A Place to Heal: The Story of Minnesota Safe Harbor
Less than 15 years ago, a prostituted 16-year-old could stand before a judge as a defendant rather than a victim. Her story reduced to a case number, her trauma recast as a crime.
Many in the courtroom knew she'd eventually return to the same circumstance that had trapped her there in the first place. Without support and a safe place to go, she’d likely be back in her trafficker’s control within days.
“There were prosecutors saying, ‘We don’t want to charge them, but we have nowhere else to send them.’ That’s when I knew we had to build something new,” said Beatriz Menanteau, of the Minnesota Department of Health, who has spent much of her career fighting human trafficking in Minnesota.
Scenes like this, repeated in courtrooms and police stations across the state, sparked a movement that would fundamentally change how Minnesota sees and supports youth who’ve been trafficked.
Safe Harbor laws make sure youth who’ve been sexually exploited are treated as victims, not criminals. Before these laws, Minnesota (like most states) could charge youth with prostitution. Or, if they weren’t charged, there would be nowhere safe for them to go.
“Many early laws focused only on decriminalizing youth under 17 — removing charges of prostitution — but stopped there,” Menanteau said. “We knew we needed both parts: remove prosecution and direct youth toward services.”
The public health approach — from punishment to protection
According to Menanteau, who now manages the section charged with the implementation of the Safe Harbor Program at the health department, Minnesota has a strong legacy of victim advocacy, beginning with the domestic violence movement. This, combined with national interest in Safe Harbor laws in the 2000s, created momentum for a key group of people to imagine something new: position sex trafficking as a public health issue, versus strictly a law enforcement one.
“We had all the people in the room who usually wouldn’t be —law enforcement, county attorneys, survivors, advocates. That’s when we felt the shift,” said Menanteau.
Minnesota’s Safe Harbor for Sexually Exploited Youth Act was signed into law in 2011, one of the earliest states to do so. By 2014, the law took effect, and youth under 18 engaging in commercial sex were no longer criminalized. Instead, they were embraced by a statewide response, known as the “No Wrong Door” model, which offers safe housing and support services.
The law also puts statewide coordination and the director’s role within the health department —something that continues to set Minnesota apart.
“A public health approach works, and that doesn’t negate that it’s also about safety and human rights,” said Menanteau. “But a coordinated response across all of these systems is what makes it effective.”
Menanteau played a key role in shaping that coordinated response. At the time, she was an attorney at The Advocates for Human Rights, drawing on years of experience working internationally to help countries implement and amend new sexual violence laws. Menanteau understood what Minnesota’s Safe Harbor laws needed to function well, and what gaps might leave survivors behind.
“We were truly creating change,” said Menanteau. “It’s an example of tremendous transformation through vision, discussion, and collaboration – we literally sat down and started drafting: “Well, what do we want this to look like?”
Inside Minnesota Safe Harbor
Minnesota’s Safe Harbor program funds supportive services, housing agencies, outreach programs, and 12 Regional Navigators—organizations that connect youth with services and housing and serve as point of contact for their communities.
Life House Duluth, one of the original Safe Harbor housing partners, used its funding to open Sol House in 2015, a congregate transitional living program for sexually exploited youth. Housing itself is critical, but what matters just as much is how staff show up every day: kind, steady, safe.
“Trafficking ruins young people’s lives.” said Mary Cowen Bantle, the former program director of Life House. “If a youth is having a hard time, it can be a test, like, ‘Are you going to keep showing up for me, even after this?’”
Bantle and her team knew that the people walking through their doors carried layers of trauma and resilience. She remembers a colleague once telling her that Safe Harbor youth are like six-year-olds because they lost their childhood, 16-year-olds because that’s how old they are, and 60-year-olds because of all they’ve been through.
“We make a big deal about birthdays, holidays, we take a trip to Valleyfair. These young people deserve a portion of childhood — to be fun, silly, spoiled a little bit,” said Bantle.
Bantle’s experience at Life House gave her a deep understanding of what it takes to support youth every day, including the unpredictability, the successes, the setbacks, and the rebuilding of trust. After more than five years as a Safe Harbor provider, Bantle now brings that experience to the Minnesota Department of Human Services, where she oversees Safe Harbor grants that support shelter, housing, and outreach services.
“I really love the Safe Harbor network. We are fortunate to have this network that cares about young people so much,” she said.
Youth: the experts of their own experience
Menanteau, Bantle, and so many others who’ve devoted their careers to these young people, are extraordinary changemakers behind Minnesota’s progress. But for them, it’s never been about recognition. It’s always been about the youth, and it’s always been about honoring their autonomy.
“Youth are the experts of their own experience,” said Bantle. “When you give young people a safe space to express themselves authentically, some really beautiful and good things can happen.”
Bantle noted that they avoid telling the youth what to do. At the end of the day, the youth decide if they stay or leave a program. The goal is to help them see their choices were limited because of the circumstances they were in.
That sense of agency can be healing. For some, it can also be a path to help others by sharing their experiences.
“Survivor leadership has been essential. If they hadn’t shared their stories and continued teaching others, Safe Harbor wouldn’t be anything,” said Menanteau.
Where to go from here
The Safe Harbor program has come a long way since 2011. Access to services has expanded to people through age 24 and to labor trafficking victims of all ages. From 2023 to 2025, over 2,000 young people received Safe Harbor services. Yet, providers and advocates know the work is far from done. Stereotypes about what trafficking looks like persist. Youth in rural areas are hard to reach, and services are sparse. Minnesota lacks programs that specifically work with Tribal Nations as well as those designed for boys, despite evidence that exploitation affects boys at similar rates to girls.
There is a need for services tailored to LGBTQ+ youth, people with developmental disabilities, and those with deep mental health or substance use needs. The labor-intensive, high-cost nature of the work means that demand outpaces what’s available.
And notably, as Bantle put it, nothing magical happens when you turn 25, which is when youth Safe Harbor services end. Victim-survivors need support across the lifespan. Still, those working closest to Safe Harbor are inspired by the progress. The work ahead is real, but so is the hope.