Sexo y marginalidad demuestra con elegancia que lo que les sucede a las inmigrantes trabajadoras pobres del Sur Global cuando abandonan su hogar para trabajar en la industria del sexo. No es ni una tragedia ni la panacea de hallar la tierra prometida. Por encima de todo, Agustín muestra que la tendencia moralizante de la mayoría de los programas gubernamentales y de las ONGs tiene poco que hacer frente a las experiencias y anhelos de estas mujeres. Este libro cuestiona algunas de nuestras suposiciones modernas más preciadas y muestra que es posible una ética de interés distinta. - Arturo Escobar, autor de La invención del tercer mundo: Construcción y Deconstrucción del Desarrollo

Editorial Popular es una editorial independiente en Madrid, España, que comenzó en 1973. Tiene como objetivos: reflejar las problemáticas que existen en la sociedad, defender la diversidad, cuestionar los métodos de enseñanza existentes, ofrecer pedagogías alternativas, acercar a los lectores otras realidades del mundo. Se puede pedir Sexo y marginalidad en las librerías o desde aquí.

Personalmente añoro mucho la portada de la edición original, que no reproduce ningún cliché sino evoca la idea del movimiento.

Editorial Popular
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Sometimes the Rescue Industry reverts to farce. Take the recent history of Brazil with its efforts to appear ‘modern’ and world-powerful through militaristic social-control operations. Before I even got to the part of this article that mentions carnaval, I had thought ‘circus’ to describe what I was reading. These are excerpts from Operation Princess in Rio de Janeiro: Policing ‘Sex Trafficking’, Strengthening Worker Citizenship, and the Urban Geopolitics of Security in Brazil, by Paul Amar, in Security Dialogue 2009; 40; 513.

. . . Operation Princess and its sister campaigns were launched by the police in seeming disregard for the fact that prostitution is legal in Brazil. The Pentecostal evangelical leaders of Rio  . . . gave biblical legitimacy to the campaign, brushing aside questions of legality or sex workers’ resistance to being ‘rescued’. . . .

. . . proclaimed he would purge corruption and promote moral rectitude . . . by bringing back the spirit of the Vice Police stations (Delegacias de Costumes), which had been closed for the most part in the 1940s when prostitution was legalized. Simultaneously, President Lula declared a nationwide war against sex trafficking . . .

. . . ‘Operation Princess’ resonated perfectly with the 19th-century iconography of missionarism, child rescue, and abolition in Brazil. . . Avenida Princesa Isabel is the grand boulevard that brings travelers . . . into Copacabana Beach, a mixed-class and mixed-race coastal community that also serves as a center of sex tourism and international diplomatic conferences. Copacabana was a focal point of the new vice-policing operations. . . the statue of Princess Isabel, with her arms outstretched, blessing those she liberated from slavery and radiating a spirit of tolerance and welcome at the gateway to the topless dance clubs and all-night saunas of the Lido.  . .

. . . [the] Black Movement in Brazil ha[s] rigorously critiqued the ‘Princess Isabel Syndrome’, or the commemoration of this child monarch as the agent of abolition. . . it takes credit away from the centuries of sacrifice and mobilization among Brazil’s Afro-descendants and their efforts . . . Thus, the princess metaphor in Rio de Janeiro . . . resonates vibrantly with the politics of social ‘whitening’ (embrancamento), infantilization of black slave agency, and religious moralization.

. . . By the time Lula assumed power in 2003, a massive child-rescue initiative was deemed essential to Brazil’s plans to legitimize and empower itself on the world stage, as well as to address social-justice concerns at home. For Brazil to assume leadership of the democratic global south and make a claim to the proposed new seat on the Security Council, it wanted to change the image of Brazilian law enforcement from death squad to rescue mission, authoritarian to humanitarian. The national landscape had to be cleared of lawless, victimized children.

‘Operation Carnival’ became the first test of this revived vice-police campaign. As if to mock the new police operations, a ‘Group A’ Samba School . . .  celebrated ‘Prostitution in Copacabana’ as their theme that year; their 4,000 sequined dancers, the ‘Lions of Nova Iguaçu’, marched through the downtown Sambadrome, singing a samba about the joys of the sex trade. In its debut, the police’s anti-sex-trafficking campaign netted a total of one arrest . . .

During ‘Operation Shangrilá’, the Federal Police raided a showboat in Rio’s Guanabara Bay. Forty Brazilian prostitutes and twenty-nine American tourists were arrested for having committed the crime of ‘sex tourism’. This incident was immediately trumpeted as a major bust of a ‘human trafficking’ operation. . . . But . . no Brazilian law had been violated. None of the prostitutes were underage, nor had they violated any pimping or brothel laws. The only way this situation could be imagined as ‘trafficking’ was because the tourists had crossed international frontiers, although without breaking any laws or visa restrictions. Furthermore, ‘sex tourism’ is not against any Brazilian law, unless one assumes that sex tourism is the same thing as forced sex trafficking.

Everleigh Club, Chicago

When critics bring up the similarity of today’s trafficking brouhaha with white-slavery scares, they most often point to William Steads investigation for the Pall Mall Gazette in London in the late 19th century. In the April 2008 issue of Reason Magazine, Joanne McNeill reviews Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys, and the Battle for America’s Soul, by Karen Abbott. I’ve highlighted some phrases that show how the same contradictory interpretations of ‘the evidence’ occurred back then and the same rhetoric from those who hate prostitution. 

The ‘White Slavery’ Panic: Anti-prostitution activists have been equating sex work with slavery for over a century. 

In 1907 a group of evangelicals visited Chicago’s Everleigh Club brothel, where they handed out leaflets that said, “No ‘white slave’ need remain in slavery in this State of Abraham Lincoln who made the black slaves free.” According to the Illinois poet Edgar Lee Masters, an Everleigh Club regular, “the girls laughed in their faces.” In Sin in the Second City, the Atlanta-based journalist Karen Abbott recounts how Minna Everleigh, one of the club’s proprietors, “explained graciously, patiently, that the Everleigh Club was free from disease, that [a doctor] examined the girls regularly, that neither she nor Ada [Everleigh, her sister and co-proprietor] would tolerate anything approaching violence, that drugs were forbidden and drinks tossed out, that guests were never robbed nor rolled, and that there was actually a waiting list of girls, spanning the continental United States, eager to join the house. No captives here, Reverends.”

The Everleigh Club was an ornate mansion. Thirty themed boudoirs (“the Japanese Parlor,” “the Moorish Room,” “the Egyptian Room”) included absurd touches of decadence, such as hidden buttons to ring for champagne and a fountain that fired a jet of perfume. The city’s finest chefs prepared the women’s dinners. They read poetry by the fire with guests, who included the writers Theodore Dreiser and Ring Lardner. Sometimes Minna and Ada let swarms of butterflies fly loose throughout the house.

Some anti-prostitution activists nevertheless believed the Everleigh ladies were no different from slaves. Then as now, opponents of prostitution assumed that no woman in her right mind consensually exchanges sex for money. Abbott challenges that view in her account of Chicago’s red light district at the turn of the last century. She interweaves the stories of sex workers and clientele, evangelical activists and conservative bureaucrats, explaining how the term “white slavery” was routinely applied to consenting adults. Reading her historical account, you can hear echoes of that debate in the current crusade against sex trafficking, which similarly blurs the line between coercion and consent.

The Everleigh sisters, Abbott notes, believed a sex worker was “more than an unwitting conduit for virtue. An employee in a business, she was an investment and should be treated as such, receiving nutritious meals, a thorough education, expert medical care, and generous wages. In their house, a courtesan would make a living as viable as—and more lucrative than—those earned by the thousands of young women seeking work in cities as stenographers and sweatshop seamstresses, department store clerks and domestics. The sisters wanted to uplift the profession, remove its stain and stigma, argue that a girl can’t lose her social standing if she stands level with those poised to judge her.”

The attempt to portray prostitutes as professionals never made much headway against the tendency to view them as victims. At the beginning of Sin in the Second City, Abbott describes an event in 1887 that forever changed the American public’s perception of sex workers. Authorities raided a Michigan lumber camp, finding nine women working as prostitutes. Eight accepted their prison sentences, but the ninth woman protested that she was tortured and forced into sex slavery. The lumberyard proprietors claimed the women were well aware of what they were hired to do; “the job description,” Abbott notes, “made no mention of cutting trees.” But the public was so moved by the woman’s story that she was pardoned and released from jail.

It was 20 years before another case of “white slavery” was reported in a Midwestern newspaper. But in the meantime, rumors of girls who were “trafficked” into sex slavery began to circulate. In 1899 the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union missionary Charlton Edholm reported, “There is a slave trade in this country, and it is not black folks at this time, but little white girls —thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen years of age—and they are snatched out of our arms, and from our Sabbath schools and from our Communion tables.” Perhaps they found themselves in a “false employment snare,” in which a young rural girl answered a city want ad and found herself locked in a brothel, her clothes held for ransom. Or maybe a gentleman from the big city, after plying her with drinks or drugs, deflowered her and sold her to a pimp.

Around the same time, anti-prostitution evangelical groups revised their platforms. Victorian society previously had reviled prostitutes as lost women who reduced men to animals. The rhetorical shift conveniently removed the prostitute’s responsibility for her actions. “Reformers across the country repeated and embellished Edholm’s narratives, panders used them as handy instruction manuals, and harlots memorized all the ways they might be tricked or trapped,” Abbott writes. These rumors reinforced rural Midwesterners’ fears of losing their children to the dirty, crime-ridden streets of Chicago. “Never before in civilization,” wrote Hull House founder Jane Addams in 1909, “have such numbers of girls been suddenly released from the protection of the home and permitted to walk unattended upon the city streets and to work under alien roofs.” Read the rest at Reason.

Laura María Agustín, Sex at the Margins: Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry. London and New York: Zed Books, 2007.

Some books about prostitution and sex trafficking can make for challenging reading. Not because of the subject matter necessarily, but because of the ways contemporary politics and voice give rise to a kind of morally-charged discourse.

What makes Sex at the Margins: Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry so enlightening, is that while it is very much a book about prostitution and sex trafficking and the ways in which societies have evolved to culturally construct the regulation of sex work within free labour market practices, on another level it is a book about how history, modern migration patterns and the marginality of the ‘other’, and the rise of the social have come together to shape European and global sex markets.

For the book’s author, Laura María Agustín, much earlier writings evade ‘experiences and points of view that do not fit, silencing difference and producing unease in those who do not see themselves as included’ (p. 9).

The observations that ground Agustín’s study of sex at the margins began during the 1990s while she worked along the US/Mexican border with those seeking asylum in the USA. Such experiences are supplemented with work to document NGO activities in the Caribbean, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Mexico, and Spain – all of which provide rich loam for Agustín’s analytic replanting of tourism, migration and how women within different sectors of the labour market are routinely conceptualized by a variety of helping social sectors.

Throughout her journeys, Agustín’s ‘position in the field was a mix of insider, outsider, stakeholder, political actor and researcher’ which ‘shifted according to the conditions of the moment’ (p. 141).

In the book, such multifaceted positioning is complimented by an approach to fieldwork which is anthropological in theory and methodology. This is primarily because of the ability of this disciplinary lens to avoid the moralizing frameworks and the labelling of the buying and selling of sex as ‘deviance, victimisation or violence’ (p. 137).

Embracing an ambiguity somewhere between participant, observer and informant such as that promoted by Clifford Geertz as at the heart of successful anthropological research, Agustín describes and justifies her shifting roles and the perspectives they allow as a form of multi-sited ethnography. Part of the work’s success is due to the author’s ability to weave both first and third person narratives in such a way as to maintain the reader’s interest without diverging from the intrinsically academic nature of an argument which positions social programming aimed at helping migrants as a form of social control.

The book succeeds also in its contribution of an outstandingly detailed and researched history of prostitution, which is used to lay the groundwork for a nod to the governmentality school of Michel Foucault and Nikolas Rose, and an emphasis on how the helping professions have developed beyond charitable foundations to a form of bonded solidarity, and in the process have come to label and marginalize the very women they seek to help.

At its core, Agustín’s work takes on the polemic of prostitution and contextualizes it relative to three kinds of professions: domestic work, caring activities and sex services. It then applies changing theories of tourism and migration to help explain how sex work has come to be uniquely positioned at the margins. It describes how rescue industries’ tactics and practices reproduce a prostitute discourse, essentially perpetuating the divide between the morally-sound helpers and the morally-corrupt helped, suggesting that ‘if the definition of the “prostitute” was to change to describe only suffering victims, perhaps the conflict over terms could be resolved’ (p. 181).

While Sex at the Margins is not politically neutral, it does pay homage to its politic through evidence, analysis and canny interpretation. This is in large part why the book manages to triumph over the intelligent but often-lacking literature which has preceded it.

As one might say of the scholarly writings of Geertz or Goffman, were Agustín’s new book to be expanded or elaborated at all, it could well be through further detail of the successes and also challenges of combining a historian’s reading with an objectivist’s ethnography and a participant’s observation.

Yet at the same time, it is through an attention to multiple perspectives and diverse sources that makes Agustín a scholarly storyteller of the best kind. Well travelled, observant, erudite and extremely knowledgeable, she reminds one of Camille Paglia at her most formidable – only dare say sexier, and a touch more caustic.

Sure to be interrogated for her perspective while respected for her scholarship, Agustín and her new work promise to contribute new thoughts to the contentious debates between the growing minority who see migrant sex work as a contextually viable migrant labour practice, and the steadfast majority who declare that prostitution is always, in all situations, the antithesis of love.

Dan Allman
The University of Edinburgh, UK and University of Toronto, Canada

See for yourself the list of reasons migrant sex workers at Barn Su Funn Brothel gave for opposing raids and rescue operations intended to liberate them, whether rescuers are police officers, ngo employees or charity workers:

• We lose our savings and our belongings.
• We are locked up.
• We are interrogated by many people.
• They force us to be witnesses.
• We are held until the court case.
• We are held till deportation.
• We are forced re-training.
• We are not given compensation by anybody.
• Our family must borrow money to survive while we wait.
• Our family is in a panic.
• We are anxious for our family.
• Strangers visit our village telling people about us.
• The village and the soldiers cause our family problems.
• Our family has to pay ‘fines’ or bribes to the soldiers.
• We are sent home.
• Military abuses and no work continues at home.
• My family has a debt.
• We must find a way back to Thailand to start again.

The poster brings us close to a situation many people doubt: that poorer migrants selling sex often prefer to continue what they’re doing to being forcibly rescued by people on anti-trafficking crusades. This is not to cast doubt on all rescuers’ good intentions, but it shows how they obviously haven’t consulted the prostitutes they want to save first, to find out whether they want to be helped and, if they do, what kind of help would actually be helpful!  The poster makes it clear that cutting migrant women off from their source of income has terrible consequences both for themselves and their families.

This does not mean that they or I deny the existence of abusive practices inflicted during smuggling and trafficking operations. It means that an ideological stance that claims all migrants doing sex work have been victims of such practices is wrong.

During my 15 years of researching this subject, I have met migrants of all nationalities, in many countries, in bars, brothels, shelters, ngo offices, streets and houses. Some had had bad experiences, some had not recovered from them, some were getting on with the next stage of their lives, some enjoyed doing sex work, many had adapted to it as the best option of the moment. For those who want to read more about it, my book Sex at the Margins has extensive interesting information!

Thanks once more to the Asia-Pacific Network of Sex Workers for sending this photo.

Prostituierte in Zürich: Nicht alle sind Opfer, Bild Reuters

NZZ am Sonntag - Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 26 Juli 2009

Sind Prostituierte aus der Dritten Welt alle Opfer von Frauenhandel und Ausbeutung? Nein, sagt die renommierte Soziologin Laura María Agustín. Die Entrüstung unter Feministinnen ist gross.

Interview: David Signer

Fast täglich lesen wir irgendwo über afrikanische, asiatische oder osteuropäische Frauen, die gegen ihren Willen in den Westen verschleppt und hier zur Prostitution gezwungen werden. Die Sklaverei existiere fort in Form des Frauenhandels, heisst es in diesem Zusammenhang gern.

Hunderttausende von ahnungslosen Frauen würden unter falschen Versprechen von zu Hause weggelockt, mit Gewalt ans andere Ende der Welt verfrachtet, unter Drogen gesetzt, von dubiosen Organisationen ausgebeutet. Sicher gibt es solche Fälle. Aber das generelle Bild ist komplexer.

Die Soziologin Laura María Agustín beschäftigt sich seit vielen Jahren mit diesem Thema, zuerst als Mitarbeiterin von NGO in verschiedenen Ländern Lateinamerikas, später als Forscherin. In ihrem Buch «Sex at the Margins» stellt sie sich entschieden gegen den «Frauenhandel-Mythos», der die Prostituierten zu wehrlosen Opfern degradiere. Bei einem Gespräch erklärt sie, warum Prostitution unter gewissen Umständen durchaus eine valable Option sein kann.

NZZ am Sonntag: Frau Agustín, Sie schreiben in Ihrem Buch, der vorherrschende Diskurs über Prostitution sei geprägt von einem «fundamentalistischen Feminismus». Was meinen Sie damit?
Laura María Agustín: Damit meine ich Feministinnen, die davon ausgehen, dass Frauen über alle kulturellen und sozialen Grenzen hinweg eine gemeinsame Essenz und ein gemeinsames Schicksal teilen: nämlich Opfer der männlichen, sexuellen Gewalt zu sein. Frauen sind für sie generell Opfer und Prostituierte ganz besonders. Prostitution heisst für diese Art Feministinnen Vergewaltigung, und also müssen die Prostituierten gerettet werden. Diese Axiome zu leugnen, ist für sie gleichbedeutend mit einer Leugnung des Holocaust, denn auch hier geht es angeblich um eine Art Genozid: an den Frauen. Das Leiden und der irreparable Schaden, der durch Sex ohne Liebe verursacht wird, ist für sie mit keinem andern Leiden zu vergleichen. Das sind Vorstellungen von weissen, christlichen Mittelstands-Frauen, die dann auf die ganze Welt projiziert werden. Ursprünglich ging es im Feminismus doch darum, Verantwortung zu übernehmen, oder? Aber heute sieht man nur noch überall Opfer.
Sie relativieren damit aber den Sonderfall der Sexarbeit.
Ist Sex mit einem Mann, den man nicht liebt, wirklich so viel schlimmer als die Arbeit in einer Mine oder als Soldatin in einem Krieg? Den meisten Leuten auf der Welt, Männern oder Frauen, stehen – im Gegensatz zu Europa – nicht viele berufliche Möglichkeiten offen. Eine junge Frau in der Dominikanischen Republik hat oft nur drei Alternativen: Haushaltmädchen, Strassenverkäuferin oder Prostituierte. Manche von ihnen sagen: Lieber sterbe ich, als meinen Körper zu verkaufen, andere sagen, lieber sterbe ich, als mich als Haushaltmädchen ausbeuten zu lassen. Es gibt also individuelle Präferenzen, und nicht alle haben dasselbe Verhältnis zu Sex. Man ist nie total von äusseren Umständen determiniert, aber diese Frauen werden genau so dargestellt, als ob sie keine Ambitionen und keine Entscheidungsfähigkeit hätten. Die Feministinnen sagen: «Schrecklich, ich kann mir gar nicht vorstellen, wie es ist, mit einem Mann für Geld Sex zu haben!» Andere können sich das sehr wohl vorstellen. Wenn man die Prostituierten zurückschafft, dann ist die Frau halt gezwungen, als Haushaltmädchen oder Strassenverkäuferin zu arbeiten, that’s all.
Wir haben halt das Gefühl, das Wertvollste, die Liebe und die Sexualität, würden entwertet, wenn sie zur Ware werden.
Aber alles ist doch heute käuflich! Ein Psychotherapeut verkauft seine Sensibilität, ein Kindermädchen seine Zärtlichkeit. Deswegen nehmen wir nicht an, dass sie zu seelischen Krüppeln werden.
Ist die «Frauenhandel»-Theorie nicht schon deshalb fragwürdig, weil es Tausende von Prostituierten in der Dritten Welt gibt, die sofort nach Europa gehen würden, wenn sie könnten, um dort ihrer Arbeit nachzugehen?
Wir haben in Ecuador ein Projekt durchgeführt mit Prostituierten. Theater, Rollenspiel. Diese Frauen waren sehr geübt darin, Kunden einzuschätzen. Aber sobald beispielsweise ein Italiener auftauchte, der sie nach Rom mitnehmen wollte und ihnen das Paradies auf Erden versprach, warfen sie alle Vorsicht über Bord. Das hat nichts mit «trafficking» zu tun, hingegen sehr viel mit Leichtsinn – den man einem Mann zum Vorwurf machen würde, nicht aber einer Frau.
Im Zusammenhang mit Organisationen, die den Prostituierten helfen wollen, schreiben Sie von einer «Rettungs-Industrie» – was meinen Sie genau damit?
Viele Aktivistinnen wollen die Prostituierten in einer maternalistischen Art «befreien», so dass sie zurück in ihre Heimat gehen könnten. Aber viele wollen gar nicht «gerettet» werden! Das Problem ist, dass all die Leute in den Organisationen, die sich mit Prostitution beschäftigen, den Prostituierten gar nicht zuhören. Es gibt nur wenige Feministinnen, die sich vorstellen können, dass sich eine Frau aus armen Verhältnissen angesichts der Möglichkeiten, die ihr offenstehen, bewusst für die Option Prostitution entscheidet, dass sie wählt und nicht nur ein passives Objekt ist, das gegen seinen Willen um die halbe Welt geschoben wird. Ich erinnere mich, wie an einer Konferenz in Quito eine Prostituierte aufstand und sagte: «Ich bin es leid, von diesen Aktivistinnen wie ein Baby behandelt zu werden.» Aber als ich einmal einer Repräsentantin einer NGO empfahl, wirklich mit Sexarbeiterinnen zu reden, entgegnete sie: «Wir müssen nicht mit Prostituierten reden, um zu wissen, was Prostitution ist.»
Nehmen wir ein Buch wie den Bestseller «Ware Frau» der beiden Journalistinnen Mary Kreutzer und Corinna Milborn. Darin schildern afrikanische Prostituierte in Österreich, wie sie durch Voodoo gefügig gemacht wurden und fürchten, einem Fluch zum Opfer zu fallen, falls sie ausstiegen. Sind das Einzelfälle, sind die Aussagen gefälscht?
Wahrscheinlich nicht. Aber es geht um Gewichtungen. Sicher spielen religiöse Aspekte eine Rolle. Biografien sind ja nie eindeutig. Wir können unsere Lebensgeschichte verschieden erzählen. Kürzlich hörte ich von einer Sprachschule in Benin, wo Frauen Englisch lernen, um als Prostituierte in Nigeria arbeiten zu können. Sie hoffen, von dort dann den Sprung nach England zu schaffen. Es ist eine Art Karriereplanung. Solche Aspekte kommen in diesen Bestsellern nicht vor. Im Laufe meiner Arbeit habe ich mit Tausenden von Prostituierten gesprochen. Die Mehrheit will keinen Kontakt mit Hilfsorganisationen und also auch nicht mit Journalisten oder Journalistinnen, die immer über die schwierigen Schicksale schreiben.
Präsentieren die Betroffenen ihr Schicksal bewusst in einer bestimmten Art?
Diese Frauen sind nicht naiv. Sie wissen, auf welche Art Geschichten die Journalisten aus sind. Dasselbe gilt für Gespräche mit Polizisten oder Sozialarbeiterinnen. Man bekommt eher Hilfe, wenn man sich als Opfer präsentiert. Das heisst nicht, dass sie lügen. Es geht um verschiedene Arten zu interpretieren, was sie erlebt haben. Meist wurden sie nicht verschleppt. Das Schlagwort «Menschenschmuggel» umschreibt die komplexe Situation nicht treffend. Eher waren sie gutgläubig. Sie waren verliebt in einen Mann, unterschrieben Verträge, die sie gar nicht verstanden. Aber das heisst auch, sie waren bereit, hohe Risiken einzugehen, um ihr Land verlassen zu können, um – wie sie glaubten – ihr Schicksal in die eigenen Hände zu nehmen. Feministinnen gehen davon aus, dass es besser wäre für diese Frauen, zu Hause zu bleiben. Migration und Prostitution sind für sie per definitionem immer erzwungen, und jede Thailänderin, die einen älteren Deutschen heiratet, ist per definitionem ausgebeutet. Damit kommt man dann natürlich zu astronomisch hohen Zahlen von «Opfern».
Sie legen in Ihrem Buch viel Wert auf die Tatsache, dass sich nicht nur Frauen prostituieren. Warum?
Es wird oft so getan, als ob es nur wenige Männer gäbe, die sich prostituieren. Das ist schlicht nicht wahr, vor allem, wenn wir neben den Gigolos und Strichern auch Transsexuelle und all diese Formen von Prostitution jenseits der eindeutigen geschlechtlichen Zuschreibungen hinnehmen, das afrikanische «Sugar Mummy»-Phänomen, also reiche Frauen, die sich jüngere Liebhaber suchen, sowie die Angebote für Sextouristinnen, zum Beispiel in Gambia. Aber das bringt eben diese eindeutigen Rollenzuschreibungen der «armen Frauen» und der «bösen Männer» durcheinander. Dazu gehört auch die Tatsache, dass viele Bordellbetreiber Frauen sind. Doch selbst wenn diese Fakten anerkannt werden, dann wird immer noch behauptet, Männer würden per se durch bezahlten Sex nicht so traumatisiert, wie man das automatisch für die Frauen annimmt.
Legen wir verschiedene Massstäbe an, je nach dem, ob es sich um Frauen oder Männer, aber auch je nach dem, ob es sich um Leute aus der «Dritten Welt» oder aus dem Westen handelt?
Unser Sprachgebrauch ist entlarvend. Bei Leuten aus der «Dritten Welt» sprechen wir von Immigranten oder Flüchtlingen, bei solchen aus dem Westen von «Expats», Reisenden, Globetrottern, Kosmopoliten. Das heisst, die «andern» reisen nur aus purer Not, den Umständen gehorchend, während wir selbstbestimmt und aus purer Abenteuerlust unsere Heimat verlassen. Beides ist eine Simplifikation. Natürlich gibt es das Verlangen, Neues zu erleben, nicht nur im Westen. Verlässt ein Senegalese seine Heimat auf einem wackligen Boot, spricht man von Verzweiflung. Vor zweihundert Jahren hätte man – bei uns – von «Pioniergeist» geredet: «Go west, young man.»
Wann begann man, so über Prostitution zu reden, wie man das heute tut?
Bis ungefähr zur Zeit der Aufklärung sah man in den Prostituierten etwas Gefährliches, aber nichts Bemitleidenswertes. Erst im 19. Jahrhundert entstand unter Frauen des Bürgertums die Idee des Sozialen, die Idee, man müsse den Leuten und vor allem den Frauen aus der Unterschicht helfen, bessere Menschen zu werden, also den bürgerlichen Normen Genüge zu tun: Kernfamilie, Häuslichkeit, Monogamie. Dieses philanthropische Projekt ähnelte in seiner Mischung aus Mitleid und Bevormundung den kolonialen Anstrengungen. Es ging und geht auch um die Angst vor dem Andern und um eine Stabilisierung des eigenen Wertesystems. Also musste auch die Vermischung von Geld und Sex verdammt werden, obwohl die im Bürgertum auch existiert. In vielerlei Hinsicht wird diese missionarische Arbeit heute in dem weitergeführt, was man Entwicklungshilfe nennt.

Laura María Agustín: Sex at the Margins. Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry. Zed Books, London und New York. 248 Seiten.

Young girl in Benin’s largest market in Cotonou. Whether she is an economic migrant or victim of trafficking is central to a study of children’s migration in West Africa. Photo Phuong Tran/IRIN

Research into how ‘child trafficking’ works is revealing the flaws inherent in this notion. Recently I published a post on some of the cultural contradictions that impede research with migrant children in the US. The following article confirms problems in West Africa. I’ve highlighted significant new ideas from people questioning issues in the region.

WEST AFRICA: But is it really trafficking? 

Lomé, Togo, 6 January 2009 (IRIN) - For years children’s rights groups have been fighting child trafficking in West Africa. Now, some of those groups are questioning how children have benefited from anti-trafficking interventions as they launch a project to understand children’s perilous migration throughout West Africa.

The nearly one-million dollar initiative led by UN Children’s Fund (UNICEF), International Organization for Migration (IOM), and NGOs Plan International, Save the Children Sweden, and Terre des Hommes will conduct national and regional workshops and focus groups to produce a 2010 report on the reasons behind children’s regional migration. Terre des Hommes’ Olivier Feneyrol told IRIN assigning blame for children’s exploitation on rogue traffickers is misdirected.

Mobility

Largely absent from the planning documents of the project, “Mobility of children and youth in West Africa,” is the word trafficking. Rather, partners undertaking the study in Benin, Burkina Faso, Cote d’Ivoire, Guinea and Togo speak of regional mobility.

“Children have been moving around the region for centuries and working just as long. That is the cultural reality here,” said Feneyrol, regional adviser for the West Africa office of non-profit organisation Terre des Hommes. “Some of that movement and work is dangerous. For years, we have approached this problem as a fight against trafficking, but this has not really benefited children. We have to move beyond focusing exclusively on trafficking to a more global strategy where we take into account children’s reality.”

Child rights groups and law enforcement agencies are fighting something they have not truly understood, Feneyrol told IRIN. “Do we really know the varied forms of migration? Who are the intermediaries? How are these voyages financed? What are the conditions that children leave behind? “Why are they taking risks and what are they searching? How can we fight a phenomenon we do not truly understand?”

Victim, but of what?

Trafficking is “the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring or receipt of persons by the means of threat, or use of force or other forms of coercion…for the purpose of exploitation,” according to the 2000 UN Convention Against Transnational Crime. Despite most West African governments having ratified the 2000 convention, and some passing laws criminalising trafficking, rights organisations estimate hundreds of thousands of children continue making precarious journeys to take on risky jobs throughout West Africa.

Not all are trafficked, according to IOM director, Ambassador William Lacy Swing at a November migration conference in Dakar. Some may instead be economic or environmental migrants, internally displaced people or refugees. If a child falls under the trafficking definition, Terre des Hommes’ Feneyrol said traffickers are not the root of the problem: “Putting so much of the blame for a child’s misery on the notion of trafficking…has not helped us better protect the majority of these children.”

Revolving door

Feneyrol said thousands of children on the move are uncounted while repatriated ones are not necessarily trafficking victims. “Just because they are working in a stone quarry in Nigeria does not mean they are a victim of trafficking. Breaking up stones can be less tiring and abusive than the agricultural work they did on their farms in the village.”

He said it is not always in the child’s best interest to return home. “They are too old to enter school. They come from large families that cannot afford to raise them and there is no way to earn a living wage where they came from, which is why they left.”

Feneyrol added that as long as rural families live in dire conditions, children and their parents will seek relief wherever they can. “It makes no difference if you arrest someone accused of being a trafficker. It does not address the root cause of economic misery that propelled the child down a risky path. International conventions do little to address the sociological and economic reality in West Africa.” More than 92 percent of the population in northern Togo, for example, earned less than US$511 in 2006, the amount required to cover basic needs, according to the government.

Friend or foe?

Terre des Hommes’ Feneyrol said people vilified as traffickers could be trained to protect children during their at-times perilous migrations. “These are the children’s uncles, neighbours, and cousins. They are rarely, if ever, international operators of organised crime networks. We need to explore more what role they can have in protecting children on the move.”

But for CARE International’s director Phillipe Kodko Yodo, this would be tantamount to collaborating with criminals: “These are people responsible for the misery of so many children. We cannot moralise such criminals, only punish them.” Antonio Mazzitelli, the West Africa director of the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) – which is part of a regional anti-trafficking working group along with the mobility project’s five collaborators – said his office supports the proposed mobility study, but cautioned researchers against softening the stance against trafficking or child labour.

“The right to migrate freely or a family’s right to make a living wage cannot become a cover-up for trafficking or justification for child labour,” said Mazzitelli, “We cannot sit back and accept a situation just because it is the social norm. Slavery, female genital cutting, and child marriage were widely accepted ‘cultural and sociological realities’ even though they were illegal. And the fight is still not over on those fronts.” The UN adopted a protocol in 2003 to make it easier to prosecute human-traffickers. “This protocol does not end rural poverty, one critical element in the fight against economic exploitation,” said Mazzitelli, “And it will not wipe out trafficking in the next 10 or even 20 years. But we cannot relax our vigilance after five years. Even if we only save one child from trafficking, then our conventions, laws and enforcement are worth the effort.”

Copyright © IRIN 2009
The material contained on www.IRINnews.org comes to you via IRIN, a UN humanitarian news and information service, but may not necessarily reflect the views of the United Nations or its agencies. All IRIN material may be reposted or reprinted free-of-charge; refer to the IRIN copyright page for conditions of use. IRIN is a project of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs.

The New Statesman       27 March 2008

The Myth of Trafficking 

Brendan O’Neill

Most migrant women, including those in the sex industry, have made a clear decision, says a new study, to leave home and take their chances abroad. They are not “passive victims” in need of “saving” or sending back by western campaigners.

Sex at the Margins: Migration, Labour Markets and the Rescue Industry

Laura María Agustín Zed Books, 224pp, £16.99

It is always refreshing to read a book that turns an issue on its head. Laura María Agustín’s trenchant and controversial critique of the anti-trafficking crusade goes a step further: it lays out the matter - in this case, “human trafficking” - on the operating table, dissects it, unravels its innards, and shows the reader, in gory, sometimes eye-watering detail, why everything we think about it is Wrong with a capital W. It’s a jarring read; I imagine that those who make a living from campaigning against the scourge of human trafficking will throw it violently across the room, if not into an incinerator. Yet it may also be one of the most important books on migration published in recent years.

Most of us recognise the ideological under pinnings of old-style baiting of migrants. When newspaper hacks or populist politicians talk about evil Johnny Foreigners coming here and stealing our jobs or eating our swans, it does not take much effort to sniff out their xenophobic leanings. Agustín’s contention is that the new “discourse” on migrants (in which many of them, especially the women and children, are seen as “victims of trafficking” in need of rescue) is also built on ideological foundations. Like its demented cousin - tabloid hysteria about foreign scroungers - the trafficking scare is based on a deeply patronising view of migrants, rather than any hard statistical evidence that human trafficking is rife.

Agustín begins by challenging the idea that there is a “new slave trade” in which hundreds of thousands of women and children are sold like chattels across borders. The US state department claims that between 600,000 and 800,000 people are trafficked for forced labour or sex worldwide every year; Unicef says a million children and young people are trafficked each year. Upmarket newspapers - which have embraced the seemingly PC “trafficking discourse” with the same fervour as the tabloid newspapers screech about fence-leaping job-stealers from Sangatte - tell us that “thousands” of women and children have been trafficked into Britain and “traded for tawdry sex”, and that some of them (the African ones) “live under fear of voodoo”.

Agustín says the numbers are “mostly fantasies”. She does not doubt that there are instances of forced migration, or that, in a world where freedom of movement is restricted by stiff laws and stringent border controls, many aspiring migrants have little choice but to seek assistance from dodgy middlemen. Yet, having researched trafficking and sex workers’ experiences for the past five years, both academically and through fieldwork in Latin America and Asia, she concludes that the figures are based on “sweeping generalisations” and frequently on “wild speculation”. “Most of the writing and activism [on trafficking] does not seem to be based on empirical research, even when produced by academics,” she notes. Many of the authors rely on “media reports” and “statistics published with little explanation of methodology or clarity about definitions”.

Agustín points out that some anti-trafficking activists depend on numbers produced by the CIA (not normally considered a reliable or neutral font of information when it comes to inter national issues), even though the CIA refuses to “divulge its research methods”. The reason why the “new slavery” statistics are so high is, in part, that the category of trafficking is promiscuously defined, sometimes disingenuously so. Some researchers automatically label migrant women who work as prostitutes “trafficked persons”, basing their rationale on the notion that no woman could seriously want to work in the sex industry. The Coalition Against Trafficking in Women argues that “all children and the majority of women in the sex trade” should be considered “victims of trafficking”. As Agustín says, such an approach “infantilises” migrant women, “eliminating any notion that women who sell sex can consent”. Ironically, it objectifies them, treating them as unthinking things that are moved around the world against their will.

The reality is very different, the author says. Most migrant women, including those who end up in the sex industry, have made a clear decision to leave home and take their chances overseas. They are not “passive victims” who must be “saved” by anti-trafficking campaigners and returned to their country of origin. Rather, frequently, they are headstrong and ambitious women who migrate in order to escape “small-town prejudices, dead-end jobs, dangerous streets and suffocating families”. Shocking as it might seem to the feminist social workers, caring police people and campaigning journalists who make up what Agustín refers to as the “rescue industry”, she has discovered that some poor migrant women “like the idea of being found beautiful or exotic abroad, exciting desire in others”. I told you it was controversial.

One of Agustín’s chief concerns is that the anti-trafficking crusade is restricting international freedom of movement. What presents itself as a campaign to protect migrants from harm is actually making their efforts to flee home, to find work, to make the most of their lives in often difficult and unforgiving circumstances, that much harder. She writes about the “rescue raids” carried out by police and non-governmental organisations, in which even women who vociferously deny having been trafficked may be arrested, imprisoned in detention centres and sent back home - for the benefit of their own mental stability, of course. It used to be called repatriation; now, dolled up in therapeutic lingo, it is called “rescue”.

For all its poisonous prejudices, the old racist view of migrants as portents of crime and social instability at least treated them as autonomous, sentient, albeit “morally depraved”, adults. By contrast, as the author illustrates, the anti-trafficking lobby robs migrants of agency and their individual differences, and views them as a helpless, swaying mass of thousands who must be saved by the more savvy and intelligent women of the west and by western authorities.

Agustín reserves her most cutting comments for the flourishing “rescue industry”, arguing convincingly that it is driven by a colonial-style, maternalistic attitude to foreign women. In its world, “victims become passive receptacles and mute sufferers who must be saved, and helpers become saviours - a colonialist operation”. Bitingly, she compares today’s anti-trafficking feminists with the “bourgeois women” of the 19th century who considered it a moral virtue to save poor prostitutes, who were “mistaken, misled, deviant”. Like them, anti-trafficking crusaders see women as weak, easily victimised, and in need of guidance from a caring chaperone.

In truth, poor women - and men and children - migrate for many different reasons and have many different experiences, some good, some bad, some tragic. Such migrants are wise and wily, says Agustín; they have gumption, ambition and hope; they are often cosmopolitan, too, working, mixing and having flings with migrants from the other side of the world whom they meet in some big city in Europe or the United States. And many of them have far more liberal attitudes to freedom of movement than the westerners who campaign on their behalf. She quotes a Kurdish migrant to the Netherlands who thinks borders should be abolished: “I don’t come from the sun or moon. I’m from earth just like everybody else and the earth belongs to all of us.” Now that’s an argument I can get behind.

Brendan O’Neill is the editor of Spiked

What’s Wrong With the ‘Trafficking’ Crusade?
Well-meaning interference?

The Philadelphia Inquirer   Sunday 1 July 2007
Op-Ed page

Laura Agustín

It’s the season when the United States issues its annual Trafficking in Persons Report (TIP). Having named sexual slavery as a particular evil to be eradicated, the United States grades other countries on how they are doing.

On the one hand, it sounds like an obvious way to do good: Describe the ghastly conditions you as a rich outsider observe in poor countries. Focus on places where sex is sold. Say all women found were kidnapped virgins and are now enslaved; announce to the world that you will liberate them. Organize raids. Denounce anyone who objects - even if their objection is that you are intervening in their country’s internal affairs. Ignore victims who resist rescue. Use lurid language and talk continuously about the most sensational and terrible cases. Justify your actions as a manifestation of faith, as though it exists only for you. Mutter about “organized crime.”

This is also the season when tourists leave the United States en masse to visit the rest of the world, where their country is more disliked all the time. People who used to say: “It’s just the president [or the government], ordinary Americans are all right,” now say it less often. Ignorant, destructive interventions into other countries’ business have been going on too long.

Grading everyone else on moral grounds is highly offensive, particularly when such grades are accompanied by threats of punishment if the line isn’t toed. It’s distressing to witness the deterioration of what good will is left toward this country since the post-2001 wars were initiated and campaigns intensified that presume the United States Always Knows Best.

For crusading politicians and religious leaders, a rhetoric of moral indignation is effective in uniting constituents and diverting the collective gaze away from familiar problems at home. So the culprits, those who get bad grades in the TIP, live far away from U.S. culture, which is assumed to be better. Intransigent local troubles - prisons overflowing with African Americans, millions of children malnourished - are swept aside in the call to clean up other people’s countries.

This moral indignation emanates from people who live comfortably, who are not wondering where their next meal will come from or how to pay doctors’ bills. These moral entrepreneurs do not have to choose between being a live-in maid, with no privacy or free time and unable to save money because the pay is so bad, and selling sex, which pays so well that you have time to spend with your children or read a book, money to buy education or a phone.

It is easy to haul out sensationalistic language (sex slavery, child prostitution), but it is much harder to sort out the real victims from the more routinely disadvantaged and trying-to-get-ahead. Those who know intimately the problems of the poor in their own cultures rarely deny that they can decide to leave home and pay others to help them travel and find work, in sex or in any other trade.

“But sex for money is disgusting and degrading; no one should have to do it.” And should anyone have to clean toilets all day? Risk being maimed in unsafe fireworks factories? Should children have to spend their lives in lightless tunnels of mines, or women have to remain married to men who are cruel to them? The world is full of things we wish we could eradicate - but isn’t starvation the first of them? Why is there no equivalent moral furor over hideous poverty? Are we meant to believe that sex without love is worse than military violence? All over the world, selling sex pays better than most jobs readily available to women, and many do not believe it is the worst possible experience they can have.

What’s questionable about the TIP is not the defense of children or anyone else against true violence - it’s one government’s assumption that it has the right to judge everyone else and apply a draconian definition of exploitation that does not ask people whether and how they would like to change their lives. Questionable is the focus on the photogenic, cowboy moment of rushing in to rescue slaves, with no interest in what will follow.

Victims are “protected” rather than granted autonomy. At the Empower Center in Chiang Mai, Thailand, signs written by migrant women “rescued from” selling sex include: “We lose our savings and belongings”; We are locked up”; “We are held till deporation”; “We are interrogated by many people”; “Our family must borrow money to survive while we wait.”

From the standpoint of social science, the TIP is gravely faulty. It never explains how data were gathered and compared across so many languages and cultures, or who did it exactly under what circumstances. A raft of other research shows enormous diversity among people who sell sex, and a wide variety of experiences in the sex industry among both migrants and people who stay at home. Studies show that the worst kind of trafficking can happen to people doing other kinds of jobs - and to men. Women all over the world, including the poorest, repudiate being characterized as above all sexually vulnerable.

In assuming its creators’ moral values are or should be universal, the TIP ignores local cultures and the complexities of human desires and functions - yet another reason tourists from the United States will be less welcome everywhere this summer.

Nightmare, by Nikolaj Abildgaard

The other day I wrote about a protectionist clause in New Zealand’s Prostitution Reform Act that was tacked on at a late stage as part of a political deal. There had been little  discussion of migrants working in New Zealand’s sex industry beforehand, and there has been little enough since. The following story is really absurd, based completely on fantasies of what could happen. All the scary things. The story apparently exists at all because of the United States’ interference in judging (in the form of the TIP reports) the whole world’s efforts to get rid of trafficking. But given a complete absence of evidence, the reporter is forced to use every possible hedging device, including in the headline. I’ve highlighted all this evasive language in bold.

Note the fundamental fallacy being used to justify increased anti-trafficking efforts: ‘Two out of every five countries did not have a single conviction for human trafficking last year.’  One could imagine there isn’t much trafficking happening in those places, right? But no, a lack of convictions is ascribed to countries being ‘in denial’ or to inadequate policing. Well, it’s possible but is a very flimsy base on which to set up a Government Task Force.

I don’t mean to say there couldn’t be any coerced people working in New Zealand, or any bad guys who’ve managed to slip through immigration controls. But this story has more in common with the Nightmare painting above than with any real evidence. I’m interested in evidence, if you remember a post that got some people very upset indeed: Prostitution v. trafficking: Judging the Evidence.

Sex slaves may be working in NZ, officials say

The New Zealand Herald, 4 April 2009,  by Jared Savage

Fear of reprisals can stop victims from speaking up. Immigration officials admit that women could be working undetected as sex slaves in New Zealand, despite previous assurances that there is no evidence of a problem. The Cabinet will be asked to set up a taskforce involving seven Government departments to stop human trafficking in this country. The action plan follows criticism in United States intelligence reports, which name New Zealand as a destination for traffickers from Malaysia, Hong Kong, China and other Asian countries.

Police and advocates for change believe it is likely the trade exists here and has become harder to detect since the liberalisation of prostitution laws in 2003. Documents obtained under the Official Information Act show that advisers told Immigration Minister Jonathan Coleman the critical comments about trafficking in New Zealand were “unsubstantiated”. The December 2008 briefing paper goes on to say there is no verified evidence to suggest trafficking is happening here, but New Zealand had the potential to be targeted.

“Similarly, there could potentially be cases of people trafficking in New Zealand that remain undetected,” the paper said. “People trafficking for sexual and labour exploitation is an evolving global phenomenon and New Zealand remains at risk.”

Dr Coleman told the Weekend Herald there was no verified evidence that New Zealand was a trafficking destination, but conceded that the Government does not “assume immunity” to being targeted now or in the future. He said the multi-agency action plan would increase training for enforcement officials to identify potential victims. Intelligence on trafficking would be more readily shared, Dr Coleman said, as well as enhanced risk profiling for potential victims both at the border and in visa applications.

A United Nations report into trafficking criticised any country that had not prosecuted any human trafficking offences. Two out of every five countries did not have a single conviction for human trafficking last year, according to the global study of 155 countries released last month.

“Many governments are still in denial,” said United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime executive director Antonio Maria Costa. “Either these countries are blind to the problem, or they are ill-equipped to deal with it, or both.”

Public submissions on the Department of Labour-led action plan took exception to comments about the lack of evidence of people trafficking in New Zealand, noting that does not mean it is not happening. Advocates and academics went so far as to say it was “implausible” to believe women and children were not being brought into the country to work as prostitutes, urging law enforcement to investigate the link with international organised crime syndicates. Detective Inspector Scott Beard, Auckland district field crime manager, said there was no evidence to back that up, but noted: “Human trafficking is about making money. Organised crime is about making money.”

[What? Everything is about making money.]

With a boom in the number of brothels in Auckland suburbs - many unregistered - and police no longer able to raid brothels without search warrants, Mr Beard said trafficking could be going on undetected. Trafficked women are often brought into a country under false pretences of working in another industry, then exploited sexually to repay debt. Travel documents and passports are confiscated by traffickers to force compliance, as well as threats of physical violence, reprisals and public exposure.

Those reasons, as well as language barriers, meant potential victims would be reluctant to come forward and lay a complaint with police, said Mr Beard. “If no one knows where these brothels are, how do we know there’s not women who have had their passports removed and are forced to work in prostitution?” Susan Coppedge, a US federal prosecutor who spent a year in New Zealand studying trafficking, profiled three cases which occurred before the law changes in 2002 that would now be considered for trafficking prosecution. The most high-profile one was the “pink sticker” campaign of 1999 where Thai women were held against their will in Auckland brothels. The focus on the international Asian sex industry led the Human Rights Commission to use pink stickers to publicise a safe house and fast track repatriation with travel documents. However, many of the victims returned to Thailand before their traffickers could be prosecuted. Copyright ©2009, APN Holdings NZ Limited