On the plane from Nairobi to Bangkok, I spent most of the flight engrossed in a book called Not for Sale: The Return of the Global Slave Trade– and How We Can Fight It by David Batstone. The purpose of this book, in the author’s own words, is “to inspire others to join [the abolitionist] movement,” by chronicling the stories of victims and abolitionists in their experiences with the three facets of todays slave trade: sexual slavery, bonded labor, and child soldiers.
As I was reading the book, I found myself just skimming the surface. Not in the actual act of reading– I was absolutely drinking in every word– but I wasn’t allowing the words to go deep. I was reading these absolutely horrific stories about girls who had been kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery, and I found myself finishing each story and going immediately into the next, without pausing to let the reality of each story to sink in. I think I was overwhelmed by all of it, by the number of slaves in the world, by how many awful stories there are– I didn’t want to drown in it. So when I realized this I stopped and prayed.
“Lord make it real. Please don’t let me skim the surface– break my heart for every every story I read, and prepare me for whatever it is You have me doing in Asia. I don’t want to skim the surface with the people I meet here; I want my heart to be broken for them.
A little while later I arrived at the chapters about bonded labors in South Asia. The writer was interviewing the founder of International Justice Mission, Gary Haugen, and Gary describes the aims of the organization, as well as his own motivation.
“Gary…lifts the portrait of the small girl. Her name is Devi, and her family was imprisoned along with sixty-five other laborers inside the walled compound of a rice mill. The owner did not allow the children to attend school; as soon as they were old enough, he pressed them into labor. What age is ‘old enough’? Devi started working in the rice mill at the age of four.”
…at the age of four.
Twice earlier that day I had told some squadmates that my niece and nephew would be four in two weeks.
When I read that sentence, the words on the page blurred, and it became real for me.
These are not just names.
These are not just statistics.
These are not just sad stories.
27 million slaves in the world today.
27 million nieces, nephews, sons, daughters, grandkids.
27 million beloved.
