As the public watches Diddy’s trial unfold, another audience will be, too: Current victims of human trafficking who don’t yet recognize their own exploitation.
Diddy news: Prosecutors add new charges to criminal case in indictment
Embattled music mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs was hit with two additional sex crimes charges ahead of his May trial in New York City.
This column discusses sex trafficking. If you or someone you know is in danger or in an unsafe situation, the National Human Trafficking Hotline can help. Advocates are available 24/7 by calling 1-888-373-7888 or texting 233733.
With Sean “Diddy” Combs’ trial for sex trafficking charges now underway, the public will be exposed to a rare, high-profile human trafficking case. But beyond the spectacle, there’s an invisible audience paying close attention: current victims of human trafficking who don’t yet recognize their own exploitation.
At Restore NYC, an anti-trafficking organization serving thousands of survivors across the United States, cases like Combs’ often raise the same question from our community: If they weren’t locked in a basement or chained to a bed, why didn’t they just leave?
The answer to that question often varies across cases. Sometimes victims don’t report their trafficker due to a fear of deportation. Others are tethered to their trafficker by housing instability, abusive relationships or lack of income. But a surprising number of victims stay in these situations because they simply don’t know they’re being trafficked.
How can this happen?
Movies, TV romanticize sex trafficking – and get it wrong
Movies and TV shows tend to present two extremes for sex trafficking: an unsuspecting (usually white) woman kidnapped by a violent trafficker and rescued by Liam Neeson, or a romanticized, glamourous depiction of a (usually white) woman’s life in the commercial sex trade that in many cases would also meet the legal definition for sex trafficking.
Both narratives create an unrealistic expectation of what trafficking “should” look like. When victims don’t see their own experiences reflected in these narratives, it becomes more difficult to reach out for support.
These portrayals flatten the complex realities of trafficking victims into the helpless damsel or the empowered seductress.
In doing so, they erase the experience of millions of victims, especially women of color, who don’t fit neatly into these buckets.
The sensationalizing of trafficking in media through high-drama abduction scenarios also distracts from the slow-burn exploitation. It often looks like economic coercion, emotional manipulation or grooming. It happens in broad daylight, in cities like ours, with men in power preying on women’s vulnerabilities.
When inaccurate media representations become our cultural standard for human trafficking, real victims will continue to go unseen and even blamed for their own exploitation.
With Black and Latina women making up 88% of trafficking survivors at Restore, it’s increasingly important we bring their stories to life in more accurate and nuanced ways.
Traffickers exploit disconnect between real life and pop culture
“I’ve worked with victims that initially didn’t understand they were being trafficked – they just thought this is what they had to do in order to hustle and get ahead,” said Lenore Schaffer, Restore’s chief program officer. “Victims will sometimes have an entire lifetime of being conditioned to normalize the objectification of their bodies. Traffickers know how to capitalize on this.”
Decades of pop culture have blurred the line between empowerment and exploitation. Three 6 Mafia’s “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp” won an Oscar for their lyrical portrayal of pimping as a gritty but noble hustle instead of a system of exploitation. “The Salty Pimp” continues to be one of Big Gay Ice Cream Shop’s top selling flavors, despite backlash for a name that shrugs at the reality of sexual exploitation.
This casual normalization helps traffickers remain invisible and victims unaware of their exploitation. When pimps are turned into popular Halloween costumes, their real-life violence is often misunderstood.
The disconnect between lived experience and public narrative is one traffickers exploit – and it keeps survivors from identifying what’s happening to them.
“A survivor I worked with once stayed with her trafficker for years because he introduced her to industry contacts and presented her with lavish gifts. Even though she recognized this was sexual exploitation, in her eyes, it wasn’t trafficking because she felt it was a mutually beneficial relationship,” said Schaffer.
As the public watches the Combs case unfold, it’s crucial we resist the urge to fit victims into familiar molds. This moment marks an opportunity for reflection on how our collective culture, media and language can downplay violence against women.
Let’s ensure the real experiences of trafficking survivors, especially women of color, are not erased in favor of spectacle.
Beck Sullivan, a licensed clinical social worker, is the CEO of Restore NYC, where she has led nationally recognized programs that earned the 2024 Presidential Award for Extraordinary Efforts to Combat Trafficking in Persons. She has more than 16 years of experience in the anti-trafficking field, including prior roles at the Bilateral Safety Corridor Coalition and as cofounder of the Valley Against Sex Trafficking (VAST).
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