Tag Archives: culture

Le sexe en tant que travail et le travail du sexe (Sex as work and sex work)

Le sexe en tant que travail et le travail du sexe
Ouvrage, traduction par Etienne Simard
Une version anglaise de ce texte a été publiée dans Jacobin Magazine (2012), The Commoner (no 15, 2012) et Arts & Opinion.

Par LAURA AGUSTÍN
Publié le 7 décembre 2020

Il y a quelques années, on m’a demandé de rédiger un texte pour une édition spéciale de la revue The Commoner qui portait sur le travail du care et les communs (coordonné par Silvia Federici et Camille Barbagallo). Contrairement à ce qui était d’usage à l’époque pour les personnes qui étudient le travail de soin et de reproduction, elles tenaient à y inclure le travail du sexe. Elles m’ont posé une série de questions, dont certaines auxquelles je n’avais pas l’habitude de répondre. Leur langage marxien d’un certain type, que je ne parle pas couramment, faisait en sorte que je devais continuellement demander des éclaircissements. Enfin, leur édition spéciale est parue en 2012, dans lequel on retrouvait le présent texte. Ce dernier a également été publié dans Jacobin au cours de la même année. Le voici donc maintenant publié pour la première fois en français. Il commence par une blague. Je me rends compte que ce n’est pas la seule fois que je publie des blagues à propos de l’idée du sexe en tant que travail.

Un colonel de l’armée s’apprête à commencer le briefing du matin pour son état-major. En attendant que le café soit prêt, le colonel révèle qu’il n’a pas beaucoup dormi la nuit précédente parce que sa femme avait été d’humeur coquine. Il lance la question à son auditoire : quelle part du sexe est «du travail» et quelle part est «du plaisir»? Un major opte pour une proportion de 75-25% en faveur du travail. Un capitaine avance 50-50%. Un lieutenant répond 25-75% en faveur du plaisir, dépendamment du nombre de verres qu’il a bu. Devant l’absence de consensus, le colonel se tourne vers le simple soldat chargé de préparer le café. Qu’est-ce qu’il en pense? Sans hésitation, le jeune soldat répond: «Mon colonel, il faut que ce soit 100% de plaisir.» Surpris, le colonel lui demande pourquoi. «Eh bien, mon colonel, s’il y avait là du travail, les officiers me demanderaient de le faire à leur place».

Peut-être est-ce parce qu’il est le plus jeune, le soldat ne considère que le plaisir que le sexe représente, alors que les hommes plus âgés savent qu’il s’y passe bien davantage. Ceux-ci ont peut-être mieux saisi le fait que le sexe est le travail qui met en marche la machine de reproduction humaine. La biologie et les écrits médicaux présentent les faits mécaniques sans aucune mention d’éventuelles expériences ni de sentiments indescriptibles (le plaisir, en d’autres termes), car on y réduit le sexe à des spermatozoïdes qui se tortillent et se frayent un chemin vers des ovules en attente. Le fossé est vaste entre les faits bruts et les sentiments et sensations impliqués.

Les officiers ont aussi probablement à l’esprit le travail qu’implique l’entretien d’un mariage, en dehors des questions du désir et de la satisfaction. Ils seraient susceptibles de dire que les relations sexuelles sont spéciales (voire sacrée) entre personnes amoureuses, mais ils savent aussi que le sexe fait partie du partenariat visant à traverser la vie ensemble et qu’il faut également le considérer de manière pragmatique. Même les gens qui s’aiment n’ont pas des besoins physiques et émotionnels identiques, ce qui fait que le sexe prend des formes et des significations plus ou moins différentes selon les occasions.

Cette petite histoire met en lumière quelques unes des façons dont le sexe peut être considéré comme un travail. De nos jours, lorsque nous parlons de travail du sexe, le focus est immédiatement mis sur les échanges commerciaux, mais dans le présent article, je vais au-delà de cela et je questionne notre capacité à distinguer clairement quand le sexe implique du travail (entre autres choses) et le travail du sexe (qui implique toutes sortes de choses). Le tollé moral entourant la prostitution et les autres formes de commerce du sexe fait généralement valoir que la différence est évidente entre le sexe bon ou vertueux et le sexe mauvais ou néfaste. Les efforts déployés pour réprimer, condamner, punir et sauver les femmes qui vendent du sexe s’appuient sur l’idée selon laquelle ces dernières occupent une place en marge de la norme et de la communauté, qu’elles peuvent être clairement identifiées et prises en charge par des gens qui savent mieux qu’elles comment elles doivent vivre. Démontrer la fausseté de cette idée discrédite ce projet néocolonial.

Aimer, avec et sans sexe

Nous vivons à une époque où les relations basées sur l’amour romantique et sexuel occupent le sommet de la hiérarchie des valeurs affectives, dans laquelle on suppose que l’amour romantique est la meilleure expérience possible et que le sexe des personnes en amour est le meilleur sexe et ce, à plus d’un titre. La passion romantique est considérée comme significative, une façon pour deux personnes de «ne faire plus qu’une», une expérience qu’on croit parfois amplifiée lors de la conception d’un enfant. D’autres traditions sexuelles s’efforcent également de transcender la banalité dans le sexe (mécanique, frictionnel), par exemple le tantra, qui distingue trois différents objectifs du sexe: la procréation, le plaisir et la libération, le dernier culminant à la perte du sens de soi dans la conscience cosmique. Dans la tradition romantique occidentale, la passion consiste à focaliser une forte émotion positive qui va au-delà du physique, en opposition à la luxure qui n’est que physique, envers une personne particulière. Continue reading

Christmas in the Brothel

Christmas in the Brothel
Edvard Munch, 1905

Sexworkers’ long history as political experts, English translation: Thierry Schaffauser

I’ve translated Thierry’s reflections published the other day as faithfully to his tone as I could and checked with him, so here’s the piece with the same title, now in English.

Sexworkers’ long history as political experts – the English version
by Thierry Schaffauser, 7 November 2020

Last night I was listening to a longtime campaigner in the battle against AIDS and a sincere person, telling me that the emergence of sexworker activists in his organisation was recent, and that it would take time for sex workers to assume leadership roles, that it wasn’t enough to be a sex worker to have the skills — in response to my insistence that incompetent people who know nothing about sex work should be replaced by those concerned.

I was annoyed because I realised that the place and the role played by sex workers in the battle against AIDS, and in this organisation, had been forgotten. It annoyed me because my personal history in the battle against AIDS was not always simple, the feeling of not always being taken seriously, of not always being respected, because of being a sex worker, perhaps a bit hysterical, with a load of anecdotes in my head too long to list, but also annoyed to have to admit that I myself for a long time partly believed this story of the ‘cultural incapacity’ of my own community, because I also have been affected by the stories of certain sociologists and ‘experts’ that describe us as an ‘improbable movement’ ‘dependant on allies’.

I had to go to Geneva, invited by Swiss colleagues who have preserved the archives of Grisélidis Réal. All her life she spent time conserving and photocopying press articles, letters, messages, correspondence between activists, in a time when organising happened in real time, without the Internet. Loads of documents in French and other European languages, because she was a fluent speaker of French, English, German, Spanish and I think also some Italian. The Swiss, eh? And after a few moments I discovered what a lie I had believed for almost 20 years: that since 1975 and the occupation of the churches, nothing had happened. What shame I felt.

In the boxes at the Grisélidis Réal centre, there is a whole history of collectives, of trials and legal battles, of appeals to different governments, town halls, protests, all the militant work done now was already being done in that period when officially I had been taught there was nothing, because the supposed leaders of 1975 had used their mobilisation to become aware of the undesirable ‘prostitute condition’ and finally ‘changed their lives’, thanks to what they learned in a process of ‘consciousness-raising’ and ‘emancipation’. All of which can be understood as whore-hating bullshit, because Ulla’s departure from the movement can be seen, in the documents, as the result of a conflict with other leaders of different prostitute collectives, notably in Marseille and Paris.

The first cases of AIDS among prostitutes arrived in the 1980s, and mobilisation was practically immediate. The issue appeared in 1985 at the World Whores Congress and took a serious place in the manifesto of the World Congress of 1986. In reality, some of the first activists in anglo-saxon countries tried to mobilise even before those first cases, because many had homosexual friends and were already sensitised. The friendship whore/fag would also be a thing to study for that matter, for example between Grisel and Jean Luc Henning. And again Grisélidis is a bad example, since for a long time she took up the anti-hygiene discourse and denied the extent of AIDS, and she complained about having to use condoms.

Nevertheless she preserved many issues of GayPied from the 80s, with their articles on male prostitution and classifieds that reveal meetings between hookers and clients. ‘Generous man offers travel and holidays in company of a young man.’ Many activists were also bisexual and lesbian. It’s forgotten that Margo St James and Gail Pheterson, the founders of Coyote in California, were also a couple. Obviously the arrival of AIDS was immediately an event in that community, even if the first documented cases among cis women appeared four years later than among homosexual men.

There are real skills, there is real expertise. There are real battles. And it’s even astonishing, when you think about it, not to see that the whole prostitutes’ movement is since 1990 a movement that principally exists via the battle against AIDS, the only slightly official political space that lets us in.

And yes, in 2020, after more than 30 years, almost 40 in the battle against AIDS, there has never been any sex worker on the board of directors of certain organisations, even though we are a key population on whose behalf volunteers are sent to perform screenings every day.

I’m at the point where I’m tired and fed up with being angry. I don’t want to shout and I know well how quickly we are labelled bitter old queens with our obsessions, our frustrations and our failures. But I would just like there to be at least the realisation that no, the sex worker movement isn’t a ‘recent’ phenomenon. There have always been resistances, even before the 1970s, revolts of prostitutes in prisons, revolutions led by ‘common women’, salons held by courtesans to influence thinkers and decision-makers, artists creating new cultures influencing their society, innovation, audacity and courage. There is something to be proud of in being a whore, and that continues.

···

Thierry and I have long shared a wish not to rely on personal testimonies in discussing sexworker issues, but sometimes a personal piece rings a bell for many in the community. That’s what happened with Thierry’s facebook-post, and is why I suggested putting it on this blog, and why I decided to translate it. Non-insiders can undoubtedly guess what’s behind some of the more opaque comments, or they can search on google.

The photo, by Miroslav Tichý, is I believe in the public domain. If that’s wrong, please let me know how to credit you.

-Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Sexworkers’ long history as political experts: Thierry Schaffauser

Saul Leiter, Untitled, 1950

The other day Thierry Schaffauser posted some reflections on facebook on the history of sexworkers as thinkers and leaders in activism for social change. Objecting to the exclusion of sexworkers from prominent roles in political groups, Thierry was told it was too soon to expect anything different, because sexworker-leadership was a recent phenomenon.

In this piece, Thierry goes back more than 40 years to remember sexworkers who were very much leaders and reflects on the apparent disappearance or ignorance of this history, even amongst friends.

He mentions the emergence of the idea that sexworkers won’t be able to achieve anything on their own; that ‘allies’ in the form of academics and big NGOs are crucial to success.

He highlights the longtime collaboration between gay and sexworker activists,
not only in the struggle against AIDS.

This is both a personal and very informative piece, which we’ve titled

Sexworkers’ long history as political experts
by Thierry Schaffauser, 7 November 2020

Hier soir, j’écoutais un militant de longue date de la lutte contre le sida et quelqu’un de sincère qui me disait que l’émergence d’activistes travailleurSEs du sexe dans son organisation était récente et que ça prenait du temps pour que des TdS prennent des places de leadership, qu’il ne suffisait pas d’être TdS pour avoir les compétences en réponse à mon exigence que des personnes incompétentes qui ne connaissent rien au TdS devaient être remplacées par des personnes concernées.

Je me suis un peu énervé parce que je me suis rendu compte que la place et le rôle joué par les TdS dans la lutte contre le sida, y compris dans cette organisation, a été oubliée. Ça m’a un peu énervé parce que mon histoire personnelle dans la lutte contre le sida n’a pas toujours été simple, le sentiment de ne pas avoir toujours été pris au sérieux, de ne pas avoir toujours été respecté, parce que travailleur du sexe, peut être trop hystérique, avec plein d’anecdotes en tête que je ne pourrais toutes lister, mais aussi un énervement à devoir admettre que moi même j’ai longtemps cru en partie dans cette narration de “l’incapacité culturelle” de ma propre communauté, parce que j’ai aussi été marqué par certaines lectures de sociologues ou “experts” non concernés, parlant de “mouvement improbable” de “dépendance aux alliés”.

Il a fallu que je me rende à Genève à l’invitation des collègues suisses qui ont conservé les archives de Grisélidis Réal. Toute sa vie, elle a passé son temps à conserver et photocopier les articles de presse, les courriers, les communiqués, les correspondances entre activistes qui n’avaient pas Internet à l’époque pour s’organiser en temps réel. Plein de documents en français et d’autres langues européennes car elle parlait couramment le français, l’anglais, l’allemand, l’espagnol et je crois aussi un peu d’italien. Les Suisses quoi. Et en quelques instants, j’ai découvert comme un mensonge que j’ai cru pendant presque 20 ans, à savoir qu’après 1975 et l’occupation des églises, il n’y avait rien eu. Qu’entre 1975 et 1990 c’est à dire la création du Bus des Femmes à Paris, il n’y avait rien eu. Quelle honte.

Saul Leiter, Inez, printed 1970s

Dans les cartons du centre Grisélidis Réal il y a toute une histoire de collectifs, de procès et batailles judiciaires, d’interpellations aux différents gouvernements, mairies, de manifestations, tout le travail militant fait aujourd’hui était déjà fait pendant cette période où officiellement j’avais appris qu’il n’y avait rien eu parce que soi disant les leaders de 1975 avaient profité de leur mobilisation pour prendre conscience d’une “condition prostituée” peu enviable et finalement “changer de vie” grâce aux compétences acquises grâce au processus de “conscientisation” et “d’émancipation”. Tout ça est bien entendu du bullshit putophobe car le départ d’Ulla du mouvement apparait surtout à la lecture des documents comme le résultat d’un conflit avec les autres leaders des différents collectifs de prostituées notamment celui de Marseille et Paris.

Les premiers cas de sida chez les prostituées arrivent au milieu des années 1980, et la mobilisation est quasiment immédiate. La question apparait en 85 au Congrès mondial des putains et entre sérieusement dans le manifeste du Congrès mondial de 86. En réalité, des premières activistes dans les pays anglo saxons tentent de mobiliser avant même ces premiers cas car beaucoup avaient des amis homosexuels, étaient déjà sensibilisées. L’amitié pute/pédé serait aussi un truc à étudier d’ailleurs, par exemple entre Grisel et Jean Luc Hennig. Et encore Grisélidis est un mauvais exemple car elle a longtemps repris les discours anti hygiénistes et de déni de l’ampleur du sida, et se plaignait de devoir adopter le préservatif.

Néanmoins elle a conservé plein de GayPied des années 80 pour leurs articles sur la prostitution masculine ou les petites annonces qui révèlent des processus de rencontres entre tapins et clients. “homme généreux offre voyage et vacances en compagnie d’un jeune homme”. Beaucoup des militantes étaient aussi bisexuelles et lesbiennes. On oublie que Margo St James et Gail Pheterson, les fondatrices de Coyote en Californie ont été un couple pas que militant! Donc évidemment que l’arrivée du sida a tout de suite été un événement pour cette communauté, même si les premiers cas documentés chez les femmes cis sont apparus quatre ans après ceux des hommes homosexuels.

Il y a de vraies compétences, il y a une vraie expertise. Il y a de vraies luttes. Et c’est même étonnant quand on y pense de ne pas voir que tout le mouvement des prostituées puis des travailleurSEs du sexe est depuis 1990 un mouvement qui existe en réalité principalement à travers la lutte contre le sida, seul espace politique un peu officiel qui nous est admis.

Saul Leiter, Snow, 1960

Et oui en 2020, après plus de 30 ans, bientôt 40 ans de lutte contre le sida, il n’y a toujours eu aucunE TdS dans les conseils d’administration de certaines organisations alors que nous sommes une population clé auprès de laquelle on envoie des volontaires pour des actions de dépistage tous les jours.

J’arrive à un point où je suis fatigué et j’en ai marre d’être en colère. Je n’ai plus envie de “gueuler” et je sais bien qu’on est vite désigné comme une vieille folle aigrie avec nos obsessions, nos frustrations et nos échecs. Mais je voudrais juste qu’il y ait au moins cette prise de conscience que non, le mouvement des travailleurs du sexe n’est pas un phénomène “récent”. Il y a toujours eu des résistances, même avant les années 1970, des révoltes de prostituées dans les prisons, des révolutions menées par des “femmes du peuple”, des salons tenus par des courtisanes pour influencer les penseurs et décideurs, des artistes créant de nouvelles cultures influençant leur société, de l’innovation, de l’audace et du courage. Il y a de quoi être fierES d’être putes, et ça continue.

···

Photographs by Saul Leiter, thanks to the Howard Greenberg Gallery

If anyone can easily produce a wonderful translation of this text, let me know. Ten years ago, Thierry translated a number of my writings into French, at a time when the French government were considering bringing in an anti-sexbuyer law (which they later did):

Rapport douteux sur la loi d’achat de sexe
original Tvivelaktig rapport om sexköpSvenska Dagbladet, avec Louise Persson, 15 July 2010
Version anglaise

Grandes prétentions, peu de preuves: la loi de Suède contre l’achat de sexe
original Big claims, little evidence: Sweden’s law against buying sexThe Local, 23 July 2010.

Rapport suédois basé sur de mauvais chiffres danois de la prostitution de rue
original Swedish report based on wrong Danish numbers for street prostitution, 3 July 2010.

La fumée dans les yeux: l’évaluation de la loi anti-prostitution suédoise offre de l’idéologie, pas de la méthodologie
original Smoke gets in your eyes: Evaluation of Swedish anti-prostitution law offers ideology, not methodology, 15 July 2010.

Derrière le visage heureux de la loi suédoise anti-prostitution
original Behind the happy face of the Swedish anti-prostitution lawLouise Persson, 4 July 2010.

Pas de méthode dans l’évaluation de la loi Suédoise contre l’achat de sexe
original Skarhed admits scientific method was lacking in evaluation of Swedish law against buying sex, 19 Jan 2011.

L’utilisation irresponsable des données relatives à la traite, ou: Mauvaises entrées de données, mauvais résultats
original Irresponsible use of trafficking data, or: Garbage in, garbage out, 14 August 2010.

···

Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Naked Anthropologist News for Radio Ava: Jan 2020

Since last spring I’ve been providing Naked Anthropologist News to Radio Ava, a sexworker project in London. Something between tweeting and blogging, these news-bits are meant to be brief and critical, if not downright cutting. I choose a few things that struck or angered me most from the previous month’s online news. I link to an original news story and then quote sex workers as opinionators whenever possible as well as saying what I think. The latest edition was for 9 January. Note on the photos at the end.

In France

250 sex workers in France appeal to the European Court of Human Rights

Two hundred fifty sex workers in France have taken the 2016 law criminalising their clients to the European Court of Human Rights. Reasons given include:

‘We’ve exhausted the legal possibilities in France…
‘We reproach the French state for not assuring the fundamental liberties of sex workers…
‘Voices of sex workers are systematically ignored.’

To make a human-rights case, plaintiffs must show systematic discrimination, as when a governmental structure fails over time to take specific testimonies into account, not because of momentary bias or apparent coincidence. And not because of whore-hating writings by fanatics!

In China

China Scraps Extra-Judicial Forced Labor for Sex Workers

China banned prostitution after the Communist revolution in 1949, sending women into ‘custody and education’ programmes: Rehabilitation via forced labour, in other words.

The government wants us to believe Communism succeeded in abolishing prostitution and now claim prostitution ‘returned with a vengeance after landmark economic reforms began in the late 1970s.’ Since abolition rhetoric doesn’t suit China’s current public image, they’ve announced the ‘system’s historical role has been completed.’

Meaning what? Do they think all sex workers have been cured of the impulse to sell sex? No, because if they were then why does prostitution remain illegal, with punishments of both detention and fines?

The usual police ‘crackdowns’, as China routinely calls them, are sure to continue as usual.

In Nigeria

Nigerian judge declares sex work is not a crime

The judge said it’s not a crime to sell sex ‘since there is no law that forbids it’ and awarded damages to 16 women arrested for prostitution in 2017 when police raided private homes. The item goes on to mention more than 60 women arrested for prostitution in the capital city, Abuja. The women said they were harassed, extorted and publicly shamed.

Although the judgement sounds like good news, it will be open to different interpretations. In Spain, for example, where there is no law defining prostitution as either legal or illegal, sex workers’ rights campaigners have long protested police behaviour and confusing policy. They want a statement in law.

Let’s see what happens next in Nigeria, where police are sure to be very annoyed.

In London

Police make 14 arrests in modern slavery raids on south London nail bars

It was International Migrants Day when police carried out anti-trafficking raids on nail salons in Southwark. The 5-month multi-agency investigation claimed to be motivated by ‘concern for the safety and wellbeing of the women, children and other vulnerable adults caught up in this despicable trade.’

Familiar rhetoric.

Vietnamese migrants often work in UK nail salons, as we well know from recent deaths in a smuggling cock-up in Essex. Numerous researches and the sms-texts of migrants themselves show that they look hopefully forward to working in nail salons, and their travel-projects are supported and paid for by their families.

Reports like this from Southwark function as public-relations rhetoric for the Rescue Industry, as when arrest and detention are said to be followed by ‘support’. They want us to believe that sad young foreigners are being comforted by special employees, but you know what? The state will deport all these nail-workers as soon as they can, because that’s the legal solution to undocumented migration.

It’s the worst hypocrisy, pretending migrants want to be arrested and sent back where they started.

Naked Anthropologist News has a theme-song: Ten Cents a Dance, a taxi-dancer’s lament about her job, sung by Nebraska-born Ruth Etting in 1930. Taxi-dancing is one of those jobs that is or isn’t sex work, depending on your point of view: ‘All that you need is a ticket, Come on, big boy, ten cents a dance.’

About the photos: ‘Miroslav Tichý was a photographer who from the 1960s until 1985 took thousands of surreptitious pictures of women in his hometown of Kyjov in the Czech Republic, using homemade cameras constructed of cardboard tubes, tin cans and other at-hand materials… Of his technical methods, Tichy said, “First of all, you have to have a bad camera”, and, “If you want to be famous, you must do something more badly than anybody in the entire world.”‘
Right up my street. More photos at Michael Hoppen Gallery. And isn’t his camera glorious?

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Christmas in the unexciting brothel

Edvard Munch painted Christmas in the Brothel in 1905, and every year I feel the same fondness for it. I don’t pay much attention to the ceremonies of Christmas, but I like the holiday in this scene, particularly the woman making notes in a small book. There’s such a fuss nowadays about those who manage sex-businesses, making them into fiends, but this picture could be any non-glitzy bar anywhere. Munch painted numerous brothel pictures

When so-labeled Expresionist Munch painted the scene there was already a body of Impressionist works depicting prostitutes lounging and sitting with expressionless faces as they wait for clients. Toulouse-Lautrec painted this one of many in 1894.

The women are sometimes naked, but the tone is unexcited, the poses often awkward. Degas made this painting in 1879, the low-key colour-scheme contributing to an absence of titillation.

The Three-Headed Dog has this understated tone as well. It was partly the product of many years’ witnessing over-excited coverage of the sex industry, especially of everything related to migrant women who sell sex. In this novel, migrants work in different sorts of businesses run by others, some of them flats you might call brothels where, at this season, there are Christmas trees.

One of the reasons I haven’t been writing on this blog is a sensation that trafficking campaigns have all just gone too far now to even comment on. What we’re witnessing is neither panic nor hysteria but an institutionalised and highly misleading ‘social problem’ fed by media coverage that continuously reproduces a lurid fairy story. Engaging with it feels pointless. I’m sorry Sex at the Margins is still totally relevent.

More about The Three-Headed Dog:
Sexwork and Migration Mystery
Jobs in the sex industry
Location and nation
To go with sex tourists or smugglers?

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Highways as sexwork-places, with chairs

When the topic is selling sex outdoors, mainstream media stick to the same photos over and over. Generally now posed, the shots show young female bodies chopped off at the head or feet or waist, standing in dark city streets. I don’t need to give an example because you’ve instantly visualised what I’m talking about. So when I posted an item on facebook from The Local that carried this photo with pink and green chairs, many people sounded surprised.

If you don’t bring a chair, sometimes there’s a kerb to sit on. If there’s not, you might lean on metal barriers. But chairs of all portable types are common along highways in Cataluña, despite longtime attempts by local communities and police to stop the whole activity. Gavà, Castelldefels, Viladecans, Les Filipines – not far from the beach or downtown Barcelona. Places where traffic slows down, where there’s a place to pull over.

These are workplaces to which workers bring staple items: a rucksack with food, makeup, clothes, towels. A parasol, wastebasket, extra plastic bags. A book to read, a thermos of coffee, sunscreen. I mention all this because anti-trafficking and anti-prostitution campaigns focus exclusively on the question of choice: whether any of these women really knew what selling sex would be like when they came to these highways from Rumania, Bulgaria or anywhere else. Whether they can be granted any agency at all, whether prostitution carries a transcendent meaning for feminism. Abstract questions rather than everyday culture in which individuals experience their own workaday lives. Looked at from this other viewpoint, it’s clear women treat these sites as workplaces, and that’s whether the person coming to pick them up after their shift is a friend or some kind of controller.

This isn’t a merely ethnographic value to be pooh-poohed by hard-hitting ideologues. To know about sex work you need to do more than think in the abstract. You need to look at what there is to look at, listen to the music and read more than tweets and policy-papers. Observing the workplace, even if you feel appalled that it’s out on a highway in the hot sun, allows you to see that the women are not only waiting passively as if with a whip over their heads but exercising small choices about their comfort.

The most ethereal of these pictures come from Txema Salvans, whose project The Waiting Game shows many more shots of sex workers along these highways.

Some of the chairs are not so portable after all, but I really like the empire-style fringed one above. The pictures also show that some workplaces are shared – and some chairs.

I’ve written about sexwork-places in Spain many times before, including:

Who are migrant sex workers?

The Sex Industry in Spain: Sex clubs, flats, agriculture, tourism

Sexwork and migration fiction, part 2: Jobs in the sex industry

—Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Grid girls and the Presidents Club: Women and sexist jobs

In 1995, my friend’s 17-year-old daughter Ermina was looking for work in Santiago, Chile. The obvious job available to her was posing in a short skirt beside cars or washing machines in public showrooms – standard promotional technique to this day. What made her hesitate? Girls who took those jobs in Santiago were assumed to be loose – no better than they should be. She might ruin her reputation whether she went on to do more than pose or not. There were also jobs in coffee bars, but they carried an even graver stigma. But Ermina didn’t want to follow in the footsteps of her mother and aunt, who had both migrated to Madrid to work as live-in maids. This was the kind of story I ran into everywhere in Latin America amongst poorer people back in the 90s, and is why I ended up writing Sex at the Margins.

Recently jobs like these have been in the news in the context of the #MeToo movement against sexual harassment but they also appear in long-running campaigns against prostitution and trafficking. All objections are increasingly positioned as evidence of Gender Inequality. I thought about writing this post after an event called the Presidents Club got undercoverage – a Financial Times reporter got a job as hostess. Scandal was provoked by revelations of the conditions of work for hostesses – conditions that have been conventional for aeons and most people know about. For those interested in labour rights, reports of low pay and a requirement to sign non-disclosure contracts stood out. For those who felt scandalised, it was having to wear skimpy frocks and accept being groped.

These jobs are widespread, because sexism is everywhere, because women without a lot of education and training have few options for work and because some women like hostess or modeling-type jobs better than whatever others are available. I understand why successful middle-class women denounce the existence of this work. I know this is objectification of women’s bodies and appearance, you don’t have to tell me. But what does it mean to call for their abolition except fewer jobs for women? And although the denouncers are appalled, many other women like or don’t much mind this way of making money.

The Presidents Club got much publicity because it’s an event for elite men. A class issue, as though those men ought to be better than others? Consider what happened ‘lower down’ the culture hierarchy.

Formula 1 ended its tradition of using grid girls because ‘it was at odds with modern societal norms‘.

The men drive the cars, they make the cars, they fix the cars and the women handed out drinks, refreshed the buffet… The grid girls would be led out, a bit like prize cattle, just before the race and stand on the grid where the cars are, with an umbrella or a number of which position the car was in. They would have their bottoms pinched by the mechanics, there would be photographers sat on the floor behind them, taking pictures of their bums, or up their skirts. They had to giggle and pretend that was OK. – broadcaster Beverley Turner

But grid girls protested.

Note the numbers for that tweet – and it wasn’t the only one, and Cooper wasn’t the only tweeter.

In the world of competitive darts, before this trend reports could say ‘stunning walk-on girls provide some much-needed glamour… The lovely ladies have the important job… to provide a key element to the festive entertainment.’

But now the Professional Darts Corporation announced it would end using walk-on girls who accompany players to the stage and hold up score cards. Announcing a protest in Birmingham, the owner of Dream Street Models and Events said, “If they’re banning us at F1 and darts, what’s next? Where’s it going to stop? Will it be boxing, Superbikes, the stands at NEC shows? Most of my models do promotional work, for some it’s a part-time job, but for others it’s their full-time living.”

The Women’s Sport Trust said: “We applaud the Professional Darts Corporation moving with the times and deciding to no longer use walk-on girls. Motor racing, boxing and cycling . . . your move.”

In parts of Asia beer girls (or promotion girls) are paid low wages to jolly male customers into ordering a particular brand of beer. Surviving from tips and working long into the night, they too have been named as improperly exploited by a funder.

The mostly young drink promoters are paid low wages — and work for tips, largely from groups of intoxicated men — to push certain beers in bars. Global Fund announced on Thursday in a statement that it was suspending its partnership with Heineken “based on recent reports of the company’s use of female beer promoters in ways that expose them to sexual exploitation and health risks”.

Exposed by hanging around drinking men and possibly having sex with them possibly for money that lifts them from survival-mode? A lot of women consider this a desirable job. Do you want to add ‘are forced to’ consider it desirable? Ok, but desire counts – don’t tell me you Know Better than they how they should feel and act.

Then there was MIPIM, an annual conference for property people that draws sex workers, an unremarkable fact that contributed to demands for more equality for female delegates at the conference.

Tamsie Thomson, the director of the London festival of architecture, said the Presidents Club scandal had “just scratched the surface of the discrimination and harassment that women and other minorities are routinely subjected to in our industry”. Thomson launched the “the elephant in the room” campaign to encourage women and others to challenge any inappropriate or uncomfortable behaviour and distributed pink elephant badges to raise awareness.

The event and sector are obviously mired in sexist practices, including holding events where only male delegates feel fully welcome. But there’s a disquieting tendency to imply that the fact sex workers might be there somewhere is evidence of Something Being Very Wrong. “What other industry on the face of the earth in 2018 needs to remind businessmen that they can’t bring prostitutes to an industry conference,” asked Jane, a 29-year-old delegate from Manchester. “That alone tells you how backward property is.” Do they imagine that getting rid of sex workers helps fix inequality problems? This leap to pointing at prostitution smacks of scapegoating.

As I lamented in The New Abolitionist Model, banning badly paid jobs because they are objectifying and sexist punishes women in contexts where they haven’t got many options.

Is the proposition still that being a servant for pennies and a scant private life is better because it is more dignified? Or is it superior simply because it is not sex work? Either way, to focus always on the moral aspects of sexual labor means forever sidelining projects to improve working conditions and legal protections.

Surely it’s obvious that more kinds of work for better pay need to exist before jobs women prefer are prohibited, even with the disadvantages they entail. There’s where this kind of feminist needs to put her energy, and that goes for richer and poorer countries alike.

Footnote: Nowadays the Santiago coffee bars are called cafés con piernas, cafes with legs, and (of course) are now named as sites of sex exploitation. The photo at the top shows one example.

And, in case anyone thought this phenomenon is always gender-specific, see this photo by Bill Kobrin of the Art Students League Dream Ball, New York, 1953. Yes – the 1950s.

—Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Victimisation of Mary Prince: Early Rescue-Industry history

I’m always on the lookout for guided walks where I’ll be shown sites and hear histories not in the Establishment’s textbooks. Black History Walks showed me this plaque located in Bloomsbury on a wall where passerbys are unlikely to notice it.

Mary Prince was a slave born in Bermuda about 1788. Sold to several masters on different islands, she was brought to England in 1828 and a few years later dictated her story for publication. She was a migrant woman. You can read about Prince on many websites, one of which marvellously refers to Mary Prince’s Journeys.

The original 1831 edition of The History of Mary Prince had what we’d now call a title page as cover, according to the British Library. Later editions used and continue to use images, however.

Victimising imagery is standard fare in anti-trafficking campaigning as it is in most Third-World ‘Aid’ advertising. The theory is that feeling their heart-strings tugged loosens viewers’ holds on their wallets. The most-used images show girls cowering, hiding their faces, chained in dark places, crying. I collected a lot of the more horrible ones in an album. The victimisation of migrating women was my earliest question and complaint about how the mainstream was talking about them, and I published Forget Victimisation in 2003. (If you go to this link note the photo I used there.)

There are no photos of Prince from her lifetime, so what are the pictures used on covers of later editions of the book?

Penguin Books presently use this: a recognisable icon of anti-slavery history – the original Abolitionism. Slave is made to equal pitiable helpless shackled person in a pleading position. Pleading for help, for someone outside herself to free her. It’s a particularly inappropriate image to use for Mary Prince, whose agency can be in no doubt. Penguin should stop using it.

It’s not as sensationalistic as the image below, but it gets the message across that white people were needed to save black slaves. That slaves were passively waiting for liberation, rather than resisting in myriad ways, subverting the status quo, helping each other. Just the way present-day Rescue Industry campaigns obliterate the agency of migrants who pay smugglers to travel and get into trouble and then try to get themselves out of it.

You’d never guess that enslaved women like Prince existed. You’d never guess she negotiated several families and masters, got married, travelled, campaigned, authored a book. But she did.

On the bright side, the Bloomsbury plaque doesn’t even use the word slave. Now if it could just be placed somewhere a bit more noticeable. . .

—Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Strike4Decrim on Women’s ‘Day’ Soho 8 March 2018

I was glad to be able to participate in the Strike4Decrim events on the evening of 8 March – International Women’s Day. In general I’m no fan of official ‘days’ to celebrate supposedly coherent groups: mothers, fathers, women. Inevitably the differences get smoothed out and mainstreamed, many feel excluded and some feel seriously annoyed. General ‘women’s gatherings had taken place earlier in the day in a straighter part of town, but although Soho is getting blander all the time, a little kinkiness remains.

Here’s me talking for five minutes at the start, before we marched. The photos are by Alexander Schulenburg, who approached me to say he liked my talk and later tweeted on the event. I also ran into sex workers met in other countries and other years and some I worked with as far back as 2005. I appreciate being reminded of the continuity and feeling surrounded (notes of my talk at the bottom).

Why call it a strike? The word is meant to recentre women’s work, specially invisible things like ‘caring’ and reproductive labour. The intention was to expand the concept of strike and ‘use tactics and perspectives that think about how we struggle at the point of production and reproduction’. By including a sex workers’ rights event on the day, what gets counted as a feminist issue was expanded. I was glad to be there, given lamentable histories of leaving sex workers out.

My notes for the five minutes

Rights movement stronger now – multiple groups but we work together better than we used to
Regular folks seem to understand the idea of labour rights better
But the hostility of the Establishment hasn’t improved – folks who work in government, whether politicians or Home Office
They pay too much attention to anti-prostitution activists, radical feminists

The other day a few former sex workers won a case in the High Court to remove the requirement to tell employers about past soliciting convictions. Good, right?
Problem is they won on the basis that they were coerced victims.
The judge said it was ‘greatly to their credit they had succeeded in removing themselves from prostitution’
Casual dispensing of morality by a male judge

If you want to know what patriarchy is – it’s this!
If you want to know what infantilisation is – it’s this: talking about women as wayward children to be patted on the head if they do as they’re told
It appears that to benefit from this small bit of decriminalisation you must repent of your sin of being a prostitute, otherwise you keep those convictions on your record
even though it is legal to sell sex in this country

The selling of sex is still firmly framed as a social evil in laws and regulations
Great distance between that and ideas about human rights, workers’ rights

Migrants, even if their presence is legal, are most likely to be called victims of trafficking if they come to police attention and are lucky if not deported

The kinds of freedoms and treatment most women take for granted are not granted to sex workers
Gatherings like this one are important – so we can see each other outside in the street caring about the same things
To me this fits the idea of ‘strike’

Not silence – NOISE

Police were also offered leaflets.

-Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

All that is trafficking is rape, and other emotional excesses

A combination of titillation and outrage characterise public rhetoric about commercial sex, along with a tone of moral indignation suited to crusaders. A policeman in Cornwall has just warned that paying for sex with an ‘unconsenting’ woman is rape. Poor dullard, as an agent of the law surely he knows that muddling legal terms isn’t good for his job? In UK law paying for sex with a ‘trafficked’ person is prohibited, not defined as ‘rape’. But then think how much easier everything will be when there’s no bothersome distinction to make between trafficking and rape. A single meme to denounce all.

Early on in my studies, when I first was invited to talk to groups, I learned quickly how the temperature went up although I wasn’t saying anything graphic or violent. I thought I was simply recounting how poorer women often decide to take risks to travel via smugglers to rich countries, some of them to work as maids, others to sell sex, many to try both. I thought I was telling good news about curious, determined, brave women.

But those reasonable stories, told in an ordinary tone, caused commotion. Some listeners seemed to feel I’d slapped them, asking Do you think everything is okay? What do you want us to do, not care, not try to help? So I saw there were two problems: First, my tone and emphasis seemed to accept the dire straits some women are in, and, second, my suggestion that trying to make women stay home did them no favours was highly unwelcome.

My tone is key to being able to study in a clear-headed way, plus it is genuinely how I feel. I wasn’t going to take up an indignant, judgmental stance. But I wanted to draw listeners in better, so I tried harder to put myself in the shoes of middle-class audiences, to understand their distress more. To frame my talks with something more familiar to them, some way for it not to sound as though acceptance of reality gets us all off the hook of giving a damn about other’s problems. I got a little better at it.

But I wouldn’t be able to continue commenting unless I felt a sort of calm about it all, a sense of belonging to the great stream of history. Not Progress but a long chain of events surrounding the exchange of sex for money.

In this context I was happy to receive the following email:

I wanted to tell you how much I liked your book The Three Headed Dog. It’s well written and honest. I enjoy your website and think you make a lot of sense.

I used to live in Holland and did from time to time have fun with a sex worker. The house was in a quiet suburb. The locals had no problem with the it. Indeed it was next door to a cafe where kids and adults would eat.

I got to know a few of the women who worked there. None were abused or forced into sex work. Some didn’t like the work, others did. They all were doing it for the money. Strong women not victims.

One lady became my regular. I would enter and be greeted by the Madam who would either ask for her or she would spot me and come over. I would play for her and then to a private room for an hour of fun.

So it’s not the world painted by some people. Thanks once again for your efforts.

The tone is cool and declarative: This is how it was. No rhetoric, few adjectives, no great claims. Just the experience a lot of people have when left alone out of the limelight where politicians and crusaders roar, sex workers and clients alike. Thanks to this anonymous client who wrote to me.

In The Three-Headed Dog, Félix’s partner Marcelo goes in for a bit of bombast about a migrant sex worker who’s started coming to the bar.

‘Yes I know other prostitutes drink at the Dog. But they aren’t coal-black Nigerians in white satin corsets and giant hairdos. They aren’t advertising it like she is.’

Leila finds Marcelo’s conformism intolerable, but I find him restful. A sort of psychological Rotarian who follows predictable lines of opinion, always quoting from the same sources in mainstream newspapers. He even once asked why I never got a job with the police so I could be a Good Guy going after the Bad. I pay no attention.

And I knew he was ashamed even before I replied, because he has limits. ‘Give over, Marcelo. Everyone can wear what they like here, it’s a neighbourhood tavern, not the opera house. She wears a coat over the corset, for God’s sake, but if she ever takes it off I’m not throwing her out, I’m telling you right now. Maybe I’ll wear my own corset here some day – it’s red.’

A drinker who was listening said, ‘Hey, I know which opera it is – La Traviata. You know, where the courtesan falls on the floor crying about her sin.’

The Three-Headed Dog is noir fiction, a novel set in Spain, with undocumented migrants as protagonists. Including sex workers who are coping – imagine that. The detective is a now-regularised migrant as well. It’s the first in a series, prepare for more non-scandalous treatment of underground lives. Readable on any device, no kindle required.

-Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Nigerian migrant women as subjects: Sex work in fiction

Anti-trafficking campaigners often single out Nigerian women as the worst case of what they call sex trafficking. I first wrote about this years ago and note that, despite critiques and debunkings, the trend holds. In stories about Nigerian migrant women, ‘rituals’ are usually cited that are supposed to have bound them in a specially sinister way to smugglers. It’s straight-up racist colonialism, the inability and unwillingness to conceive of even the most superficial aspects of a non-western culture. Lurid conclusions are jumped to immediately according to which juju ceremonies are not comparable to Roman Catholic ones, for one example – though promises, petitions and talismans are found in both. As though one sort of prayer for help or success were inherently irrational and the other not.

That’s not to say that conditions are not pretty dire for many women and men in western Africa, politically, economically, on the gender front – which means people can be willing to take big risks and assume onerous debts when they travel to work abroad. Early in my studies I learned about how some migrants think about that in Lucciole neri – Le prostitute nigeriane si raccontano (Iyamu Kennedy and Pino Nicotri, editors, 1999), one of my sources of ethnographic research with migrants who sell sex in Europe, for what eventually became Sex at the Margins. These Nigerians were working in Italy. [NB: It’s never clear whether the label Nigerian actually means born in and identified with that country. In the world of migration national identities are shifty.]

On Black Sisters’ Street, by Chika Unigwe, came out in 2009. I was prompted to read it by This is Africa’s mention of it along with Sex at the Margins. It’s a novel telling the stories of four women’s migrations from Nigeria to Belgium where they work in windows in the red-light district. None of them has had an easy life and none of them sees herself as a victim, despite the presence of a powerful smuggler in Lagos and a controlling madam in Antwerp. They are, the author says, willing to play the trump card that God has wedged in between their legs. Unigwe has said:

If your parents can’t help you out and your government has failed you, these pimps and traffickers have at least given you a chance to leave and make a living. He’s your saviour. It takes someone outside the situation to see these pimps and traffickers as the bad guys.

At the end of the book we are told how three of the women fare in the future. After nine years in Antwerp, Efe became a madam herself.

It would take eighteen months to get her first of two girls whom she would indeed buy at an auction presided by a tall, good-looking Nigerian man in sunglasses and a beret. It would be in a house in Brussels, with lots to drink and soft music playing in the background. The women would enter the country with a musical band billed to perform at the Lokerenfeest. The man in the sunglasses was the manager of the band and as usual had, in addition to genuine members of the band, added the names of the women who had paid him to the list he submitted at the embassy in Abuja. The women would be called into the room one at a time for the buyers to see and admire. They would all have numbers, for names were not important. Their names would be chosen by whoever bought them. Names that would be easy for white clients to pronounce… Efe would buy numbers five and seven. Number five because she smiled easily. Number seven because she looked docile and eager to please, the sort of girl who was grateful for little. Like Madam, Efe would have some police officers on her payroll to ensure the security of her girls and of her business. She would do well in the business, buying more girls to add to her fleet. pp 278-9

Yes, this is an auction where employers bid on women who will sell sex, but beware glossing all nuances and calling it slave-trading. The women in question want to migrate and accept they’ll be selling sex and paying off a debt. Which doesn’t mean they know everything that may happen to them and how constrained life will be in another country. The Three-Headed Dog, my own recent novel, is about the same dynamics, with Latin Americans in Spain but also a strong Nigerian character – Promise.

I first published this post only slightly changed on 22 September 2011 and publish it again now as part of a series on sex work in fiction.

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Wearing slammerkins and dreaming: Sex work in fiction

64be395da850ff563440fc4da91994b8In Slammerkin, Mary is a street prostitute in mid-18th-century London. Thrown out of her dismal basement home by a mother absolute in condemnation of Mary’s pregnancy at 14, she meets a friendly whore, Doll, who initiates her into street trading. Mary is in love with nice clothing and comes to see there is no hard line between the Good Woman and the Bad.

2505937ea8c9c8e6aebb554012fa4295[Her mother] Susan Digot wouldn’t likely recognise her child-as-was, all gussied up in a flowered jacket-bodice and a worn silk skirt buoyed out by a pair of improvers. Mary looked like a woman of the town, these days. She smelled different, even, with the mouth-watering lemony reek of Hungary water.

What a fool Susan Digot had been, to think everyone in gold braid her better, and the wider the skirt, the higher the breeding! Mary had seen commoners walk as queens on the stage in Drury Lane. Doll was opening Mary’s eyes to all life’s shortcuts, back alleys, gaps in the walls. In these uncertain times, Mary was learning, a duchess was sometimes just a stroller who’d picked the right honourable cully.

Kitty Fisher by Joshua Reynolds

Kitty Fisher by Joshua Reynolds

In a four-story house in Golden Square lived a lady who’d once been known in the trade as Angel Arse. On the corner of Hyde Park was a new mansion the Duke of Kingston was building for Miss Chudleigh, who’d been his mistress for a dozen years already and he still hadn’t tired of her. The famous Kitty Fisher was said to be about to swap all her lordly lovers for a rich husband from the Lower House. A bit of loveliness, a bit of luck; that’s all a girl needed.

Richardson_pamela_1741On long bright evenings, Mary sat on the grass in Lamb’s Conduit Fields behind Holborn and watched the courting couples meander by. The air was full of the sounds of leisure: the archers’ arrows hitting the target, the click of balls on the bowling green, or the distant roars of a dogfight or wrestling match. She was reading again for the first time since school. She bought crack-backed romances and memorised all the long words, in case she’d ever need them. The History of Pamela Andrews was her favourite. The crafty wench, to fend off her master all those times, then squeeze a proposal of marriage out of him in the end! She’d swapped her maid’s apron for bridal satins and ended up as good a lady as any other, hadn’t she? It all went to show, Mary thought. If a girl had her wits about her, nowadays, she could rise as high as she wanted, as sure as cream through the milk. Anything was possible. – Slammerkin p247 (Emma Donoghue 2002)

About Mary’s interpretation of Pamela – well! Astute doesn’t begin to describe it. No wonder social blowhards began to condemn the reading of novels by gels.

The word for the loose gown, a slammerkin, came to be used for the women who wore them. On the word slammerkin, from one etymological dictionary:

There is a group of North Sea Germanic words in sl- that mean “sloppy,” and also “slovenly woman” and, less often, “slovenly man,” and that tend to evolve toward “woman of loose morals.” Compare slattern, also English dialectal slummock “a dirty, untidy, or slovenly person” (1861), variant of slammacks “slatternly woman,” said to be from slam “ill-shaped, shambling fellow.” Also slammakin (from 1756 as a type of loose gown; 1785 as “slovenly female,” 1727 as a character name in Gay’s “Beggar’s Opera”), with variants slamkin, slammerkin. Also possibly related are Middle Dutch slore “a sluttish woman,” Dutch slomp, German schlampe “a slattern.”

This knowledge came to me during regular posts/tweets entitled Today’s word for a Bad Woman. There are way way way too many of them, and almost any negative meaning deteriorates sooner or later into promiscuity and prostitution – beginning with sl- or not.

-Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Social-Problem novels and The Three-Headed Dog

StokeNewingtonFeb2017I was interviewed in an old pub in Stoke Newington next to a photo-plaque memorialising Writers and Reformers.* I suppose it was by chance, but maybe not.

Campaigners for equal rights and other freedoms don’t talk about reform anymore, but if it’s not revolution they want then technically it is reform. According to this western worldview, we are moving in a stream of time called Progress towards – something if not Utopia then always fairer, healtheir and wealthier all the time.

In the 19th century in northern Europe and North America, there was a movement of writers to expose social injustices through novels, with the goal of reform. They thought that if more people knew about injustices wrought upon the poor, women and children, then readers might add to pressure on government elites to reform laws. It was consciousness-raising about the suffering of others: The books were aimed at middle-class readers.

2940012004093_p0_v1_s260x420Protest novel, social novel thesis novel, propaganda novel, industrial novel, working-class/proletarian novel, condition-of-England novel: all describe the works of writers including Mary Gaskell, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Victor Hugo, Émile Zola, Charles Dickens and, in the 20th century, John Steinbeck, James Baldwin, Nadine Gordimer and many more.

Critics argue about whether their social visions portrayed the truth and whether the authors really blamed structural problems or were more interested in individual character. On the literary front, too much protest can work against story-telling and other aesthetic qualities, leading to criticism about the novels being insufficiently literary. Other distinctions include

The value of Condition-of-England novels lies primarily not in their fictional plots, social analyses, and recommended solutions but primarily in first-hand detailed observations of industrialism, urbanism, class, and gender conflicts. – The Victorian Web

I’m not a fan of drawing lines to distinguish between Real Art and everything else; I think you can have activist purpose and write beautifully at the same time, just as you can write nicely and have nothing much to say. The observations you make may feel significant to readers or not. Trends of the moment play a part: at the particular time in which I’m writing this, critics may introduce the idea of Cultural Appropriation, which suggests that outsiders should not write about social injustices they have not themselves lived.

sinclair - jungle bindingTo protest it may be enough to produce a portrait of how bad things are. To believe that reform is possible you need to be clear about what would constitute improvement. A novel about children forced to work in satanic mills might call for better working conditions for them or, alternatively, claim their right not to work at all but rather be allowed to enjoy ‘childhood’. To qualify as a reform-novel you may need to propose concrete solutions that can be formed into laws.

Agustin-TheThreeHeadedDog-14001-250x400The Three-Headed Dog portrays life in underground economies amongst undocumented migrants, smugglers and sex workers, in a particular time and place: Spain in the early 21st century. After observing events surrounding undocumented migration and prostitution law for so many years, I got tired of being annoyed by the pontificating on policy and morals from people who seemed not to know many realities. To participate in mainstream debates one is pretty well forced to accept the framework of whoever’s funding the event or publication. The frameworks are never what I would choose myself.

Writing stories is a way to show how things are without being caught up in these alien frames. It is also a way to portray some of my own life, what I look at and care about. But not with avid activist purpose: in my case it’s about allowing ideas to float up from the depths and shape themselves into readable stories. Without calculating if they will be saleable, not taking advice about how to spin the ideas so they’re more palatable to policymakers or listening to the many well-meaning intermediaries who have counseled me to change things.

In the early years after Sex at the Margins came out I tried to talk about how labour policy might be linked to migration policy here and now (in the European Union and everywhere else). Seldom did interviewers follow this up, asking instead for me to rate competing prostitution laws (oversimplified into decriminalisation, ‘legalisation’ and penalisation of buying sex). Since then, policies on undocumented migration and what’s called trafficking have worsened.

But I resist. Resistance is still an option, the refusal to accept alien framings, perhaps the concept of debate itself. I wouldn’t call The Three-Headed Dog a Social-Problems Novel, but not because it’s written inside a crime or noir genre. I’d say rather because I don’t propose policies that might improve the wretched mess. At this moment I want more of the realities to come out – in a fuller form, with space for anthropological observation and literary emotion. So that a few readers somewhere may see into lives they otherwise never get to hear about. [This leads to ideas about what Education is, but enough for now.]

* In the pub plaque: Samuel Rogers, Anne Laetitia Barbauld, Mary Wollstonecraft, John Howard, Edgar Allen Poe and Dr Isaac Watts (none a known social-problem novelist)

-Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Ellroy’s Black Dahlia as a B-girl: Sex work in fiction

elliott-convention-girlA typical paperback cover from the heyday of pulp fiction makes convention girls look carefree and glamorous. Some might have been and still be, but picking clients up at bars where convention-attendees hang out may be the sex work of everyday women, sometimes opportunist and unplanned.

It seems that Elizabeth Short was such a woman, looking to get ahead in postwar Hollywood. James Ellroy memorialised her in his novel The Black Dahlia (1987), which draws on the actual police investigation as well as the author’s feelings about his own mother’s murder. In Ellroy’s snappy 1940s cop-lingo, women under scrutiny are described:

Together, we questioned fifty-odd people, mostly men, about their association with Elizabeth Short. We heard predictable stories of them meeting Betty in bars and buying her drinks and dinner, listening to her fantasies of being the bride or widow of war heros, bedding or not bedding her. A number of the men did not even know the notorious Dahlia–they were “friends of friends,” their names passed on out of pussy hound camaraderie.

Of our parcel of names, sixteen of the guys were what Fritzie labeled “Certified Dahlia Fuckers.” They were mostly lower-echelon movie minions: agents, talent scouts and casting directors who hung out at Schwab’s Drugstore chasing gullible would-be starlets, empty promises on their lips, Trojan “value packs” in their pockets. They told proud or shamefaced casting couch stories every bit as sad as Betty’s tales of bliss with studs in uniform. Finally, the men in Elizabeth Short’s little black book had two things in common–they got their names in the LA dailies and they coughed up alibis that eliminated them as suspects. And word filtered back to the squadroom that the publicity eliminated more than a few of them as husbands.

The women–just pals–girl talk acquaintances, fellow cocktail lounge cadgers and aspiring actresses heading nowhere. A dozen or so were hookers and semi-pro B-girls, instant soulmates that Betty met in bars. They gave us leads that petered out on follow-up investigation–basically, the word that Betty sold herself freelance to conventioneers at several lower-class downtown hotels. They hedged that Betty rarely peddled it, and could not identify any of her tricks by name; Fritzie’s canvassing of the hotels got him an angry zero.– The Black Dahlia

highPussy-hounds: marvellous. B-girls are bar girls, if you didn’t know. But hanging out waiting for an opportunity leads to terms like semi-pro. What if you have sex with someone who might give you a part in a film, apart from buying you dinner tonight? Did the crime against Betty the Dahlia occur because she was having sex or because she was an opportunist or because it was LA or because there was a sadistic killer at large? To blame it on prostitution is — limiting.

Ellroy includes Mexican migration in The Black Dahlia too.

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

The girlfriend experience in Lawrence Block: Sex work in fiction

11473117_icon-realty-picks-up-elizabeth-street-tenement_b40882c2_mLawrence Block is a successful mainstream writer whose plotlines often include sex workers, in a normalising way (call girls, mostly). Matthew Scudder, the detective protagonist in one of Block’s series, has a long-term, friendly, sex-for-favours relationship with a call girl that eventually turns into marriage. The woman invests her money in property, allowing her to retire gracefully. Block doesn’t avoid portraying the dangers and problems inherent in the lives of women who sell sex, but he gives other sides of the picture, too, particularly refreshing given the usual police view of vice and prostitutes.

In Eight Million Ways to Die (1982) one New York call girl explains her lifestyle.

This is something different, she said. The johns who come here, they don’t think they’re johns. They think they’re friends of mine. They think I’m this spacey Village chick, which I am, and that they’re my friends, which they are. I mean, they come here to get laid, let’s face it, but they could get laid quicker and easier in a massage parlor, no muss no fuss no bother – dig? But they can come up here and take off their shoes and smoke a joint, and it’s a sort of a raunchy Village pad, I mean you have to climb three flights of stairs and then you roll around in a waterbed. I mean, I’m not a hooker. I’m a girlfriend. I don’t get paid. They give me money because I’ve got rent to pay and, you know, I’m a poor little Village chick who wants to make it as an actress and she’s never going to. Which I’m not, and I don’t care much, but I still take dancing lessons a couple mornings a week and I have an acting class every Thursday night, and I was in a showcase last May for three weekends. We did Ibsen, and do you believe that three of my johns came? (p 145)

4e52506f1b4d8702331483d23e7a2bb6I was living in New York the year this was published, and my friend Mona lived the same way Block’s character does. Mona also didn’t call herself a prostitute or anything else. Using a casual feminist analysis of the time, we thought she was doing what a lot of wives do, in a careful, selective way and without ceremony. In a context in which rents were sky-high and lots of people were trying to make it in demanding professions, Mona’s choice was sensible. She got to take her lessons and audition for parts, and, in the rare case that she got one, she was free to accept it. I don’t know whether she would have advertised GFE as a service had the term or the Internet been available, but that’s what she was offering.

Mona’s lifestyle illustrates how sex-for-money occurs in casual ways that are part of normal life in informal economies. If you recall the obsessive quality of hustling culture that John Rechy conveyed so well, this Village chick sounds serene (or spacey). But her way of looking at things is also common. In order to bring out more of these situations, I proposed a field called the cultural study of commercial sex. Scholarship without moralising. In my view, in fact, if you are moralising you are not a scholar.

Part of a series on sex work in fiction: scroll back a few days, then again, then again. [First published 19 January 2009]

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

Hustling and cruising with John Rechy: Sex work in fiction

You know how it is when you are staying at someone’s house and you finish your own book and have to look around the alien shelves for something you’ll like? That’s how I wound up re-reading John Rechy’s City of Night, published in 1963. I first read it decades ago and had completely forgotten the intensity of his descriptions of cruising and hustling and the symbiosis of human relationships in one kind of sex work.

Here’s an example from the Los Angeles section:

This is clip street, hustle street – frenzied-nightactivity street: the moving back and forth against the walls; smoking, peering anxiously to spot the bulls before they spot you; the rushing in and out of Wally’s and Harry’s: long crowded malehustling bars.

And here too are the fairyqueens – the queens from Everywhere, America – the queenly exiles looking for new ‘husbands’ restlessly among the vagrant hustlers with no place to stay, and the hustlers will often clip the queens (if there is anything to clip), and the queens will go on looking for their own legendary permanent ‘Daddies’ among the older men who dig the queens’ special brand of gone sexplay, seldom finding those permanent connections, and living in Main and Spring Street holes: sometimes making it (employed and unemployed, taking their daddies and being taken by the hustlers) – sometimes, hardly, sometimes not at all.

And the malehustlers live with them off and on, making it from bar to lonesome room, bragging about the $50 score with the fruit from Bel Air who has two swimming pools, jack, and said he’d see you again (but if he didn’t show, you don’t say that), and you’re clinching a dime and a nickel for draft beer at Wally’s or Harry’s or the 1-2-3 or Ji-Ji’s so you can go inside and score early, and make it with one of the vagrant young girls to prove to yourself you’re still All Right.’

From p 100 of the Grove Press 1984 reprint.

There’s a good interview with Rechy in The Independent, in which he recounts what his life was like after City of Night was a success:

In the 1970s, when I was teaching at UCLA, I’d finish my evening classes, then change my clothes somewhat and go down to hustle on Santa Monica Boulevard. One night, a student saw me down there and said ‘Good evening, Professor Rechy. Are you out for an evening stroll?’.

It would be difficult to find a more appealing sex work story than that! But also see Rechy’s other books on his website.

And a final thanks to the friend with the bookshelf – he knows who he is.

[Post first published 11 November 2008]

Part of a series on sex work in fiction (scroll to a few days ago and a few days before that.)

Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist

The postwar London of Doris Lessing: Sex work in fiction

b9a907e1e2523f49ac6e82860572f05eThe Four-Gated City was published in 1969 by Doris Lessing. The passage quoted below describes a single young woman walking west on the Bayswater Road in 1950. The woman is Martha Quest, recently arrived in London from southern Africa, a migrant from colonies considered peripheral observing life in the presumed cosmopolitan centre. Her route takes her from a middle-class dinner held east of Marble Arch to a poor squat in Notting Hill. The photo above shows another part of London at the same period; the photo below the young Lessing.

29lessing-master675-1Note the absence of moral comment and that the job of the police is to make sure the marketplace functions peacefully.

Now she slowed, almost stopped in surprise at a cool hard getaway look from a young woman who stood with her back to a hedge. Of course, she had passed another invisible boundary. From here until Queensway, the pavements were lined with prostitutes, standing singly or in pairs, dozens of them, along the pavements. But Martha was freer here than she had been in that other territory she had only just left, whose boundary was simply a bisecting street. She was protected precisely by the line of girls for sale, who knew she wasn’t one of their trade union and because their hostile warning faces that said go away, you shouldn’t be here, kept her safe from being accosted. Three kinds of animal here. The women, standing with their backs to the hedges, on sale. The ordinary traffic of the pavement – but a slight traffic, mostly couples hurrying past the marketplace, keeping close under the lights, looking embarrassed, as if they were here by mistake, yet glancing furtively at the buying and bargaining.

NYC39209The customers, men of all ages, walking slowly past the women, or standing under the trees smoking, making choices. And across the street, policemen, spaced out with twenty or thirty yards between each couple, not looking directly at the haggling and dealing, but observing it sideways to make sure that it went on without incident. Martha walked more slowly than she had had to walk in the part of the street she had left. All the way down the street, by lit airy trees, they stood. Although it lightly drizzled, they wore summer dresses, bare necked, bare shouldered; and high thick sandals with bared insteps; and sometimes they held a jaunty umbrella. But there was no elegance here either. They weren’t well-dressed. They shared the national disposition towards gracelessness.

82867b7fe426e102857aaf9970f08b72There has been a war on. Suppose one of these men who was making up for the starvation of the war… approached one of the girls saying: I’d like you to wear … whatever was his fantasy, would she snap back: There’s been a war on, you know? Yes, very probably … Martha found herself imagining rooms where furniture, curtains, objects had charm, had flair, and a girl with charm, flair, undressed slowly to show off wittily charming underclothes – a man’s fantasy? Perhaps in all this city it was only these girls’ rooms where there was anything attractive, gay, rightly made? Well, not from the way they were dressed as they stood on the pavement.

–Laura Agustín, The Naked Anthropologist

The Rescue Industry has a song

Screen Shot 2017-05-01 at 19.51.01The Rescue Industry has entered the lexicon and now has its own song: Rescue Two-Step, described as ‘an anti-criminalization anthem dedicated to sex workers everywhere’. Listen and watch, it’s a great song, and if you set it to full screen you’ll see lyrics displayed at the bottom.

Written and produced by Savannah Sly
Starring Bella Robinson, Andorra Andrews, Rick Berlin, Joe King and Savannah Sly
Performed by Savannah Sly & The Fun Boys
Sound Engineering by Fast Eddy

LYRICS:
I gotta bunch of rubbers
I gotta burner number
I gotta hotel, ads on Backpage
and I’m settin’ up shop
comin’ to your town
yeah come and get me while you can boys, let’s get down
I got the Internet
I’m really into it
I’m postin’, screenin’, bookin’
weedin’ out the dickheads and cops
It’s a full time job
I swear these online classifieds reduce my harm
Well now, don’t go telling’ me that
using my body to
make my money ain’t a right god gave me, now
you wanna help me?
great, well you could start by
callin’ off your laws and cease assailing me
The Rescue Industry, it wants to RESCUE me!
and take away the tools I use to stay safe
sayin’ they’re helpin’ me
well I disagree
all of this white knight savior shit is killing me
Well now, don’t go telling’ me that
using my body to
make my money ain’t a right god gave me, now
you wanna help me?
great, well you could start by
askin’ how I want it and I’ll tell you for myself
don’t do tellin’ me that
using by body to
make my money ain’t a right god gave me, now
you want to save me?
Great, pray tell me now,
do you plan to pay my rent?
feed kids and spay my cat?
and call off all the debt collectors
and tell the judge to clear my record
so I can work forever and ever and ever and ever and ever…
at dead end jobs for minimum wage
that barely cover the day-to-day
assuming that they’d hire me
some folks don’t like the look of me
could you create a policy
to put an end to bigotry?
or better yet
create a net
to catch me?
don’t go telling’ me that
using my body to
make my money ain’t a right god gave me, now
you wanna help me?
great, well you could start by
askin’ how I want it and I’ll tell you for myself
don’t go telling’ me that
using my body to
make my money ain’t a right god gave me, now
you wanna save me?
great, well start by callin’ off your dogs
and quit behavin’ like you’re trying to choke me out!

Screen Shot 2017-05-08 at 14.05.35

Screen Shot 2017-05-01 at 19.57.39

It’s time to propose the term Rescue Industry for next editions of the big dictionaries, eh? Someone should make a wiki for it. Meanwhile there’s a a whole category for it on this blog.

–Laura Agustín, The Naked Anthropologist

More 5-star reviews for The Three-Headed Dog

800px-KTH_KerberosI love the customer reviews posted on The Three-Headed Dog‘s Amazon page and wish there were a reply-function so I could talk with the writers.

Take E Silheit, whose review coins a new term appropriate to the excessive production of heart-rending stories of sex-trafficked victims – trafficksploitation.

Screen Shot 2017-04-02 at 21.05.16

‘Oddly poetic: Follow an enigmatic female detective, and the stories of sex workers, hackers, domestic workers, undocumented migrants, smugglers and even mercenaries’.

oddlypoetic

Imagine a book where interesting characters are refugees and immigrantsm and on style and accessibility: ‘It’s like the author is chatting you up in the bar!’

saroor

Cat-tribe proves that what I aimed for is possible: Education Through Fiction, the discovery of lives mainstream media omits via descriptive story-telling. Hurrah.

cattribe

So page-turning she missed her tube stop!

stavvers

On authenticity, according to sex worker-migrants: ‘A rare moment of good representation’.

asasexworker

goddess

Belle de Jour: ‘Fab!’

brooke

Perhaps you don’t think you like ‘European crime fiction’?

tilted review

More than one reviewer refers to wanting a sequel. Fair enough, next installment in the works now.

sj

Reminder: you don’t need to own a kindle-object to read a kindle file. Little free apps sit right there where you buy the book, to be used on any old device. I myself don’t own a kindle!

The modern sculpture Cerberus pictured at the top guards an entrance in Stockholm.

–Laura Agustín, the Naked Anthropologist