Playing the Whore: The Work of Sex Work
3.5/5
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About this ebook
In Playing the Whore, journalist Melissa Gira Grant turns these pieties on their head, arguing for an overhaul in the way we think about sex work. Based on ten years of writing and reporting on the sex trade, and grounded in her experience as an organizer, advocate, and former sex worker, Playing the Whore dismantles pervasive myths about sex work, criticizes both conditions within the sex industry and its criminalization, and argues that separating sex work from the “legitimate” economy only harms those who perform sexual labor. In Playing the Whore, sex workers’ demands, too long relegated to the margins, take center stage: sex work iswork, and sex workers’ rights are human rights.
Melissa Gira Grant
Melissa Gira Grant is a writer and freelance journalist whose work has appeared in Glamour, the Guardian, the Nation, Wired, and the Atlantic. She is also a contributing editor to Jacobin. Her website is melissagiragrant.com.
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Reviews for Playing the Whore
39 ratings7 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book was mostly very well done. I think it was it was a great exploration of this topic and takedown of many of the arguments in this issue. Even more so, it called out a variety of problems feminism promotes when dealing with this issue including transexclusion, the perfect victim, and forgetting/ignoring that race/sexuality/everything besides white, middle-class, straight, and cis exists.
Even though it was pretty accessible in writing, I wouldn't say it was an entry-level book. There were some places where you had to have known the theory behind it to understand what she was explaining. However, overall very well done and I enjoyed it immensely and will be checking out other works referenced within it. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5“Sex work can indeed be empowering. But that is not the point. Money is the fucking point.”
- Melissa Gira Grant, Playing the Whore
Growing up I had three basic images of sex work (although I didn’t call it that then): the Julia Roberts / Pretty Woman version; the desperate, drug addicted woman; and the ‘sex slave’ in another country who was ‘rescued’ regularly on Dateline and 48 Hours. I didn’t spend time thinking about sex workers, but I did wonder why sex work was illegal in most places.
Recently I’ve become more interested in labor rights; specifically how society views certain types of labor as worthy (of money or legality) and others as deserving of criminalization or at least disdain. I live in Seattle, where the fight to raise the minimum wage to $15 an hour was met with such charming arguments from non-shift workers as ‘what did a McDonald’s worker do to deserve that? I barely make that!’ as though people in the fast food industry aren’t working just as hard as people sitting in air conditioned offices, able to take coffee and bathroom breaks whenever they want.
This interest led me to Ms. Grant’s book. She takes a perspective that is missing in coverage of sex work and workers – one that does not start by asking ‘should people do sex work’ but instead asks what can we do to improve the lives of the people who work in that industry. The book is well-written and educated me on the topic, but when asked to describe it in a few sentences I have a hard time. Each chapter feels like a separate essay in a broader collection, and initially I was not sure of the main purpose of the book, as it covers a broad area. It is not a linear history of sex work, nor is it an argument (primarily) for the decriminalization or legalization of sex work. It is more than that.
Going back through my notes and rereading the portions I highlighted does bring more clarity to me. That is a function not of Ms. Grant’s writing, but of my need to re-read the book to better take in all of the information she shares. Her purpose seems to be to point out all of the ways in which people who seek to help sex workers fail, and in doing so Ms. Grant draws the reader’s attention to the need for the reader to take actions in solidarity with these workers, and support those who can change the conditions of their lives for the better, not pull them out of sex work or make it more dangerous for them to perform the work they do.
Ms. Grant illustrates this in many ways, including critiquing the fight against online posting of sex worker ads and the large anti-sex work organizations that purport to rescue sex workers from horrible conditions. Ms. Grant points out that so many of the ‘rescued’ end up in worse situations, with less agency than they had when doing sex work, and concludes that this stems from the inability of so many to see these women and men as people doing a job and not as one-dimensional ‘whores.’
“The goal, these antiprostitute advocates say, of eradicating men’s desire for paid sex isn’t ‘antisex’ but to restore the personhood of prostitutes, that is, of people who are already people except to those who claim to want to fix them.”
That’s the point, really. Sex workers are people first, people who make their money in the sex work industry. The problems these workers face doesn’t stem from the morality of sex work – they originate with the rest of society, which is invested in making sex work dangerous. The question the reader is left with – that I am left with – is what am I going to do to benefit these workers? - Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The overall thrust of Playing the Whore can be summed up in two fairly short sentences: 1. In the public debate regarding sex work and its improvement/eradication, the voices of sex workers have not been heard. 2. Sex workers' work should be recognized as labor and treated as such, not criminalized. Gira Grant is at once a reporter, sociologist, activist, historian, and a sex worker. This book traces the ways in which the policing of sex work endangers women and trans lives, rather than preserves and protects them. Anti-prostitution feminists purport to stand in solidarity with sex workers by promising to "rescue them," but they have not bothered to ask sex workers if they want to be rescued. Citing a USAID report, M.G.G. claims that 88% of them have made the uncoerced decision to pursue sex work as their preferred form of labor. Rather than focusing on the 12% of sex workers that genuinely need rescuing (they are victims of human trafficking), anti-prostitution groups cast a wider net, and view all sex workers as in need of rescuing. Their campaigns against sex work/escort ads (in print and online)have pushed sex workers ever more to the margins of society. Without doing anything to eradicate sex work, anti-prostitution groups just make it more difficult (and dangerous) for sex workers to get their jobs done. There is a lot to chew over in this book. Not being a sex worker, M.G.G. reminds me towards the end, I am not in a particularly good position to comment or reflect on how the lives of sex workers can be improved, at least not if I have never taken the time to listen to a sex worker discuss her labor as labor without moralizing or fearing it.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Grant's work is great for foregrounding sex workers' own agency and humanity, rather than using them as pawns or allegories for a larger morality. This seems like a trivial bar to clear, but so few writers even make the attempt, and reading Grant is so damn refreshing as a result. Sadly, though, the piece doesn't have much structure to hold it together. So you get a bunch of great insights that don't really cohere into a book or a wider plan. Still a really worthwhile and important read, but it feels like the prelude to something even better from her soon. :[
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I found this book interesting and thought provoking. On the other hand, I am not willing to condemn the recent legal changes here that limit prostitutes working on the streets in areas where people live. These laws have freed other women who had become afraid to leave their homes after dark. They also seem to have reduced the number of young teenagers trafficed from Eastern Europe and forced into sex work by their illegal status. But I do understand that she is overstating her position in opposition to real problems with those she is reacting against.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is the first in-depth reading I've done on sex work and sex workers and I found it fascinating and eye opening. I especially enjoyed the author positing that instead of sex work being oppressive or empowering--as different sides in the feminist argument over it insist--that it is value neutral and that it's okay to be that way.
I think I'll be returning to this book again as I continue my research in this area.
(Provided by publisher) - Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5I found this book extremely difficult to read.
the majority of the time I couldn't follow the author's arguments, or at least my train of thought did not follow that of the author. The author's conclusions and arguments for the most part did not make sense to me.
I was extremely interested in this topic,and don't have a lot of prior knowledge, so was very disappointed in the writing of this book.
Book preview
Playing the Whore - Melissa Gira Grant
Reading
1
The Police
An attractive blonde walks into a Fargo hotel room,
it begins, followed by a mustached man in a black leather jacket. He asks what brought her to town.
The blonde in the low-slung jeans is about to sit down. You can just see her shoulder and the back of her head.
In another room, a man looks at a woman with long dark hair. She’s seated across from him, wrapped in a robe or a shirt. It’s hard to see in the glare of the bedside lamp. He stands and slips off his boxers. He asks if she would let him see hers. She drops the robe or the shirt from her shoulders a few inches, then excuses herself to go freshen up.
You’ll be satisfied,
a third woman says. This is my job.
There’s always a television, and it’s playing a western, or the kind of old Hollywood picture with men dancing in topcoats and tails. In front of the flat screen, two women are cuffed. He’s ordered them to sit for questioning.
As he reaches for one of the women’s wrists, the man in the cop uniform says, We’re just going to lock these cuffs, so they don’t get tight on you.
She asks, Can I ask what I did wrong?
I’m not gon[na] lie,
writes a commenter under one of the videos, … i jacked off to this.
Though they resemble amateur pornography’s opening shots, you will not find these videos by searching YouPorn, PornHub, or RedTube. They’re published at JohnTV.com, which boasts over sixty million views.
JohnTV is the project of Video Vigilante
Brian Bates, who since 1996 has been trailing women he suspects to be prostitutes
and hookers
and shoots videos of them with men he tells us are their johns.
JohnTV posts are sorted into sections: Busts, Stings, and Pimp Profiles. These start with a mug shot—usually of a black man—followed by his name and criminal allegations. Bates claims he often works with patrol officers
and members of the Vice Unit on cases involving human trafficking.
He also goes solo, trailing people on streets, in parked cars, wherever he finds people he considers suspicious, attempting to catch men in the act and the women with them. For Bates, the camera isn’t just a tool for producing evidence: It’s his cover for harassing women he believes are selling sex, pinning a record on them online even when the law will not.
Bates didn’t shoot the six videos from Fargo. This is the first time JohnTV has come across videos of this sort,
he gushes on his blog. "Usually these sorts of videos only appear on television after being highly edited by television programs such as COPS. These six unedited videos are embeds from a North Dakota news outlet, where they ran with the headline,
Watch Local Prostitution Stings Unfold." But they weren’t produced by reporters. The videos were created by the Fargo Police Department.
There’s so much to watch in the long minutes between negotiation and interrogation, and it repeats—the nervous customer asking if he’s going to get full service
or if she upsells,
the undercovers’ rehearsed excuses that they just need, like, a five-minute shower
while they call for backup, then the sudden, crashing appearance of black vests and ball caps and guns drawn on undressed people, who are told to bend and kneel and spread their arms.
Prostitution stings are a law enforcement tactic used to target men who buy sex and women who sell it—or men and women who the police have profiled in this way. These days, rather than limit their patrol to the street, vice cops search the Web for advertisements they believe offer sex for sale, contact the advertisers while posing as customers, arrange hotel meetings, and attempt to make an arrest from within the relative comfort of a room with free Wi-Fi and an ice machine down the hall.
Whether these videos are locked in an evidence room, broadcast on the eleven o’clock news, or blogged by a vigilante, they are themselves a punishment. We could arrest you at any time, they say. Even if no one is there to witness your arrest, everyone will know. When we record your arrest, when you’re viewed again and again, you will be getting arrested all the time.
In the United States, one of the last industrialized nations which continues to outlaw sex for sale, we must ask: Why do we insist that there is a public good in staging sex transactions to make arrests? Is the point to produce order, to protect, or to punish?
No evidence will be weighed before the arrest video is published. Even if she was not one before, in the eyes of the viewer and in the memory of search engines, this woman is now a prostitute. As so few people arrested for prostitution-related offenses fight their charges, there is no future event to displace the arrest video, to restate that those caught on tape didn’t, as one of the women arrested in Fargo said, do anything wrong.
The undercover police, perpetually arresting in these videos, enact a form of sustained violence on these women’s bodies. Even with a camera, it is not immediately visible.
To produce a prostitute where before there had been only a woman is the purpose of such policing. It is a socially acceptable way to discipline women, fueled by a lust for law and order that is at the core of what I call the prostitute imaginary
—the ways in which we conceptualize and make arguments about prostitution. The prostitute imaginary compels those who seek to control, abolish, or otherwise profit from prostitution, and is also the rhetorical product of their efforts. It is driven by both fantasies and fears about sex and the value of human life.
The sting itself, aside from the unjust laws it enforces, or the trial that may never result, is intended to incite fear. These stings form just one part of a matrix of widespread police misconduct toward sex workers and people profiled as sex workers. In New York City, for example, 70 percent of sex workers working outdoors surveyed by the Sex Workers Project reported near daily run-ins with police, and 30 percent reported being threatened with violence. According to The Revolving Door: An Analysis of Street-Based Prostitution in New York City,
when street-based sex workers sought help from the police, they were often ignored.
Carol told researchers, If I call them, they don’t come. If I have a situation in the street, forget it. ‘Nobody told you to be in the street.’ After a girl was gang-raped, they said, ‘Forget it, she works in the street.’ She said, ‘I hope that never happens to your daughters. I’m human.’
Jamie had an incident where she was hanging out on the stroll … these guys in a jeep driving by … one guy in a car threw a bottle at me … I went to the cops [who told me] we didn’t have a right being in that area because we know it’s a prostitution area, and whatever came our way, we deserved it.
Police violence isn’t limited to sex workers who work outdoors. In a parallel survey conducted by the Sex Workers Project, 14 percent of those who primarily work indoors reported that police had been violent toward them; 16 percent reported that police officers had initiated a sexual interaction.
This was in New York City, where the police department is notorious for violating civil rights in the course of law enforcement, but look globally, where violations of sex workers’ rights by police are also common—and well documented. In West Bengal, the sex worker collective Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee surveyed over 21,000 women who do sex work. They collected 48,000 reports of abuse or violence by police—in contrast with 4,000 reports of violence by customers, who are conventionally thought of as the biggest threat to sex workers, especially by campaigners opposed to prostitution.
Police violence against sex workers is a persistent global reality. As the economy collapsed in Greece, police staged raids on brothels, arrested and detained sex workers, forced them to undergo HIV testing, and released their photos and HIV status to the media. These actions were condemned by UNAIDS and Human Rights Watch. In China, police have forced sex workers they have arrested to walk in shame parades,
public processions in which they are shackled and then photographed. Police published these photos on the Web, including one in which a cop humiliated a nude sex worker by pulling her hair back and brutally exposing her face to the camera. When the photo went viral, the outcry reportedly prompted police to suspend these public shaming rituals, though they continue to make violent arrests and raids.
One could hope that the photos and videos like these could make the pervasiveness of this violence real to the public. But to truly confront this type of violence would require us to admit that we permit some violence against women to be committed in order to protect the social and sexual value of other women.
Violence’s Value
I’ve stopped asking, Why have we made prostitution illegal? Instead I want an explanation for, How much violence against prostitutes
have we made acceptable? The police run-ins, the police denying help, the police abuse—all this shapes the context in which the sting, and the video of it, form a complete pursuit of what we are to understand as justice, which in this case is limited to some form of punishment, of acceptable violence.
As I was working on this book I was invited to give a presentation to law students and fellows at Yale University. In my talk, I described these videos. Afterward, as I stood in the door about to leave, several students approached me individually to say that they thought my presentation would have been more persuasive if I had prefaced it by stating my position on prostitution.
Do you need to know if I oppose prostitution,
I asked these students, before you can evaluate how you feel about police abuse, about a persistent pattern of denying justice to people labeled ‘prostitutes’?
Are these videos to be understood only as documents of an acceptable form of violence, to be applied as a deterrent, to deliberately make prostitution less safe?
My presentation remains, with this addendum: these