-trafficking ecosystem would be better served if activists, funders, media, law enforcement, and survivor federations (like ILFAT) were to push for AHTU notifications across the country, and demand performance in terms of investigations, rescue, and prosecution.
It serves survivors best when organisations and activists play the role of facilitator to the survivor and stimulator of the system. Community-based rehabilitation models where we assist survivors to claim welfare, health, and financial rights from panchayats and district administrations, where survivors are not held in captivity and can make choices based on options, can be more empowering.
An anti-trafficking programme should be considered a success when survivors are able to assert their rights, claim their entitlements, and challenge the lack of accountability in law enforcement, social welfare, judiciary, and even nonprofits. The emerging alternative approach to the rescue-rehabilitation paradigm is one where the survivors are decision-makers, collaborators, and leaders of their own journeys.
Article by: Roop sen – Sanjog
