In 2011 I got involved in the anti-sex trafficking movement. When I began, I envisioned an army of well equipped and passionate men who would rise up and…you know,  save the children. These men would fight for the safety and security of our communities. And the evils of sex trafficking would become a thing of the past. It’s not an oversimplification to say that this was the story I had in my head when I began my journey in this work. Now, I’m not a cop, celebrity, or mental health worker who brings technical expertise to this work. In most respects I’m just a guy like a lot of other guys who care about this issue. Those who know me often describe me as a “guys-guy;” I ride motorcycles, work out a lot and enjoy many of the things our culture would associate with manliness. 

So when I saw what was happening, I did what you would expect a normal guy to do; I got angry; and that anger motivated me to act. So I organized motorcycle rallies, I told everyone I met about what was going on. Eventually I started a nonprofit organization and called it EPIK which originally meant “Everyman Protecting Innocent Kids;”catchy, but not a great idea. More about that later. I recruited like minded guys and I called them to be real men and challenged them to fight and save and rescue and defend victims of exploitation. I believed that if men only knew what was going on, they would surely rise up in response. My approach during these early years was to tap into what I call the masculine nerve. I repeatedly appealed to the notions of defending and protecting because that’s how men typically think. That’s how I thought. I used battle metaphors to communicate a sense of urgency. I spoke of our effort to engage this issue as a “fight.” In my mind, this made sense and would obviously lead to real solutions and real change.

After more than 10 years into this journey I’ve realized that while you can frame this issue in military terms, it’s actually better to confront it head on as a business. Less William Wallace and more Wall Street if you will. The reality is that I’m never going to carry a badge and gun. I’m not Liam Neesom with a “special set of skills” capable of single handedly dismantling this crime and the systems that enable it.  I do however, understand supply and demand. Sexual exploitation is a supply and demand business model. Men are the source of that demand. If there were no buyers, there would be no business…no exploitation…no trauma inflicted on the most vulnerable among us. You see, the smart phone in your pocket is the brothel of the 21st Century, so we began our work nearly 10 years ago by attempting to disrupt the online sex market. We posted fake ads selling sex and attempted to intercept active sex buyers at the point of sale. The original goal of our interaction was to deter buyers by exposing their activity and reminding them of the threats that activity posed. Along the way, we’ve helped law enforcement by identifying traffickers and predatory buyers. We’ve even had conversations with suicidal men contemplating sex buying as their final act. We’ve seen up close the ugly reality that sex buying is enabled and legitimized by a cultural narrative about masculinity. It’s a narrative that so thoroughly normalizes sexual entitlement for men and the corresponding pressure on women to comply, it’s hard to envision things working differently. 

But they can and must work differently because we cannot arrest or legislate our way out of this problem. The long term hope for eradicating exploitation ultimately lies not in arrests, prosecution or policy, but in creating a healthier masculine culture. While these things were dawning on me a few years into my journey, an unexpected change started happening in me and the guys I work with. We correctly assumed that if we simply disrupted the transaction – the attempts of men to purchase vulnerable people’s bodies – we might do some good. We weren’t trying to be cops, we were trying to speak candidly to men about what their behavior was doing to the victims, their communities and even to themselves as buyers. And we got really good at doing this, but while we were becoming experts on disrupting the commercial sex market, we realized that a deeper disruption needed to take place. It was becoming increasingly clear that behind the transactional reality of sexual exploitation was a deeply rooted narrative that has shaped generations of men to believe that they were entitled to rent another person’s body for their own sexual gratification.  This hit home the night I listened in on a conversation between one of our volunteers and an active sex buyer. Our volunteer was carefully attempting to steer the conversation away from the transaction and put the focus on the damage being done to vulnerable people. His words were thoughtful and measured, but in the middle of his explanation about the trauma victims endured, the buyer interrupted by saying, “…whatever dude, I just want to get laid” then promptly hung up. 

If we’re serious about eradicating sex trafficking and disrupting the market that fuels it, we must first disrupt this narrative and ultimately offer a better vision of what it means to be a man. Disrupting the market requires disrupting the narrative that enables and empowers the market. And this kind of disruptive action inevitably leads to a different and unexpected kind of disruption; it becomes personal. Our unexamined and potentially toxic views of masculinity are disrupted and we’re faced with a choice: deliberately perpetuate the same old masculine paradigm with its lust for power, privilege and violence, or embrace something better. I call it, a better ManStory. 

After more than twelve years of full time effort in this work, I’m convinced that lasting change will only be fueled by a large scale movement away from toxic masculinity towards something better.  By definition, “toxic” refers to something that breaks down the bonds that create health and life. Toxic substances destroy life and connection. Likewise, toxic thinking among men does the same thing. Think for example, about how men leverage power. Victims will tell you that sex trafficking is as much about the abuse of power as it is about sex; perhaps more so. If men are serious about making a lasting difference, it is vital that we understand this nuance.  This means, that when men try to help, they tend to do so from a position of power and influence which is less than helpful. You see when men approach engagement in the anti-trafficking effort from our position of gendered power we run the risk that our well-intentioned efforts will be perceived by the very people we’re trying to help as simply men trying to dominate and exert control over the situation. And rather than being helpful, we end up triggering the very people we’re trying to serve. 

Or think about the words we use. You see, words matter; this is especially true when men come into this work. Our words expose the truth about how we view our role. Here’s what I’m talking about; trafficking victims have been conditioned and coerced by the calculating and insidious use of words their traffickers utilize. Therefore, the degree to which our language mirrors that of traffickers can either help or harm those we seek to serve. So it is incumbent upon us as sincere men who want to make a difference that we choose our words carefully. The word “protector” is a case in point. At first glance, protection seems like a normal human response to the exploitation of vulnerable people. But when men identify this way and use this kind of language, it’s fraught with problems. The reason this word  is problematic is that traffickers often use the label of “protector” with their victims as a manipulation tactic to enforce compliance. So when well-intentioned men show up and insist on being “protectors,” they can be perceived as reinforcing this same abuse of power. Perhaps more importantly, when we insist on assuming the role of protector, we devalue the power and resilience of the survivor herself. Unless you are law enforcement, a trafficking victim doesn’t need someone to protect them. In fact, I would argue that anyone who’s endured the trauma of sexual exploitation should be respected for their strength and not kept in a state of perpetual vulnerability by well meaning men who think the only thing they can do is continue to “protect” women. Seeing ourselves as the protectors of sexual exploitation victims is a stubborn habit that is hard for men to overcome. That’s because we’re told stories, from early on, that reinforce a particular image of “what a man is supposed to be.” These stories paint a picture of bravery, physical strength, and against-all-odds victory. Ask any guy to name his favorite movie and its likely it will contain this kind of plot line.

This habit is fueled by the myths that define us. A myth can simply be the stories we tell to explain how the world is supposed to work. But they can also be untruthful; like a man’s identity is that of a protector…a defender…a warrior. Because masculine culture is so steeped in this warrior mythology where men are taught that their fundamental identity is that of a protector, rescuer, defender etc, the suggestion that men are not here to stand over women as protectors, but to stand alongside them as partners can sound like a rejection of men’s core identity. But here’s my point: protection is an action…a role we’re called upon from time to time to fulfill. Protecting someone is the healthy and appropriate action any human should take when called upon. A protector is someone who wields power; ostensibly for the benefit of others. But the use of that power is circumstantial and when those circumstances no longer exist, there is no need to continue functioning in that protective role. Partnership, on the other hand, is an identity. Viewing our identity as equal partners with women more accurately reflects how we (both women and men) function in normal life.

So after more than 10 years in this work, the Story has changed. We’ve come to believe differently about what a real solution looks like. You see, we believe that women and men are made to flourish and that they share a fundamental right to equality. Consequently, commercial sex in all its forms is antithetical to human flourishing. Furthermore, we believe that the systems, structures and narratives that dominate our culture often favor men at the cost of women’s right to equality. And most importantly, we believe that the way of change is for men to learn to work alongside women as partners in building a world where everyone can flourish. These beliefs will bear fruit only as men develop the capacity to see themselves for who they truly are; when humility becomes a defining mark of authentic masculinity. That humility gives birth to empathy whereby men increase their capacity to see the world for the way it is and empowers them to respond appropriately. That response is shaped by a genuine appreciation of our unique masculine strength and a sincere desire to use that strength for the benefit of others. And all of this is sustained by an ongoing appetite for a more just world; a proven commitment to doing what we can to make the world the way it ought to be. 

When we began this work, “EPIK” was chosen as an acronym for “Everyman Protecting Innocent Kids.” It doesn’t mean that anymore. It means something bigger, deeper, more difficult and yet hopeful. And “epic” is a story of sweeping change extending beyond the usual or ordinary, especially in size or scope. Changing the dominant masculine culture that normalizes and enables things like sex trafficking is a HUGE challenge. And achieving this kind of change will be THE story of our lifetimes. Within this story, like in all great epics, there are smaller, connected stories. The first is about men who believe they’re entitled to rent another person’s body for sex. The second is about men who think they’re called to protect the vulnerable from the men in the first story. And that’s all that’s required of them. The third story is about men who believe their role is to create – alongside women –  a safe world where everyone can flourish. And to invite the men of the first two stories to join them; to look at the world around them with open eyes – well aware of their own weakness and failure. To do it with broken hearts; with a genuine empathy for the suffering of others. To do it with bent shoulders; giving away what strength they have for the benefit of others.  And to know that come tomorrow, they will have to get up and do it all over again because while evil is relentless, their appetite for justice is insatiable. 

That’s the better ManStory we need to tell.