As mentioned a few “My Words as Weapons” posts back, I am reading Victor Malarek’s The Johns: Sex for Sale and the Men Who Buy It, a troubling read indeed. On pages 27-28 (yep, that’s about as far as my anger has allowed me to read so far) Malarek retells a story of Olenka who was a sex slave at a bar in Bosnia at the age of seventeen. Many of her “clients” were soldiers an UN peacekeepers.
Yes, there is a sick irony that those who were to protect and “keep the peace” were the ones raping Olenka and the other girls at the bar. It’s just another horror of a sex slave’s life. Who do they have to turn to?
They are alone.
They are forgotten.
They are abUSED.
And to most of the men who do it, these women are less than human. Because if they allow the women to be anything more, these johns will know they are the monsters hiding under those girls’ metaphorical beds.
Olenka’s story reminded me of a movie I watched, and knowing it is based on a true story, I can only hope it’s the same story and not just another incident of the same abomination. If you ever feel like getting angry, watch The Whistleblower with Rachel Weisz.
caverns of my mind 