• Atheist hooker, "My work as a prostitute led me to oppose decriminalisa

    From S. Fluke@3:770/3 to All on Thursday, October 05, 2017 07:45:04
    XPost: rec.arts.tv, talk.atheism, aus.general
    XPost: sac.politics

    So ya wanna be a whore.

    For most of her life in prostitution in New Zealand, Sabrinna
    Valisce campaigned for decriminalisation of the sex trade. But
    when it actually happened she changed her mind and now argues
    that men who use prostitutes should be prosecuted. Julie Bindel
    tells her story.

    When Sabrinna Valisce was 12 years old her father killed
    himself. It changed her life completely. Within two years, her
    mother had remarried and the family had moved from Australia to
    Wellington, New Zealand, where her life was miserable.

    "I was very unhappy," says Valisce. "My stepfather was violent,
    and there was no-one to talk to."

    She dreamed of becoming a professional dancer and set up a
    lunchtime ballet class at her school, which proved so popular
    that a well-known dance group, Limbs, came to run lessons.

    But within months she found herself on the streets, selling sex
    to survive.

    Walking through the park on her way home from school, a man
    offered her $100 for sex.

    "I was in school uniform so there was no mistaking my age," she
    says.

    Valisce used the money to run away to Auckland, where she
    checked into the YMCA.

    "I tried ringing someone to ask for help in the phone booth
    which was outside the hostel, but it was engaged, so I waited,"
    she says.

    "The police stopped and asked what I was doing. I said, 'Waiting
    to use the phone'."

    The officers pointed out that no-one was using the phone, so
    there was no need to wait. They thought they were being
    "terribly clever" Valisce says - but didn't seem to understand
    when she explained that it was the telephone she was calling
    that was engaged.

    "They searched me for condoms thinking I was a prostitute
    because the YMCA was behind Karangahape Road, the infamous
    prostitution area.

    "Ironically, that was what gave me the idea to go get some
    money. The police scared me but I knew I was going to be on the
    streets if I didn't get cash, and the act of leaning against a
    wall was all it took to be searched and threatened anyway, so I
    figured it made no difference if I was or wasn't."

    Valisce walked over to Karangahape Road and asked one of the
    women working there for advice.

    She pointed out two alleyways where Valisce could work. "She
    also gave me a condom, told me basic charges and advised me to
    make them fight for services I was prepared to do, to avoid
    fighting against services I wasn't prepared to do. She was very
    nice.

    Samoan, too young to be there, and clearly been there for too
    long already."

    In 1989, after two years working on the streets, Valisce visited
    the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective (NZPC) in Christchurch.

    "I was looking for some support, perhaps to exit prostitution,
    but all I was offered was condoms," she says.

    She was also invited to the collective's regular wine and cheese
    social on Friday nights.

    "They started talking about how stigma against 'sex workers' was
    the worst thing about it, and that prostitution is just a job
    like any other," Valisce remembers.

    It somehow made what she was doing seem more palatable.

    She became the collective's massage parlour co-ordinator and an
    enthusiastic supporter of its campaign for the full
    decriminalisation of all aspects of the sex trade, including
    pimps.

    "It felt like there was a revolution coming. I was so excited
    about how decriminalisation would make things better for the
    women," she says.

    Decriminalisation arrived in 2003, and Valisce attended the
    celebration party held by the prostitutes' collective.

    But she soon became disillusioned.

    The Prostitution Reform Act allowed brothels to operate as
    legitimate businesses, a model often hailed as the safest option
    for women in the sex trade.

    In the UK, the Home Affairs Select Committee has been
    considering a number of different approaches towards the sex
    trade, including full decriminalisation. But Valisce says that
    in New Zealand it was a disaster, and only benefited the pimps
    and punters.

    "I thought it would give more power and rights to the women,"
    she says. "But I soon realised the opposite was true."

    One problem was that it allowed brothel owners to offer punters
    an "all-inclusive" deal, whereby they would pay a set amount to
    do anything they wanted with a woman.

    "One thing we were promised would not happen was the 'all-
    inclusive'," says Valisce. "Because that would mean the women
    wouldn't be able to set the price or determine which sexual
    services they offered or refused - which was the mainstay of
    decriminalisation and its supposed benefits."

    Aged 40, Valisce approached a brothel in Wellington for a job,
    and was shocked by what she saw.

    "During my first shift, I saw a girl come back from an escort
    job who was having a panic attack, shaking and crying, and
    unable to speak. The receptionist was yelling at her, telling
    her to get back to work. I grabbed my belongings and left," she
    says.

    Shortly afterwards, she told the prostitutes' collective in
    Wellington what she had witnessed. "What are we doing about
    this?" she asked. "Are we working on any services to help get
    out?"

    She was "absolutely ignored", she says, and finally left the
    prostitutes' collective.

    Until then, the organisation had been her only source of
    support, a place to go where no-one judged her for working in
    the sex trade.

    It was while volunteering there, though, that she had begun her
    journey towards becoming an "abolitionist".

    "One of my jobs at NZPC was to find all of the media clippings.
    There was one thing I read: it was somebody talking about being
    in tears and not knowing why, and it wasn't until they were out
    [of the sex trade] that they understood what those feelings were.

    "I had been through that for years [thinking], 'I don't know
    what's going on, why am I feeling like this?' and realised when
    I read that: 'Oh God, that's me.'"

    For Valisce, there was no turning back.

    She left prostitution in early 2011 and moved to the Gold Coast
    in Queensland, Australia, seeking a new direction in life, but
    was confused and depressed. When her neighbour tried to recruit
    her into webcam prostitution, she politely declined. "I felt
    like I had 'whore' stamped on my forehead. How did she know to
    ask me? I now know being female was the only reason", says
    Valisce.

    Afterwards the neighbour hurled insults at Valisce whenever she
    saw her.

    Valisce began to meet women online, feminists who were against decriminalisation and described themselves as abolitionists -
    the abolitionist model, also currently being considered by the
    UK's Home Affairs Select Committee, criminalises the pimps and
    punters while decriminalising the prostituted person.

    Valisce set up a group called Australian Radical Feminists and
    was soon invited to a conference. Held at the University of
    Melbourne last year, it was the first abolitionist event ever to
    be held in Australia, where many states have legalised the
    brothel trade.

    Melbourne itself has had legal brothels since the mid-1980s, and
    although there is a lot of vocal support for the system, there
    is also a growing movement against it.

    She describes this period, when she became a feminist activist
    against the sex trade and began to feel free of her past, as
    "the start of my new life".

    "I exited first emotionally, then physically and lastly
    intellectually," she says.

    After the conference Valisce went to a doctor and was diagnosed
    with PTSD.

    "It was as a result of my time in prostitution - it had affected
    me badly, but I was good at covering up the effects," she says.
    "It takes a long while to feel whole again."

    For Valisce, the best therapy is working with women who
    understand what it's like to go through the sex trade, and those
    who also campaign to expose the harm prostitution brings.

    She is also determined to ensure that the women who are usually
    silenced by their abusers have a voice.

    "It's not my goal to trap people in the industry or tell anyone
    to go get out," she says. "But I do want to make a difference,
    and that means speaking out as much as I can, in order to help
    other women."

    Julie Bindel is the author of The pimping of prostitution:
    Abolishing the Sex Work Myth

    http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-41349301
     

    --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
    * Origin: Agency HUB, Dunedin - New Zealand | Fido<>Usenet Gateway (3:770/3)
  • From Bill Steele@3:770/3 to S. Fluke on Monday, October 09, 2017 15:14:51
    XPost: talk.atheism, aus.general, sac.politics

    On 10/5/17 1:45 AM, S. Fluke wrote:
    So ya wanna be a whore.

    For most of her life in prostitution in New Zealand, Sabrinna
    Valisce campaigned for decriminalisation of the sex trade. But
    when it actually happened she changed her mind and now argues
    that men who use prostitutes should be prosecuted. Julie Bindel
    tells her story.

    When Sabrinna Valisce was 12 years old her father killed
    himself. It changed her life completely. Within two years, her
    mother had remarried and the family had moved from Australia to
    Wellington, New Zealand, where her life was miserable.

    "I was very unhappy," says Valisce. "My stepfather was violent,
    and there was no-one to talk to."

    She dreamed of becoming a professional dancer and set up a
    lunchtime ballet class at her school, which proved so popular
    that a well-known dance group, Limbs, came to run lessons.

    But within months she found herself on the streets, selling sex
    to survive.

    Walking through the park on her way home from school, a man
    offered her $100 for sex.

    "I was in school uniform so there was no mistaking my age," she
    says.

    Valisce used the money to run away to Auckland, where she
    checked into the YMCA.

    "I tried ringing someone to ask for help in the phone booth
    which was outside the hostel, but it was engaged, so I waited,"
    she says.

    "The police stopped and asked what I was doing. I said, 'Waiting
    to use the phone'."

    The officers pointed out that no-one was using the phone, so
    there was no need to wait. They thought they were being
    "terribly clever" Valisce says - but didn't seem to understand
    when she explained that it was the telephone she was calling
    that was engaged.

    "They searched me for condoms thinking I was a prostitute
    because the YMCA was behind Karangahape Road, the infamous
    prostitution area.

    "Ironically, that was what gave me the idea to go get some
    money. The police scared me but I knew I was going to be on the
    streets if I didn't get cash, and the act of leaning against a
    wall was all it took to be searched and threatened anyway, so I
    figured it made no difference if I was or wasn't."

    Valisce walked over to Karangahape Road and asked one of the
    women working there for advice.

    She pointed out two alleyways where Valisce could work. "She
    also gave me a condom, told me basic charges and advised me to
    make them fight for services I was prepared to do, to avoid
    fighting against services I wasn't prepared to do. She was very
    nice.

    Samoan, too young to be there, and clearly been there for too
    long already."

    In 1989, after two years working on the streets, Valisce visited
    the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective (NZPC) in Christchurch.

    "I was looking for some support, perhaps to exit prostitution,
    but all I was offered was condoms," she says.

    She was also invited to the collective's regular wine and cheese
    social on Friday nights.

    "They started talking about how stigma against 'sex workers' was
    the worst thing about it, and that prostitution is just a job
    like any other," Valisce remembers.

    It somehow made what she was doing seem more palatable.

    She became the collective's massage parlour co-ordinator and an
    enthusiastic supporter of its campaign for the full
    decriminalisation of all aspects of the sex trade, including
    pimps.

    "It felt like there was a revolution coming. I was so excited
    about how decriminalisation would make things better for the
    women," she says.

    Decriminalisation arrived in 2003, and Valisce attended the
    celebration party held by the prostitutes' collective.

    But she soon became disillusioned.

    The Prostitution Reform Act allowed brothels to operate as
    legitimate businesses, a model often hailed as the safest option
    for women in the sex trade.

    In the UK, the Home Affairs Select Committee has been
    considering a number of different approaches towards the sex
    trade, including full decriminalisation. But Valisce says that
    in New Zealand it was a disaster, and only benefited the pimps
    and punters.

    "I thought it would give more power and rights to the women,"
    she says. "But I soon realised the opposite was true."

    One problem was that it allowed brothel owners to offer punters
    an "all-inclusive" deal, whereby they would pay a set amount to
    do anything they wanted with a woman.

    "One thing we were promised would not happen was the 'all-
    inclusive'," says Valisce. "Because that would mean the women
    wouldn't be able to set the price or determine which sexual
    services they offered or refused - which was the mainstay of decriminalisation and its supposed benefits."

    Aged 40, Valisce approached a brothel in Wellington for a job,
    and was shocked by what she saw.

    "During my first shift, I saw a girl come back from an escort
    job who was having a panic attack, shaking and crying, and
    unable to speak. The receptionist was yelling at her, telling
    her to get back to work. I grabbed my belongings and left," she
    says.

    Shortly afterwards, she told the prostitutes' collective in
    Wellington what she had witnessed. "What are we doing about
    this?" she asked. "Are we working on any services to help get
    out?"

    She was "absolutely ignored", she says, and finally left the
    prostitutes' collective.

    Until then, the organisation had been her only source of
    support, a place to go where no-one judged her for working in
    the sex trade.

    It was while volunteering there, though, that she had begun her
    journey towards becoming an "abolitionist".

    "One of my jobs at NZPC was to find all of the media clippings.
    There was one thing I read: it was somebody talking about being
    in tears and not knowing why, and it wasn't until they were out
    [of the sex trade] that they understood what those feelings were.

    "I had been through that for years [thinking], 'I don't know
    what's going on, why am I feeling like this?' and realised when
    I read that: 'Oh God, that's me.'"

    For Valisce, there was no turning back.

    She left prostitution in early 2011 and moved to the Gold Coast
    in Queensland, Australia, seeking a new direction in life, but
    was confused and depressed. When her neighbour tried to recruit
    her into webcam prostitution, she politely declined. "I felt
    like I had 'whore' stamped on my forehead. How did she know to
    ask me? I now know being female was the only reason", says
    Valisce.

    Afterwards the neighbour hurled insults at Valisce whenever she
    saw her.

    Valisce began to meet women online, feminists who were against decriminalisation and described themselves as abolitionists -
    the abolitionist model, also currently being considered by the
    UK's Home Affairs Select Committee, criminalises the pimps and
    punters while decriminalising the prostituted person.

    Valisce set up a group called Australian Radical Feminists and
    was soon invited to a conference. Held at the University of
    Melbourne last year, it was the first abolitionist event ever to
    be held in Australia, where many states have legalised the
    brothel trade.

    Melbourne itself has had legal brothels since the mid-1980s, and
    although there is a lot of vocal support for the system, there
    is also a growing movement against it.

    She describes this period, when she became a feminist activist
    against the sex trade and began to feel free of her past, as
    "the start of my new life".

    "I exited first emotionally, then physically and lastly
    intellectually," she says.

    After the conference Valisce went to a doctor and was diagnosed
    with PTSD.

    "It was as a result of my time in prostitution - it had affected
    me badly, but I was good at covering up the effects," she says.
    "It takes a long while to feel whole again."

    For Valisce, the best therapy is working with women who
    understand what it's like to go through the sex trade, and those
    who also campaign to expose the harm prostitution brings.

    She is also determined to ensure that the women who are usually
    silenced by their abusers have a voice.

    "It's not my goal to trap people in the industry or tell anyone
    to go get out," she says. "But I do want to make a difference,
    and that means speaking out as much as I can, in order to help
    other women."

    Julie Bindel is the author of The pimping of prostitution:
    Abolishing the Sex Work Myth

    http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-41349301


    More thangyou wanted to know, much later than you should have known it.

    --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
    * Origin: Agency HUB, Dunedin - New Zealand | Fido<>Usenet Gateway (3:770/3)