The children
of broken dreams
Scott, 22, has been turning tricks in
Toronto since he was 13 after fleeing sexual abuse at home. As one of
many kids who end up on the streets, his story is not that uncommon Debra Black
reports
Nov. 6, 2006. 01:00 AM
DEBRA BLACK
The Toronto Star
Scott stands huddled in a doorway on Grosvenor St. near Yonge St., trying to
get in out of the rain.
Wearing only a brown sweater, he shivers from the cold as the damp autumn evening
envelops him.
With a certain youthful bravado, he explains he has been a prostitute since
he was 13. It is for him, a kind of badge of honour. His first trick was a guy
he picked up on a computer chat line. Scott ran away from home a small
town in southern Ontario after he was sexually abused. Now, he's 22, or
so he says. It's hard to know for sure. He has a disarmingly young face.
Scott, who asked that his real name not be used, is one of at least 1,000 young
people who sell their bodies in the downtown core of Toronto every year, according
to Susan Miner, director of Street Outreach Services, which offers support and
counselling for young people at risk.
Scott is trying hard to get out of the business. "I haven't pulled a trick
in a few weeks."
And he says he hasn't done any hard drugs in a while. His drug of choice was
crystal meth known on the streets for its ability to prolong an erection
but he's off that now.
To help him and other kids on the streets, the Sexual Exploitation and Education
Awareness Coalition of Toronto made up of police, social service agencies
and the Canadian Centre for Abuse Awareness has launched a new campaign,
advising kids where they can go for help.
Provocative posters have been plastered throughout the downtown core, urging
kids to call either Street Outreach Services or Kids Help Line. They are graphic
and straight to the point. "No 13-year-old dreams of getting into prostitution,"
the poster says. "Many dream of getting out."
The response has so far been favourable, said Miner.
Life on the streets is hard for Scott and the other young men and women who
sell sex in Toronto's downtown. But the world they have run away from is often
just as bleak.
Most of them have been sexually and/or physically abused, said Julia Vanderheul,
an outreach worker and counsellor from Street Outreach Services, one of nine
staff members.
On any given night she or other staff members can be found on the streets helping
kids like Scott. She said close to 60 per cent of the kids she's working with
have been sexually abused. And many are runaways who also seek refuge in drugs
and alcohol to ease their pain, she added.
Few statistics on these kids exist. But figures from the Toronto Police Sex
Crimes Unit provide a snapshot of a long-standing problem in the downtown core.
According to these statistics, 23 youth under the age of 18 were arrested for
prostitution-related offences from 2003 to June 2005. Of those arrests, 61 per
cent were male and 39 per cent female.
Prostitution arrests of youth aged 18 to 25 during the same period totalled
394. Of these, 45 per cent were male, 55 per cent were female.
Scott's story is typical of many heard on the street. He is cocky as he explains
the circumstances that landed him there. His body is constantly moving. Despite
his confidence he appears jumpy, a little nervous. Perhaps it's the drugs. He's
just smoked a joint, he says. Perhaps, it's anxiety.
But he is adamant that he wants to clean up his act. He swears he's trying to
give up the "life" of a young prostitute. He's living in a youth residence.
He's hoping to go to Seneca College. His dream is to be a rehabilitation worker
to help drug-addicted youth, something he knows all too well.
Every fall, the streets of Toronto see an influx of young people just like Scott
who have run away from home because of sexual or physical abuse, said Miner.
They end up working as prostitutes on the city's streets or out of Internet
cafes or escort services because there is nothing else for them.
`He's a doctor... Sometimes he takes us home and wants a massage. But sometimes
he just wants company.'
Scott, prostitute
Miner sees their prostitution as a form of "sexual exploitation" because
they don't have any real choices. They come to Toronto looking for a dream
a life of independence and end up selling their bodies because they can't
find a job or housing and often have little education.
Miner believes that these kids, however, do have choices and the recently launched
campaign will let them know where to go for help. On this particular rainy night,
few are out on this corner or any of the downtown strolls. Scott says he came
out to get something to eat. The rain comes down in sheets. A red car circles
the block. The driver is a trick that Scott knows well.
"I have been to his house," says Scott. "He's a doctor. Don't
get me wrong. I'm not trying to glorify prostitution, but if it wasn't for some
of these guys, I wouldn't have survived ... He likes to pick up boys and drive
them places. Sometimes he takes us home and wants a massage. But sometimes he
just wants company."
After the trick disappears Scott suddenly asks Vanderheul, who is standing nearby,
to remind him to cancel an escort ad he has placed about himself on a website.
Then Scott and his boyfriend a fair-haired 17-year-old beat a hasty
retreat to the Salvation Army Youth Ministry van, which offers them shelter
for a couple of minutes and a quick meal. "Do they have cookies, granola?"
Scott asks no one in particular as he dashes off.
Leaving the "life" can be hard. Just ask Vee, a 23-year-old Mohawk,
who has been on her own since she was 15. "Life on the streets it
was dangerous," she says. "I was at high risk for everything
HIV, drugs, bad people."
Sexually and physically abused by her adopted family, she ran away from her
home in suburban Toronto and hit the streets, selling herself. "It was
the lowest part of my life," she explains. She contacted Street Outreach
Services and began to rebuild her life. "Being involved here I just wanted
to make a change in my life. I got a focus. I started getting clean."
The turning point for Vee, who asked that her real name not be used, was when
she overdosed. The incident was her wake-up call, she said. "I was with
someone who I thought was my friend. I had a seizure and fell on the ground.
Someone else called an ambulance. He stayed with me until the end. But I got
away from that person the day after it happened ... It took that to smarten
me up."
Vee dreams of becoming an addiction counsellor or getting into social work.
To do that she has to go back to school and she says she is not ready just yet.
Right now she has a retail sales job and her own apartment and she's begun doing
peer counselling at Street Outreach Services.
She's out on the street two or three times a week talking to other young people
who are still working as prostitutes and doing drugs.
"I talk to everyone the same as I did a year ago. I'm pretty much out of
the scene and a lot of people respect me for that."
She still thinks about doing drugs or alcohol, especially when she gets angry.
But she's found other coping mechanisms, she said. She finds support within
the offices of Street Outreach Services.
"I have no family. I have no ties with my adopted family..." Vee pauses,
swallows and tries not to cry.
"I'm okay," she says softly as she continues.
"It's just weird thinking about it," she said, referring to the sexual
abuse she experienced as a child by her adopted brothers and adopted father.
Above all, she wants to help other kids get off the streets.
"Life on the streets is hard," she said. "It's rough and it's
dangerous. I'm pretty straightforward and it's that simple."
