I dream of a world without the buying and selling of the prostituted.
I dream this dream and always tears go from my heart and sent choking into my throat.
It is a dream that feels so near, yet is always forced out of reach,
I try to see the dream smaller, try to imagine my dream will arrived step by step.
I see the Nordic Approach and see my dream is raising up.
But, in a fog I wonder how many punters have truly been punished for owning a slave to have their precious orgasm.
In that fog, I wonder if profiteers are truly scared or just move into other countries and carry on as normal.
And through that fog of grief – I need to know if the prostituted are given long-term and specialist exiting programmes, or just short-term and then forgotten.
I want my dream to be made solid, not just sound nice in conferences, look good in academic writings, or to be a neat soundbite without real and practical action to build the road to abolition.
This Christmas, I dream with hope but always knowing the bitter taste of grief and betrayal.
My hope is bursting as I see, I hear, I read and I know the power and mission of exited women to make real change in the hearts and minds of others.
I am always amazed and humbled by their truth-telling, as they live in the shadow of extreme trauma.
I know I am standing in the shadows of giants, from my present and from the centuries that the prostituted class have scream out their pain and grief in their demand for an end of the sex trade.
My heart is with all my prostituted Sisters – whether named as “untouchables”, whether indigenous women poisoned by Colonists, whether women force from East Europe to West Europe, whether made into entertainment for sex tourists, whether sitting in windows, whether at end of a phone or the net, whether freezing on the streets, whether named as high-class escorts, whether dying to make porn – and so many more Sisters being destroyed in the name of prostitution.
My heart is bursting with sorrow for each and every one of them – they are my heartbeat and my reason to fight to the death for abolition.
I know my love reaching out to every women and girl trapped inside prostitution, even she has to hate me to survive.
Only I taste betrayal, betrayal from those who say they are the allies of the prostituted.
A betrayal that pollutes my dreaming.
The betrayal is heard every time we are told we must not say prostituted – we must speak the language of sex work, and told that is our road to freedom.
We know we were locked inside a world of slavery, a world that took joy at ripping away our human rights – and your betrayal is re-brand that world as empowering, as liberating, as sexual freedom and the only real feminism.
Your betrayal is name it as work to make women into sexual goods.
Your betrayal is name it as sex and so make all male violence disappear.
You think your double-speak will weaken our will to fight for abolition – you have no understanding of our inner strength.
How can you when you view us as sub-humans?
I know abolition will be made real – and I can dream of other things.