first person


StartingOut


As a new freelance in Delhi, Will Brown found himself investigating sex trafficking


T


he tracks hummed and a whirlwind of colour piled into the train. A thousand bodies pushed, shoved


and sweated their way onto the carriage. Over the hubbub, the intercom announced that this was the 18-hour express service from New Delhi to the capital of Bengal, Kolkata. A few hours into the journey, the


Guardian’s correspondent called me on a shaky line. I had to go to one of the largest red-light districts in Asia and investigate how sex trafficking networks were being affected by the Indian government’s sudden decision to take 86 per cent of the country’s currency out of circulation. I looked up from the call and saw a


small sign on the carriage door telling me to look out for trafficked children on the train. I felt a sharp knot in my stomach – this was real. Several months before, I’d gone


AWOL in New Delhi. I left my British Council graduate teaching job in one of the capital’s manic sub-cities and, with no real journalism experience, I’d headed into town to be a freelancer. By sheer coincidence, I’d met two


picnicking French journalists in a park. They’d inspired me to leave my job and, several weeks later, I moved in with them. I had the bottom end of a graduate’s overdraft and no contacts. Delhi may be one of the largest cities in the world, but fortunately expat Delhi is no bigger than a small village. Once you meet one minor alcoholic diplomat, it’s only a matter of time until you meet them all. And somehow, armed with a few student bylines from The Times, I managed to


18 | theJournalist


blag and chance my way into the city’s highest cultural circles. I’d read that to get established, a new freelancer should throw themselves at absolutely everything. So, I arranged a tour around the “Eton of India”. I tried to sneak into a park infected with bird flu. I tried and failed to write travel pieces about the Punjab. I even climbed into a dump truck to get to the top of one of Delhi’s mountainous, burning waste dumps. Freelancing, I quickly learned, is probably 90 per cent boredom and failure. Of course, determination is key. For every article I had published, I must have had five ideas and sent 25 pitches. For my efforts I’d get twenty- four rejections. One day I met a social worker in


Delhi’s main red-light district, GB Road. I got lost looking for her and a pimp standing outside one of the brothels offered me a session with a young girl. There are around 3,500 women and girls on GB Road and NGOs say 97 per cent are victims of trafficking. They’re a small but centrally located slice of the horror that is India’s 18 million modern slavery crisis. Hundreds of children go missing every day. Many are sold into forced labour, but young skin sells well in a sexually repressed country and many are sold into forced sex work. I began to cover sex trafficking in depth. But the Indian girls were neither “British” enough for UK editors nor “Trump” enough for American ones. But the horrific stories of families selling their daughters and continuous rape stuck in my mind like a burning rock.


I kept going into red-light districts and talking to women and activists. I kept pitching, writing and networking. After two months, I’d built up a strong base of contacts and The Guardian and the BBC wanted to see what I could get them in Kolkata. Then I moved on to Mumbai and


After months of researching sex trafficking, I was burnt out. Only a fraction of the stories were published and I felt I’d failed many of the people I’d spoken to


“ ”


Southern India to do more research. I worked on the issue for the Guardian, VICE News, News Deeply, the Spectator and Marie Claire, and even researched a prospective project to film the rescue of underage girls for the BBC. But, after several months researching sex trafficking across the country, I was completely burnt out. Only a fraction of the stories I researched were published and I felt that I’d failed many of the people I’d spoken to. I flew home. But, after a month trying to eke out an existence in London, I decided I couldn’t leave it there. I needed to go back but this time with the proper skills and training. Freelancing in India is the hardest


thing I’ve ever done. But it’s also made me more determined than ever to report on the world’s untold stories.


@_will_brown


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