Mary Ann: A Victim's Tale

"I thought I was privileged when I chanced upon Eagle's Promotion Agency. I was forced to accept the job as a dancer to raise money for my son’s operation. Besides, there was no age limit in applying as long as one looks young, pretty, flawless and bore no marks of pregnancy. I sent my photograph in sexy attire to the agency’s Korean partners. Waiting didn’t take so long. After a few days, the agency told me I was one of those chosen."

by Dennis Espada
Bulatlat.com

That's how Mary Ann (not her real name), 28, became an overseas entertainer in Anjong-ri, South Korea nearly three years ago during our private interview in a undisclosed location.

"As part of the training in accordance with the contract I signed, I worked for two nights in a local entertainment club here, while the agency was preparing my papers. Before I left for abroad, someone approached me who said he’s from POEA. He asked me to sign my Artist Record Book which he brought and a blank contract which I complied."

All through her life, she lived in a farming village in Laguna, helping her parents run a small manufacturing business. But all of those were gone soon after her father suffered severe paralysis.

Mary Ann first left for abroad in 1997 to work as a domestic worker in Europe. She later got pregnant courtesy of a German with whom she had a relationship that she thought would free her family from poverty. They got separated and she went home with her newborn son.

She was happy and contended, nonetheless. But when she discovered her son had a congenital disease and would need to undergo an open-heart surgery, which means a costly medical treatment, she felt devastated.

South Korea

"I left for South Korea in August 2001 together with two other girls," Mary Ann recalls. "When we arrived in Seoul, I was fretted that I instantly felt a desire to go home. At the airport, we were introduced to the club owner who would later become our tormentor. We travelled for about an hour to Anjong-ri, several miles away from Seoul. Then, we took a rest and ate. As we went inside the club, we saw dancing girls clad in skimpy bra and T-back bikini, while white male customers hooted and drank beer."

"That scene was a major shock of my life. I never expected anything like that," Mary Ann told Bulatlat.com. "We locked ourselves inside the comfort room and cried. This is unacceptable, I thought. I was really trembling in fear but I didn’t know what to do."

Life in Eagle’s Club (which is a walking distance away from a U.S. military base) is like a taste of hell on earth, Mary Ann says. The building in which they stayed in was padlocked day and night. Meal, which consists of cheap bihon, comes only once a day, at 1 p.m. to be exact. All the girls sleep on the floor using carton-made mats. After each night of dancing, the girls, who were all Filipinas, are expected to clean the mess, where they take turns sweeping and mopping the floor, or wiping the toilet.

And what do they get? Mary Ann admits, "We didn’t receive our salaries for three months despite our slave-like condition. Our only time for rest is a day-off once a month which you will get when you earn big money. No bar-fine and no drink, no day-off. That’s the rule. Whenever we refuse or commit mistakes, we get beaten up or denied food."

Right after the bombing of the World Trade Center last Sept. 11, 2001, the tragic plight of Filipinas in South Korea went from bad to worse. Fearful of future attacks by "terrorist" groups, officials in the U.S. military bases had to tighten security. As a result, American soldiers or GIs who are the main customers of several entertainment clubs surrounding the base, were not allowed to go out. Due to lack of customers, the club owner resorted trading each of the girls at bargain costs--$100 each bar fine. After closing deals with the club owner who is a Korean national, male clients would take them to a hotel.

With a critical bent, Mary Ann tried to evade this defilement of her dignity. "Bakit pa tayo magtitiis ng ganito? Wala na ngang kinikita, binubugbog pa tayo. Prostitute na’ng labas natin nito," she asked herself. Her efforts to have her son operated on now seemed hopeless and elusive. She decided to escape from her abusive employer.

Escape

Mary Ann was with nine others when she finally got out in October 2001. Their Filipino manager managed to call them up by cellphone, promising them work in companies within Korea if they return to the club to sign for a new contract. Six of them came back and got battered by their employer.

Mary Ann, meanwhile, got a job in an electronics firm but couldn’t go home since she was on "blacklist" by the Korean government.

But worse than the memory of the pain in Mary Ann’s mind is the wall of pretense among managers of illegal recruitment agencies in collusion with immigration officials. "Ang dahilan kaya nagsasalita ako ay para tulungan ‘yung ibang babae na naroroon pa at para malaman ng gobyerno natin kung ano ang kalagayan ng mga Pilipina sa ibang bansa. Babae ako, ina rin ako na kaya lang naga-abroad dahil para sa mga anak. Di kasi nila alam kung saan sila tatakbo o hihingi ng tulong. Di ka rin puwedeng magtiwala sa kapwa Pilipino dahil kung minsan sila pa ‘yung nagtatraydor sa ‘yo."

For our pictorial, Mary Ann wore a white shirt, which read: "Voices of Women on Violence Against Women." On March 8, she joined the Women’s March in Metro Manila spearheaded by the Purple Rose Campaign, an international coalition campaigning to ban all forms of sex trafficking and prostitution.

She affirms: "Marami pa ring babae sa club ang gustong tumakas. Napasok sila roon dahil talaga sa kagipitan. Marami pa sila." Her weary smile betrays the pain inside, seen as subtle scars that cannot be washed away instantly.

"I want justice," she says. "I believe we shall overcome." Bulatlat.com

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