Truth Begins with Seeing

A Sunday Reflection I Did Not Expect

Two months ago, during a Rotary training program, a shock awaited me. It didn’t come from a keynote speech or a breakout session, but from a quiet conversation during a break. A gentleman—composed, kind—brought up an issue I had never connected to my immediate world: human trafficking, right here in Northern Virginia.

I froze.

Like many, I had assumed such horrors were confined to borders, faraway places, or shadowy underworlds. I believed—wrongly—that victims were mostly foreign, smuggled across checkpoints. I had no idea how deeply domestic this tragedy is, how close it lives—often hidden behind suburban curtains, school doors, or glowing screens.

The Wake-Up Call

That night, I couldn’t shake it off. I began watching news segments and documentaries. One episode of Dr. Phil stood out—a young girl, rescued just eight days after her abduction. She spoke of being drugged, relocated every few hours, stripped of stability and identity. Her story wasn’t just disturbing—it was gut-wrenching.

Then came a meeting with our Rotary District Governor, Amelia—a fierce advocate, a change agent in every sense. What she shared next left me breathless.

She explained that many abusers don’t abduct physically—they groom emotionally. They find vulnerable teens—especially from minority communities—and draw them in through false affection. They encourage them to share secrets, provoke self-harm, then trap them in silence with shame and blackmail.

A Pattern Emerges

It all clicked when my team member, Abi, casually mentioned a trend among his friends: private Instagram accounts for “venting.” These accounts—raw, uncensored, full of provocative language and images—feel safe to the teens. But they’re also goldmines for predators.

Just one manipulator watching that space can do irreversible harm.

One message.

One child.

One family in turmoil.

Cases That Haunt

Amelia shared case after case. In one, a child was coerced into harming—and eventually killing—her own pet. In others, children were trafficked not for weeks, but for just a few hours at a time. Some teens sneak out after dinner, obey a blackmail demand, and return home late—undetected, sleeping in their own bed, while the parents remain unaware.

Even more painful was hearing that young boys are often trafficked for longer durations than girls, simply because boys tend to stay silent longer—shamed into silence.

I was speechless.

Where Did We Lose Connection?

What bends a mind toward such cruelty?

What breaks in a family, a school, or a society that allows a child to suffer silently just a room away?

The answer, I suspect, is disconnection.

We’re losing the threads that once bound families together—mealtimes, eye contact, conversation. We are surrounded by digital noise but starved of meaningful presence.

The Game That Shocked Me

Then came Amelia’s final revelation. Her child had asked to install a game—hugely popular, millions of downloads, five-star reviews. Curious, she checked. The game’s premise?

“Relaxing torture.”

A toy is placed in a chamber and suffers increasing harm. As the levels progress, the toy becomes more human—so the torture becomes more real. And we call this “fun.”

Amelia reported the game to federal authorities and is actively working to have it taken down.

Where Are We Headed?

To what end are we entertaining ourselves?

The senses—sight, sound, touch—are meant to guide us, not enslave us. When pleasure, unchecked, becomes the dominant motivation, ethics quietly leave the room. And when ethics fall, humanity follows.

What Must We Do?

So I sit here on a quiet Sunday, lost in thought.

How do we recover from this?

How do we reclaim the safety of our children, the strength of our homes, the dignity of our communities?

This world is one family. And today, some among us are hurting others—not because they are monsters, but because something inside them has broken, often long ago.

We cannot look away.

I can think of no better use of a Sunday than to reflect, to share, and to act—with compassion, with courage, and with conviction.

We owe that much to the children we haven’t yet met—

And to those whose suffering we’re just beginning to understand.