When we were in Amsterdam my ex wanted to hire a prostitute. She didn’t have to do anything – just watch. I thought about it for a while. I even walked through the red light district past the girls in the window. I couldn’t do it. The financial transaction meant that the situation was stripped of all its erotic potential for me.

Whoever those women were, they had stories, and people they loved, family, friends, a past, a future. Walking by I found myself evaluating them in a way that troubled me, as if they were goods on display or failed beauty contestants – that one was a bit fat; the other was too old;the blondey one ought to have washed her hair. Sex work is an emotive topic and one on which all of us have an opinion. Many will argue that whatever two people do is their business, and as long as there is consent, then it does not matter if money changes hands. Those who are opposed to sex work come from a variety of positions, which may be religious,
ethical or ideological – that sex work, being outside the bonds of marriage, is sinful; that it is always exploitative and even those engaging in it willingly are victims; or that bodies are not commodities and people should not be bought and sold. From the Victorian era through to the twentieth century and still to a large extent today, the sex worker has been coded as a threat to the sanctity of the family, and the moral good of the country. During the Second World War sex workers were seen as a menace that undermined the very existence of a nation, like rouge enemy agents. American WWII posters proclaimed that, “You can’t beat the Axis if you get a VD” and warned that “Pick-Ups, ‘Good Time’ Girls, Prostitutes Spread Syphilis and Gonorrhea.”

This attitude, which demonised sex workers, ensured that throughout the 20th century, criminalisation was the official response of many countries. Over the last decade or so many governments have admitted that this hasn’t worked and instead looked for alternate solutions. Some have opted for either the legalisation or decriminalisation of sex work; others have chosen an opposing strategy – the so-called Swedish model, which outlaws the purchase, but not the sale, of sex. This is an idea that the Irish and Scottish governments have been considering. A notable exception is the US, which in an effort to crack down on sex work, now allows the police to arrest women for carrying condoms and wearing clothes that are tight, short or revealing.

Unfortunately it seems that neither legalisation nor the Swedish model is particularly successful at protecting sex workers, which should be the foremost consideration. Whatever one’s feeling about sex work, it is imperative that the men and women who engage in it are not faced with violence and abuse.

Legalisation has been found to normalise the purchasing of sex, which increases demand, which in turn increases trafficking, coercion and organised crime. Police in Sydney have claimed that raids on legal brothels have revealed frightening trends – women who have been trafficked from Asia and kept as sex slaves; others who cannot leave or seek employment elsewhere as they are kept in debt bondage; and workers forced to have sex without a condom. One officer noted that, “Although the intention was to provide a safe working environment for sex workers the reverse has occurred in that pimps and brothel operators were empowered
and enriched.” Similar problems were found in Amsterdam’s famous red light district, and for the past few years the authorities have been making an effort to tackle organised crime, sex trafficking and exploitation. New age restrictions and opening hours have recently been introduced, but it is too soon to tell how effective these will prove to be.
Making the purchase, but not sale, of sex illegal doesn’t help either. The idea behind this thinking was that decriminalising the sale of sex it would make it easier for sex workers to access support services, while making the purchase illegal would discourage potential customers and thus reduce the demand for commercialised sex. Instead those providing supports for sex workers have found this law increases the stigma of sex work and drives the industry underground, furthering endangering workers. Sex workers are less likely to access support services if their customers become police targets because this threatens their livelihood. Furthermore, because it criminalises those who purchase sex, customers are unlikely to contact the police if they are worried a sex worker is underage or is being exploited.
I have four acquaintances who, at various points, have worked in the sex industry – two as prostitutes, the others as lap dancers. One of these stories is tragic – a tale of drug addiction and streetwalking to support the habit. The second is also something of a cautionary tale – a career that started at a chi chi gentleman’s club in London and ended in a dive bar in a dead-end rural town. The third is how you’d hope it would be – a young woman who danced her way into enough money to
finance her own business. The fourth, the one I know best, is Linda. Many years ago, Linda worked as a masseuse and prostitute for a few months. There were no
evil pimps, or vicious Johns to contend with, nor did she have a drug habit. She lost her job, couldn’t pay the rent, and after months
of being unable to find work, was driven by economic need. One evening Linda had a call-out to a hotel. She arrived, stripped down for the client, got
onto the bed and burst into tears.

To this day, she doesn’t know why. She told me that there was nothing particularly unusual about this evening or this client. He hadn’t been rude, demanding or dangerous. In fact, he was surprisingly kind. He asked what was wrong; she explained she just couldn’t sell sex any more. He gave her a drink from the minibar and when she calmed down he called her a cab. I am, I have to admit, very uncomfortable with the idea of sex work and Linda is a large part of the reason why. Despite the fact that her experience of sex work was about as positive as you can get, it deeply affected her. Not long after she stopped she was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. For the next five years she was in and out of institutions and she hasn’t had any long-lasting intimate
relationships since. The other reason is because I can’t help but feel there is something fundamentally troubling about sex without mutual desire, which is not something you can buy. Desire exists beyond the logic of the capitalist economy. Money will buy you a trophy wife or a toy boy, but it can’t make them love you.
Money will allow you to create an entourage of hangers-on, but it can’t make any of them give a shit about you. You can pay for consent, but you can’t purchase desire.
I can’t help but feel that having sex with someone who doesn’t actually want to have sex with you is pretty damn creepy. Yes, yes, I know they have consented, but not because they want sex, because they want money. And yes, I know they don’t act unwilling, but most of the time it is an act. But those are my morals, and one’s own morals are not a good yardstick by which to judge other people.
Last year I interviewed a former sex worker turned advocate who argued that making the purchase of sex illegal did nothing to help the women in the industry.
Eileen told me she chose sex work over starvation – “I had a right to save my own life,” she argued, and I would never disagree with that. If selling sex is the only way to survive, then threatening the survival of somebody who is already socially and economically marginalised is wrong too. I hope that the government considers carefully making any changes to our laws regarding sex work, and I hope that safety and human dignity are the keystones of any policy change, not morals.
If there is an answer, it should be coming from the men and women who sell sex – and maybe even those who buy it.