It was hot on the day I first met Sr. Teresita Hinnegan. It was at a meeting of the Philadelphia Anti-Trafficking Coalition that took place at Catholic Social Services near 18th and Vine. I was dragged to this meeting by a friend of mine who knew that I believed that women arrested for prostitution were largely victims of sex trafficking.
I say “dragged” because I fought my friend tooth and nail. “@#$%!!!”, I said, “These people care about human trafficking on the other side of the globe. They don’t care about my clients. I’m not %$#@ going.” My friend alternately cajoled and threatened, and eventually got us both walking across Center City. Needless to say, the 90-degree heat did not improve my mood, and by the time I got to the meeting and sank into an empty chair around the conference table, my mutterings had gotten even worse. But to my shocked delight, a guest speaker from Polaris Project addressed the group by saying, “You think that human trafficking is taking place in other countries. I’m here to tell you that sex trafficking is happening right now in Philly. You just can’t see it because you think these women are criminals.”
But to my shocked delight, a guest speaker from Polaris Project addressed the group by saying, “You think that human trafficking is taking place in other countries. I’m here to tell you that sex trafficking is happening right now in Philly. You just can’t see it because you think these women are criminals.”
I sat up straight in my chair and smiled for the first time that day. My heart pounded with a strange and unexpected feeling of hope. I shot up my hand to tell the over 20 agencies present that I was a public defender in Philadelphia, and that, for over a quarter of a century, I had been searching for help for my clients charged with prostitution. These women needed safe housing and trauma therapy more than anything else. Was there any agency present that could provide these? Silence. Well, how about just safe housing? More silence. Just trauma therapy? Even more silence. I sank back down in my chair because that moment of hope was more painful that the bitterness with which I had begun the meeting. “Never mind”, I muttered under my breath, “@#$%....”
But at the end of that meeting, a tiny and deceptively frail-looking woman, with a shock of white hair flying around her face, walked up to me. Steely determined blue eyes fixed themselves on mine. “I’m Sister Teresita Hinnegan”, she said, “Some of us have been attending these meetings for a while and we want to get involved. You seem to know what is happening in Philadelphia. We would like to meet with you.”
I had been searching for help for my clients charged with prostitution. These women needed safe housing and trauma therapy more than anything else. Was there any agency present that could provide these? Silence. Well, how about just safe housing? More silence. Just trauma therapy? Even more silence.
I didn’t know then about the 14 years that Sister Teresita spent as a nurse-midwife in Bangladesh, beginning before I was born. I didn’t know that she was the first nurse-midwife to deliver a baby in Pennsylvania Hospital in 1974, nor that she co-founded the Maternity Care Coalition to address the high infant mortality rate in Philadelphia. I knew only that I had asked for help for my clients, and Teresita was the one who responded. And boy, did she respond. Within one month of that day, Sr. Teresita, Sr. Kathleen Coll, Sr. Terry Shields, and I had co-founded Dawn’s Place. Within two months of that day, we had our house. Throughout all of this, I stopped (well almost) cursing, and my mantra became, “You lead, Sister Teresita. I’m following you.” Sadly, Sister Teresita left us on February 10, 2020 at the age of 92. The best epitaph for her is something she used to say herself: “I get a little impatient with a lot of talk and no action.” — Mary DeFusco, Esquire Dawn's Place Co-Founder and Board President Director of Training, Defender Association of Philadelphia
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