Virginia Isaias – survivor of the cycle of sexual violence and trafficking

I had documented survivors’ stories for years, but when I met Virginia Isaias, a fair-skinned Mexican-American living in California, and learned of the unspeakable torture she and her newborn had suffered, my heart sank.

Virginia had lived in Los Angeles for fifteen years with the man her father forced her to marry until escaping years of domestic violence, she returned to Mexico to begin anew. She started selling clothes to little ranchos to make a living. “One day, I was breast-feeding my baby at a market in Guadalajara when I felt a blow on my head,” Virginia related in Spanish, the only language she speaks, as she shared the harrowing details of their kidnapping. She was transported hundreds of miles into the Chiapas jungle and, along with other young captive mothers with babies, forced into sex slavery. “They made us exchange babies so we wouldn’t escape,” continued Virginia.

Virginia “Lala” Isaias Barajas (Virginia’s daughter)

Virginia “Lala” Isaias Barajas was 10 years-old when I first starting filming Virginia’s story. She was a happy child and an avid student. There was no hint of the terrible background story of trafficking and separation from her mother as a baby when they were both held captive by a trafficking ring in Chiapas, Mexico. When Lala turned 11, a traumatic event altered her lively spirit and for years, as we followed her mother’s story on camera, she refused to be filmed. However, she allowed the filming of her high-school graduation, and soon afterwards she gave us her first interview. In it she speaks candidly about being probably the only known person trafficked as a baby.

Charimaya “Anu” Tamang – survivor of sex trafficking

In 1997, my first published reportage on child trafficking in the Himalayas featuring the story of Charimaya “Anu” Tamang received the Planeta Humano magazine Editor’s Cash Prize. Anu was kidnapped in her hamlet in Sindhupalchowk, Nepal, and sold to a brothel thousands of miles away in Mumbai, India, where she was held as sex-slave for 22 months. The cash prize enabled Anu, who had been rescued from the brothel the year before, to attend school and start rebuilding her life. At the time, she was using the pseudonym “Anu” and did not consent to appear on camera. She knew people around Nepal called the survivors “Bombay-girls,” and she feared the stigma. In 2002, my article was turned by Canal+ Spain into TIN GIRLS (Niñas de Hojalata), a feature-length documentary film on which I also worked. By then Anu had empowered herself. She had joined Shakti Samuha, a survivor-run cooperative to help trafficking victims. Finding new strength, she agreed to be interviewed on camera.

Marián – my sister

Marián, like myself, embodies so many of us who minimize our experiences of sexual abuse, especially if the abuse occurred just once. Part of our film audience sees Marián as someone who decided to erase her past and move on. Others see her story and mine as denial and resistance to face an important and unresolved facet of our lives.

For several years we worked on film editing without knowing whether Marián would grant permission to use her story.

Miriam – my sister-in law

In an intimate conversation in a café in Spain, Miriam tries to help my sister Marián by introducing a conversation about Marián’s child abuse. Sitting at the table, I recorded the interaction with a small handheld camera. At one point, seeing how Marián keeps minimizing her story, I lose restraint and confront her. The camera captures my exasperation. It is an uncomfortable moment for the audience, but a poignant one. As the conversation progresses, Miriam’s words about the scars that abuse imprints are heart-wrenching. It is clear from the depth of her statements that she is relating her own traumatic experience.

Lola – my cousin

When my cousin Lola saw an early trailer of our work-in-progress, she felt moved by it and contacted me right away. Though we both grew up in Logroño, Rioja, northern Spain, we had not seen each other in decades. The next time I visited Madrid, where Lola lives with her family, she didn’t hesitate: “I want to tell you my story,” she said.

Lola’s story of child sexual abuse by a priest, and the fact that she did try telling her father but found him unreceptive, resonates with victims and survivors who at one point in their lives try to speak up only to find no one is listening.