Victims of trafficking are failed by our state-led approach

The reliance on state actors to deliver support is inadvertently compounding the suffering experienced by some of the most vulnerable people in the UK.

Faith travelled to the UK aged 14 with a couple who had promised her parents that she would support her. When they arrived she was locked in the house and made to work day and night for no pay. She was raped by her exploiter and made to have sex with other men. Her trafficker told her that if she went to the police they would put her in jail.

After a number of years she escaped when a door was left open. She saw a policeman but hid until he passed. Instead she approached a woman on the street. She stayed with her for a while however after being abused she escaped again and stayed on the streets for a period. Help came when she befriended a woman at a local church. After telling her about her experiences the woman told her about a local support group who in turn encouraged her to approach the police. Four years after coming to the UK she approached the authorities and told them about her experiences. Her trafficker has never been identified.

Faith was one of the women who participated in IPPR’s in-depth case study report on human trafficking between Nigeria and the UK. In 2011 alone, over two thousand potential victims of trafficking were identified in the UK. Despite notable efforts by government, border officers and police, human trafficking is a crime that the UK is not getting to grips with. To start to do this, we need to acknowledge that state- led approaches alone cannot combat trafficking.

People who have escaped trafficking need to be supported. A lack of alternative support (whether real or perceived) was a key reason given by trafficked people for staying with their traffickers and exploiters. Even if they did manage to escape from their initial situation, without adequate protection people are vulnerable to further trafficking and abuse. Many exited one trafficking situation only to enter into another. Some were caught by their trafficker, others were ‘rescued’ and then re-trafficked into another situation. Others entered into informal support that was highly exploitative; including abusive relationships or support where they were obliged to offer sex or servitude to their hosts in return. Furthermore, with no access to safe support, our research was clear that trafficked people will feel less confident to pursue the prosecutions of traffickers. Addressing these issues is difficult. Trafficking victims need and deserve support, but too often their irregular immigration status prevents them from receiving it.

Perhaps acknowledging this, the UK has invested in systems to identify victims of trafficking. A process has been put in place to identify whether someone has experienced trafficking (the National Referral Mechanism or NRM, hosted within the UK Border Agency). Agencies including the police and border officials have received training in spotting signs of trafficking. Last week, the government announced that this training will be further rolled out to other professionals including social workers and GPs.

All this is welcome, but the government needs to broaden its approach. Part of the problem is that state-led solutions alone are unlikely to ever deliver a full and effective response to protect trafficked people. Due to the hidden nature of exploitation none of the forty people who participated in our research were referred into support as a result of a ‘raid’ by the police. Whether due to experiences in Nigeria or the threats of traffickers, people interviewed were afraid to seek support from authorities such as the police, border agents or social workers. Very few approached the police themselves and some actively avoided them. Instead they sought support from members of the public or people in community spaces such as churches. Critically, those they sought support from also lacked confidence in the authorities and many advised against approaching them. Often, interviewees only came forward when they came into contact with a trusted member of their community who was able to refer them into official support. By this point many were in detention, prison or had experienced lengthy periods of abuse.

Delivering training to frontline services in identifying trafficking is an important step. However, our research shows that we must go beyond state agents and ensure that the people in communities that victims of trafficking seek support from are equipped to help them. This means delivering training to people in community settings such as churches and community groups on the laws on trafficking in the UK, the support available and the routes into support. The voluntary sector also need to be involved. Finally, in order to ensure that people will engage with official agencies, the government need to make the NRM independent of the immigration system.

The reliance on state actors to deliver support is inadvertently compounding the suffering experienced by some of the most vulnerable people in the UK. We must recognise the importance of engaging communities in the response against trafficking in order to ensure trafficked people can access the help they need.

Jenny Pennington is a researcher at IPPR

Posters are displayed in Quezon City suburban, Manila, as part of the annual observance of International Day against Human Trafficking. Photograph: Getty Images.

Jenny Pennington is a researcher at IPPR

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I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war