by Cooley, Ben;
Another side to the story
Tom Lister, actor and Hope for Justice Ambassador
I remember walking past a stand at the Men’s Conference in Life Church Bradford and stopping: Hope for Justice. Up to this point I had been involved in several charity challenges, all for great causes, but I just felt like there was something missing. I had got really into the events (maybe because I was trying to stop myself from becoming a fat dad or had just got a taste for wearing Lycra?), but there was no real heart connection for me. I wanted to find something I was really passionate about, something I could invest my time and energy in. I walked past the Hope for Justice stand and knew this could be it. I walked up to the guy on the stand and said: ‘Look, I’m interested in what you guys are about. If there is anything I can do to help, just get in touch.’
From there, I ended up going for a coffee with Ben. As soon as we sat down I felt like I’d known him for years. When he started to talk to me about Hope for Justice and the people they had rescued, it was almost like the scales started to fall from my eyes. Five or six years ago we hadn’t really heard about human trafficking; it wasn’t something that was in the public consciousness. I couldn’t comprehend that this stuff was happening. I knew it was probably happening somewhere in the world, but it had felt like something quite distant from me. As Ben told me Zoe’s story, I felt something inside me break. I felt as though this was what I needed to get involved in; this was what I needed to give my heart to. A couple of stories, lattes and muffins later I was, like, ‘Right, what can I do? I’m in.’
Though I was busy working on the television soap opera Emmerdale at the time, I went to every Hope for Justice event I could. And when my time on the show came to an end, it was the perfect time to really get stuck into something and show my support. Pretty quickly Zoe’s Challenge was born; and the ‘support’ had to come into play pretty quickly! I had already done lots of training for my charity events beforehand, but Ben hates cycling; in fact he doesn’t even like exercise! And he needed to train for the event at the same time as running this huge organization. It came to the point where I would go over to help him train and be, like, ‘If you ride up this hill, we’ll take you to the pub and you can have some sticky toffee pudding.’ He’d think about it, and then slowly nod: ‘All right then, all right then.’ Fast-forward half an hour and he’d be chundering all over his handlebars: ‘Just think about that sticky toffee, Ben. It’s right there at the top of the hill. It’s waiting for you! Just picture it!’
Then the training was over and we were doing it for real. Setting off, I was so excited; but the fact that where we were starting was only fifty miles from the Russian border made it hard to ignore the size of what we were about to take on. It was pretty much continental Europe, from one side to the other. But the biggest challenge wasn’t the size, it was the boredom! Maybe it was because we weren’t having any rest days, but sometimes we’d be on these roads where it was so long and flat that it was like a never-ending horizon. Something Ben often quotes is that if we are going to make a real significant difference in fighting human trafficking, ‘we don’t need spasms of passion, we need long obedience in the same direction’. Nineteen days of cycling a hundred miles a day from one side of Europe to the other? It certainly felt like committing to sustained obedience to achieve an agreed goal!
I found Zoe’s Challenge difficult, getting up every day to do a hundred miles when your backside is sore, your legs are tired and it’s raining, so you know you’re going to start a twelve-hour day wet from the start. It was miserable. And I like cycling! Ben doesn’t like cycling in any form whatsoever. He would get up in the morning, we’d hit the road and he’d throw up within the first hour. It was grim. Maybe it was all those years spent watching funny YouTube videos of people being sick coming back to haunt him!
Then we got to Germany, and things really started to get tough. When we were in those moments it was just about getting alongside him and giving him a push. But no matter how hard he found it, he refused to get in the van and give up. He was, like, ‘I won’t do it. I don’t want to be that guy; I don’t want to be the fat little friend who sits in the van!’ I kept saying: ‘Mate! How can you say that? You’ve already cycled four countries across Europe. You can’t say that now!’ But no matter what Ben tells you, it wasn’t always him: we all went through our own dips in energy. We only ever went as fast as our slowest rider; we were doing this together.
Ben’s determination through the challenge was a real window into just how passionate he is about it. He knew what Zoe had gone through. He was, like, ‘I’ve got to keep going, I’ve got to keep going for all the Zoes we haven’t rescued yet!’ He got through it for them. Returning to the UK, it was amazing: we had fifty to sixty riders joining us a day. It was really special. We were raising the profile of Hope for Justice and shedding light on human trafficking. But there is one thing Zoe said that will always stick in my mind. She said: ‘I didn’t need somebody to be aware of me, I needed somebody to do something. I needed somebody to do something to help me, and Hope for Justice did that. They came and found me, they rescued me.’ Awareness alone is not enough to save someone.
Through Zoe’s Challenge we were able to raise £250,000. Now we have a team in the West Midlands who have rescued hundreds of people, and will continue to do so. We want to plant more hubs. We’re now operating internationally. The growth has been huge and the influence is great, but it’s not enough if there are still people who are caught up in slavery. We’re not at the end of our story yet, but I’m so privileged to be a part of it. We’ve come a long way since our first coffee together, but I still look at Ben and I’m, like, ‘Come on, mate. What’s next? Let’s get back in those trenches and see what we can achieve together.’
* * *
Chapter nine
William and Samuel’s story
Five years is a long time. It was for William. That’s at least as long as he was locked into a cycle of exploitation, moved from city to city across the UK. Every day, ordinary people passed by the house where he was painting and plastering for no pay, at the hands of violent traffickers. He looked like a legitimate labourer. But the reality could not be further from the truth.
The conditions William was made to eat and sleep in were subhuman; there were rooms full of others who were being similarly exploited. Body after body forced to live, eat and sleep in cramped conditions. William was a strong man. He felt ashamed that he had allowed himself to end up in this situation, but he also felt trapped.
After a few years he met Samuel. Samuel seemed like a kindred spirit. They would talk occasionally, when they found a moment out of earshot of the traffickers. It was during one such discussion that they agreed that together they would try to survive. They went on the run.
They were frightened; they were tired and unable to afford transport out of the area; they lived in constant fear of being found.
When William’s trafficker caught up with them they were locked in properties to work all day. The trafficker’s fury was unleashed and at one point they were made to sleep on the freezing floor of the trafficker’s basement. During some of the coldest weather either of the men had experienced, William fell ill from the damp. Because of his worsening condition, the traffickers wanted to monitor William more closely and he was allowed to sleep on the floor in the main house. Eventually William’s health improved and he and Samuel began talking again. They had to escape. This was no life for them. They would rather die trying to flee the evil they were enduring than live like this for the remainder of their existence. So once again they ran.
This time the traffickers did not find them. William and Samuel were constantly on edge. They could not relax. They could not sleep. But what kept them going was the knowledge of what they had escaped from. They ended up living on the streets. Even though their existence was hard, they knew they had done the right thing. Hope for Justice identified William and Samuel on the streets after a referral was made to o
ur specialist team by an organization we had trained. The Hope for Justice team made sure the pair were put up in a safe house; they were given clothing, food, but most importantly they were given hope. This intervention meant they no longer needed to live in fear of their traffickers.
Family matters
Zoe’s Challenge was complete. Emma’s Hub was flying. The second hub was ready to open. We had thousands of regular givers, hundreds of Abolition Groups. I was even being invited to speak on big platforms and television shows! I remember one of the first times the BBC asked to interview me; it was for BBC News 24, their national twenty-four-hour news channel. I was shown into a room; there was no-one else there. The lady who had shown me in drew the curtains, sat me down and gave me an earpiece. She left. And I was, like, ‘So when does this start?’ Thankfully I wasn’t doing anything embarrassing like sorting my hair or scratching my nose because then suddenly in my ear was a ‘Three, two, one; and here is Ben Cooley from Hope for Justice.’ Thanks to media interviews like this (and the many opportunities that have come our way since), we started to generate significant critical mass as a movement.
At this point in our journey, people may have looked at me and thought: ‘Wow, look at Ben. He must be more confident than ever. More successful.’ But as I’ve said before, there is often a real loneliness in leadership. This point, after opening our third UK office, was the ultimate in loneliness for me. It was partly down to having such an intense experience as a team as part of the Zoe Challenge. But it was also that I had never felt so scared because now we had built something, now we had profile, I really felt the weight of the responsibility and of getting this right. I would be absolutely petrified going on television. I remember going into studios shaking with fear.
I’ve realized that when people have profile, when they are up front or on a stage, we all assume things about that individual. We think that person is confident or maybe even wish we could be on the stage ourselves. I don’t believe what I go through is any different from what you go through. Life happens. Difficulties are always there. Stages and profile do not change that. We all have struggles. We all have challenges. In those moments of fear, I’ve had to go back to that ‘mountain moment’ in Germany and remind myself that I’m stronger than I think I am in order to combat them. I’ve had to learn to be comfortable being scared. I’ve had to learn not to let my fear make decisions for me; rather, I’m going to make decisions despite the anxiety.
I’m nervous most of the time when using my voice. I’ve gone through crises of confidence in how I deliver a message. In those moments I think of Martin Luther King. I bet when he stood on that platform he was anxious too. The political environment, the danger to his and his family’s safety would have been frightening. He did it anyway. I’m sure that for Nelson Mandela, in his fight against apartheid, there would have been times just before he stepped on to a stage – and maybe a death threat had been received or the crowds became unruly – when he was fearful. But he did it anyway. Now I’m not comparing myself to Martin Luther King or to Nelson Mandela. But for my inspiration I am looking up to great people who are scared of what they are about to face but who do it anyway. It is the lives of great leaders, including that of Jesus, that have taught me this. You are going to come across things that terrify you. But you should get on with it anyway.
One of the reasons I get nervous is because I often feel I don’t fit the bill. I represent a serious cause. And of course, when I talk about it, I am serious about it. But if you ask any of my close friends, I love making people laugh. I love humour. Humour and serious work should not be mutually exclusive. I don’t think because I love to laugh that I can’t work to abolish human trafficking. We all need to laugh. Laughter is a great benefit to us individually and corporately. Joy and laughter are a necessary antidote to some of the things we’re exposed to while fighting for such a heartbreaking cause. For some people this means I can be difficult to understand. Sometimes I’m seen as this crazy individual, someone who is intense, who is passionate about something incredibly serious; but the next minute someone who is laughing and cracking jokes.
And yet for every person who isn’t able to make you out, there is someone determined to put you in a box. That’s one of the difficult things I’ve faced with media, being pigeonholed: I’m the voice on human trafficking to a lot of people. Now don’t get me wrong: I’m seriously passionate about ending human trafficking, but there’s a lot more I’m also passionate about. I don’t always sit nicely in the category people have placed me in. Perhaps you can relate to this. However you have been positioned, however you are perceived and however scared you might be, remember to use your voice. It could change someone’s life for ever.
I’ve realized that one of the reasons certain people achieve success – whether they are founders of organizations, CEOs or simply extremely ambitious – is because they are absolutely, even ruthlessly, dedicated to their mission. Of course, that is important. Vitally important. But sometimes we forget that we may adopt many roles in our lives. And sometimes the focus that offers success in an organization has the capacity to distract and even distort your view on other aspects of your life, such as friendships and family.
If I am honest, I hadn’t realized I’d become this ruthlessly focused person until one day I had a meeting with a guy who led a large company. He understood business and had achieved much corporate acclaim. He was someone I hugely admired. He turned to me and said: ‘How are your kids?’
I replied: ‘Yes, the kids are doing great.’ In my mind I was thinking: ‘When do we get back to talking about the mission?’
He said: ‘Ben, can I share the best piece of advice I have ever been given? This is the pattern that will emerge with your kids: five, ten, fifteen, gone; and how they “go” is how they will stay for the rest of their lives.’
It took a while for the truth of this to sink in. It probably wasn’t even in that meeting that I got it, but I thought about it over the coming days and came to understand the importance of this truth.
Five, ten, fifteen, gone.
It led me to ask myself some serious questions. Not what kind of CEO I wanted to become; rather, ‘What kind of man do I want to become? Do I want to be a good father? Do I want to be a good husband? Do I want to be a good friend?’
I’m not saying I’ve got this completely right and that I’m now the perfect dad and perfect husband, but I have realized over the years that family takes priority and the importance of being a father, of going to the dance recitals, the swimming lessons and the Christmas show, no matter what the work schedule looks like. I’ve discovered that it’s essential to make sure your wife knows that, when you are away on another work trip, you miss her. I’ve seen so many mission-minded people forget that their family was always a part of their mission.
I’m committed more than ever to quality time together, to great holidays together, to having ice creams together and to dreaming big together. I’m determined that my kids should get to see their father, and ever since I came to this realization I’ve seen our family bond closer together than we ever have. There’s a lot to be said for the sacrifice my children and my wife make to enable the abolition of the modern-day slave trade: doing without material things, sometimes doing without time with Dad.
The team that we are, Team Cooley, is stronger than ever.
I want to end slavery, but I don’t believe that needs to be at the expense of my family.
When my kids have hit five, ten, fifteen, and have gone to live their own lives, I’m sure now that they’ll go knowing the love and support of their parents and believing they can achieve their dreams.
Another side to the story
Deb Cooley, co-founder of Hope for Justice
Leaving that first presentation by Rob and Marion White in Manchester Town Hall, I remember being incredibly moved and thinking: ‘Wow, this tour could be the start of something incredible.’ At that point I didn’t really personalize it, I didn’t think
: ‘Now I need to do something.’ But Ben was different. The message had hit him like a bullet between the eyes. He felt it very personally. He felt he needed to do something about it. Weeks later the vision of The Stand was born.
The personal cost of putting on the event was all mashed up with the whole situation we were in at the time. Ben was recently graduated and part self-employed, and I was on maternity leave. And yet I felt filled with a childlike faith that if God was in it, it would all be all right. Then the night came. Standing on that stage, speaking to the crowd who’d come to be with us, it was just incredibly overwhelming. I remember looking over at Ben and thinking: ‘Wow, people are with us.’ I remember feeling really proud of the church in that moment. Ben and I had always believed in the power of the church, that we should be a people leading the way against injustice, speaking out and not staying silent. At The Stand this was confirmed for us all over again.