Hidden in Plain Sight: Raising Awareness on Human Trafficking

The 100 Families Initiative of Johnson and Franklin Counties convened a powerful community conversation on human trafficking—an issue too often hidden in plain sight but devastatingly present in our communities. The event brought together leaders whose work gives voice, safety, and hope to those impacted by exploitation and abuse.

Panelists included Dorinda Edmiston, Executive Director of the Ozark Rape Crisis Center (ORCC); Sandy, ORCC’s Anti-Human Trafficking Specialist; Shannon, Anti-Human Trafficking Program Director with the Arkansas Coalition Against Sexual Assault (ACASA); and Special Agent Dustin Thompson, Arkansas State Police Human Trafficking & Missing Children Unit. Together, they offered an honest look at trafficking and what it takes to bring healing and justice to survivors.

Much of the discussion focused on the reality that trafficking doesn’t always look like the movie scenes people imagine. It often happens quietly, within families or trusted circles, driven by addiction, control, or financial desperation.

As Sandy explained, “It’s families that are trafficking their children. It’s trafficking their disabled adult parent.”

For those working with survivors, the realization is sobering: many victims never identify themselves as being trafficked. They may come forward seeking help for domestic violence, sexual assault, or housing instability—and only later begin to share their full story once they feel safe.

“The crimes that we deal with are not Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 crimes,” Edmiston said.

Human trafficking, she and others emphasized, thrives in secrecy and silence. It can exist in homes, farms, hotels, and online spaces—anywhere vulnerability meets opportunity for exploitation. And it can affect anyone.

Special Agent Thompson noted, “It doesn’t discriminate on age, race, anything like that.”

What makes the difference, the panelists agreed, is awareness—and human connection. Survivors rarely find freedom through a single moment of rescue, but through repeated encounters with people who notice, listen, and care.

“It takes about eight positive contacts with us to actually get them out of the game, where they don’t keep going back,” Thompson shared.

That persistence—staying with survivors through the long process of rebuilding trust—is the heartbeat of this work. Advocates and law enforcement alike described moments when understanding and compassion opened a door that punishment never could.

Shannon shared how even in cases that take months or years to unravel, each act of awareness matters: “Once you know, you can’t unknow anymore.”

Throughout the conversation, panelists returned again and again to one essential idea: survivors are not defined by their trauma. Real healing begins with restoring agency and dignity.

Edmiston explained that being trauma-informed means offering choices and believing survivors know what’s best for themselves.

“Each person is the expert on themselves,” she said. “You have to let that person get to a place of healing first. And that’s something they define, not us.”

This philosophy goes beyond programs—it’s a way of seeing people. It means meeting survivors where they are, without judgment or conditions, and walking with them as they regain stability, confidence, and purpose.

For community members, the message was clear: we all have a role to play. Trafficking survives in the dark, but awareness shines light into that darkness. Conversations like this one give people the language and courage to notice what doesn’t seem right—to ask gentle questions, to report suspicions, and to offer empathy instead of blame.

Sandy shared how she often sees that moment of realization in her trainings: “I’ve had upwards of five or six people come up at the end of a presentation going, ‘I didn’t realize that’s what happened to me.’”

She reminded the audience that listening without judgment can be life-changing: “If somebody comes to you and says, ‘I think I’ve been assaulted,’ the first thing you need to do is not blame them. Sometimes that’s all it takes to get to the bigger picture.”

Though the topic was heavy, the evening ended with a sense of determination and hope. Each speaker shared what keeps them going in work that can feel overwhelming.

For Sandy, hope comes when she sees light bulbs go on in people’s minds—when communities begin to see and speak about what was once hidden.

For Edmiston, it’s the transformation she’s witnessed in survivors: “You may not see them where you would like to see them, but I promise you, they’re never going to forget the kindness that you showed them.”

Shannon spoke of trust being rebuilt—between survivors and advocates, between victims and law enforcement, and between systems and communities.

And for Thompson, hope comes from protecting the next generation. “I have kids,” he said. “I may not be able to protect my own kids from it, but if we make the public aware, they might say something that saves someone else’s child.”

This event was more than a panel discussion—it was a call to action. It reminded everyone present that trafficking doesn’t thrive where people are paying attention, caring for their neighbors, and creating systems of support.

Every advocate, officer, teacher, pastor, and parent in the room left with a clearer understanding: awareness isn’t passive. It’s protection. It’s prevention. And it’s the first step toward freedom.