Breaking Free (11 page)

Minh applied for a student loan to pursue a master’s degree in social work at Berkeley. Before she even started the graduate program, Minh got a job as an advisor to undergrads. One day, a student showed up at her office and asked Minh casually, “Do you know anybody who maybe knows something about human trafficking?”

Minh took in a deep breath before answering, “Yeah, I do.”

It was one thing to talk about her experiences in therapy or support group. Telling someone outside of those safe walls felt like walking a tightrope–on stilts. At the same time, something in the student’s face looked so honest and kind, and Minh knew that part of her healing involved speaking out.

“I was trafficked, actually,” Minh heard herself say. The student’s eyes grew wide and watery. The room was as quiet and still as snow. It took a few minutes for both of them to catch their breath. Then the student thanked Minh over and over again for her honesty and bravery. She asked if Minh would please speak at a kickoff symposium for her new anti-trafficking campaign.

Minh politely declined. She wanted to help this young woman and she obviously believed in the cause, but everything was too new and raw for any sort of public “outing.” She needed to make sure that anybody who heard her would listen to her as a human being, not as some freak of nature. Minh was still filled with so much fear and shame about her past, as if she had somehow
asked
to be a slave.

The student looked disappointed but said she understood. Minh promised to come and support her, but silently.

The night of the symposium, Minh staked out a spot in the middle of the room. It was one of the medium-sized lecture halls on campus, but not many seats were empty, which was more than fine for Minh. She just wanted to be as close to an exit sign as possible. She didn’t think she’d make it through listening to all the presenters, and she planned to slip out whenever it got to be too overwhelming for her.

What Minh didn’t plan on was the Oakland Police.

These were the same officers from the neighborhood where she grew up. They had walked by the rosebushes and quartz rocks and the crime scene that was her life. But, she’d never reported her parents because of the guilt, dread, and shame that weighed her down.

So, when an Oakland Police officer stood up at the podium and talked about johns and pimps like they were mustachioed “bad guys” in a cartoon, and all the young victims as scraggly runaways, Minh knew she had to shout her truth.

She cleared her throat and said, “Actually I’m a survivor of human trafficking, and we need to be thinking about why the girls are on the street in the first place. What homes are they coming from? My parents were my perpetrators, and actually I don’t know the statistics, but I know a lot of survivors just in my life who were trafficked by their own parents. So it’s not just about like johns and stranger pimps.”

When she was done talking, Minh felt like her whole body was on fire. She heard cheers and applause, but she didn’t dare look around to see people’s faces. She wished there were some sort of trap door or eject button so she could launch herself into outer space.

The rest of the symposium was blurry for Minh. There were closing remarks and more clapping. She wanted to leave but also felt glued to the floor, trying to slow her breath down. Minh was just getting out the door when a producer from MSNBC came up to her and told her she was phenomenal. It wasn’t just because her story was amazing; it was
how
she told her story that was amazing. Then she asked Minh if she would speak on camera about her childhood for a documentary.

Minh thanked the producer and said no, she wasn’t ready for that. At least, not yet.

Minh started her graduate program, burying herself in books again, only this time it wasn’t to escape her life; it was to create a new one. She learned all the essential skills to become a trained therapist and social worker, like good interviewing techniques, how to be truly present with a person, how to work with different populations, how to diagnose mental and emotional disorders, and how to create an effective treatment plan.

The workload was hard and emotionally intense. Minh decided early on that she was most excited about working with
transition age youth
, who are people between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. That’s how old she was when she freed herself. That’s when children legally become adults and get so many new responsibilities like voting, drinking, figuring out health insurance, and independence. And Minh was surprised to learn in her science classes that it’s also the age when human brains fully develop.

When her professor said this, Minh couldn’t believe it. She jotted it down in her notes to be polite, but it felt impossible. Then she went back to her apartment, went online, and Googled it. Every medical journal said the same thing. Minh stared at her computer screen and felt a smile inch across her lips. She now had scientific proof that she’d been a victim and not a perpetrator. All the voices of fear and shame that told her she “chose” to stay and be abused or that she “asked for it” had to listen up.

Even though her classmates in school had celebrated sweet sixteens, bar mitzvahs, and driver’s licenses; even though Minh had been treated like an adult (sexually) since she was three, the truth was that human beings weren’t truly mature until much later. Learning this made Minh feel so relieved and reenergized. For the first time she saw not only how she could start over, but also how she could help other people her age discover themselves, too.

“And so, I’ve super transformed my wardrobe because it was a lot about thinking my body, or my dress, caused what happened. And that’s a lot more palatable than to just think, no, actually somebody else just wants to hurt me.”

~ Minh Dang

Reclaiming Beauty

Minh’s favorite thing to wear in 1990: a soccer uniform, shin guards, and pigtails.

Why? The soccer field was the one place where Minh could be a kid. She could get muddy and sweaty, kick fiercely, and run full speed ahead. When she had her eye on the soccer ball, there was no fear or confusion holding her back. Minh was focused and powerful, and she knew she only had one thing to do—
play
.

Minh’s favorite thing to wear in 2005: baggy jeans, running shoes, and a dark hoodie (preferably two sizes too big so she could pull the hood over her eyes). This was what Minh wore almost every day through college. Even though she was reading, writing, and even organizing events about self-determination and social activism, Minh felt like she had to look as unnoticeable as possible. She wanted people to value her thoughts, not scope out her figure. She honestly didn’t know how her head and the rest of her body could one day fit together.

Minh’s favorite thing to wear in 2014: a coral-striped, strapless sundress, glittery hoop earrings, and a touch of mascara.

Who? Yes, Minh. The first time she tried on this outfit and looked in the mirror, she heard herself gasp. She felt
hot
.

Then she felt incredibly ashamed.

What if people thought she was
trying
to look hot? Would she be solicited on campus? Was she asking to be used and abused all along?

She pulled out the earrings and shoved the dress into her backpack, put her hoodie-jeans outfit on, and marched back to group therapy.

“I don’t want to fear my own reflection anymore!” she announced. “What happened to me has nothing to do with how I dress, right? It was not my fault!”

Her fellow survivors knew this anger and self-consciousness too well. It was hard for any of them to look in the mirror and enjoy the curve of their hips, or even the color of their eyes. “Not your fault,” they echoed. “Put that dress back on and enjoy what it feels like to be sexy!”

Minh started slowly substituting khaki skirts for her jeans. Then she switched out the dark hoodie with a teal half-sweater when she was feeling a little stronger. It was easier if she stepped back from her mirror and pretended she was dressing a mannequin. Some days, the rush of memories was too intense—her parents forcing her to wear see-through lingerie as she greeted another stranger at the brothel; the smell of her stockings as she peeled them off in the car.

Again, being in school helped a lot. On a practical level, Minh’s graduate program included advising students and presenting papers. She couldn’t exactly speak in front of classes and professors in baggy jeans and expect them to take her seriously. Also, she was studying the very ideas she was struggling with, like how slavery and exploitation were passed down through the generations. She
knew
in her heart that there was no problem in dressing sexy. The problem was in having it exploited.

Minh was very attractive with dark, intense eyes, smooth olive skin, and a small but muscular frame. Her smile was thoughtful and made everyone around her feel special. The more she spoke about reclaiming beauty, the more she believed in it. The more she believed in it, the more she smiled.

One day she found herself smiling next to a guy at a friend’s party. Minh was smiling a lot. Laughing and blushing, too. The guy was definitely into her as well, cracking her up with jokes and telling her about his family. Minh knew she was attracted to people who appreciated family.

They exchanged numbers and set up a time to go jogging together.

After that, there was a trip to Minh’s favorite café. Then a day at an art fair, followed by the movies. And then an awkward pause as they said good-bye.
Was this feeling okay?
Minh wondered. To be attracted to someone and want to spend more time with him, even hold him? To trust someone this much?

When Minh had her first real kiss—unforced and unexpected—it was both terrifying and exhilarating. She felt attracted to this guy physically and intellectually, which she’d never thought possible before. At the same time, she felt incredibly triggered by having anyone touch her sensually. She knew if this relationship were going to go anywhere, she’d one day have to tell him about her past and share her vision for the future.

Ssssh
! she begged her brain to stop racing ahead or behind.

She only wanted to drift into this new bubbly space of sly smiles and nervous hiccups. This beautiful moment called the present.

“‘Survivor’ is not a title. It’s not what defines a person. Survivors have interests and skills, favorite colors and pet peeves, hopes and dreams, and sorrows and regrets. Just like all human beings, survivors are complex, multifaceted people.”

~ Minh Dang

Are You
the
Minh Dang?

In 2010, Minh was in a documentary called “Sex Slaves in America.” (That MSNBC producer from the Oakland Police symposium never gave up on her.)

After that, Minh’s phone was ringing off the hook with people asking her to come tell her story at schools, shelters, conferences, and teacher trainings. Minh wasn’t into it at first. She had no intention of making her life so public, and she didn’t know how to fit it in with her school life. Her mentors told her she had a real gift for speaking, and the fact that she was on national television meant she could really get people focused on the anti-trafficking movement. Minh realized she had an opportunity to do some powerful political organizing.

The “red carpet” for sex-trafficking survivors was a little different than for movie stars. Minh became a celebrity in the social justice world pretty quickly. She started speaking at human rights conferences, and at survivor coalition and advocacy group meetings, all over the globe. In just a few years, she went from standing in the back of the lecture hall at Berkeley to being a headliner at meetings on Capitol Hill.

Of course, Minh often said she’d rather be famous because she invented the iPhone or discovered a new planet. Still, it was exciting to know she was making such an impact on people’s lives, especially when total strangers came up to her after one of her talks and said she was the first one to truly understand. She saw tears of appreciation and relief. People swore she was the one who motivated them to break free, too, or to confront their abusers. The invitations to speak kept coming in.