Bulgaria Traffic in Women

Indshewa, who also helped establish the first shelter for battered women in Bulgaria in the early 1990s, says there is an increasing awareness of all forms of violence against women. “We have managed to put the issue of domestic violence and trafficking of women on the agenda,” she says. As a result, Indshewa says the penal code has been strengthened in terms of traffickers and pimps. But prosecuting traffickers has not yet occurred since most victims are too scared to testify and no witness protection programs exist. Like the trafficking in guns and drugs, organized crime controls trafficking in women. Although the changes of the early 1990s promised an elimination of Soviet-style gangsterism, Mafia enterprises continue to thrive in Bulgaria. Often, the traffickers will threaten not only the women but also their families back home. “It comes down to corruption,” says Indshewa.” 

Pick up any paper in Sofia and the employment section is full of ads soliciting young women to work abroad as secretaries and nannies. These ads serve as the first introduction for women who end up as sex slaves in brothels throughout Eastern and Western Europe. Many have offices in downtown Sofia, posing as legitimate employment agencies. Min- kova says that women who are trafficked come from all backgrounds, education levels, and ages ranging from 14 to 40. But most of the women Animus sees have been between the ages of 15 to 21 and feel they have few choices. 

For young women from small towns and smaller options, Minkova says they are often lured by offers they find hard to resist. “They tell them, ‘you look great, you’re very nice, I think you’d make a great baby-sitter,” says Minkova. Minkova says that although some women go voluntarily, knowing they will be prostitutes, none are prepared for the cruel working conditions. Few women successfully escape from forced prostitution. But those who do, tell a grim story. Both Human Rights Watch and Animus report of repeated rapes and beatings by their captors. They are put through a process of psychological torture designed to make them compliant towards, and dependent on, the pimp. Traffickers confiscate their passports and papers. Often moved and sold, the trafficked women become unaware of even the country in which they are working. Former victims report being forced to work up to 20 hours a day. They receive little, if any, payment and are told they are in debt to their pimps. If they get pregnant, say the Animus volunteers, they are often left by the side of a road. Of all the money that exchanges hands, the sex workers themselves see little of it. 

The numbers of trafficked women from and through Bulgaria has reached a point where even the highest-level government officials cannot ignore it. Ralitsa Againe, the youngest woman parliamentarian, recently elected as part of the National Movement Simeon II (the former King’s party), says that stopping traffickers is virtually impossible without control of their borders. “The problem is that you’re not able to stop them,” says Againe. “There are no visa requirements with border countries.” Since the “changes” successive Bulgarian governments have had difficulties clearing the customs officials of widespread corruption. The new party associated with the former King promised to clean up the corruption left over from the communist era and reform the customs agency. The results of these overtures remain to be seen. In the meantime, Againe’s solution would involve greater public education and support for Non-Governmental Organizations such as Animus. 

Minkova says that Animus persevered by refusing to keep silent. “We just kept being there talking and publishing articles,” she said. “The society could not deny it.” Minkova, however, says they were careful not to mention the “F” word. “We tried not to speak about ‘feminism’ and the ‘feminist movement.’ We emphasized the suffering and the psychological trauma.” 

When Animus began serving women, their logo, which shows a longhaired woman flying on a broomstick, engendered a negative reaction. Tchom- arova was surprised. “People thought, here are two crazy women,” she recalls. “The danger of marginalization was so great.” Tchomarova invited more women into the organization and began traveling abroad for training. Without the history of women’s anti-violence work in the country, they needed training only available in Western countries such as England and the United States. 

Animus gained funding from the Dutch government and affiliated with La Strada, the Dutch-based international organization that works to end trafficking of women. Animus women developed a strategy to raise public awareness and began to appear on television shows and in newspapers. Their initial experiences with the press, however, were not positive. “[The media] stressed the personal story for sensation,” says Tchomarova, “and the women feel used.” Minkova takes it one step further, believing that journalists wanted to thwart their efforts. “The victims perspective was undermined,” she says. “I would say they were trying to silence them.” 

The first public action Animus took was placing help-line stickers in all the public transportation vehicles in Sofia. This caused quite a stir in a culture that had just come out from under 50 years of totalitarian rule. “It initiated a public discussion,” says Minkova. “People were calling up the hot-line just to find out who we are and what we were doing.” 

Only 23 percent of the calls received over the Animus hot-line are from victims of trafficking. Most are from victims of domestic violence and several are from parents suspecting their missing daughters may have been trafficked. Minkova says those who do escape either seize an opportunity or plan far in advance, often paying a john to help them. Many are picked up in a police raid and get sent to the embassy of their country. Animus receives calls from Bulgarian embassy officials abroad who help get the woman to the organization’s shelter in Sofia. “The sad fact is,” says Minkova, “many of them go back to prostitution, feeling they don’t have a choice.” 

Maria Tchomarova is quick to point out that they are not abolitionists. “A woman has a right to choose [her profession],” says Tchomarova. “But if she is treated as a slave, then this is trafficking.” 

Anti-trafficking laws require witnesses. But advocates such as Maria Tchomarova discourage women from taking their story to the police and keep the police at a distance. “We have very strict boundaries between us and the police,” she says. Tchomarova says that women who have recently escaped from forced prostitution often feel super-human despite their trauma and want to see their former captors come to justice. “In a manic state they often want to go to the police,” she says. “But we discourage them.” Tchomarova says the risk of the women becoming re-victimized by the police and the justice system is just too great. Tchomarova’s fears have been confirmed by Human Rights Watch and the United Nations. A report by the United Nations in May 2000 cites that trafficking often exists in Eastern Europe with the complicity of local and international police. The report also acknowledges evidence that the Stabilization Forces in Bosnia contribute to the trafficking of women. 

Although anti-trafficking laws in countries such as Bulgaria appear unenforceable, and therefore irrelevant, they have received criticism in countries like England, where critics accused the police of using them as an excuse to deport immigrant women. In February 2001, British police raided the homes of immigrant Eastern European sex workers in Soho on the basis of anti-trafficking laws. But according to statements from the International Prostitutes Collective, these raids were a ruse to deport immigrant women who were not working against their will. “Prostitute women have always said that the biggest deterrent to reporting violence is fear of arrest,” reads a statement from their website. “And, for those of us who are immigrants, deportation.” 

Sex workers in England have demonstrated against similar raids and deportations of immigrant sex workers and helped mobilize legal support. But this type of activism has yet to reach Bulgaria, where most social change seems to be taking place in the service sector. Although women may not define themselves as “feminists,” these emerging professionals have a feminist analysis. “I was raised by women,” says Minkova. “I learned to count on women.” Minkova says even as a child she never agreed with the patriarchal notions of her society and this belief led her into this field. “I am attracted to working with women who experience trauma, but also with women who are disadvantaged due to a [gender] power imbalance.” Still, her focus is on recovery. “Nobody is really concerned to take action against it,” she says. “We are more concerned about helping women recover.” 

Most of the volunteers hope the problem will end with strengthened grassroots feminism and economic prosperity. “Because we are poor,” says volunteer Lora Belcheva, “women looking for work abroad sometimes ignore the risks.” Although feminist psychotherapy can help break the silence, an end to trafficking requires more root cause strategies. “It’s very confused here,” says Belcheva. “Women mostly work but our society is very patriarchal, that’s a very big paradox.”                            Z 

Susan Phillips is in the prisoner rights movement and has worked with the Independent Media Center.