This Is How We Rise

Once upon a time, there was a man named “P” who contacted me for the first time. He was very nervous when we met. And so was I, as this was on the heels of two sex workers in Washington State being violently assaulted, one being killed by her client who had planned to kill her from the beginning, and the other just barely escaping from her attacker, a known client who was stalking her. But there are bills to pay and I have to trust in how I screen, so when P came into my space, looking nervous with his hands clasped behind him my spidey senses rang loud alarms in my head. I asked him to show me his hands, and really was ready for anything at this point. He put his hands out. Nothing. He was nervous. Shaking really. I understood the unease that accompanies first time clients and switched gears to ease his anxieties, so I had him sit down on the edge of the bed and began some casual conversation. Always able to switch gears in a blink of an eye, I calmed my flight or fight reaction from moments before and engaged him in some small talk, at some point playfully asking him about his sexual experiences, including threesomes. P confessed that he had never willingly engaged in any sexual encounters before and shared a painful past of sexual abuse, leaving my heart heavy with empathy.

I was grateful for his courage in reaching out to me and knew that this first consensual sexual experience needed to be safe. Above all else, I wanted him to feel safe and not ashamed about his body’s reactions. I took a few minutes and went over boundaries and mutual consent, wanting to ensure his emotional well-being. My goal was to provide an environment where he felt in control and empowered of his body’s choices, over his body’s own responses. His vulnerability touched me deeply, and I again grasped the profound impact my work could have on someone’s life. 

Beyond the obvious physical act, I offer an emotional sanctuary for individuals to embrace their desires without shame. Clients are multifaceted individuals with intricate stories and diverse needs.That is the human experience for us all, right? They are not “Johns”, just as I am not a mere “whore”. Although others may perceive my work differently, or their work differently, this is my truth. I am not here to tell anyone what their truth is, this is my story.

As a sex worker I have always faced stigma associated with the work. Who I disclosed to was carefully chosen. Safety was always important to me, especially as I was raising two children at the time. My kids were raised by money I made as a sex worker. Thanks to Alaska stripping away my anonymity by splashing my name and face in the headlines and calling me a sex trafficker, I didn’t even have to come out to my kids. Channel 2 did that for me. Kudos, Alaska news and media, thanks.

By the time I was arrested my son was 18 and I had already discussed my work with him. He knew something was up, he was a smart kid. For a time my kids had thought I was CIA or some spy. I think we watched The Americans too much, but either way, they had no idea the many friends I had, the get togethers and visits, were mainly other sex workers I knew or worked with. 

Over my two decades in this profession, I have learned more than my college degree ever taught me. My chosen path challenges societal norms and pushes boundaries, yet I take pride in the work I do. I am proud of the connections I forged, the vulnerabilities nurtured, and the understanding I promoted. I have discretion and firmly believe in confidentiality between consensual adults. Clients are not nameless faces seeking to exploit victims or “Johns”; they are individuals in search of connection, intimacy, or simply a safe space to explore their desires. 

So now my goal is to cultivate empathy and understanding, reminding Alaska that both clients and sex workers deserve respect and safety. I continue to strive in dismantling misconceptions surrounding sex work.

Many people believe that clients are the reason sex work exists. No, sorry – bills and rent and gas and groceries, vet bills and student loans, that is why sex work exists. It is work, plain and simple. Labor that is paid for, just like any other job. 

Some go as far as to blame sex trafficking on clients, saying without clients there would be no sex trafficking. I think that is plain bullshit. Rape, kidnapping, sexual assaults, forcing people to do things they do not want to do, those are just a few of the crimes that are perpetuated by people that take advantage of others. If sex work wasn’t criminalized, those behaviors would still be against the law.

Still, when someone is a sex worker and something horrible happens, many blame it as “part of the lifestyle” (blaming the victim) or “how can you rape a whore?” (seeing a sex worker as inhuman). We are the butt of dead hooker jokes, seen as expendable, unhuman. Negative societal and media portrayals of sex workers contribute to viewing sex work as immoral and enables criminalizing our work. Things we do to stay safe, such as working together, sharing space, screening clients, are named “sex trafficking”. Laws are complicit in sex work being unsafe due to being pushed further into the underground. Laws and lawmakers that work against the safety of sex workers have the blood of murdered and missing sex workers on them.

Being systematically disadvantaged, excluded, or pushed to the fringes of society, many sex workers face social inequalities and discrimination, prejudice, and unequal treatment. Accountability for crimes targeting marginalized communities, including the prosecution of individuals involved in rape and child exploitation, are inadequately addressed legally in Alaska. 

We see this in the headlines, when we have to picket to the Anchorage courthouse because a man “gets a pass because he has a clean record” after he kidnaps and renders a woman unconscious, ejaculating on her face. 

We see this when a woman goes missing and her husband is acquitted, although he was the last to see her, initially charged due to blood evidence throughout the house and crawl space, and bleach and ammonia receipts after her disappearance. 

We see this when a 20 year old sex trafficking victim is shot by her trafficker, and then she, the victim, is charged with conspiracy to commit sex trafficking. 

What do they have in common? Mostly, this occurs when the victim or survivor is not white, or they are a part of a marginalized community, such as a sex worker. So, how can anyone feel safe when the system has shown itself inadequate, time and time again?

One way to do this, that is a no brainer but seems very difficult for most to grasp, is to prioritize the safety and well-being of sex trafficking survivors. Or any survivors of violent crime. There are not enough resources, support services, shelters, counseling, medical care, and legal aid services in Alaska to appropriately provide this right now. Providing protection for survivors and their families is essential to encourage them to come forward and testify against traffickers. That is crucial. How do we do that? Rather than focus on creating laws that are doing nothing to combat sex trafficking, we can work together to address sex trafficking

Let’s go back to the beginning, and look at how seeking out the services of a sex worker is criminalized. People like P are criminalized for seeking the services of a sex worker, if he had been caught in a prostitution sting operation, the consequences would be traumatizing and have long-lasting effects. Local news often amplifies the condemnation by publishing names under splashing headlines like “Sex Trafficking Sting Arrests 10,” even before any legal proceedings have taken place. 

This immediate labeling leads to employment difficulties, strains on family relationships, and within close-knit communities, isolation and shame. The act of criminalization strips individuals of their personal autonomy and contributes to societal stigma. The fear and shame perpetuated by criminalization creates an environment that perpetuates the cycle of silence and stigma. 

Criminalizing clients obstructs the ability to report potential instances of sex trafficking to law enforcement authorities. That doesn’t make sense, does it? Don’t we want people to contact the police when a crime such as sex trafficking is taking place? Sex workers have that immunity, thanks to the tireless work from people like Terra Burns and others a part of CUSP, but clients do not have that immunity. Clients, the ones who would be able to tell there was something “not quite right” have no way to contact the police and make a report without jeopardizing getting arrested themselves.

Lets not forget that criminalizing clients adds to the condemning narrative that sex work is dirty, immoral or degrading to the sex worker. Criminalizing clients continues to isolate individuals like P, often preventing them from feeling safe if they actually take the leap to see a sex worker. It is by embracing individual experiences, respecting personal choices, and advocating for autonomy that we can support each other. Lumping sex workers into two categories, the victim or the victimizer, only creates more isolation and an Us versus Them approach to sex trafficking. I am just one sex worker, so I cannot speak for all sex workers, nor do I ever suppose to, but I can tell you this, I have never once met a pro sex trafficking sex worker. Meaning, the sex workers I have come into contact with over the last 20 years have never thought sex trafficking and the elements of force or coercion was at all okay.

Telling individual stories of people like P is crucial. This isn’t the only story like this, there are more.It is my goal to foster empathy, create understanding, and talk about stigmatization. By doing so, I hope to create a safer and more compassionate community that sees clients and sex workers more than just “Johns” and “whores”.