Not A Dirty Word (part 1)

"How well you used to know how to shine
In the place that's safe from harm
I have been blessed with a wilder mind

You can be every little thing you want nobody to know
And you can try to drown out the street below
And you can call it love
If you want"

 - Wilder Mind, by Mumford & Sons

I found my favorite recipe for sugar cookies and spent the afternoon mixing, rolling, cutting, and baking. I couldn't find a heart-shaped cookie cutter, so I made two out of card-stock, tracing around them with a knife. I pressed colorful sprinkles into the dough. I placed them all in a plastic container, ready for the next day. Hearts for Valentine's Day. Cookies for prostitutes.

My friends Desi and Miguel go downtown every other Thursday to visit with women and trans-gendered men in prostitution. It was 5:00 when we got downtown, full daylight. We approached women and men - some of them strangers and some established friends - and offered them each a cookie for Valentine's Day. They greeted us with smiles ranging from shy to gregarious. The way they dressed and stood, it was obvious what they were about. Miguel told me how they had deals with different hostels, so they could take in the 'johns' for a set rate. With some we talked for a couple of minutes only, Miguel always saying "Que Dios te bendiga" (God bless you) as we left. Others crowded around us on the sidewalk, and we talked for at least half an hour. Not one asked us to move along, annoyed that we were taking up their time. Desi has a dream to rent a space and offer classes and Bible studies. She told everyone that I had made the cookies and would they be interested in a cooking/baking class? They were. One woman even exclaimed how she had always wanted to learn how to cut hair and would love a class on beautician. Just as we were seeing the light and excitement in their eyes, they suddenly turned away, hiding their faces and muttering. Behind me, across the street, a man had started openly taking photos of them. We shooed the man away, standing in front of the women protectively. For a few moments, their shame was on display because of a man who thought he had a right to take advantage of them. Until then they had stood there in their tight clothes and caked-on makeup and simply talked to us as who we were: people who simply wanted to have a conversation and not judge. Friends.

Poverty, abuse, trafficking, and lack of education creates a terrible cycle. Most of the women had been trafficked or abused, but once free they had no education, no options, and had to make money for themselves and often children as well. So they turned to the only thing they knew: selling their bodies.
"I'm simply glad that I don't have a pimp. I can work for myself and chose my own clients."
Though of course this freedom is only an illusion, and they know it. They want more but have been told they aren't worth anything else, and how would they achieve it? How would "E"ever learn to cut hair without finances and time?

I keep thinking about the man who took those photos. He probably spits out the word 'prostitute' like it's something dirty, like he's so far above anyone like that. The truth is, that's what we're all taught, right? We're taught that prostitutes, hookers, women of the night, and call girls exist on the lower level of society. Yet ... if men didn't pay for sex, there wouldn't be any market. If women weren't raped and abused and told they're not worthwhile unless they are 'sexy' (in the popular definition of a certain kind of attractiveness, not what I believe it to mean: someone who is confident in who they are and in their beauty and worth, no matter how they dress or act), they wouldn't turn to prostitution and certainly wouldn't make any kind of living from it. If men would tell women, "You don't have to do this. Be confident and be free,", instead of assessing them up and down and paying to use them for an hour, there would be a change.

However it may be the trans-gendered men who break my heart the most. Miguel has talked in-depth with some of them. They have horror stories of sexual abuse. Because of that they've reacted by transforming themselves, finding community with prostitutes and paying for enough hormones to give them breasts and curves. If I hadn't known in advance that some of the women were men, I may not have known. I may not have given a second thought to the strong jawline, or seen the Adam's apple beneath the made-up face and long hair (a wig on at least one). Once I realized, I saw the gentle shyness, the fragile hope of being beautiful and accepted. It broke my heart.

As much as words and actions relating to sex are considered cool, the word prostitute is still darkly tainted. For this reason, I chose to say "women and men in prostitution", because it's something they do, not who they are. It's time to start seeing the men who buy sex as the dirty ones, more so than the people who feel that they have no other choice but to comply. What is dirty is blind judgment without knowing the circumstances. Let's change the culture. Let's have a generation where abuse is not okay, and there is sympathy in place of dirty words.