Survivors of human trafficking have a unique role to play to help prevent exploitation and inform laws to combat these crimes. The Coalition to Abolish Slavery & Trafficking (CAST), based in Los Angeles, is one organization working to empower survivors to share their stories and advocate for better policies to address the needs of victims. Angela Guanzon shared her journey from victim to advocate.
Angela Guanzon, 39
From a golden opportunity to a nightmare, Angela's move from the Philippines to California to earn money for her ailing father quickly devolved as her labor trafficker used threats and intimidation to force her into a grueling work schedule with paltry pay.
Coming to America was like "winning the lottery," Angela Guanzon said. In her home country of the Philippines, many workers are hired for short-term contracts that end before the six-month mark so companies can avoid requirements to hire them as regular employees. She says the seemingly never-ending cycle of job searching was also complicated by widespread age discrimination in the labor market against workers older than 30. With an ailing father whose medical expenses were costly, Guanzon jumped at the chance to earn money for her family when she heard about a job opportunity to become a caregiver in the United States.
But Guanzon's dream opportunity quickly became a nightmare. Upon arriving at her new place of work in California in 2005, Guanzon's trafficker claimed she was owed $12,000 and that Guanzon would be required to work for 10 years. The woman also stole her passport, a tactic many traffickers use to maintain leverage over victims.
"When she told me that, it didn't register in my mind that the numbers didn't make sense," Guanzon said. "I was so overwhelmed that I didn't even think about it. All I could think was that I had to earn money so that I could send money to my family in the Philippines."
For two-and-a-half years, Guanzon worked as a caregiver for elderly patients, forced to sleep in hallways and eat table scraps, while enduring a grueling schedule that began at 4 a.m. and ended at 10:30 p.m.
At night, she was expected to wake up every two hours to check on her eight patients. Guanzon was rarely given a day off and earned a paltry salary of just $600 a month, $300 of which her trafficker garnished as repayment. And while she was spared physical abuse, her and her fellow caregivers were verbally and emotionally abused, frequently subjected to intimidation tactics and threats.
"All I could think was that I had to earn money so that I could send money to my family in the Philippines."
"She would threaten that if we were to talk to anybody about our situation, especially white people, and they discovered that we were undocumented, they would call the police and then the police would call immigration and we would end up in jail," Guanzon said. "She would warn that if we told the police that we lived in the facility and worked there, she would deny us and tell the police that she didn't know us."
It was her exhausting work schedule that eventually caught the attention of a neighbor. As Guanzon was taking one of her patients for a morning walk around the block, the pair stopped in front of a neighbor's house, like they typically did, to smell the flowers in his garden. Having seen her many times before, the owner of the house asked about when she had a day off, to which she would always provide the same response — yesterday.
According to Guanzon, the neighbor finally said, "You know, everytime I ask you if you had a day off, you say you did yesterday. But I saw you there yesterday. I know that something is wrong and something is going on there."
For two-and-a-half years, Guanzon worked as a caregiver for elderly patients, forced to sleep in hallways and eat table scraps, while enduring a grueling schedule that began at 4 a.m. and ended at 10:30 p.m.
Nervous, Guanzon dismissed his concerns and thanked him for his time. But her neighbor refused to give up. When they crossed paths again on a later walk, the man slipped her a piece of paper with his number on it and told her to call him if she needed help. Eventually, she worked up the courage to call him on her prepaid phone, but her nerves took over again and she quickly ended the call, apologizing that she misdialed him. That was all he needed.
It wasn't long after that Guanzon received a text message from a woman claiming to be from the FBI who encouraged her to reach out for help. But she was still nervous about whether she could trust this new connection.
"I kept wondering whether it was true or whether it was just my trafficker testing me … . If you are a victim, trust is very hard to give to somebody else," she said. "And then I realized, I'm in a bad situation already. I don't know if I can wait 10 years working here. I might end up killing myself."
Taking a leap of faith, she contacted the FBI agent, who wanted to set up a meeting. By chance, Guanzon was given a day off the following weekend and arranged to meet the agent at a nearby parking lot.
"I remember walking there, and it felt like walking in a tunnel," she said. "I didn't know if I was going to see the light and if it was true. My heart was pounding."
Guanzon's risk paid off when she saw the FBI agent, who introduced herself, as well as an immigration agent. She spent the meeting recounting her experience being trafficked and living and working at the facility. Unfortunately, without documentation to show proof that she was being exploited, the agents said they would be unable to build a case against her trafficker.
"They told me that if I wanted to go back to the Phillipines, they could send me and that's it. But if I was willing to help build a case against her, we could also help others," she said. "I kept thinking maybe I'm here to stop her."
Taking a leap of faith, she contacted the FBI agent, who wanted to set up a meeting. By chance, Guanzon was given a day off the following weekend and arranged to meet the agent at a nearby parking lot.
Wearing a wire, Guanzon successfully convinced her trafficker to discuss the terms of her working situation, her salary and her passport. But the FBI wanted to build a stronger case and needed Guanzon to encourage a fellow caregiver, Jason, to get involved. It took him about two weeks to think it over, but Jason eventually agreed to participate in a staged runaway to see whether their trafficker would call the cops and report him. She did, claiming that he stole money from her. A week later, Guanzon also ran away. She was connected to services at the Coalition to Abolish Slavery & Trafficking (CAST) and lived in their shelter while the FBI built a case against her trafficker. In 2008, her trafficker was sentenced to five years in prison.
With newfound freedom, Guanzon went to school to become a certified nurse's assistant and was able to move out of the shelter. But she wasn't quite ready to leave her family at CAST behind. She decided to attend a meeting of the group's Survivor Advisory Caucus, a leadership development program that encourages survivors to share their stories and advocate on behalf of victims.
"It was very, very empowering when I saw what they do, especially coming from my country where we would have had no voice," Guanzon said.
"I wanted to give back to the community and to help other victims, because sometimes they lose hope. People changed my life, so I wanted to help change others' lives too."
Working with the lawyers at CAST, Guanzon began providing input into potential laws and policies that could help prevent victimization. She helped to develop SB 477, state legislation that required greater oversight of foreign labor contractors. She also testified before the U.S. House Foreign Affairs Committee, providing insight into how to better prevent trafficking.
"I was sitting in front of members of Congress and thinking, 'OK, these are very powerful people and I'm just me.' I went from being a victim and survivor, and now they are listening to me," Guanzon recalled. "Now, when I talk in a room full of people, they listen to me, and it's not only because they want to hear my story, it's because they want to know how to help other people."
"I wanted to give back to the community and to help other victims, because sometimes they lose hope. People changed my life, so I wanted to help change others' lives too."
But while Guanzon is happy to be making a difference with policymakers, she believes that everybody has a role to play to ensure that victims are protected from exploitation. She says people need to be more aware of their surroundings and educated about the signs of trafficking.
"Especially with labor trafficking, it can be very hard to spot, because you think people are happy and fine where they are working," Guanzon said.