When the FIFA World Cup arrives in Canada in June, the public conversation will focus on tourism, economic growth, and global attention. But beneath the celebration, there is a deeper and far more urgent issue that cannot be ignored: large-scale events do not simply bring crowds—they intensify systems of exploitation that already exist within our cities. Toronto and Vancouver have both released Human Rights Action Plans intended to address risks such as human trafficking, sexual exploitation, and gender-based violence. On paper, these plans appear progressive. They use the language of safety, dignity, and inclusion. But a serious feminist analysis demands that we go further. The real question is not whether these plans sound good—it is whether they actually challenge exploitation, or quietly adapt to it.
We must begin by rejecting the common myth that trafficking suddenly appears during events like the World Cup. Exploitation is not temporary or event-based—it is structural. It exists long before the first match and will persist long after the final whistle. Women are pushed into exploitative situations by economic inequality, housing crises, systemic discrimination, and colonial violence, particularly Indigenous women in Canada. These conditions create an environment where exploitation thrives. The World Cup does not create these realities—it amplifies them. Any serious policy response, therefore, must confront these underlying systems rather than simply manage the visibility of harm during a high-profile event.
Toronto’s approach is best understood as intervention focused. While far from perfect, it does something important: it explicitly treats exploitation as something that must be responded to and interrupted. Toronto clearly names human trafficking as a serious harm and integrates responses across law enforcement, victim services, and public safety systems. One of the most significant elements of its strategy is the inclusion of the “Ask for Angela” campaign. This initiative allows someone who feels unsafe in a bar, hotel, or public venue to discreetly signal for help, triggering a trained response from staff. This kind of tool matters because it operates in real time. It recognizes that coercion and exploitation often happen in everyday spaces, not only in extreme circumstances. In a high-density, high-risk environment like the World Cup, this provides a practical, accessible way for women and vulnerable individuals to get immediate assistance.
Toronto also invests in institutional responses, including police training, coordinated service networks, and reporting mechanisms. These systems are not always visible, but they are critical. Exploitation cannot be addressed without structures capable of responding effectively. However, Toronto’s approach is not without serious limitations. Its reliance on policing raises longstanding feminist concerns. Over-policing has historically harmed marginalized communities and can discourage those experiencing exploitation from seeking help. Intervention strategies that rely too heavily on law enforcement risk reinforcing the very inequalities they aim to address. Additionally, Toronto acknowledges issues such as homelessness and poverty but stops short of addressing them in any meaningful structural way. Without tackling the root causes of vulnerability, exploitation will continue to adapt and persist.
Vancouver’s plan presents a very different approach. It emphasizes harm reduction, community outreach, and social inclusion. At first glance, this may seem more progressive. Vancouver places a strong focus on structural vulnerability, particularly the experiences of Indigenous women, migrants, and people experiencing homelessness. This reflects an important understanding that exploitation is not random—it follows patterns of inequality shaped by history, economics, and systemic discrimination. The city also invests in community-based responses, funding peer outreach teams, Indigenous-led safety initiatives, and organizations working directly with vulnerable populations. These strategies can build trust and reach individuals who might avoid formal systems, making them a valuable part of any response.
However, Vancouver’s approach also contains serious blind spots. One of the most concerning elements is its treatment of the sex industry. By explicitly separating trafficking from what it calls consensual sex work and emphasizing “safety” within that framework, the plan risks normalizing exploitative conditions. From a feminist perspective that understands the sex industry as deeply shaped by coercion, inequality, and limited choices, this framing is not neutral—it is political. It shifts attention away from the structures that push women into exploitation and instead recasts the issue as one of workplace safety. This risks obscuring the power imbalances and economic pressures that define the industry.
Equally troubling is Vancouver’s lack of immediate, on-the-ground safety tools. Unlike Toronto, it does not include a discreet intervention system like “Ask for Angela.” Instead, it relies heavily on hotlines, awareness campaigns, and outreach efforts that often occur after harm has already taken place. While these supports are important, they do not address situations where someone is in immediate danger. At those moments, awareness alone is not enough—what is needed is rapid intervention. Vancouver’s approach also minimizes enforcement, which reduces the harms of over-policing but may simultaneously weaken deterrence. Exploitation often operates quietly, and without strong accountability mechanisms, it can remain hidden and unchallenged.
When placed side by side, Toronto and Vancouver reflect two very different strategies. Toronto prioritizes intervention and disruption, offering more immediate tools for responding to danger but risking over-reliance on policing. Vancouver prioritizes harm reduction and community engagement, offering a deeper recognition of structural inequality but risking the normalization of exploitative systems. Both approaches contain elements that are valuable, but neither fully resolves the central feminist concern: how to dismantle exploitation without reinforcing the conditions that sustain it.
What becomes clear is that both cities ultimately fall short in the same critical area. Neither offers meaningful, long-term solutions to the root causes of exploitation. There is no substantial plan to address housing insecurity at scale, no serious effort to disrupt economic coercion, and no direct challenge to the demand that drives exploitation. Instead, both plans focus largely on managing risk during the event itself. They rely on awareness campaigns, temporary funding, and short-term interventions that may mitigate harm but do not transform the system.
As Canada prepares to host the world, the success of these efforts should not be measured by how comprehensive the plans appear or how many initiatives are launched. The real measure is far simpler—and far more difficult. Will fewer women experience coercion, exploitation, and violence as a result of these policies? Toronto offers stronger tools for immediate safety, while Vancouver provides a more thorough recognition of structural inequality. But neither fully confronts the deeper question at the heart of feminist analysis: how to end exploitation, rather than simply manage its visibility.
If Canada is serious about human rights, then this moment must be more than a performance of concern. It must be an opportunity to confront the systems that make exploitation possible. Otherwise, the World Cup will not only showcase the country to a global audience—it will also expose the limits of its commitment to feminist justice.
