Monthly Archives: July 2013

Revolution is Never Easy

Posted on by rmott62

I believe that abolition of the sex trade can and will be made real.

I have been surprised by how much progress the Nordic Approach has made, knowing that it could the start of a road to abolition.

But to fully understand abolition, it must be understood as a revolution and a gradual change at the same time.

When viewed as a revolution, all those who want and need abolition must understand revolutions are never easy – but this is a righteous revolution, so hold on fast.

I believe that throughout all known and unknown history where the sex trade has existed – that the prostituted class and some allies have resisted and dream of abolition.

We must never think we were the only generation, only culture, and only time that said the buying and selling of humans for sexual greed and hate must be got rid of.

We should learn and respect those who fought and suffer badly for change over the centuries – we must know their stories may have been destroyed by the sex trade, but their spirit in everything that abolitionists do now.

For me, I cannot imagine a time or place where prostitution or porn can be made acceptable on the human rights level – I know deep in my heart there was resistance, even as it was silenced, even as the prostituted who resisted were thrown away – I know inside the heart of the prostitute deeply hidden, is a fierce warrior resisting.

That warrior is there for all the prostituted – no matter what time they live in, no matter what culture surround them, no matter their class, no matter their age – that warrior is always fighting to drag back the basic human rights for all the prostituted over all time and in all places.

The revolution of the prostituted is mostly silent.

A silent resistance that keep something deep inside every prostitute that no punter can reach to destroy, something deep inside that sex trade profiteer can understand.

Call it a soul, call it reminder of strength – but always know the prostitute has resistance even when she cannot stop the hate and violence.

I call this a revolution that no-one can stop.

The resistant spirit of the prostituted class is a force that is ignored, or pushed away – when it is force that can and will given its true voices turn the world upside down.

For the prostituted, in all time and in all places – carry the deep knowledge about male violence, and know that all men can choose to turn away from that violence.

What it takes is massive, but with small steps and thinking outside the small time of our lives – we can build a world where the sex trade is impossible to imagine.

We must believe there is nothing natural about buying and selling any human for sexual wants.

We must believe we cannot create a class of mostly women and girls who goods, and stripped of all humanity.

We must believe if you allow any man to buy another human for his sexual greed – there can no safe place for any  prostitute. Indoors is not safe, just the violence is hidden from public gaze.

We must believe that every man who make the choice to buy a prostitute – does not know or care about her past, does not know or care if she raped or being tortured by him or previous punters.

We must believe exited women when they say prostituted is paid rape.

We must believe that the true damage of porn is the extreme violence done to the women and girls inside porn.

We must believe that the act of buying a prostitute is an act of violence in and of itself.

To believe this – we must have the revolutionary thought that all the prostituted class are fully human – and should have access to all human rights.

Now to believe that – to believe that then there would a revolution I would be on the front-line for.

All too often revolutionary ideas have no space for the prostituted class.

We are pushed away by the Left as inconvenient – reminding them how male they are, reminding how often the Left uses concept of freedom of speech to silence the prostituted, reminding how often the Let makes and want to keep it own whores and porn.

We are made invisible by too many feminist – either by want to say it just work and must be chosen, or by speaking to the continuum of male violence, but always making the prostituted be dropped or told it to hard to deal with.

We are made to know, that the prostituted should wait to real revolution and then their freedom may be put on the agenda.

Only the prostituted class has been many centuries, many cultures, many political systems – and found always the sex trade remains.

Our rights are destroyed in every revolution – for it seem men can always reasons why they must keep their whores and porn.

There has never been a real revolution for the prostituted class.

We deserve freedom, we deserve to live in safety, we deserve to have our voices heard and followed, we deserve more than respect – we deserve a leadership role in destroying male violence.

That is a real revolution.

Gravestones In My Heart

Posted on by rmott62

Exiting and somehow surviving prostitution can lead to a depth of grief which is almost impossible to express.

It is to know that you wake into huge sadness, yet no tears come.

It is to have huge slabs of gravestones continuing to remind where you came from.

All I can do in this post, is to reach and grab this past in expressionist prose – I cannot say the depths and width of that sorrow.

I can never measure the aching grief of the prostituted class – all I can do is examine my past as a tiny example of that living pain.

I use me coz I was never unique – I use me coz somehow I able to be forensic with my own history, whilst I cannot handle the pain and grief of how other somehow survived prostitution.

I could start with the sorrow of being an exited woman – the sorrow of hearing constant lies and myths said about what it is to be prostituted.

To hear that it can be made safe if all prostitutes are indoors.

Hearing this, and the daggers of knowing a past of being indoors.

A past where safety was a joke. Where bouncers or security was only there to stop the prostitute from leaving or to tell punters their time is up.

A past where no prostitute can escape a violent punter, a past where the real profit is made by letting punter be as sadist as he wants.

A past where prostitutes just disappears, where prostitutes are murdered and no-one speaks of their existence.

To hear it is just sex.

To know it is rape – unless money is consent.

To know each punter who buys a prostitute will know he can torture, can rape and can batter – and it will a non-crime.

To know that when a prostitute is murdered, it is decided no human is involved.

To hear that prostitution prevents real rapes.

To know that this means you are now and have always been sub-human.

To know that this means all the prostituted have no access to human pain, human emotions, and therefore can not be harmed.

To know we never had any rights to the language of no, to know our voices were smashed down every time we wanted more than being sex goods.

But the real gravestones that leave me and so many exited women in a stunned silence – is the gravestones where it is written “no-one will care”.

It inside these slabs we see and know that whatever sadism that went through our bodies and minds – it is always seen of little importance when real violence is happening to the innocent women and girls.

For to be prostituted, is to never be allowed to be innocent enough to be raped, innocent enough to know what it is to be battered, innocent enough to be a child, innocent enough to be a murder victim worth remembering.

That is the gaping wound that all exited women carry – most are silenced about, most do express what it is to be always on the outside.

We stay silent so others do not defend themselves, we stay silent and pretend it just a continuum of male violence, as we are always forgotten and abandoned.

Our silence is not agreement, it is just exhaustion that we are keep sub-human, it is frustration that our pains and confusion is so easily dismissed.

Our silence hides the screaming of how we never abused as individuals – we were raped, tortured and murdered as throwaway goods.

Each prostitute knows there is nothing personal when punter or profiteers destroy their humanity – we know in the world of the sex trade, nothing is being done to nothing.

To be a prostitute is not be an individual, not have access to humanity, to have no authentic voice.

We were stripped of the right to know we were being raped or tortured – as we were brainwashed it just our work, that we had strong sexual desire, that we did know pain like real women and girls.

There is nothing personal in prostitution – it is just an institution that rapes women and girls into nothingness, it is just an institution that constantly new ways to torture the prostituted class, it is just an institution that will murder the prostituted for it just disposing its goods.

To be prostituted is to not exist.

No wonder we all have gravestones deep inside of us.

There is a Silence In Me

Posted on by rmott62

This post is for the spaces in me that I try to bury, but grabs my throat till I choke, that make my guts have a sickness that cannot escape.

This post is written for the centre of my prostitution – for my centre is just a common experience for millions of the prostituted.

I am unique, but also part of a group whose suffering is made invisible.

I speak for my prostituted self, I speak to all those that were lost, and mostly I speak because I want no wastage of the lives of the prostituted.

I speak from and to desperation, I speak to find my righteous rage, I speak through the pain of knowing the unbearable truth – I speak towards a justice that comes finding I am no longer dead.

I speak to end the endless myths that prostitution can and will be made safe, or at least safe enough for the profiteers to prosper, safe enough that punters can continue their violence with no consequences.

I speak because my truths and memories tell me no more of this shit – enough is enough.

My spur is knowing the violence done to me was made normal, my spur is to give some voice to say those who died or disappeared mattered.

My spur is increase each some idiot said – oh, we can never get rid of prostitution, it has always been with us.

The idiots that say that – never say don’t do anything about murder, it always been with us, don’t do anything about child rape, that has always been with us.

No, instead they make a special category for prostitution.

They invent that is must be a job – a dirty, nasty and job – but a job.

That by magic make prostitution ok, that by magic put a veil over all the male violence done to the prostituted, that by magic means that all prostitutes must have chosen their lifestyles.

Call a prostitute a sex worker – and all her past disappears, all her future becomes unimportant, all the pain put into her body and mind by punters and the sex trade is made to vanish.

Call a prostitute a sex worker, and when violence becomes her norm, you blames her for not reading body language of the punters, for not negotiating with the punter, for being too emotionally damaged for the work.

Call a prostitute a sex worker – and sleight of hand you makes the cause of the violence vanish.

You make sure no-one sees or fully knows, it is always the punter that makes the choice to be violent or not.

It is always the fault of the structure of the sex trade that makes all the prostituted into goods with no human rights.

In that environment, no prostitute can know full safety, full dignity or even be allowed to be fully human.

To be made goods, is to know you are made unrapable, to know that all tortures will become your norm, and as part of the prostituted class to know you may be dead before you are 27.

To be lucky enough to exit that world is a gift – and in surviving by whatever means we had, we must remember, we must speak to our truths, and we must be part of a real change for all the prostituted class.

 

The Personal Made My Politics

Posted on by rmott62

I have always known that being an abolitionist was never a choice, it was always made by my history, it was part of the good side of my family.

Abolition is not a choice, it has become a mission to me.

To an abolitionist, is to more than rational and inside the head for why there must be real change.

Abolition comes from the heart, from the guts, from remembering what others want to forget.

Abolition is never easy – abolition must include pain, must include grief, must know confusion.

For from that pain, grief and confusion we see the truth of the callousness of the structure of the sex trade.

We must see the structure of the sex trade with eyes that are clear, a heart that is able to feel, guts that hold our sickness and despair – than we can let the mind discover ways to build a route to real change.

In this post, I am writing to my personal route to being strong enough to feel enough to be an abolitionist.

It was and is a very difficult journey – and every day I can hit a wall of grief and wanting to be empty of human emotions – but I am growing to allow in the past without fear.

I come from a family on my father’s side that have always fought for human rights – I have a background of seeing beyond your own narrow life.

I always knew there was injustice, always knew that good people could be destroyed for no reason but greed or wanting them out of the way.

I was taught to have respect and would get respect back – and if others made the choice to toss away your respect, you did not to understand, just if possible get them out of your life.

I was taught not to judge someone by how they looked, where they came, what culture made them – but talk to them first, and decide whether you like them or not.

I was taught that those who make the choice to oppress will not and do not change by the oppressed being nice and begging for some equality.

No, we must fight and demand justice, we must make the oppressor know they are to be punished and we must demand a real change.

You do not get oppressors to change by looking for them to be suddenly transformed – no, real change comes when the oppressed are enough of a force that they can no longer be ignored.

I learnt that slowly, and for most of my life I could not even imagine any change to make the prostituted truly free.

There were many events and ideas that drip-fed my belief there could hope and change for the prostituted.

None of these changes came easy – all came with falling back into denial, all came with wanting to block all thoughts – most of time I was drowning in drink, refusing to sleep, and having more sadist sexual violence done to my body.

I wanted and needed change, but for too many years I could see it as a reality.

I had been destroyed and brainwashed to think no-one could or would care if the prostituted were dead or alive.

I had come to believe I was nothing, if I was something I deserved everything that was slowly killing me.

I could know I was being raped, I could not know I was being tortured, I could not know how many times I nearly died – I could see what was straight in front of me.

This deep denial is the only way to somehow to survive long-term prostitution – deep denial that you are in conditions of the enslaved, deep denial that you have no access to the language of consent, deep denial that any prostitute at any time and in any place come be made to disappear.

Tell me how else can any prostitute can survive without being inside this deep denial.

How would you survive with constant rapes without going into deep denial – how would you survive never knowing when a punter will be violent or not without being in deep denial – and tell me would you know you are no longer human but goods?

Exiting prostitution is terrifying for it is a slow progress to unravel that deep denial.

It is a slow progress to know your own truths, slow progress to shred the guilt and self-hate.

It is a slow progress to see and know you had no real choices, no access to real freedom, and to know how much you were lied to.

To know you have been stripped of access to real choices is deeply devastating – it is seen with sudden clarity how effective the sex trade was and is at stripping away all humanity from the prostituted.

There cannot be access to real choice when your only purpose is to be brought and sold as sexual goods.

There cannot be access to real choice when all punters know just by buying any type of prostitute that he owns her – and she cannot say no, for he can force her without any consequences.

Heck, there cannot be access to real choice when every prostitute lives in an environment where murder is made ordinary – an environment where women and girls are made to disappear, and it not made news.

I became an abolitionist, because I got too used to death and disappearances – I made myself harden to that norm.

Goddamnit – we must have abolition because it should never normal for any people to accept that the mass of them will just be made to disappear, or live with high rates of murders.

I remember so many that not be here –  but it their spirits which are the foundations of fighting for abolition.

There are the murdered prostituted – those who may know of who were toss away by serial killers, but also the too many we do not know, who were by punters one by one, those who pimps/profiteers murdered for being used up or troublemakers and their bodies made to disappear.

There are far many of the prostituted who had no exit but taking their own lives – in my opinion, this is murder by proxy, from the industry that made inhuman, from the many punters who made her hate her existence, and from those who pass by the prostituted.

There are far too many prostituted who may died from internal injuries or long-term sexual diseases. Often, they may died when they have finally reach a place of freedom and are knowing joy.

I am an abolition for all the prostituted who could not make it – for they and I want a world where no-one has to live in that fear and without access to their own humanity.

An Invitation

Posted on by rmott62

I, and some other wonderful women, are starting to plan a memorial for missing and dead prostituted women and girls.

It is just at the ideas stage, but I am beginning to believe it is more than a pipe-dream, more than my private fantasy.

It can and will be real – a living memorial that could last until all the prostituted are fully free.

It can and will be real – a living memorial to place all our hurts and griefs for those who could not make.

It can and will be real – for even if and when there is abolition, we must hold in our hearts the waste of so many brilliant women and girls.

That is my dream, that is my mission – that is how I would be proud top leave my mark in this world.

This post is an invitation to all of you who truly hold in your hearts all these vanished prostituted women and girls.

I would love to make in the long-term to have a permanent memorial in my city or London to the English missing and dead prostituted women and girls.

That should be a spur for permanent in other cities, other towns, others of the millions of places where the prostituted are made to disappear.

We should not just remember those prostitutes killed by serial killers – but remember the ordinary murders by pimps/profiteers, remember ordinary murders done one by one by punters who cannot see the human in every prostitute.

We should remember that most murders/disappearances of the prostituted go unacknowledged.

We must remember all of these women and girls.

If we are to make a world where there is no slavery, a world where no-one is made into throwaway goods – we have no choice but to remember all the murdered and disappeared prostituted women and girls.

I invite any writer who wants to remember these women and girls – to send me poems, send me prose, send a play script.

I invite any artist who wants to remember these women and girls – to send me paintings, photos, installations.

I invite any songwriter or musician to remember these women and girls – send me songs, ideas for sounds.

I invite anyone who loved or just want to record a disappeared prostituted woman or girl – to contact me with memories, with connections to their lives.

I invite all with a heart for the prostituted to contact me with ideas, dreams, thoughts and grief.

I want a permanent memorial – but I also a constant living memorial events with music, arts and words.

I dream that we keep these women and girls in the forefront of every discussion, every news story, every chat in the pub – we keep the disappeared and murdered prostituted women and girls at the top of every reason we must have abolition.

Abolition is more than just an intellectual – abolition must come from the heart, abolition must hold our spirituality – and it also includes our minds.

To truly understand the reasons for abolition of sex trade, you must be able to hold and see deep into the grief that the prostituted are made into disposable goods.

Grief is a vital part of the abolition, abolition cannot be real, unless we face that deep sorrow.

I grieve not just the women and girls I knew that vanished – my prostituted heart grieve all the prostituted who were toss away like trash.

I do not just grieve for the short period of my life – I grieve the millions of prostituted women and girls who were made nameless and made to disappear over many centuries.

I do not just grieve those prostituted women and girls from my culture or background – but from all countries, all cultures and all traditions.

The grief I hold comes from the knowledge that my prostituted spirit is interconnected with all the prostituted.

To remember the disappeared and murdered prostituted women and girls, we must open ourselves up to a rage that demands real justice.

We can have a rage that is not always made rational or told to calm down – a rage without human words, a rage only the arts can express, a rage that is the howling of our souls.

To truly understand and to be an abolitionist – you must not be afraid of this rage, for it is a deep spur to justice.

We must rage at the total of justice that all the prostituted class live inside.

How can we not rage that all the prostituted are stripped of basic human rights to safety, to having human dignity, to be given the right to have a humanity and not made into goods?

How can we not rage that most of the prostituted lived in an environment where torture, constant rapes and deaths are their norm?

How can we not rage that most societies do not care to see or know that the prostituted are murdered or made to disappear?

Rage pushes our demand for justice – for without justice the pain and grief can never leave us.

Justice must be made a reality – there has too many centuries without justice, too many dead and destroyed prostituted women and girls without justice, too much trauma without justice.

We must take our time and force our way towards justice.

I see a start coming, but this start must be grabbed hold or it will abandoned the prostituted again.

The start is the recognition that the focus should on the men who buy the prostituted – the start is confronting their choices and sense of entitlement.

When we look at the punters we a clear eye, we see there is never an excuse for buying the prostituted.

Each man who makes the choice to buy a prostitute is buying goods not a human, that is the bottom line.

In buying goods, the punter comes to believe it is impossible to harm, rape, torture or really murder the prostitute – all his actions are nothing being done to nobody.

For real justice – we must confront and punish these punters.

We must draw a line in the sand, and show these men that they are rapists, they are torturers and if they kill the prostitute – they are murderers.

We must stop making excuses for punters, we must stop making punters invisible.

That is the start to true justice.

If anyone wants to help with ideas for memorials – then please contact me, pm me on twitter or facebook or this blog for my email.

 

Pain in My Heart

Posted on by rmott62

I have always loved Otis Redding, the soul of his voice reaches deep inside my heart.

Otis could drag out my heart when I was convince I had none.

His anthem “Pain in My Heart” has follow me through good and bad times.

I write this post to that song – and the many other Soul, Gospel, Country and Blues songs that have help me survive prostitution.

I believe my love of American music save my life – at the least it give some will to keep going, coz there always a song I have heard.

I was born into a family that loved most music.

My maternal grandmother run a ballet school – with Classical music, with Duke Ellington, with Benjamin Brittain coursing through her house.

My maternal grandfather loved Mozart and Baroque music.

My mother loved Rolling Stones, 60’s Soul, Classical Ballet music.

My father loved Beach Boys, Be-Bop, Beatles, Outlaw Country, Bach, Gospel and so much more.

My sister loved David Cassidy, Wham, George Michael, soft Pop.

One brother loved Modern Jazz, and the other brother loved Pet Shop Boys, Club music and  Jazz.

That was my background – in which I came to adore Soul, which lead to Blues, which lead to Country, which lead to Cajun, which lead to so-called World Music.

That was my background – I came to want Be-Bop all round me, which lead to going deeper into all Jazz, which lead to seeing links to Gospel, which always lead back to the Blues.

That was my background – learning to hear Classical music as radical when it was first heard, hearing how music breaks rules and patterns, leading to hearing Punk, Mods, Rap as the rule-breakers of our own classic music.

I learnt that all music is interlinked, and most music that will listen to for many years does not fit into simple category.

Most music that is loved is mixing many genres, mixes many cultures and viewpoints, mixes the past with the present making a future music.

Music is an echoing chamber for human emotions said and unsaid.

Great music just is – that is all that matters.

All I know, all that I hold deep inside my heart – is through I try to cut music out my life when I was prostituted – I never lost my passion for music.

I wanted so much to not hear music.

I could not bear that life-force – could not the pain and hurt laying so bare, could hear anthems and songs of a joy that was out of my reach, could not allow music into my bones.

But music was always round.

It was inside pubs as I went dead doing the Girlfriend Experience – the songs I knew and loved, that without thinking I sung in my head.

I could dare to sing even under my breath, for if a punter thought or imagine I was not paying him 100% of attention, I knew he would punish with fists or more likely sadist sex.

I wanted to not know I still needed pop, still needed simple love songs, still needed to be part of a culture that excluded prostituted women and girls.

Heck, I wanted not to know I could not be free enough to just enjoy putting a record on a jukebox.

Music was often in the background as punters fucked me into being nobody.

Music felt like it was laughing at my destruction, music seemed to scorn my right to be human.

I wanted to smash the music up, smash it into the punter’s head, use the shards left to kill myself.

Music became my death.

There was certain music even now I linked to that control and violence, music that I closed out of my life as much as possible.

There is Reggae, Lover’s Rock, the Barry White style of Soul, Progressive Rock, Folk music from late 60’s and 70’s.

All this type of music was used to make it was normal to be raping and torturing a prostitute – music made it just entertainment or some kind of a relationship.

I was trapped in that music – so now I turn away from it.

Music in the background of the endless rapes and torturing could on occasions be a good distraction.

It was in that haze, I came to love Prince, came to want Soul music to be there, came to love the anger of Punk and early Rap.

Music was slowly reminding I was worth something – worth more that pain and hate.

Alone, in the moments I had enough space and energy to grow into music that would mine – I would sing along, I would kind of dance, but mostly music became all the emotions I thought were gone.

I would play angry music to rage – play the Buzzcocks and the Clash, play Rites of Spring, play fierce Blues and aggressive Jazz.

I would reach deep into my sorrow through music – reaching for the deep sorrow of Gospel, the sadness inside Soul, the aching sadness of Mozart.

I would back to the child I thought I had lost – listening to Phil Spector Christmas songs, listening to Beach Boys, hearing Lieutenant Kiev and Peter and the Wolf.

Music was working its magic on me.

But then music had never really left, just vanished to be strong enough to help me get the courage to truly exit prostitution.

Now, I am free enough to be a music geek – it is bloody wonderful.

 
 

Divide and Rule

Posted on by rmott62

 What is Human Trafficking?

Article 3, paragraph (a) of the Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons defines Trafficking in Persons as the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation. Exploitation shall include, at a minimum, the exploitation of the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labour or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs.

The italics are made by me.

This is dedicated to Joan Smith, who speech made me want to express this.

 

There is a general discussion around prostitution which I and many other exited women find highly disturbing – that is that trafficking into the sex trade can be separated from prostitution.

This is a myth, and it is a myth that is placing millions of prostituted women in danger – for they are abandoned by this belief system.

In reality, all forms of prostitution are the conditions of trafficking – and to not recognise that is to play the game of the sex trade.

The sex trade profiteers want to control your thinking and keep their power base by making a divide and rule construction of what prostitution is.

In these terms, trafficking is made very narrow.

It does not include internal trafficking.

It only includes external trafficking if there is blatant violence and dehumanising of  the trafficked women or girls – otherwise it is framed as economic migration.

It does includes under-aged prostitution – but keeps the benefit of doubt on the side of the punter that she looked over 16.

There is nothing about the ordinary lack of consent – for it framed as a job, so once paid or receiving gifts that becomes consent.

In this framing, the violence that is the prostitute’s norm is made invisible, or viewed as a risk of her job.

It is decided with little or no evidence, that to be a non-trafficked prostitute is to make a free choice to be inside the sex trade.

In that framing, the sex trade and their allies have an easy road to emotionally blackmail those who are unsure.

They play on liberal guilt – who are you to judge that woman’s choice.

By keeping the discussion firmly focus on the individual choice of an unknown women – the sex trade effectively turns all eyes away from the systematic torture and degradation of all the prostituted class.

If you only stick to the individual, looking and hoping to find the unicorn of the Happy Hooker – you will never be able to see the millions of women and girls screaming for you to see them.

Look at the top of this page again – see how the United Nations define trafficking – then tell why you are able to say “chosen” prostitution can be separated from trafficking.

It clearly cannot.

No woman or girl who enters the sex trade is able to escape being lied to, being manipulated to do what is not her wish.

No sex trade profiteer will recruit by saying the full truth – that to be prostituted is to do sex acts you do not want, sex acts that will and can place the prostitute in danger.

No punter will think about full consent or the human rights of the prostitute.

To be inside the world of the sex trade – is to be so manipulated that you lose language, lose that you had a past, lose a belief that can be a future outside the sex trade.

To be truly prostituted is to lose memory of being fully human.

If that is not the conditions of trafficking, than I will fall into despair.

The most important way that shows that all forms of prostitution are in the conditions of trafficking – is the fact that money and exchanging gifts is used to destroy the concept of consent.

In the world of the sex trade – the prostitute cannot have access to the language of consent, it is world where she is goods – goods that are made unrapeable.

Punters either think it is impossible to rape a prostitute, or know they are rapists but assume society will not care for the prostitute cannot be raped.

It is impossible to be inside prostitution long-term without experiencing sexual abuse – it is very normal to be sexually tortured.

But if you see prostitution with a clear eye – you will see each a punter pay to take away the prostitute’s right to say no – that is rape.

So all forms of prostitution lead to paid rape, that is torture plain and simple.

It is torture to be raped by so many men that your mind losing count.

It is torture to have no rights over your body and to have your mind manipulated.

It is torture to be made into sub-human goods.

All this is common in all forms of prostitution – therefore all prostitution is in the conditions of trafficking.

 

 

 

 

Beyond an Emergency

Posted on by rmott62

This is dedicated with deep love to all the exited women and their allies who mourn those who been made lost through murder by the sex trade.

The deep sorrow that we hold must be the driving force for abolition and true freedom for all the prostituted.

This weekend I heard of yet another murder of a loved prostituted woman by a punter.

A punter who thought he had done nothing of importance.

But I am sure this in just 72 hours, there was many murders of the prostituted that was not news, was not recorded – in many countries, even inside the city that I live.

For to be a woman or girl inside the sex trade, is to know that you are highly likely to be murdered – heck to the ignorant it see as a hazard of the “job”.

Prostituted women and girls are 18 times more likely to be murdered than any other group of women and girls.

18 times more !!

And that may be an under-estimate, for the sex trade is very good at making any murdered prostitute disappear.

That is more than an emergency, that is plain and simple genocide.

When is it going to matter this constant murdering of the prostituted class.

I do not know anyone who was long-term inside the sex trade who did not know or even witness the murder/s of the prostituted.

I do not know anyone who was long-term inside the sex trade who was not threatened with death or had no sadist experiences that they could have died.

Living with death was our ordinary experiences.

Why is that acceptable?

To any liberal, anarchist, or feminist who want prostitution to just be a job, a job with some risks.

How many jobs do you know where being murdered is par for the course?

How many jobs reward the murderer of its “employees”, by making it is a non-crime to murder her?

Yes, yes many other jobs are dangerous – but must deaths at work are accidents or bad management, not cold-blooded murder.

Tell me what other form of employment would allow a huge percentage of it workforce to be tortured and/or murdered?

Prostitution is never a job, is not a form of employment – prostitution must be classed as slavery and a complete violation of basic human rights.

As you imagine you can frame prostitution as a labour issue – the prostituted class are being murdered all over the globe.

Wake up from your liberal views – and start seeing the prostituted as full humans.

As long as you make the choice to view prostitution as a labour issue, you are part of the problem and far away from any solution.

You are playing the game that is designed by the sex trade – the game of making the prostituted class into goods, and stripping away their humanity.

This makes it easy for the murders to continue, for it become that no human is harmed, just goods vanish to be replaced with other goods.

The trick the sex trade does is to hide genocide on a mass scale, by always having a supply of vulnerable women and girls to fill any gaps.

This works because for too many all whores are the same.

I speak to women who fight every day to bring out the true horror of deaths from domestic violence and rape/murders of the non-prostituted women and girls.

I grieve all these waste of their futures – but for most of these deaths there is a name and acknowledgement from good women that it is a deep wrong.

There is a remembrance for these women and girls, there is enough concern to make statistics, and there is the will to make real change.

But there is a huge silence round the ordinary murders of the prostituted.

Most of the prostituted that are murdered are never remembered – they have no names, they are not seen as human enough to be recorded.

The prostituted all over the world just are made to disappear on a mass scale – and it not even noticed.

Sometimes, others prostitutes may grieve their deaths – but this is hard when to feel is to be vulnerable, also to see how close death is too dangerous.

I would love a permanent memorial in every city/town where murdered prostitutes are.

That is my dream.

I want some kind memorial to all those women and girls who were made into nothing, and were made forgotten.

That is my dream.

I want some names on the memorials, but mainly a message – a poem, an image or some prose – to make vivid that most of their deaths are unrecorded and nameless.

That is my dream.

I am reaching out for artists, exited women, free women, dreamers, abolitionists to join me to remember.

Friday on My Mind

Posted on by rmott62

I have decided to write whatever is on my mind as Hank Williams and the Blues plays in the background.

I feel I been resting, or running away, but always aware that it is just a small break in the longest war to abolish the sex trade.

Today is the 15th anniversary of the tragic death of Emma Humphries, she was a bright light to exited women – and much of my work is deeply inspired by her spirit.

I hold all the lost and destroyed prostituted women and girls deep inside my heart.

They are deep in my mind as each word of this blog is made public.

Their voices were wiped out, few like Emma left some record of their existence – but mostly dead of the prostituted class are vanished from history.

Now, maybe for the first time as a permanent force exited women and some women inside prostitution/porn are speaking to their realities.

There are multiple voices from every continent – voices of escorts from Western cities, voices of Dalit women, voices of women inside Asian brothels, voices of the tortured in legal Australian prostitution, voices of South African street-based prostitutes, voices of under-aged prostitutes from every corner of the world.

There are multiple voices from all classes, backgrounds and ethnicities – there are voices from indigenous women in the America and Australia/New Zealand, there are voices from white middle-class girls who know the reality of internal trafficking, there are the voices of millions of Asian sold and consumed in every continent, there are the voices of African-American girls made invisible on the street or inside flats/hotels.

We are now speaking out – we may not know each other, we may not be able to fully understand the reality of another prostituted woman’s life – but as we speak out, we recognise we are deeply connected.

The differences in our lives, our views and our backgrounds become minor when facing up to the institution that is the sex trade.

In the end, whatever label a prostituted women or girl is given – whether she is called high-class hooker, made low by being on the street, given the label  courtesan/geisha/companion, or the label of whore/slut/scum – all the prostituted are made one in the eyes of punters and profiteers.

The bottom line all the endless labeling of  the prostituted is only done so men can imagine no harm is being done, or to make the men enjoy having the power to exploit without consequences.

Labels mean nothing when you are goods; labels mean nothing when at any time and any place any punter can destroy the prostitute; labels mean nothing when all the prostituted are made sub-human.

I was inside the labels of what punters imagine is chosen and safe prostitution.

I was inside sex clubs, I was an escort, I was girlfriend material – I was indoors always.

I was inside the labels that sex trade profiteers say to the outside world is a chosen lifestyle.

Boy, I was inside a world that never existed.

The world where no punters would dare harm the prostitute, a world where pimps/businessmen care about the welfare of the prostitute, a world where money flow like wine.

That world was just a sick joke that imprisoned me.

I was never safe or protected – just live with the knowledge that all violence done in indoors prostitution is hushed up and made non-existent.

Yes, on occasions I made a ton of money – but it was poison to me.

I got more money from being tortured for many hours; I got more money for not remembering their faces or words they had said; I got more money for somehow not dying.

So don’t fall for the labels – hear the voices of exited women and know we were all made sub-human.

God, I thought I could write, but my heart is breaking, so I must stop now, please tell me what you think, for I need support or friendship.

Re-Mounting My Bolting Horse

Posted on by rmott62

It has been almost impossible for me to write.

I have too much grief – I have too much confusion – I have too much wanting to run away and scream.

I will write, but the fear that I say it all wrong, or just repeat myself endlessly.

I feel a sadness that drags me into silence – a silence that yells hate and fear at me.

It like sitting on a bolting horse with no boundaries to stop it.

To say I am scared is a cliché that cannot fit; to say I am confused is too ordinary to fit this trauma.

I know I look back at my past, and want so much to say it all not true, even that only parts of it ain’t true.

Only each time I make the choice to not believe, to close down my past – the pain and hate re-enters my body – leaving me drowning inside sand.

I cannot think straight, I can only think in metaphors that soften my reality.

I think if I can write as a poet, than everything can be controlled and made smaller.

I try that for years, try most of my life to use writing to distance myself from all the male violence poured into me.

Now

Now – I need to stop and let myself know it was real.

I need to say in a clear unrefined voice – I was a prostitute, I was an under-aged prostitute, I was gang-raped, I was abused by my step-dad, I was inside sadist violence.

I need to be clear that I had to live a double life to survive.

I like the majority of the prostituted was able to hide the hate and violence that surrounded me.

I need to be very clear and say with a broken heart – that all those who loved me or cared about had no idea that I was prostitute.

I want to explore how normal it is to be hidden as a prostitute, especially as a teenage prostitute.

The folks that love me believe that I could have never been a prostitute – for I was looked after 24-7.

No-one can know what anyone is doing 24-7, even with deep love and care, if a troubled girl/woman is leading a double life, she will hide herself from that love.

I have told that I am living on a lie, that I must have fantasy that I was prostituted, that I do it for sympathy or to have some kind of a role in life.

God, I wish that was true – even if that means I am so mentally ill that maybe I should be locked up.

But – let me ask what do I gain by taking the role of the prostitute, especially the prostitute who only knew sadist men.

Why would I be so sick as to gain by saying I was raped beyond counting – what is to gain from saying gang-rapes were often, saying that torture was in my mind and body.

Tell how that get me friends, give me respect or even help me to sleep at night?

Maybe I have lied so much that now I cannot know the truth.

But so much that I say, I only say coz my body memories forced it into the light.

The problem is like the vast majority of exited women, I survive by refusing to know my own reality.

I was not in denial – I was just able to close down all the hate and violence until it did not exist.

I was able to live by not knowing, that was my double life.

But that blocking is deeply unhealthy, and can place you in deep danger.

To block out so much means making yourself dead to all emotions, dead to wanting a future, dead to having a past, dead to knowing pain and humiliation.

To block out so much is to live as a ghost.

The power of remembering the truth is holding and knowing that pain and humiliation, knowing the terror and that you were lost.

I remember now enough to know I was prostituted – to know I hide that from my own essence, so how could my loved ones of known.