By Jocelyn Pederick

In 2012, my production company, Goodmorningbeautiful Films, was hired to do a report on the pervasiveness of human trafficking across Asia. The common misconception at that time framed this issue as mainly relating to sexual slavery that affected women and girls. Having worked for a few years with NGO’s in Cambodia that focused on combatting human trafficking, we knew full well that the reach of indentured labour and slavery was indeed far more endemic. Our project was thus an opportunity to reveal heretofore unrecognized modes of human trafficking, certainly as it existed and continues to exist, in the economies of Asia.

It was while working on this project that I encountered Vannak Prum, who I first met at his mother's house.

By Jenn Fauls

When I first saw Vannak Anan Prum’s manuscript The Dead Eye and the Deep Blue Sea, I was struck not only by the harrowing depiction of his private struggles, and the larger systemic tragedy of human trafficking, but also the ways in which the traumas of Vannak’s life wended through his story to illustrate something both profoundly universal and rarely shown so clearly.

From a very early age, Vannak undergoes one experience of trauma after another. While he is able to take solace in drawing, it is difficult for any child to cope with domestic violence, abject poverty, and an environment marred by armed conflict. Out of necessity he runs away, experiencing the deprivations of homelessness, and he is ultimately recruited as a child soldier.

By Paul R. Abramson

We’re all familiar with the numbers, they are simply staggering. Forty million human trafficking victims worldwide. That’s more than twice the number of enslaved Africans brought to the Americas. The magnitude of the psychological misery is even worse. Those losses are immeasurable. 

Close to 20,000 human trafficking victims are brought to the U.S. each year, with countless more native-born citizens trafficked throughout the country. The Federal Department of Justice believes that 82 percent of those victims were kidnapped for sexual exploitation, and nearly half of them were under 18 years of age when taken. 

By Linda J Albertano

We flew, strapped to the floor or to jump seats, at an altitude of 20,000 feet to avoid incoming anti-aircraft fire.  In nose-diving to a sawed-off mountaintop landing, there was always that “hold your breath” moment when the front wheels first met the nearest rim of the makeshift airstrip. The pilot had to slam the shuddering craft into reverse as soon as his wheels touched the edge to prevent plunging down a sheer drop at the other end of the absurdly short strip.   Landings and takeoffs were the most dangerous as they would bring us well within firing range.

There were seven of us in this particular USO troupe.  Shannon and I were folksingers.  A drummer, bass player, dancer, comic and MC completed our raggedy band of entertainers.  We were sent to select bases in East and Southeast Asia: Japan, Korea, the Philippines, Thailand and Vietnam, where children were the barometers of the cultural weather and attitude of each country.

By Ellee Pisey Vikram
Note by Tania Abramson

Ellee Vikram was a student of mine in the Fall 2018 UCLA Art and Trauma course, (which I co-teach with my husband Paul). The mid-term project was to create a Zine on one of the four categories of trauma that we covered throughout this quarter- War, Slavery, Psychiatric Institutionalization, and Child Sexual Abuse. The rationale behind this assignment was to promote a closer understanding of how traumatic experiences are expressed artistically. Students would typically choose a topic that resonates with them, many times quite personally.  

Ellee’s work is a remarkable example of which. It brings the traumatic experiences of the Cambodian war and genocide to light in a very moving and personal way. Her vehicle for doing so is by telling the stories of her parents and grandparents, who were caught up in this tragedy. Her perspective is also informed by peering through the lens of Southeast Asian refugees in America, especially intergenerational trauma, as well as finding cultural ties with other Khmer-Americans. 

By Mehreen Ahmed

Quasu was growing up really fast. He was now five years of age and was able to enjoy the wedding. The next day, after the wedding, Mila was in her in-laws' house. Prema, Lutfun and Nazmun Banu sat with their tea, at teatime in the orchard. Autumn leaves had covered much of the orchard.

            “My Quasu is special in so many ways,” Prema declared.

            “Of course he is,” Lutfun answered.

            “His teacher at school said that he is doing wonders with his studies. He’s far ahead than the rest of the boys in his class.”

            “That’s lovely, we all want the best for him,” 

            Nazmun Banu said as she yawned and looked around the orchard.

“Your brother Ashik said, we may now have enough money to send Quasu to an expensive English medium school. Our business is doing really well,” Prema said.