Human Right Not For Us

I am full of trauma – but believe to write is to fight for life.  So I must write.

My soul has been shattered by so many trafficking and human rights groups being so unable to view the prostituted class as fully human.

I stare in disbelief as those who claimed to care about the prostituted class call us sex workers, say only stigma is the issue not the violence done to the prostituted, and say prostitution is not connected to trafficking.

My heart breaks as each time a strong exited speak to the truth, it is dismissed as her sad individual story, and never that she is just describing the everyday violence of the sex trade.

My trauma is screaming out –

Are we not allowed to be human enough to have human rights?

Our rapes are in the thousands – yet the more we are raped, the more it made out it must be our choice, that it is just work.

It cannot be rape when it has been decided it just a business exchange.

We are raped in ways that Amnesty International would condemn as torture if we were not the prostituted.

For our rapes reflect all the rapes of political prisoners, our rapes are inside all war-zones, our rapes are the definition of torture.

Our tortures would be the concern of the United Nations if we were not the prostituted class.

For does all prostitution fit the United Nation’s definition of trafficking –  that consent can be taken by monetary means, physical, sexual or mental violence.

We would be honoured by anti-trafficking groups if we were not the prostituted class.

Instead we watch in disbelief, as so-called anti-trafficking narrow the definition of trafficking to exclude interior trafficking of the prostituted, to exclude women who are prostituted, to exclude indoors prostitution, to exclude exterior trafficking unless severe physical violence is used.

All these groups are playing the game that the profiteers want them to play.

They are building routes to legalised prostitution, they are pushing prostitution indoors – and they hide behind saying look we are stopping the spread of sexual diseases, we care about girls who are prostituted, and we are cleaning up the streets.

In other words they are selling out the prostituted class.

The United Nations claims it would right to legalised all prostitution – well put all prostitution in a controlled environment – as a solution to the spread of HIV.

This is nonsense, but it can sound right if you choose to see the prostituted as just goods who may carry sexual diseases into the world outside the sex trade.

It is clear that the prostitutes have no human rights in this scenario, for it is considered that all that is needed is condoms and inspections, and continued the torturing as normal.

There is no mention that it the punters that spread diseases, it is the punters that refuse to care about the safety of the prostituted, it is the sex trade profiteers that gain from ignoring the sexual safety of the prostituted.

This is ignored – to see that would mean saying that the prostituted are having their human rights stolen.

The prostituted are not allowed to be human enough to have access to human rights.

Constantly there are anti-trafficking hiding their lack of respect for the prostituted class by hiding behind how much they care for under-aged prostituted girls.

But if that same girl is 15 upwards and still inside the sex trade – their caring usually vanishes.

Instead, it becomes her lifestyle, her free choice, it call sex work.

It makes no sense that when she is 14 she viewed as a victim, then when she hits 15 she is discarded.

Prostituted women are thrown away every day by groups that say they hate trafficking – no wonder exited women have huge fury and deep despair.

Every day our multiple voices are silenced by these groups and those who follow them.

We are the unacceptable face of the sex trade – the women who by luck did not die or destroyed by its male violence and hate.

And worse we not only are alive, we have the inner strength to remember what it was to be prostituted and see it was torture with a clear eye.

We know it is an emergency, we know it is the biggest human rights issue of human history, we know as our bodies and minds the tortures of many centuries of the prostituted class.

We cannot sit and wait for human rights groups to wake up and see this emergency.

We must force these groups to stop discarding the prostituted class.

It is not Sex Work

The sex trade has infiltrated the Left and liberal that spreading the propaganda this it is just sex work – but example both those words and know both are nothing to do with being prostituted.

I have written about this many times, and until there is full freedom for all the prostituted class, I will keep saying how this language is destroying the prostituted every day.

I have been accused of silencing sex workers, and by silencing them allowing the violence that is happening to them.

This is not a new accusation, it is par for the course if an exited woman becomes an abolitionist.

Alongside that accusation, is the regular poison of saying exited women like me, were never “real” prostitutes – we must be liars, or some prop used by abolitionists or radical feminists.

We are not real mainly because we lie about the violence, that we lie about the “clients” by making out all punters treated us as trash.

If the sex worker lobby condescend to imagine that some exited women may be real – it always with the proviso that we are one-offs who are too damaged to see that most of the sex trade is fine and dandy.

I cannot see sex work or sex worker without hearing the multiple voices of sex trade profiteers.

Many sex workers are those profiteers, and others are puppets dancing to the tune of those profiteers.

Do not be fool by their honey words, know that they have the blood of the prostituted class all over them.

It is not sex.

Being prostituted or inside porn is nothing to do with sex, except if you believe sex is a weapon that creates genocide.

Sex is about full communication between adults. Sex is done with full and fully understood consent. Sex always stop when no is suggested or said.

None of that has a place in the sex trade.

There is no consent when money or goods replace the voice of the prostituted.

Punters know money gives them permission to do whatever they want to the prostituted. Money gives him full permission to not just used her, but to throw the whore away when he has had enough.

There is no communication – only the communication of the master and his sex slave.

The voice of the prostituted woman or girl has no place in the sex trade.

Her voice is more than silenced, it is made that it has no existence.

All words and language the prostituted are allowed is to parrot out the words and language of those who are profiteering from making her into sexual goods.

When sex workers and their allies dare to accuse any exited women of silencing – then I say let look at the real silencing inside all aspects of the sex trade.

The prostituted have no voice or voices – their silence is deafening as cattle waiting to be slaughtered.

We do not have the voices of the prostituted inside brothels in Nevada or India having no freedom and slowly being fucked into silence.

We do not have the voices of native women and girls being made into the prostituted and completely abandoned.

We do not have the voices of teenage in most cities who thought they would find love if they did their “boyfriend” said by selling herself for his profit.

We do not have the voices of women inside “saunas” as their constant humiliation eats into their memories of being fully human.

We do not have the voices of escorts shut in a room with a “client” with no protection, no idea how violent he may be, and always at the back of her mind she could be murdered at any time.

These and so many other voices of the prostituted class are silenced – silenced into non-existence.

Look at who is doing the silencing.

It is mainly punters and the sex trade that controls the language that is allowed to be in the public arena.

I wrote that punters silenced the prostituted – and the accusations and attacks came flying in.

What a prostituted woman dare to say punters treat us living porn-dolls who cannot have spoken or even have access to be a human – how dare she, that might rip apart the fabric of everything.

The prostituted are not meant to survive and build a life after being the sex trade – so when and if an exited woman starts speaking out, everything is done to silence us permanently.

We are meant to be dead or so destroyed we cannot speak out – to be an exited woman is somehow survive a genocide.

To survive a genocide gives you clear eyes and memories – to know being in the middle of a genocide is to become unable understand why you are alive.

If there is a purpose, than fighting for abolition and full human rights for all the prostituted class must be it.

To be an exited woman, is to always carry it was just chance you survived, is to carry those who could reach a place of exiting.

An exited woman hold inside her the standard violence of the sex trade, how she was lied to, the fact that her life meant nothing for she never seen as human.

An exited woman knows what true silencing is.

Silencing is have any and all sexual violence – and all your pain, your dignity, your ability to live or die, your terror is swallowed up by the language of appearing to please the punter or consumer.

That is a silencing that is unbearable and a silence that kills the prostituted every day.

And that is label as work – a wonderful to enforce the silencing of the prostituted.

By calling being inside the sex trade work, it becomes a powerful tool to blame the prostituted class for any violence that happens to them.

After all, it becomes that she has chosen that work, if she is hurt or damaged it only because she either not strong enough or she does understand how sex work is done.

It cannot be that the institution of the sex trade is structured to make the prostituted into goods, will be thrown away and replaced by any other whore – for we are all the same.

It cannot be that punters make the choice to buy the prostituted knowing he do any and all violence to her, and it will be a non-crime.

No it is easier to blame the prostituted, coz then we do not have to make any changes.

I have written this post to show I cannot be silenced – for I have known true silencing, and that is my ammunition to be an abolitionist.


It is Hard

It is hard writing, but I must do it anyway.

I feel I have reach a place of staring into my past, knowing it must be true, and wanting not to know that reality.

I have found words connected into a language that makes me want to run away, or to dig myself a deep hole and bury myself.

I have come to face the unbearable, the sick-making, the unspeakable – and come to know I can no longer detach myself from that past.

I suppose to truly go forward I must know my own reality – but how do you truly know torture? How do you truly know being raped beyond the brain want to count?

How do you truly know and place inside your essence, that you have made into a sub-human, made into goods with no human rights?

How do you truly know that all that hell was never personal, you were never seen or known, just another interchangeable whore to be used and thrown away?

I must know all that to go forward – I armed with knowing all that as I fight for abolition.

For as an exited woman, abolition is no abstract idea, it cannot be allowed to just be a dream – no, it must be a solid reality for all the prostituted, no half measures.

I fight for the future, but always carrying my prostituted past as a wound and reminder of why I fight so hard and relentlessly.

I see my individual past and know it just part of millions of prostituted lives in every country and throughout recorded human history.

I was never an individual story, not unique, never worse or better than any other prostituted woman or girl – I was just an example of the ordinary torturing of any prostitute in any culture, in any era and under any political system.

To be tortured as a prostitute is to know inside every cell of your body what it is to be made nothing – less than the dog shit you step in.

Being nothing, having no access to human rights – it is normal to torture the prostitute in any way the human brain can imagine – be it physical, sexual or mental torturing, usually all mixed together.

But the hell of being a prostitute is that it not a few men who torture – it can hundreds or even thousands of men, it can be countless.

Each punter imagine he is unique in his torturing or raping of the prostitute – some imagined they are the only punter who went “out of control” or enjoy being violent.

Many punters imagine it not real violence, for if a woman is a prostitute she must enjoy pushing the boundaries, and anyhow she not human enough to feel pain.

More punters than outsiders want to imagine know it is rape, know they committing acts the prostitute is being damaged by – and they do not care, or think it proves they are a real man.

Punters do not accidentally harm the prostitute – that is a highly dangerous myth.

But most punters are experts at lying, experts at making themselves into the victim, experts at making it looked as if they were manipulated by the prostitute.

They are never rapists, never do violence unless the prostitute ask for it, never rude to the prostitute – heck if you believed punters they are all gentlemen, or just a consumer buying goods.

Always it is easier to follow the lies of punters – and blame the prostituted for “allowing in” all that violence.

So I allowed myself to be gang-raped, allowed myself to be deep-throated till I was sick or fainted, allowed anal rape to nearly kill me, allow my head to put into water as I was being rape.

I suppose I was just adventurous.

Why, if was my choice or way of life – why was I nearly murdered at least three or four times, why did I keep trying to commit suicide and why did I get pregnant, sexual diseases and trauma?

Why did i seem to miss out on the fun side of being prostituted?

And why did every prostitute I have ever know or heard also miss out on the jolly japes of prostitution?

All I know that every exited woman seemed to think the Happy Hooker is a unicorn – and we cannot understand why it is believed that any woman or girl has full choice inside the sex trade.

This is hard to write, to even think – so I will rest now.

It is No Fantasy

The greatest trick the sex trade did was to say that porn and prostitution is just fantasy.

This trick is believed by most outsiders – or let’s be brutally honest it is a choice to believe by those who want endless consumption of the sex trade, and sod the damage it does to the women and girls inside it.

For this trick can only work if the punters and consumers of porn keep wanting more – more variety, more sense or images of pain, more women and girls from all traditions, ethnicities and ages, more ways to consume and throw away their “fantasies”.

Without the constant demand, most of the sex trade would fall apart – or the bottom line is profit, without constant flow of cash there is little point to the sex trade.

That is why it is vital to the sex trade profiteers that they claim it all just fantasy – for fantasy is harm-free, fantasy is private, fantasy is controllable, fantasy has it own rules and boundaries.

Fantasy is just waking dreams, so it is nothing to do with real life.

But porn and being prostituted is no fantasy.

I have known what is to be prostituted, I have known what it is to be filmed during prostitution – and I know inside every moment of my trauma, it was no fantasy to be inside those places.

If you are consumer of porn and/or prostitution, think outside the narrow pleasure of your sexual greed?

If you think the sexual act would painful to your sister, your girlfriend, to you – then it is real pain to the woman inside porn or the prostitute?

It is still real pain even she is smiling – or do you just ignore her dead eyes?

Can you honestly believe that it can be classed as fantasy – as you are in a real room with a prostitute, as you view real women suffering for your porn hobby?

These questions are just a small part of my fury at the concept that porn and prostitution can made fantasy, in order that the consumers are made to believe there can no violence or degradation done to the women and girls inside the sex trade.

We are made fantasy – stripping us of the right to know that we are being tortured, placing us away from the world of real rape and battering, even our non-stop murders are enclosed in fantasy as our bodies just disappear.

Being made fantasy – the prostituted lose connections to remembering what it is to be human, as all that known is waiting for instructions on how to exist for male sexual greed.

To be fantasy inside the sex trade is to forget how to hope, forget thinking the pain can ever stop just learning to block it, forget that you have sexual needs or even could enjoy sex.

Are you still ok with believing it only fantasy?

Well, then imagine if only briefly being inside the skin of a prostitute, be inside the skin of filmed rape.

Know I can only speak of my memories – but my experiences are part of the norm of the sex trade, they are not extreme, I was relatively lucky compare to many inside the sex trade.

I speak out because my tortures were acceptable in all levels of the sex trade – my tortures are being repeated in the bodies and minds of the prostituted now everywhere.

It was my norm to be filmed during gang-rapes or other forms of sadist sex as a prostitute – especially from when I was 14 to 17.

I imagine it was a cheap way to make porn, a way to make more profit from my hell.

All I know, i never give permission to be filmed, hell I was never asked or even told it was happening.

Being filmed as punters torture, rape and try to kill you – that is made into so-called amateur porn, and now can anywhere, watch by porn consumers saying it is just fantasy.

If in those films I look sacred, well I was.

If in those films I may on occasions cry – that was because nothing else was left to me.

If in those films I appeared to be unconscious – that is because those punters have pushed me to the edge of death.

If I appeared to smiled or make sexual noises – know I was becoming a sexual robot in order to somehow stay alive.

If to you I appeared dead – then you are right.

Know I somehow survived by killing everything that made me human – and then I can be your fantasy.

Are still ok with consuming your porn and/prostitution?

Well, if you are – then you are a huge part of the genocide of the prostituted class.

I do not have to have any sympathy for you – as you torture, rape and murder my prostituted Sisters.

Their fear, their blood, their deaths are all too real.

It is your belief that it is no crime to consume porn or prostitution that is the true fantasy.

Myths and Beliefs That Explode My Head

In this post, I will try to write to the many ways the prostituted class are viewed – the ways we are seen only to be made invisible, the way it appears there is concern for the prostituted only to keep them sub-human, and the ways all harms done to us are lessened or made our choice.

I will try through the grief that this language – for word really can break us, words stab us to the hearts.

The words of myths of wrong beliefs are words that can drive us into self-hate, can make the male violence invisible, can cause the deaths of the prostituted, and can say that the prostituted deserve everything that happens to them.

Deserve industrialised rapes, deserve sexual torturing, deserve to thrown away, deserve to be murdered – for it is the language that make the prostituted into sub-human goods and make our suffering of no importance.

So think before you speak, or a least have enough respect to be silent if exited women and their allies say your words are part of the problem.

There is a belief or myth that makes out that the prostituted put themselves in the way of danger by not being strong enough to defend themselves.

It is said there would less violence or threat of violence if all the prostituted knew self-defence.

This belief has no concept of what it is to be prostituted – it takes no account of the severe mental abuse, the brainwashing and manipulation into self-hatred.

It is hard to imagine learning self-defence when you have could to believe that your only purpose in life is to be a fuck-object to be brought and sold.

It hard to learn or do self-defence when pimps/profiteers are controlling your every moment.

It is hard to learn self-defence when you survive by not sleeping, by addictions, and have a highly chaotic life – damned if you know if it night or day, so keeping appointments is a luxury.

Also, more often than not, if a prostitute attempts or even succeeds in defending herself it is only a very short-term gain.

A prostitute can and do win small battles – like stopping certain sexual violence, like getting a condom on, like shortening the time by making him cum quick – but no prostitute can win the war, for it out of her control.

The war against the prostituted is fully controlled by the sex trade profiteers and their consumers – the prostitute is just a pawn who is shown an exit only for a metal door to be smashed in her sense of hope or desire for freedom.

It is a game to the sex trade profiteers and the punters – they find it funny to let the prostitute think she has some power, some control, that she can choose what happens to her – funny, coz at any time they will torture her back into her position of being sex goods.

But the myth that the prostitute is powerful, that it is the prostitute who manipulates and controls the punters – that myth is popular.

It is a convenient myth for it can paint the prostitute as evil, so no sympathy will given to her.

It paints the prostitutes as supernatural, for she does not feel pain as she is rape or torture, does not have human access to grief as so much is stolen from her – makes her into an unstoppable sex god, then no man can be blamed if he consumes the prostituted,

The purpose of the myth that it is the prostituted who hold the power is to make all the male violence done to them invisible.

It makes out men cannot help themselves from raping, torturing and murdering the prostituted – for their will have been taken from by the Whore.

If you believe that men are that pathetic, that their violence is never their fault, that they are controlled so easier – you must be the real men haters.

I think that punters know and plan what they do to the prostituted – and while most societies give them excuses for their violence, they will continue to make the prostituted class into trash.

Make the violence off the punters invisible, or make excuses for it – and you are part of the genocide of the prostituted class.

I can’t write, coz I want to cry.

I think writing more often, and stopping when my body said stop is some answer.

But your support and love is wonderful.


Who Do You Think the Punters Are?

I feel it is an endless battle to get outsiders of prostitution to see the punters.

I want to write to the normal violence, the normal mental abuse and the normal casual dehumanising that all punters.

I will not say it is or was some punters who harm the prostituted, I will not say there are just a few bad apples.

I will say that every punter is creating violence, is spreading hate – for each punter can and should make the choice never to buy another human for his sexual greed.

There is nothing that can justify this sexual slavery – I don’t care if the punter “just” sit at the end the bed and chats, I don’t care if he put his prostitute in an apartment, I don’t care if he decide he is the Good Punter – he owns the prostitute’s body and mind, stripping her of all her human rights.

That is slavery, that is making the prostitute into sub-human goods, that is the actions of a conqueror and rapist.

Do not look for the Good Punter, but listen and know the ordinary violence of the average punter.

I speak to indoors prostitution, for it a world I knew – but know violence that punters do is all the prostituted.

Know there is no safe place to be a prostitute – it can never ever be safe to have a world where mainly women and girls are brought and sold for any and all sexual violence punters can imagine.

Do not narrow your dreams by imagining you can protect the prostituted by placing them all indoors – inside giant brothels, in so-called co-op brothels, as escorts, or contacted on-line.

That is the dream of pimps, of sex trade “businessmen”, of the porn industry, of governments who see access to taxes.

It is not the dream of the prostituted class – just a place where they are trapped.

How many times do exited women and abolitionists have to state there is no evidence that putting prostitution does anything except increase the dangers and expand the sex trade.

How can you condemn date rape and domestic violence, but then imagine placing prostitution behind closed doors would somehow make it safer.

It is known that non-prostituted women and girls are in the greatest danger behind closed doors – whether it is domestic violence, rape or child abuse.

It is known that the prostituted class are tortured, are raped and murdered more than any other group of women and girls.

Why would that violence not be behind closed doors, why would prostituted women and girls be safe seeing endless strangers who owned them, and why would you not see the casual violence unless you have decided that the prostituted are not allowed to be human?

Let me show the normal violence behind those closed doors of what you have decided must be safe prostitution.

I write this with an aching heart, I write this with a huge hole of grief suffocating me – but I write to the truth and hope it powers some to make real change.

Firstly the foundations of the majority of indoors prostitution is that the prostitute is alone with a punter/punters.

In the world outside of prostitution, women and girls are made to feel they should be careful when alone with an unknown man, heck many women and girls outside prostitution are wary of being alone in the bedroom with any man.

But it is normal and expected of the prostitute to be alone with many strange men, to be alone and not to resist his demands or his porn dreams.

It is expected that the prostitute has no voice, has no control, that she cannot say no.

It is expected that the prostitute is a living sex-doll, that she is his porn fantasy come to life – it not expected that she feels pain, that she has fear, or that any damage can be done to her.

Punters manipulate the prostitute until she loses memory of being human.

That is the surface of ordinary indoors prostitution.

Know and hold hard inside your mind that most of the prostituted women and girls will experience this violence and degradation not through tens of punters – but if you do long-term prostitution, it can be thousands of punters.

Most exited women have no idea how many punters have owned, and pour hate and violence into them – for it too many punters for the mind to compute.

I know that when i attempt to count, I enter that hell that was my route to suicide.

For that is what prostitution is – it is a constant route to suicide without dying.

Every punter is the knife, the pills or the wanting to drown – every punter who come in with entitlement is aiding and abetting the self-harm of the prostituted.

So every punter is a criminal.

That is a punter.

Gravestones In My Heart

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

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

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.

Pain in My Heart

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.