‘Survivor leadership’ is a hot topic inside anti-trafficking circles. Not just making space for survivors at the table, but enabling them to sit at the head of the table, is considered by many to be the next frontier for the movement. Those same people often take a dim view of what’s been tried so far. They argue that survivors are ‘tokenised’ more than they are empowered, and that their stories are more often used to legitimate pre-existing agendas than to challenge what anti-trafficking organisations are doing or where they are heading.
This is a debate about the distribution of power in anti-trafficking. It is about access to privileged spaces, resources, and the tools to shape narratives. It is, for the most part, about who gets to be at the top.
But there is another type of survivor leadership that is, if not at the bottom, at least much further down. It neither forms organically nor is it created to primarily benefit an organisation’s optics or mission. When it works well, it sees survivors leading in their own communities, making decisions, and supporting their peers. But sometimes it doesn’t work well. This form of survivor leadership – the kind I encountered in Nepal – gets its start through a short-term project of a well-intended NGO. It is then left to languish as priorities move on, but never actually ceases to exist. It limps along – zombie like – causing damage far outside the public eye.
