Rights, Not Repentance
BY FRANCES STEELE
*disclaimer: the women I am discussing in this piece are all involved in consensual forms of sex work. The generalizations I make in this article are not applicable to everyone’s experience and do not presume to ignore the traumatic and violent reality of those trafficked for sex or participating in sex work as a result of force, fraud or coercion.
It’s a hazy afternoon in late June. The grey summer sky hangs low and ominous, pregnant with rain, over Manhattan’s West river; water laps insistently at the edges of pier 45 where a crowd is gathering to celebrate Trans Day of Action. The turnout is good for so early in the day. Tides of New Yorkers wait at the corners of Christopher, 10th and 12th streets for traffic to stop before streaming across the West Side Highway. Marchers hold signs and sport T-shirts with their proclamations of justice: “HEALTHCARE FOR YOUR TRANS BODY”, “OUR SAFETY MATTERS”, “SISTERS NOT CIS-TERS” or “SMASH CAPITALISM FOR QUEER LIBERATION”. Some just walk, lifting up their arms in exhilaration and shouting out or processing quietly, intentionally, their expressions determined. A young trans man has wrapped himself in the pink and electric blue flag, soft peach chinos poking out the bottom of his cotton armor. He offers me a sidelong smile as he strides gracefully past, posture erect, tall and confident. The pressure of the day’s humidity does not weigh upon his shoulders, rather, he floats within it fluidly as though he were walking over water. A smaller, femme presenting white woman waves at him through the crowd. Her hair is dyed bright blue and she wears cat eye glasses and a floral dress. He laughs and rushes over to join her group. The entire city seems to have congregated here: all shapes, colors and sizes. Some seem to be there by accident: tourists caught on the river look on with confused expressions or surprised delight. Some join the marching, others watch quietly. Businessman attempting to escape the office for an afternoon phone call flee their benches for a quieter street inland, muttering to clients that they’ll call back in five. A group of students, chanting “rise up”, carry signs for immigrant, black, trans, Muslim and LGBTQ rights. I step in behind them, identifying with their smiles, their raw, optimistic youth. This is the first time I have attended New York City’s Trans Rights Parade. It’s a different animal from Pride, a bit more niche, as smaller more familiar groups mill around, linking up to chat, but also more expansive. Groups have come out in protest against police violence, sexual harassment, AIDS policy, and immigration: virtually every identity that sits in self-conscious contrast to mainstream spaces is represented on the wooden boards of Pier 45. There is an unconditional love here, saturating the crowds, hanging above the river. But still a tension, an understanding that today is an exception in the lives of these individuals for whom stigma, rejection and even the illegality of their identities is commonplace. I am here for work, to do socials for the Sex Worker, trafficking victim and LGBTQ rights organization I work for. Most of the sex workers and supporters I can spot, at least the ones holding signs, are women. They are white and cis presenting, with long hair and pretty smiles. Some have dressed their part, in fishnets and boots or bikini tops. Others wear jeans or even push strollers, their toddlers in t-shirts that tout proudly: “SEX WORK WILL SEND ME TO COLLEGE”. There is a quietness in their unity, discrete on this day of outspoken celebration. What I am aware of from my meager experience is that many of the sex workers here will be marching for something else. Whether it be their sexuality, their gender, their healthcare rights or citizenship; the illegality of their work is a small obstacle among many barriers to human decency that workers face. I hadn’t even been aware the protest was happening until one of the organizations’ community consultants told me about it. Kai had told me to meet her by the public bathrooms across from the Whitney. I spot her, sitting on a bench not too far away. Her legs are crossed, arms draped across the back of the seat rest. she is conversing with a homeless man, nodding at his animated diatribe. She seems perfectly at ease in this crowd, having the conversation everyone else has been avoiding, finding the outcast and bringing them in. I approach them timidly and Kai smiles broadly. “Kenny! Oh I didn’t mean to interrupt you honey—but this is my friend Frances.” Kai has a deep, distinguished voice that lingers despite the hormones, high cheek bones and beautiful slanted eyes that blink slowly as she considers peoples’ questions, their stories. I was initially intimidated by this measured, elegant woman, but as her guard came down, I saw who had fought tooth-and-nail for the dignity she now occupies so effortlessly. The contemporary US narrative on sex work is pretty black and white (no pun intended), with little room for interpretation. Prostitution is a last resort: an act of desperation taken under duress, addiction, mental illness or the coercion of a corrupt and profiteering third party. Once introduced to their wanton ways, sex workers are sucked in, consumed by a world of turpitude from which moral society must rescue them. But the subject of this story is intrinsically vulnerable, usually straight, white and female; it’s a hetero-normative definition that allows the sex worker to be fetishized, stripped of agency, acted on behalf of rather than consulted. She becomes simultaneously a victim and a criminal. Her moral failings may not be entirely her fault but they still require clemency, acquiescence to her role and the obscurification of those who don’t fit within it. And in order to be worthy of this forgiveness, she must not demand validation outside of society’s preconceptions of her. A large and essential part of the Sex Worker Rights Movement exists outside of this trope, barely visible at the margins. For these individuals, systematically excluded from the mainstream, stereotyped in the workplace and targeted by law enforcement, sex work becomes what it was of Kai: an alternative to hegemonic spaces and a community that understands the weight and stigma of inherent criminality. Hearing about Kai’s experiences: the abuse and neglect by her own family, consistent denial of mental health services, client harassment and the apathy of law enforcement; knowing how many women there are like her, it is hard not to feel despair. But these individuals are resilient. They talk about their experiences, their imperfections, their rights and their dreams with unflinching honesty. They refuse to let bad laws take away their humanity. When I began work at the beginning of the summer I knew almost nothing about the sex industry. The awareness Stormy Daniels’ allegations had recently brought to the issue had raised my woke-ness level just high enough not to be totally shocked by their decriminalization movement. I was, and still am, far from understanding the breadth of intersectionalities encompassed by the issue. When pressed by friends and family (usually men) why on earth something so demeaning should be allowed to proliferate legally, I had a hard time justifying it. I understood why sex work makes sense for some people, but as a person privileged enough to have never lacked an alternative, it was almost impossible for me to advocate using logic and numbers. Especially when the motivations and individual realities of different industry workers are so varied. For some, it provides access to a middle class lifestyle, working 6 instead of 14 hours a day, and allowing them to be home with their kids during the day. For others it provides empowerment and ownership over their bodies and a supportive work environment; and still there are those who participate because of violence, coercion, and addiction. For all, part of the emotional toll they face is the violence that is imposed on them from outside the industry: that dehumanizes and criminalizes, pities and blames, denying access to healthcare, housing, and justice. The last thing sex workers want or need are advocates or laws that dictate the ways in which their bodies can be used. What they need are the rights and agency that current statutes and moral crusades deny them. The decriminalization campaign is fraught with paradoxes and contradictions—probably a large part of the lack of progress it has made. Sex work regulation has become a hot button issue with the recent passage of FOSTA/SESTA and the crackdown on third party criminalization which has created a huge reaction in the community. The disjoint in narratives of morality between sex workers and ‘reformers’ makes the grey area, the middle ground of understanding, all the more difficult to access. The reality is that the sex industry can be dangerous, abusive and violent. But it is also lucrative, independent and agentive. It gives mothers, sisters, girlfriends and people the resources and time they need to access a better life. Much of the violence and abuse actually comes from those who purport to protect the workers. Criminal status excludes sex workers from public housing, healthcare and other social services. Third party criminalization laws also create insurmountable barriers that alienate workers from everyday services. Landlords, cab drivers, and even health practitioners can be held liable and persecuted as Johns, madams or solicitors for housing, transporting or treating workers. Under laws that criminalize profiting from income of sex work, even workers’ children can be seized or prosecuted. The provisions of FOSTA/SESTA have removed many of the online chat rooms or community forums that provided sites for workers to vet their clients. Sex work persists, in legal and illegal settings. A law that removes longstanding protection of internet forums will do little to deter trafficking and only force workers further into the shadows, obscure and unregulated realms where they are more at risk for violence and fraud. Research has shown that providing forums for workers to advertise, vet and choose clients online makes them much safer than street work or other settings without similar advanced safety precautions. The bill also creates harm by failing to differentiate between the advertisement of consensual and forced sex work. This conflation, which follows the 2000 UN protocol, asserting that consent is irrelevant to judging the crime of human trafficking, has not helped officials cut back on victims. The 2018 State Department report finds that identified victims of sex trafficking increased from fewer than 42,000 to over 100,000 in 2017 (Aja Romano Vox, 2018). Activist Melissa Mariposa described the risks of the bill saying, “If sex workers lose their storefront and safety tools, two things are going to happen: Number one, the predators will come out to play. Number two, prostitution is going to be pushed right back on the street and in hotel bars by women who will no longer want to see internet clientele and would rather take the risks freelancing. This will create more victims than it helps.” In Nevada, where Brothels are currently legal, the coalition argues that prostitution exists in a safe and regulated environment. Sex workers have access to regular screenings and have access to legal avenues of protection from abusive clients and brothel owners. The industry also generates tax revenue for the state and county that can be reinvested into health and education initiatives (Allison Schrager, Quartz). I’ve talked to Kai about her experiences with assault. She recalls an officer telling her that she had been raped because of the nature of her work. He refused to investigate her case further. She went on: “I’m not trying to excuse the bad Johns. Or the ones who hurt people. I’ve been there. I don’t understand it and I don’t like it. But criminalizing me won’t stop evil people from doing evil”. The problem with sex work is not that it happens to begin with, but that it happens in the shadows. I do not deny there is a morality issue inherent in the industry. But it is not one having to do with the character of individual workers, but rather the circumstances that have put them there: the moral failings of a society that feels justified in denying humanity to individuals based on an alternative identity and forcing them into obscurity so as not to have to confront this injustice. For sex workers who operate outside the stereotype of moral crisis, their supposed affront to respectable society is compounded. Not only does their profession force us to look at the moral paradoxes if our own culture, but it takes sex work out of the context and the gender dynamics in which heteronormative, white male paternalism defines and purports to control it. It changes the narrative. Thus, it must be erased, illegalized and ignored. This is not safety. This is not justice. It is the self-serving rationalization of the opposite under the guise of a moral crusade. |