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REPRESENTATIONS
OF TRANSNATIONAL
HUMAN
TRAFFICKING
Present-day News Media,
True Crime, and Fiction
Edited by
Christiana Gregoriou
Representations of Transnational Human
Trafficking
Christiana Gregoriou
Editor
Representations of
Transnational Human
Trafficking
Present-day News Media, True Crime, and Fiction
Editor
Christiana Gregoriou
School of English
University of Leeds
Leeds, UK
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2018 This book is an open access
publication
Open Access This book is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution
4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits
use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as
you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the
Creative Commons license and indicate if changes were made.
The images or other third party material in this book are included in the book’s Creative
Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not
included in the book’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by
statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly
from the copyright holder.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the pub-
lisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The
publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institu-
tional affiliations.
This Palgrave Pivot imprint is published by the registered company Springer International
Publishing AG part of Springer Nature.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Editor’s Preface, Acknowledgments and
Recommendations
v
vi EDITOR’S PREFACE, ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND RECOMMENDATIONS
Given the need for stronger and more effective press regulation, we
propose instituting human-trafficking-specific guidance documents, and/
or a code of practice for all who report on the issue, who need to fully
appreciate the term’s legal meaning and relevant ideological implications
of their linguistic choices, and avoid seeing stories as mere commodities/
entertainment and as areas where truth can be manipulated. Seeking the
support of those who can influence the discussion on media accuracy and
encourage responsible reporting is key. We propose developing research-
led material that can be used for online or in-person training/workshops
for relevant practitioners in all fields (including police officers, media rep-
resentatives, educationalists, and film/soap script writers), but also A-level
and university students. We would also recommend generating research-
led media footage or actively contributing to mainstream audience films
that more accurately and sensitively report on the issue, and seek out to do
briefings for various committees, foundations, and even airport/airline
staff, helping identify concerning situations/individuals, improving rele-
vant information posters (say, at airports), and ultimately informing better
policy development. Lastly, there is a need to encourage and enable vic-
tims to represent themselves, in their own words/forums, devolving power
down from the conventional editor/journalist decision- and programme-
makers. Third-sector representatives, but also migrant rights and sex
worker rights organisations, with sensitivity and access to such victims,
could help them collaborate with researchers in gaining that power.
vii
viii Contents
Conclusion 143
Index 147
Notes on Contributors
ix
x NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS
xi
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
This collection’s various studies examine representations of human traffick-
ing (henceforth HT), traffickers, and victims in media ranging from British
and Serbian newspapers, British and Scandinavian crime novels, and a docu-
mentary series, before questioning the extent to which these portrayals
actually reflect the realities of trafficking. We show that media reporting on
HT matters, and is impactful; HT victims are idealised, with those not
according to this ideal being criminalised. Selected official source aspects of
HT take priority over others that are neglected, and hence frame HT in
problematic ways. Instead, fictional and factional representations of this
crime can be better used as tools with which change in HT victim treatment
can be engendered. Our studies focus on news articles, crime fiction, and
documentaries published and released post-2000, the year in which the UN
Office on Drugs and Crime Protocol to the Convention on Transnational
Organised Crime, on trafficking (nicknamed the Palermo Protocol), was
passed, and covers a time period in which the Modern Slavery Act 2015 was
passed and the refugee and migrant crisis spread across Europe. Whilst we
primarily focus on British news, fiction, and documentaries, we have also
included Scandinavian crime fiction and Serbian news to facilitate compari-
sons with, respectively, a literary tradition that focuses on social realist
themes (Brunsdale, 2016), and news from a country affected by trafficking
in three dimensions (origin, transfer, and destination) and on the route of
refugees from Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq (European Commission, 2017).
We adopt the definition of trafficking set out in the Anti-Slavery
International RACE Project report on ‘Trafficking for Forced Criminal
Activities and Begging in Europe’ (2014, p. 86):
is difficult to establish where the thresholds of the lack of consent, and the
level of deception, exploitation, coercion, and movement are located.
Previous research on the representations of HT shows that these narra-
tives are often overly focused on only one form of HT and one particular
type of victim, with the highly damaging effect of ignoring or even crimi-
nalising (other) victims of other types of HT. As such, we are critical of
representations that serve to limit those forms of exploitation, force,
deception, or movement, that are considered ‘proper’ forms of HT, and
that serve to distinguish between ‘real’ and ‘unreal’ victims of HT. We
argue that the characteristics of the HT narrative sustain the global struc-
tures that make people vulnerable to being trafficked in the first place.
These include gender and wealth inequality, and the geopolitical power
balance that primarily benefits the global West.
This introductory chapter first examines the commonly accepted defini-
tions and narratives of HT, as found in previous studies. It then traces the
effects of these stories on those vulnerable people who are trafficked, or
smuggled and exploited at their destinations. Finally, it considers the
global inequalities that are perpetuated by these narratives, before this col-
lection’s chapters are outlined.
Simplification
The difficulty in representing HT accurately is illustrated by the misuse of
labels such as ‘trafficking’ and ‘smuggling’. Legally, the former is a crime
against an individual and can be intranational, while the latter is a crime
against the state and is, necessarily, transnational. Unlike trafficking, smug-
gling is presumed to be consensual on the part of the smuggled (Lobasz,
2009, p. 328). The reality of trafficking/smuggling is not quite so clear.
‘[S]ome argue that human trafficking and migrant smuggling are better
thought of as two ends of a continuum’ (Lobasz, 2009, p. 328), the con-
cepts being ‘intricately intertwined’ (Aronowitz, 2009, p. 4). Consent
may be blurry or absent at various stages of either process. Both those
trafficked and those smuggled are susceptible to exploitation (O’Connell
Davidson, 2010, p. 249; Piper, Segrave, & Napier-Moore, 2015). Those
who have been smuggled and are exploited later are, legally, victims of
trafficking, even if, at the border, they are considered as having been
smuggled (Kara, 2010, p. 189; Lobasz, 2009, p. 328; Wylie, 2016, p. 6).
REPRESENTATIONS OF TRANSNATIONAL HUMAN TRAFFICKING… 5
Kelly (2005) indicates that the length of the journey increases the proba-
bility that a person is coerced or deceived, as well as exploited, as longer
journeys increase people’s vulnerability. Exploitation may also be done by
people other than the smugglers, due to the undocumented status of
those smuggled (Wylie, 2016, p. 6). This interconnection might explain
why the media and the public tend to conflate the two (Dando, Walsh, &
Brierley, 2016; Denton, 2010; Farrell & Fahy, 2009; Marchionni, 2012;
Papadouka et al., 2016; Winterdyk et al., 2012).
The problem does not just lie with the media conflating the two con-
cepts, but with how the distinction is made. Male irregular migrants are
generally presumed smuggled, thus presumed as having consented to their
movement, whereas female irregular migrants are generally presumed traf-
ficked, as not having consented to movement (De Shalit et al., 2014;
Musto, 2009). As a result, the (male) smuggled migrant is criminalised,
whilst the (female) trafficked migrant is assigned victim-status (Hua &
Nigorizawa, 2010, pp. 406–407). The differentiation between trafficked
and smuggled migrant may also depend on whether they are perceived as
having been ‘exploited enough’, creating a distinction between ‘deserv-
ing’ and ‘undeserving’ migrants (Wylie, 2016, p. 6). This distinction also
distracts from the fact that both smuggled and trafficked people are often
vulnerable, escaping a local environment plagued by poverty, conflict,
disaster, or all of the above, searching, despite the many risks involved, for
a better place in which to live and work.
Types of Trafficking
The Palermo Protocol refers to all forms of labour as potential forms of
exploitation (De Shalit et al., 2014, p. 392), even though it privileges sex
trafficking (Wylie, 2016). Throughout media representations, the focus
tends to be on sex trafficking (Alvarez & Alessi, 2012; Buckley, 2009;
Denton, 2010; Dijk, 2013; Farrell & Fahy, 2009; Kelly, 2005; Lobasz,
2009; Marchionni, 2012; Moore & Goldberg, 2015; Papadouka et al.,
2016; Segrave, 2009; Wylie, 2016; Yick, 2010), an assessment statistically
supported by Marchionni’s (2012) classification of the types of trafficking
normally reported:
• Sex: 51.5%
• Labour: 4.1%
• Domestic: 2.3%
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
She almost dreaded to open the other. A blinding sort of
consciousness pervaded her as if she were a prisoner, as if there was
asked of her a curious, undefined surrender that she could hardly
understand. Before, she had gone on simply and been overtaken, as
it were, given without knowing just what she gave. Was it because
she was older, wiser? She had still to learn that there were many
mysteries in love that only a lifetime could explain.
She let her eyes wander over it in a vague sort of fashion. Did she
really belong to him? He seemed to take possession of her in a way
that she could not gainsay, could not even refuse.
But did she want to refuse?
She went out to the keeping room after awhile. Her mother sat
alone, sewing some trifle. She came and laid both letters in her lap,
then went and sat on the door sill where a great maple threw its
green arms about in the soft breeze. There was a cuckoo
somewhere, a yellow-hammer searching for half-hidden food, and a
thrush with his long, sweet note.
"Yes," her mother remarked, as if in answer to a question. "He laid
the matter before your father a month ago in the letter that came
with you."
"Oh!" Then after a long while—"Mother, it is nothing like it was
before. Then I did not doubt myself, now I wonder. He is so wise in
many ways, I feel as if I had to reach up and up and I am a little
afraid. I have seen so many fine girls in the city. And beautiful
women."
"The woman a man chooses is the best to him always."
She did not torment herself with the thought that he was doing this
for her guardian's sake. She felt that he was not the kind of man to
take the mere crumbs of love while some one else feasted on the
heart of love divine. What troubled her was whether she could love
enough. And she hated to think there had been any previous regard.
But did he not say, too, that he had been fascinated by an unworthy
liking?
The summer seemed to check the wave of prosperity and men
looked at each other in half affright. For no one knew just how the
tide might turn. When the Indians made their sortie on Fort
Recovery word came that the garrison had been massacred, but
Captain Gibson bravely held it in spite of an all-day attack, and at
night the enemy retreated. General Wayne was in command of all
the forces and the Indians made various feints, hoping to be joined
by the British, who were urging them on, but there was no big
regular battle until that of Fallen Timbers, where a tornado had
swept through the woods some time before. A few miles below was
a British fort, the meeting place of the western fur traders. It was a
hard fought field, but the victory for the Americans was such a signal
one that it ended the terror of a frontier war that had hung over the
border so long.
No town rejoiced more than Pittsburg, which lost some men and was
proud of heroes who had come through the conflict unscathed.
Among these was Lieutenant Langdale, whose bravery and foresight
gained him a captaincy.
"He's a brave fellow!" declared grandad, and Daffodil was glad he
had won some of the fame and glory for which he had longed.
"It's fine to be a soldier when you can fight and have nothing
happen to you," declared Felix. "But I wouldn't want to be among
the killed. There's so many splendid things in life. I hope I will live to
be a hundred."
There were many matters to share Daffodil's attention, though she
did miss the bright society and the knowledge branching out on
every side. Yet these girls who had married half a dozen years ago
and had grown common and careless with their little ones about
them seemed very happy. It certainly was an industrious community,
but they played as they worked. There were games that would have
been no discredit to modern scores, there was dancing and
merriment and happiness as well.
Was Daffodil learning her lesson? Aldis Bartram thought very slowly.
But he was a man who prized hard won contests. And if with the
attractive young men about her through the winter she had not been
won, then she was not an easy prize. He smiled at times over her
careful and futile reasoning. At least they would have the winter to
go over the ground. And though he was becoming an ardent lover
he was not an impatient one.
There are some events and decisions in life that are precipitated by
a shock, the film that held one in thrall, veiling the clear sight, is
suddenly disrupted. And this happened to Daffodil Carrick. Her
father put an English paper in her hand one evening as he came up
the path where roses were still blooming. It had been remailed in
Philadelphia.
"From Madame Clerval," she said with a smile. "Some gay doings, I
fancy. She has friends in London."
She glanced it over carelessly. The summer struggles had made her
more of a patriot, and brought to her mind vividly the morning she
had run out to know the cause of Kirsty Boyle's call and the ringing
of his bell. A very little girl. She was always glad she had heard it.
She turned the paper to and fro rather impatiently. Oh, what was
here with the black insignia of death: "Died, at Hurst Abbey, of a
malignant fever. Margaretta, wife of Jeffrey, Lord Andsdell, only
remaining son of the Earl of Wrenham."
She was not interested in the beauty of the bride, who had been a
great belle in her day and won no little fame on the stage, nor the
terrible accident that had deprived the Earl of two older sons and
two grandsons, paving the way for the succession of Lord Andsdell.
She shuddered and turned ghostly pale, and was terrified with a
strange presentiment. But she could not talk of it just yet and was
glad Norry and grandad came in to spend the evening with them.
The next morning she gave her father a little note with "important"
written on the corner of the folded paper.
"What now?" enquired her father laughingly, "Did you forget your
postscript?"
She assented with a nod.
Then she went about her daily duties, but a great terror surged at
her heart. She was to remember through everything that she was
the only woman Jeffrey Andsdell loved. Long ago she had cast it out.
No doubt he had been happy in his ancestral home, at least, he had
chosen that, well, wisely, too. But to ask that the woman he
wronged should cling to her burthen!
How slowly the days passed. Aldis Bartram might have been away
when the note came—he had been to Baltimore on some
troublesome business—but waiting seemed very hard. And when it
drew near to the time, she used to take different paths down by the
square where the stage came in, just far enough away to see, but
not be seen, and stand with a blushing face and a strange trembling
at her heart. One day she was rewarded. There was the manly
figure, the erect head, the firm, yet elastic step. A sudden pride
leaped up in her heart.
She waylaid him in a bypath.
"Daffodil!" he cried in surprise. "What has happened?
"Nothing, nothing; I wanted to see you," but her voice trembled.
"Come this way."
"How mysterious you are!" If she meant to give him his congé she
could have done it better by letter. And the clasp of her hand on his
arm had a clinging force.
"There is something for you to see. Let us turn here."
After a space through intervening trees they came to the open,
where she paused and unfolded a paper she had held in her hand.
"Read this," she said, and he stared a moment silently.
One moment, another moment. How still it was, every bird had
hushed its singing, even the crickets were not chirping.
"He will come back to America. He will come back for you now that
he is free," Bartram subjoined hoarsely. Should he hold her or let her
go? Was the old love——
She faced him and slipped both hands over his shoulders, clasped
them at the back of his neck. It seemed to him he had never seen
such an entrancing light in her eyes.
"Aldis," she began, with tremulous sweetness, "I would rather be
your wife than the greatest duchess of them all." And then she hid
her blushing face on his breast.
It would not be raised, but he kissed the brow, the eyelids, and said
in a shaken voice:
"Were you afraid——"
Then she raised the sweet face where he saw tears and the quick
rifts of color, but there were high lights of resolve in the beautiful
eyes.
"Not afraid anything could rekindle the glamor of that mistake, nor
any repentance on his part mend the deception. I was a child then. I
did not understand the depths that go to the making of a true love.
All summer I have been learning——"
Then she paused and hid her face again.
"And there is a great deal more to learn, sweetheart. We shall go on
studying the delightful lesson all our lives, I trust, and never reach
the bottom of the cup of joy. Daffodil, you have already roused me
to a wider, higher life. A year ago I would not have been worthy of
you. Yes, I was blind and self-engrossed then. We will study the
sweet lesson together."
Then they paused at a fallen log, not the old place that she never
cared to see again. A little stream came trickling down the high hill
and there were tender bird voices as accompaniments to the
delicious confession. It had grown slowly, she was so afraid of
another mistake, but he would never need to doubt its truth, its
duration, its comprehensiveness.
It seemed minutes only and yet held the mysterious sweetness of
hours. Then she heard a voice calling.
"Why—see! It is almost night! And that is Felix's voice. Oh, what
have I been doing?" and she rose in a startled manner.
"We will explain our iniquity," he said laughingly.
They met Felix. "Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise. "We couldn't think!
And we had supper."
Then mother said, "Why, did you come in the stage? That was here
hours ago," to Mr. Bartram, in a wondering tone.
"Yes; but we had a good deal of business to settle. I hope you didn't
eat up all the supper?"
He studied them both curiously. Daffodil's face was scarlet.
"Mr. Bartram, are you going to marry her?" he asked with a boy's
frank eagerness.
"I hope to. Are you going to object?"
"No," rather reluctantly. "Only I wish you were going to live here."
Bernard Carrick had gone downtown. It showed the strides Pittsburg
had made when there was already a downtown. Barbe stood in the
doorway watching, for now the sky was growing gray with coming
evening. But before Mr. Bartram spoke, she knew. One of the
delights of the other engagement had been the certainty of keeping
her daughter, now the pang of separation pierced her to the quick.
"Mrs. Carrick," he said in an appealing tone, "will you take me for a
son?" but Daffodil kissed her.
They did not want much supper, but the others returned to the table
and talked. He had only come for a few days, but he begged that
they might have a wedding in the early fall, just as soon as possible
indeed, for the journey was so long they could not afford to waste
much time in courtship. They must be lovers afterward.
So, after much discussion to shorten the time, mid-September was
settled upon.
"Oh," Daffodil said in her most adorable tone, "I shall pray daily that
nothing will befall you, that God will send you back safely to me."
"And I shall be praying for you. Love surely opens one's heart to
God."
There was not much to be made ready. The girl laid aside this and
that for the son's wife when he should take one, "for," said she,
"there is so much in my new house already. And Felix must marry
young, so you will have a new daughter in my place."
She would not be married in church nor wear the olden wedding
gown. "Let it skip a generation," she said, "and that may change the
luck."
So the time came and the lover so full of impatience. She would
have the ceremony in the old room that had been so interwoven
with her life, and she fancied the spirit of great-grandfather was
sitting there in the old chair and she went for his blessing.
The little girl passed out of Old Pittsburg and left behind lonely
hearts. Grandad could not be reconciled, there were some fine
young fellows in the town that would make good husbands. But
Norah gave her a blessing and the best of wishes. So Daffodil
Bartram went out to her new life, wondering how one could be so
glad and happy when they were leaving behind so much love.
Old Pittsburg did not vanish with the little girl, however. But she
went on her way steadily, industriously. The new century came in
with great acclaim. Shipbuilding prospered. Iron foundries sprang
up. The glass works went from the eight pots and the capacity of
three boxes at a blowing to double that number, then doubled it
again. The primitive structure erected by George Anshuts before the
century ended was the progenitor of many others sending their
smoke defiantly up in the clear sky. And all along the Monogahela
valley as well as in other places the earth gave up its stores of coal
as it had given up its stores of iron.
And in 1816 Pittsburg was incorporated as a city and had a mayor
and aldermen and her own bank. It was a new Pittsburg then, a hive
of human industry, where one business after another gathered and
where fortunes were evolved from real work, and labor reaps a rich
reward.
There are not many of the old things left. The block house built in
1764 by Colonel Bouquet still stands. A great depot covers the site
of the ancient Fort, and the spot of Braddock's defeat. But there are
Duquesne Heights, all her hills have not been levelled, if most of the
old things have passed away. She is the workshop of the world now,
one writer calls her "the most unique city in the world." And she has
not neglected the finer arts of beautifying. She has magnificent
buildings, fine libraries, and cultivated people, musical societies, and
half a hundred benevolent institutions. And we must not forget that
in six days after the firing on Fort Sumter a company of Pittsburgers
marched to Washington and offered their services to the secretary of
war.
If the little girl had vanished, Daffodil Bartram found much happiness
in the new home. M. de Ronville was not only delighted, but grateful
over his two children who were not of kindred blood, but of the finer
and higher kin of love. There came children to the household, three
boys and one golden-haired girl, but he did not quite reach the years
of his friend Duvernay. And when the two older sons were grown
they cast their lot with Allegheny City, which in the course of time
grew into a lovely residential city, free from smoke and dust and
noise, and theirs proved a noble patrimony. The Bartrams still had a
son and daughter, and the journey to Pittsburg no longer had to be
made in a stage coach.
Felix Duvernay Carrick made one of the notable citizens of the town,
the author of several useful inventions and a most thriving business
man, not needing any of his sister's fortune, for grandad left him
one, beside the one he was making with his brains and industry. And
Barbe was a happy grandmother to a merry flock, but she would
never leave the old house, though the farm was cut up by streets
and houses crowded in upon them. And she kept her bed of daffodils
to the very last.
If there was not so much romance, it was the old story of the
Rhinegelt of the land and the rivers yielding up such treasures as
few cities possess, but without the tragedy of their legend. Work and
thrift and the ingenuity of man have reared a magnificent city.
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