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Carlie Fischer is the systems advocacy coordinator at Maine Coalition Against Sexual Assault.
When a case like Jeffrey Epstein’s hits the news, it’s tempting to focus on the extremes. Our conversations with friends focus on billionaires, private jets, private islands and a gilded society that most Americans will never experience. But for those of us who work with trafficking survivors every day, the themes that arise in the Epstein coverage are painfully familiar and close to home.
When we’re not talking about sex trafficking in the world of glittery, wealthy men, most media coverage focuses on extreme accounts of violent human trafficking — abductions, physical restraint and smuggling people across borders. In reality, it usually looks quite different. It’s about exploitation rather than transportation, and coercion — not force — is the most common tactic.
We see the same dynamics again and again. Traffickers manipulate by providing affection, a promise of security, or an opportunity dangled in front of someone who’s running low on hope. A person might be isolated, oppressed, struggling or just dreaming of a different life, and then suddenly their prayers are answered. Perhaps that’s an offer of modeling work, a fresh start, or an invitation to a better future, and it’s often presented as a once-in-a-lifetime chance. “Now or never. Do you want to take a leap or stay stuck where you are?”
It feels real for a while, but then excitement turns into control, isolation, humiliation, and pain, and survivors become trapped — emotionally, financially, or physically — by someone who never intended to give what they promised. Survivors often feel guilt and shame, and they ask themselves, “How did I not see that coming?” But haven’t we all had moments where we ignored our gut, trusted someone we shouldn’t have, or wanted something badly enough to take a risk?
When national stories focus on mansions and famous friends, it can be easy to think it couldn’t happen here — but it does. In Maine, we see 300 to 400 cases of sex trafficking every year. It can look like a single mom promised stability by someone who claims to love her. It might be a queer teen kicked out of their house, taken in by someone who offers a sense of belonging and acceptance. It could also be a person struggling with housing insecurity and substance use who finds that an offer of a place to sleep has more strings attached over time. Of course, leaving isn’t simple once exploitation has started. The person abusing them might be someone the survivor loves, relies on or is terrified to cross, and there may be no safe or realistic way out.
Trafficking doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It happens because people are targeted for having unmet needs, and it keeps happening because we’re not addressing the root causes. If we want to prevent trafficking, we must move the conversation beyond police raids and punishment.
Traffickers and their enablers should absolutely be held accountable, no matter how much money, power, or influence they have.
At the same time, real prevention starts with building communities where people’s basic needs are met, housing is stable, services are accessible, there are opportunities for upward mobility, and people don’t have to gamble their safety to get ahead. It is much harder to exploit someone who has what they need to live and thrive.
High-profile stories like Epstein’s shouldn’t distract us from the more common realities of trafficking. We need to look beyond the mansions and challenge one another to examine the systems, attitudes, and silences that reward power, punish poverty and propose that some people are more deserving of protection than others. We can’t claim to care about ending trafficking while continuing to ignore the industries, institutions and ideologies that quietly fuel it.
We also need to stop judging survivors for the choices they made when they didn’t have good options, because traffickers rely on precisely that dynamic. Instead, survivors need to be believed, respected and given real alternatives and support. Trafficking often starts with a lifeline, and there is no shame in taking it when the alternative is drowning.
Survivors aren’t defined by what happened to them. They’re resilient, resourceful and far braver than they’re given credit for. They deserve justice — but more than that, they deserve to be seen as people worth investing in and believing.
