Saturday 8 January 2011

Blog While You Can...

Also known as the 'crap, my Internet/laptop/life is broken so make the most of the access while you can!' post...Except this is actually a serious blogging. Which must make a change. Right, better get on with it, then...

There are some things about my job that I really, really enjoy, to the point that it becomes so much more than just a job to me. One of these is the research project I'm currently undertaking - and have been doing off-and-on for a while now - on prostitution. What started as a throwaway comment in a meeting six months ago and then became a request to find out a bit more from my boss a few months later has shifted and turned into something that is now making me question my morals, opinions and everything I ever thought I stood for.

I have to be honest - while I would always have considered myself a feminist for my unswerving belief that women should not be subservient to men, a lot of the 'big issues' that feminists have discussed over the years kind of passed me by. I guess I was very fortunate that I was born when I was; my generation didn't have to fight and die for the right to vote and, by the time I'd started work, much of the original fighting for equal pay had been done. There are still battles to be fought on that front for sure, and like many young women my age I suppose I've been a bit lax and blase about the whole thing and done very little about it, but the fights over pornography and prostitution which characterised the early feminist marches never really entered my sphere of thought. I knew they happened, but I never gave much thought one way or the other to whether I considered them 'offensive' or not. As far as prostitution was concerned I had a vague notion that it ought to be legalised, if only to help protect the prostitutes themselves, but the amount of research I've done into this has made me completely and utterly rethink my opinions on the subject. If I'm honest, I'm still not entirely sure where I stand, but I know that I'm fascinated - hello, 4 new text books on the subject - and I'm almost positive I've found a cause...

The main feminist stance on this matter seems to be the radical feminist one, which basically states that all sex work equates to a violent misogyny and therefore is used by the patriarchy and its institutions to oppress women. This 'violence against women' discourse does NOT refer to the assaults, rapes and murders which sex workers endure; instead, it focuses on the idea that the actual SELLING of sex, the commodification of women's bodies (because in this view of prostitution, male and transgender sex workers are non-existent) is violence against women. Whether you're a student pole-dancing to help pay your extortionate tuition fees at medical school, a mother working in a massage parlour to help supplement your benefits, or a street sex worker funding a drug habit, you are all victims of this violence because (allegedly) a woman's essential being is so invested in her body and her sexuality that she is intrinsically damaged by being paid for sexual acts. I clearly missed this memo...Anyway, flippancy aside, I have serious, serious problems with this stance. Yes, I can sort of see the commodification argument, but I am deeply uncomfortable with the implied notion that 'violence' in this case DOESN'T focus on the higher-than-average rates of ACTUAL violence (murder, rape, attempted rape, assault etc) that sex workers face. This also implies that all men who pay for sex do so because as a gender they have an innate need to victimise, degrade and dominate women; that male sexuality is not about pleasure but a perversion born of their need to control and subjugate. Now I've met some bastards in my time, but come off it; how naive would you have to be to believe that every single bloke on the planet doesn't give a damn about anything other than reasserting the patriarchal dominant order every time he sleeps with someone? The human race would have died out long ago if that was the case.

A lot of the feminist opinion also highlights the plight of trafficked and exploited women and children in the sex trade. Now I'm not stupid; I know the sexual exploitation of children DOES happen and that women and children ARE trafficked across the world, but actually the numbers are not as high as certain sections of the community and media would have you believe. Where this happens, of course, we should do everything we possibly can to catch the perpetrators and help the victims (although just sending them straight back to their country of origin can often lead to them being resold to other traffickers, so there's lots of international work to be done there). Similarly, I fully support the flip side of the argument that there are sex workers who CHOOSE this line of work and again, I think we should respect that decision. It's not for everyone, but then again neither's flower arranging and we don't condemn florists in the Daily Mail. Personally, I guess I'm in the middle ground here; while we should support those who choose sex work and help those who are being trafficked and exploited, the majority of prostitutes are plying their trade to fund drug habits, supplement their incomes etc. There are a huge number of social and economic factors that drive people into prostitution; make headway on those and you'll start to deal with the issue itself.

There seem to be three main schools of thought on the prostitution problem and how to solve it: legalise it, or at least parts of it, as in the Netherlands and parts of Australia; regulate it, as in Ireland, or decriminalise the sex workers and instead focus on the 'punters', as in Sweden. The 'Swedish model' is what the last Government was seriously considering in 2006 when they last reviewed the situation; quite what the ConDem Nation (thanks, Ryan!) will do remains to be seen, but I have reservations about all three approaches. Legalising brothels, as in Victoria in Australia, or having managed street zones were touted as being safer for sex workers; however, illegal prostitution rocketed in Australia and so did the numbers of criminal gangs controlling the industry, which also happened in Amsterdam and led to the mayor removing the 'tolerance zones' in 2003. The managed areas often have strict codes of conduct as well, which can lead to prostitutes with drug problems not being permitted to work in indoor settings; and in countries such as Greece or Germany, where registration is a legal requirement for sex workers to regulate them, many simply refuse to sign up as they don't want the stigma of prostitution following them for the rest of their lives, especially if sex work is only a short term thing. The Swedish model focuses on arresting punters rather than prostitutes, which may well stop the 'revolving door' problem of fining sex workers and forcing them back onto the streets to pay said fine, but means that punters will be more nervy and may drive away the 'decent' ones, thus exposing the sex workers to even more harm.

And it's the harm statistics that have really opened my eyes to how horrendous the situation actually is. The mortality rate for sex workers is twelve times higher than the general population and in several different studies across the UK, over two thirds of the women spoken to had been attacked in some way. The rates of assaults, rapes, robberies and murders are horrendous; sex workers, especially street-based sex workers, are among the most vulnerable groups in the country. And not just by punters, either; in December 2003, a 25 year old woman who worked as a prostitute in Ipswich named Cara Martin-Brown was kicked and beaten to death by a local man who was NOT a punter. Be honest - you haven't heard of Cara, am I right? That's another thing that has made me feel ashamed: thank the Gods, the serial murder of women who work as prostitutes (because they are SO much more than that stereotype, thank you, mass media) doesn't happen very often; Peter Sutcliffe, Steven Wright and Stephen Griffiths are thankfully anomalies rather than the norm, but how many women who work as prostitutes who have been raped or beaten do we hear about? For that matter, unless it IS a serial killer running riot, the murder of sex workers generally goes unreported. These women are highly vulnerable; to enact laws that drives the sex trade further underground and forces sex workers to make snap decisions about which clients they'll go with is frankly irresponsible. For all the handwringing that went on at the time of the Ipswich murders, the country as a whole has done remarkably little to change either its opinions, moral judgements or anything to try and improve the situation. Handwringing doesn't save lives. Actions do.

I don't know what the answer is - if I did, I'd be either ludicrously rich or an insufferably smug know it all - but one thing I DO know is that, unless Britain as a whole wakes up and collectively does SOMETHING to get to grips with the issue of prostitution, even if it's just starting a debate on the subject, more women will be raped, beaten, robbed and killed on our streets. Jack the Ripper wasn't the first; Stephen Griffiths won't be the last. Not unless we do something.

I also know this: putting aside all issues of prostitution's morality, inevitability and the radical feminist and other debates, as you read this blog somewhere in the UK a woman is going out to sell sex. She might be lucky and come home again safe and sound; she may be robbed, or beaten or killed, but she will be out there and no amount of horrifying statistics is likely to change that. I know because I've spoken to several of the girls in the local area who work as prostitutes; I've done outreach with them and I've seen what they endure. I hope I never hear that any of them have been murdered, and I'm hopeful that the work I'm doing at the moment will go someway to bringing in a local strategy that can help us tackle the issue. I don't know. But I think about them a lot, and this whole thing has made me think again about my own moral judgements and opinions. It's not going to be easy, but we HAVE to start thinking about this otherwise we risk sending out the message that, as a society, we're content to condemn an entire section of the population to violence and death. After Ipswich we said never again. After Bradford we said never again. How many more times do we have to say never again before we really mean it...?

Friday 7 January 2011

To WAG Or Not To WAG...?

Happy New Year, Blogverse! I know I’ve been MIA recently, but Real Life has been slightly mad over the past few weeks and shows no real signs of getting back to normal, but I have at least vaguely remembered how to write. Here goes…

As you probably know by now, my taste in men is somewhat eclectic (much like my taste in art, films, books, music, shoes, clothes…hey wait, I’m sensing a theme here…) This analogy also extends to sport. Well, to sports MEN at any rate…I’m the first person to admit that I love rugby more than any other sport as much for the (ahem) talent as for the game itself; there’s something to be said for hulking great forwards and super-speedy backs, and I even find the broken noses attractive. Well, in some cases, at least. But, fickle woman that I am, my early adolescence was shaped by my complete and utter devotion to football. Not for the game itself, you understand – I support West Ham, for gods sake; it’s a running joke among my friends that this means I don’t understand or like football – but for the men who played it. My first crush was Ryan Giggs (ahh, Giggsy…*sigh*) and then I fell headlong into the path of Liverpool’s ‘Spice Boys’, headed by Jamie Redknapp. By the time David Beckham came along, I was a fully-fledged adolescent WAG-in-waiting. Long after I turned to other specimens of masculinity to lust after, there was still a teeny-weeny part of me that hankered for WAGdom.

And why not, I thought? After all, when your other half earns X-many squillions a week and all you do is (seemingly) shop, what’s not to love? To be able to say, “Ooh, original vintage Vivienne Westwood pirate boots? I’ll take six pairs please!” – Well, that sounds like my kinda heaven! I dreamed of being a ‘lady of leisure’, buying tons of gorgeous outfits so that when the cameras spotted me in the stands on Saturdays being ‘supportive’, I’d look good on the big screens. And I could holiday ANYWHERE I WANTED. In the WORLD! Cushty…I’d even make like the Victorian philanthropists of old and do Good Works, giving time and money to charity while looking stunning in the latest outfit especially designed for me by Alexander McQueen. And all I’d have to do was look vaguely interested on Saturday afternoons and pretend I understood the offside rule. Piece of cake. And we loved them, didn’t we, the WAGs? They were like gorgeous, glamorous butterflies who, for the briefest of moments, captured the country. No, make that the world.

And oh, how I wanted to be one; to be gorgeous and glamorous and jet out to Bali for a month in the off-season without thinking about it! But then I grew up. I don’t have the face, the figure or the hair to be a WAG and, as footballers were replaced by others in my affections, my dreams of WAGdom became just that: a dream; a gloriously childish fantasy I had once indulged in before actors, rock stars, vampires and rugby players took over. (What can I say; I had a thing about James Marsters in Buffy, ok?)

But then, as dreams do, things started to turn sour when the reality check finally kicked in. Getting married in Vera Wang and having the whole thing covered in OK magazine seemed less appealing when the revelations started; infidelities, affairs with lap dancers and prostitutes...suddenly the whole thing seemed less glamorous and more tawdry, and we realised that being a WAG and ‘standing by your man’ meant so much more than freezing your D&G-clad arse off on the side of a football pitch. Wayne Rooney, John Terry, Ashley Cole…not even the Queen of the WAGs, Lady Beckham herself, was immune to the scandals when it was revealed that David had had a ‘thing’ with Rebecca Loos; the whole thing became frankly unpalatable and, although many made the decision to not castrate the ungrateful wretches with a pair of blunted nail scissors, who among us didn’t give a tiny cry of, “about time she saw the light” when the lovely Cheryl Cole finally gave that scumbag Ashley the heave-ho?

The reason for writing this entry is that I’ve just read an interview with Abbey Clancy, the impossibly tall and glamorous girlfriend of the impossibly tall and, er, not Peter Crouch. Last year, having just found out that she was pregnant with their first child, Abbey also found out that Peter was alleged to have slept with a prostitute who had sold her story to the News of the World. As you do. Naturally, the tabloid press went wild, and Abbey was plunged headlong into the media spotlight. She refuses to comment on whether he did or didn’t do it, but she has stood by her man and as far as she’s concerned, that’s that. What struck me about the interview with Abbey were the comments she made about the misconceptions Joe Public has about the WAGs: that they all set out to snare a footballer husband; that all they do is shop; that they don’t have two brain cells to rub together. As she points out, you have to be able to take care of yourself, even if you do end up living the dream and attaining WAGdom. She freely admits that the thing she’s most proud of is that her work as a model and TV presenter meant that she could afford to pay for her younger brother and sister, who were having a terrible time at school, to go to a private school; her little brother went from failing everything to taking and passing all his GCSE’s a year early.

The funny thing is, she’s right. Suppose you do end up marrying the next David Beckham and living the high life as the new Queen of the WAGs (sorry, Posh). And suppose that Lover-Boy ends up having an affair with someone else and you decide to do the sensible thing and kick him to the kerb. What are you going to do with yourself then? Even the current nation’s sweetheart, the lovely Cheryl, has had to make a go of her solo career and her work on the X Factor (although it must make Ashley sick to his stomach that his ex-wife probably earns more money than he does and is more loved by the lads who would previously have worshipped his skills on the pitch. And here I refer to a quote from my brother who, when discussing Girls Aloud and the lovely Cheryl, noted “oh, they sing as well?” Bless…) So long as the women who plough the fields of WAGdom are prepared to work for their designer togs, they’re all right by me, cos once he’s gone, girls, a woman has to pay her own way.

And you know what? Good luck to ‘em, I say. Because there is no way in hell that anything could induce me to nail my colours to the mast of WAGdom these days; not for a whole shop if Vivienne Westwood pirate boots. Although if David Beckham ever DOES come knocking, I may well be persuaded to change my mind.

Now being a rugby ‘Scrummy’ on the other hand…