The Vanishing

Today the report of femicide in Britain is being published. It is written by the brilliant Karen Ingala Smith, with the help of Women’s Aid.

This report is about the murders that have reported, so it is mainly focused on domestic violence murders, there are a few reported murders of the prostituted, but in reality it nowhere near the actual numbers – not even skimming the surface of the genocide of the prostituted.

In this post, I will try to explain why and how these deaths are made to vanish.

To be clear, the sex trade has become skilled at making outsiders look the other way as it does the longest and largest genocide known to history.

The prostituted have just disappeared for the minimum of 3000 years, in all continents and in most cultures.

The trick of the sex trade is to replaced the goods, and to make the prostituted so sub-human, that the disappearance of one prostitute to be replaced by another goes unnoticed.

The disappearances are not questioned if business goes on as normal.

The disappearances are not questioned if the prostitute is isolated from friends or family.

The disappearances are not questioned when most are done in indoors prostitution or other private spaces.

And the disappearances are not questioned when it is decided the prostituted are too sub-human to be murdered, it is decided it just rough sex.

But the prostituted women and girls are the most likely to be violently killed than any other groups of females – including domestic violence, deaths at work or through natural disasters.

It is thought that the prostituted females will die from male violence at least 20 times more than females of similar age or background.

20 times minimum – hold that in your mind, hold it tight – and wonder where all those lives, those bodies, those memories have gone.

Don’t let their lives still be owned by the sex trade, by making their deaths nothing.

I know that to reach the age of 27 is rare for all the prostituted.

I know that the exited women, including myself, were the exception not the rule.

We lived, but that was just a toss of a coin – as most the prostituted could never exit whether through being trapped in prostitution, too ill to be truly free or just killed or one of the disappeared.

Every time, an exited woman speak out she does with the ghosts of the disappeared on her shoulder pushing her forward.

The sex trade has made almost impossible to record these disappearances, as it has been skilled at making the majority of the male violence invisible.

The sex trade has made the prostituted nameless, with no authentic voice/s, with no access to the outside world – so if the just disappear, it is a non-event.

Murder is so normal in prostitution, that when in that world you learn to block it away.

When I did indoors prostitution, women just disappear on a regular basic, I heard noises of extreme violence all the time, I saw the fear or dead eyes of the prostituted till I could not hold it any more.

My norm was to not to get to know my fellow prostituted too well, coz to have a friend torn away was too unbearable.

I lived in an environment with threats of murder were my norm.

I was told the truth – that I could be thrown away, coz no-one gives a damn about yet another dead whore.

Think – how much does society really even noticed when a prostitute dies, especially when she was doing indoors prostitution.

Even with street-based prostituted, their violent deaths are only recorded if there is some juicy connection to made.

Our deaths only matter if a serial killer is being considered – and then only if he seen as a threat to non-prostituted women, or if some tedious study of his actions can be made.

Our deaths may be reported if connected with a famous punter.

But most deaths of the prostituted just vanish from the records, go unreported and are hidden from history.

I know that the majority of murders in brothels, escorting, in sex clubs, or in the punter’s home are made to vanish.

The dead of my prostituted sisters is thrown onto a trash-heap that should be stinking the world out – should be seen to give us all some conscious.

I cannot count my dead sisters, for they have stripped of their real names, stripped of their lives beyond the sex trade, stripped of being human.

I cannot count my dead sister for the numbers is too great for my brain to hold, too large to not break my heart.

But I can grieve, I can have deep fury, I can want to have endless memorials for those who have gone before me.

They may be nameless – but they must never be forgotten.