Who's Your Daddy?

The primary purpose of Cape Town's dockside nightclubs is to part sailors from their money. And everyone in this racket has an angle. The club owners sell alcohol at exorbitant prices. The cabbies charge outrageous fees for short hauls. And the prostitutes develop ingenious solicitation strategies to access the seamen's cash.

One particularly devious technique is when women tell multiple seafarers that they're pregnant with their baby. Sometimes they're not pregnant at all—phantom pregnancy—but just want to create a jolting emotional connection to inspire the mark to hand over wads of bills. But other times, cell division is indeed taking place.

So why tell lots of guys they're the papa?

First, the women often do not know who the father is. So by directing responsibility at multiple clients, they hope to secure at least one believer. It's a practical measure to deal with their uncertainty. Since seafarers can easily dismiss prostitutes' paternity claims, the women hedge their bets by telling many guys at once. Perhaps one will take the bait. Perhaps even the real father!

Second, though sailors usually doubt they're the father of a prostitute's baby due to her professional promiscuity, he can't be sure. There's always doubt, a fact which she exploits. Moreover, she manipulates his ego with such a claim, because it proves that he is virile and masculine. A man. If he craves such ego gratification, he may accept paternity. But if the baby represents more of a burden than a joy, he'll probably deny it. (And if he hears she was with someone else around the time of conception, he'll be difficult to persuade.)

Third, even if one or two of the sailors accept that they're the father, their care for the child will be minimal. Very few foreign seamen truly take responsibility for the children they have with South African prostitutes. The children grow up without fathers, essentially. Their financial support rarely lasts more than a few years, if that. Once he's back in his home country, he goes back to his own family and forgets about his Cape Town kid. But by getting multiple guys to pay toward the child in the early years, the woman can at least get some money to cope. For a brief moment.

What should be a wonderful moment—pregnancy—is rarely greeted with joy amongst dockside prostitutes. It's really a burden. But it does open up new solicitation opportunities which the women use to maximum advantage.

Sailors, Prostitutes & Karaoke Culture

Cape Town dockside social life is dominated by east Asian sailors who love singing karaoke. Two dockside nightclubs installed karaoke facilities expressly for the Asian trawlermen who love belting out the ballads. Indeed, every time I go to the clubs, I'm waylaid by syrupy sweet Chinese love songs, bubble-gummy Filipino pop, Islamicized Indonesian melodies, soft Taiwanese rock, and lilting Korean classics. And they're all sung through the raspy vocals of drunken sailors.

But the performances are not bad. When Asians sing karaoke, they mean it. Unlike middle-class Westerners who perform with irony and self-mockery, the Asian sailors do their best to imitate the original version of the song. They honor it with fidelity. So too do the working-class coloured prostitutes.

(When I first sang karaoke at the clubs, I performed in a comic-ironic manner. But nobody thought I was funny. They just looked at me like I sucked, pitying me...and themselves. But when I started actually trying to sing the songs properly, everyone applauded. Now I'm a regular on the mic. Watch out Bon Jovi, Lionel Richie & Duran Duran!)

For the sailors, karaoke is just an amusement to pass the time and inspire male bonding. But for the nightclub prostitutes, it offers yet another avenue for solicitation. Classic solicitation techniques revolve around sexy dancing, pleasant conversation, and gentle caressing, but the karaoke microphone allows women to grab all the seamen's attention at the same time. Her voice is able to soar above the crowd's. So it's not a surprise when one of the women lets loose on a familiar pop song.

More impressively, some of the women sing songs in the sailors' languages! Many have mastered one or two of the seamen's tongues, so they enjoy showing off their linguistic skills through music. This certainly gets the attention of the seafarers. Once a lady has demonstrated that she can entertain the sailors in their own language, it's not long before they wonder how else she might entertain them.

It is one of the most striking cultural aspects of the dockside nightlife: listening to working-class coloured prostitutes sing Asian love songs in flawless Mandarin, Tagalog, Indonesian, Korean, Japanese, and Taiwanese.

Pool-Hustling Prossies

At dockside nightclubs in Cape Town and Durban, foreign sailors enjoy playing pool. During an evening at the clubs, they take a break from the singing, dancing, and drinking to knock some balls around.

The other night in Cape Town, two prostitutes carouse and cavort with three Chinese sailors in the club. Seeing that the seamen are getting drunk, the ladies challenge them to a game of pool. Losers pay 50 rands each.

The Chinese accept. They rack the balls, chalk their sticks, line up the cue, and start banking solids. They quickly fill the pockets around the table. The ladies, however, miss wide, making it all-too-easy for the sailors.

The Chinese win. "Fifty bucks," they say with satisfaction. The girls look at each other and reply "best 3 out of 5." The Chinese agree.

And just as before, the sailors continue to clean house. When they take their third straight game, they beam, "OK, now give us money."

But the girls just shrug, reaching for their beer bottles to leave. "We were just kidding. We don't have any money."

The Chinese knit their brows in confusion. Then they get pissed. "What?! Where's your money?! You made the bet! You must pay!"

The women mosey away, seemingly unconcerned. They enter the club lobby with the Chinese hot on their heels. The shortest, drunkest sailor gets into the girls' faces. He screams, "Fuck you! Give money! Fuck you! Give money!" He shoves one of them and tries to slap the other. The women shove right back.

The owner and bouncer intervene, separating the opposing parties. They calm down the angry sailors, gently ushering them back to the disco. Meanwhile, the girls hang back, looking slightly sheepish.

Within two minutes, the altercation is over and long-forgotten. The sailors attach themselves to new ladies. The pool-hustling prossies walk around the corner to buy loose cigarettes at the tuck-shop. The bouncer returns to his post at the door. And the owner and I continue chatting as if nothing happened (while he pockets his palm-sized can of pepper spray).

Such deceptions are common in the dockside prostitution racket. The ladies have little to lose, except the warm feelings of the sailors (who, in this case, are not taking them out for sex anyway). They know that, if the seamen get blustery about it, the bouncers will protect them. So they take a cheap gamble. Why not? If they win, they split 150 rands ($22). If they lose, they just walk away.

Worth the risk, they figure.

Where's the minis & high heels?

Dockside prostitutes in Cape Town rarely wear "sexy" clothing. They almost never wear minis, high heels or bright make-up. Rather, they sport casual androgynous streetwear: jeans, t-shirts & takkies (tennis shoes). This stands in contrast to Durban's dockside sugar girls who emphasize their sexy couture.

So why this difference? Why are Cape Town ladies more conservative in their attire than their Durban counterparts? I think there are two primary reasons. Maybe three.

1 - In Cape Town, most dockside ladies travel from their homes in the townships to the downtown nightclubs by public transport—buses, taxis, trains. They leave at 6:30 in the evening and return on the first taxis back in the mornings at 5am. The last thing they want to do is call attention to their work by wearing sexy clothing as they travel to and from their communities. It would attract negative attention and potentially reveal their source of income. So they seek to blend in by wearing casual clothing.

But in Durban, the women hail from upcountry locales, so they don't live at home. They reside in the blighted city center, surrounded by transient strangers of the shadowland. There's no community surveillance to worry about. They can wear snazzy clothing without their families or communities getting wind of their activities. Sexiness is not a threat to their reputations at home.

2 - Cape Town can get bloody cold at night, especially in the winter. The wind & low temperatures make slinky clothing a bad idea. So the ladies protect themselves with jeans, polo necks, hoodies, and heavy jackets.

But in Durban, the sub-tropical heat allows women to wear "come hither" attire most months of the year. In summertime, they almost have to wear such thin outfits because of the humidity.

3 - Another possible explanation might be the "Americanization" of fashion amongst coloured township-dwellers in Cape Town. While all South Africans are influenced to some extent by American cultural fads—in music, film, fashion, etc.—Cape coloureds seem to draw the deepest inspiration from the States. Especially from black American cultural styles. (In fact, when Cape Flats kids are allowed to wear casual clothes to school on Fridays, they call it "American Day.")

African women from KwaZulu-Natal also draw from American aesthetic influences, but not with the same commitment as coloureds do. They draw from a variety of ethnic inspirations: indigenous, pan-African, European & American.

So in Cape Town, dockside pros use clothing to camouflage their work while Durban women use it to advertise theirs. CT ladies dress warm to avoid the cold; KZN women dress lightly to deal with the heat. And coloured women embrace a casual style that fits with their community's cultural inspirations while Durban women adapt their attire to suit the competitive solicitous environment of the clubs.

Male bonding with prostitutes

At the Cape Town and Durban dockside nightclubs, prostitutes not only entertain sailors with flirtatious companionship (and sex afterwards), they also enable a fundamental social need of shipmates: male bonding.

Recently: Chinese crewmen celebrate their last night ashore. They've been in Cape Town a couple of weeks now, partying at the clubs every night. But tonight, they gear up for another voyage to the deep. Tomorrow, they'll sail to the South Atlantic fishing grounds for another 4 months of trawling.

The 16 of them are festive and friendly. Dozens of beer cans litter their table with more arriving all the time. The ladies fetch 6-packs for them, pocketing the change in the process. The girls don't interfere with the bonding, but spice it up a bit, boosting the guys' sense of pride, confidence, virility, and masculinity. The women play an important supporting role in this ritual.

Every few minutes, after some conversation and a speech, the Chinese stand up to toast each other. Then they sing karaoke, dance, and caress the ladies who've latched onto them. On other nights, these activities might be followed by a sexual rendezvous.

But tonight, they're more interested in raising their fellow-feeling before their journey. They've had 2 weeks to release whatever frustrations they had from the previous trip. Soon they'll be stuck together again in the dangerous, monotonous, stressful, and confining "total institution" of the sea-borne ship. So tonight, they need to reaffirm their commitment to each other as brethren of the sea. They'll sail better together for it.

Club pros have learned how to deal with male bonding imperatives. They don't interfere so much as accommodate their solicitous behavior to this unique context. Tonight with the Chinese, they do what they can to inspire male bonding, all the while encouraging them to part with their last rands before they leave.

This is one of the key differences between dockside prostitution and other sex sectors. There is no similar need for male bonding in the streetwalker, brothel, truck-stop, courtesan, or agency trades. The johns of those environments usually run solo.

Every nationality has its own style of male bonding at the clubs. Each incorporates the ladies in different ways. And the women quickly learn what behavior works with each ethnicity. They gauge their success in a number of ways: by how well they entertain the guys; how well they bring the guys closer together; and, of course, by how much money they can hustle out of the guys before they leave.

No sleeping on the job, ladies

In front of a Cape Town dockside nightclub, a prostitute stands alone at the entrance steps, bored. But it's freezing outside. So after we trade greetings, I ask, "Why aren't you upstairs in the club? No sailors tonight?"

She frowns, "The bouncer kicked me out an hour ago. I fell asleep in the booths because there were no guys inside. Now I have to sit out here until I can get a hundred rands to pay my way back in." Then she looks me in the eyes, slightly hopeful. "Can you borrow me a hundred bucks?"

The problem: she's transgressed an unwritten rule of club etiquette. Dockside prostitutes are free to solicit at the seamen's clubs so long as they get the guys to buy alcohol. AND—of course—so long as they stay awake! That's part of the bargain. But on nights when there aren't many guys to entertain, the ladies get restless. Some can't resist the temptation to nod off. It's a familiar sight.

As punishment, the bouncer will escort her outside. If she pays a R100 fine, she can go back in. If not, she must wait till the next night when she'll be able to solicit inside freely.

I offer an empathetic smile, but I don't bail her out. And she doesn't expect me to. In her 12 years of hooking, this has happened many times before.

After a few hours inside, I come down and find her busy massaging the feet of the hefty manageress. I laugh and ask: "Didn't get your hundred bucks to go back in?"

She winks and whispers, "I'm hoping this foot massage will do the trick."

The manageress—deeply relaxed by the pedi-pampering—pipes up: "Harder!"

But after another 15 minutes of bunion-rubbing, the manageress lets her slip back inside.

Gentoos—"Whores" of Distinction

In South Africa, the Cape Afrikaans term gentoo is a harsh, disparaging term for a prostitute. It's like "whore" in English, but with more bite and venom.

At the dockside nightclubs of Cape Town, where the prostitutes entertain foreign sailors, the ladies call themselves "club girls". If they use the term gentoo, it is usually to attack the character of a rival.

But the other night, one of the ladies offered a novel interpretation of the word. While chatting up a Filipino seamen, she told him that he "should never confuse us gentoos with prostitutes who walk the streets and work in brothels." She said, "we're sea-ladies. We go with seamen. But the prostitutes, they go with locals."

Then she added, "the main difference is that we gentoos clean ourselves. We're clean."

The Filipino said he'd never heard the word "gentoo" before. "Where does it come from?" he asked.

She said, "You see, the Gentoo was a ship that came to Cape Town over a hundred years ago with a bunch of prostitutes. They ended up working the dockside with the sailors. So the locals took the word to mean 'ladies who go with seamen.' So you see, that's us. We sea-ladies are gentoos".

(This explanation actually approximates historical accounts).

As I listened to the conversation, it struck me that, perhaps it was just a matter of time before someone claimed the term "gentoo" with pride. After all, many black American youth call themselves "niggas"; some macho gay men call themselves "fags"; some co-eds of the Girls Gone Wild variety call themselves "sluts" or "bitches"; and a mixed-race ethnic group in Namibia even calls themselves "Bastards." Though all were initially terms of denigration, each group appropriated them—inverting their power—and now use them with pride.

Perhaps a Gentoo Pride campaign is in the offing. We'll see.

Should prostitutes form a union?

We all know that prostitutes can face difficult circumstances—client abuse, pimp violence, police harassment, disease, robbery, pregnancy, alcoholism, drug abuse, etc. And no matter what we think about the morality of commodified sex, we understand that these women should not have to face such risks.

In the Weekend Argus article, "Forget the sex, a worker is just a worker" (2 June 2007), Michael Schmidt dicusses the possibility of unionizing sex workers. He cites the International Union of Sex Workers (IUSW) in Britain as a case-in-point. In Cape Town, he mentions the Sex Worker Education & Advocacy Taskforce (SWEAT) which spearheads the union initiative amongst streetwalkers and brothel workers.

Schmidt and SWEAT take inspiration from the powerful union and workerist movement in South Africa: they talk about sex workers being "workers" like in any other "industry." This language emanates from a factory floor model in which "workers" organize collectively, as a union, to press for greater rights, protections & benefits.

While this image—of collectively organized sex workers standing up for the rights, voicing their concerns, mobilizing, etc.—is powerful, and historically resonant, is it appropriate for prostitution in South Africa?

On first blush, it is quite attractive. But there are some practical difficulties:

FIRST, the sheer diversity of sex trade makes union-like cohesion problematic. The women who work in the various sectors—streets, brothels, dockside clubs, truck-stops, mineworker taverns, agencies, freelance—face quite different experiences. And their sources of trouble differ.

Unions typically have clear opponents, like "management." But who do prostitutes organize against?: clients? pimps? brothel owners? police officers? the government? society-at-large? All of these groups bear a certain responsibility for prostitutes' difficulties. Not just one of them.

The value of a union is that it can put pressure on a group that has the power to do something about their conditions. But who would the prostitutes represent their grievances to? In South Africa, activists would say "the government," as it is the source of onerous legislation criminalizing the sale of sex. They want this law repealed because it allows for unchecked abuses by clients, pimps, and police against the women. But even if repealed, society still sanctions the abuse of women (in general) and prostitutes in particular. Rights-bearing South African women still suffer under one of the highest rape rates in the world, so it is hard to see how prostitutes will achieve protection, health and welfare through a purely legal correction.

And if their demands were not met, what would they do? Strike? This in unlikely. Which makes it hard to see what value the union strategy has if cannot take advantage of its most strategic weapons: mass action, boycotts, strikes.

SECOND, most prostitutes do not look at sex work as a life-long career. Few embrace the "sex worker" moniker and even less want to be publicly known as such. The problem is that, even if women work as prostitutes for years, most refuse to claim it as an identity. Unlike working-class industrial laborers, who construct their lives around a plant or a job, prostitutes usually avoid such committed identifications due to shame, stigma & fear.

Because of this, sex worker unions assure their members of anonymity. But how powerful can a union be if its members refuse to identify themselves? The greatest power unions leverage is not numbers, but the ability to present an actual physical mass of members to the public when rights are threatened. Such displays—especially with media coverage—demand social acknowledgment and offer a road to change. But anonymous membership—though necessary in this case—radically weakens the utility of a "union." (In South Africa, how many sex workers would actually march with a banner for their rights?)

THIRD, does the transplanted union model adequately address prostitutes' particular circumstances by framing them as "workers"? On the one hand, yes, of course, they are workers. They work. But many of the problems they face result from their work being moralized, stigmatized, criminalized, dangerous & gendered. To take women from multiple sex sectors—who face unique challenges in each—and reduce them to an undifferentiated mass of "workers" may not do justice to their needs. And it is doubtful that their problems can be overcome by romantic rhetoric like: "Sex Workers of the World Unite!"

Essentially, I wonder about the feasibility of the union strategy. I understand its appeal, and I agree with union activists' concerns, especially the de/criminalization issue. But the diversity of concerns & experiences facing prostitutes in the numerous sex sectors militates against a one-size-fits-all response.

A better beginning might be to ask: how do sex workers in some sectors (courtesans, call girls, dockside women) achieve higher levels of safety & well-being than women in others? Might the strategies these women employ—or the structural conditions they enjoy—be exported to the more exposed sectors (streets, truck-stops)?

Rather than going outside prostitution to find models for strategic action, we could start by looking at successful strategies within different sectors. If we take the agency of prostitutes seriously—which most activists do—then we should start by understanding indigenous strategies, those developed by sex workers.

Beyond that, we need to initiate a real social dialogue about gender, prostitution, and sex that will get at the foundations of violence against women, social stigmatization, and institutional neglect (by government, health care providers & social services). This should not be left to a union vanguard, but should be engaged with by all citizens.

A Prostitute's Dilemma

You're a prostitute and you're pregnant: what do you do?

That's the dilemma facing 4 dockside sugar girls in Cape Town. For most, it's nothing new—they've all borne children from foreign seamen.Still, it creates pressures, responsibilities, and expectations that most want to avoid.

For most of the women, pregnancy is an occupational hazard. They're fairly resigned about it. Though abortion occurs, many refuse it on moral grounds. Coming from working-class backgrounds, their families can usually absorb new members, despite their constraints.

Each of the four women face unique circumstances in their pregnancies:

The first—7 months pregnant—worked at the clubs up until a month ago when she was banned for stealing a Spanish seaman's jacket and wallet. She fled with the money to go smoke "buttons" (mandrax) with the local Nigerian merchant under a freeway overpass. Most likely, she will return to the clubs after her delivery, make amends with the owners, and continue soliciting like before.

The second—6 months pregnant—seems utterly despondent about her child. She often says she doesn't want it, but won't go for an abortion. Instead, she drinks lot of tequila, smokes ceaselessly, and takes poor care of her health. No pre-natal check-ups. She seems to want a miscarriage. But she also hopes that the Korean father will start sending money. He's coming to Cape Town next month. And what a surprise awaits him: he doesn't know yet he's got a child on the way!

The third—2 months pregnant—shrugs at the pregnancy while trying to raise a smile. The Filipino father died recently, so she can expect no financial support from abroad. Instead, she uses her situation to garner dividends in the present: she shows off her rounding tummy to the Filipino seamen, eliciting "pity money" from them. She tugs at the heart-strings of sailors who understand the "tragic" dimensions of her story, a story they are partially responsible for creating. Most seamen are not immune to the needs of these women.

The fourth—2 months pregnant—sees the baby as the glue that will bind her to her Filipino guy. She plans to marry him in November. She speaks with longing about setting up a home and a family with him, her eyes glistening with hope. Meanwhile, though her would-be husband doesn't like her to still come to the clubs, she continues going so that she can earn "tips": small fees for in-club companionship and conversation.

But I will be surprised if her dreams come to fruition. Though dockside relationships can lead to marriage, more often the practical, financial, and cultural concerns get in the way of a long-term union. The Filipino will probably send maintenance money for a year or two, then slowly let the connection fade, essentially abandoning his own child in the process. This is the typical story.

Dockside pros complain that pregnancy interferes with soliciting (making them feel tired, less attractive, etc.) and their ability to make money. But just as important, they rue that their kids will essentially be fatherless. Indeed, for many of the children, the father is not just absent, but unknown.

Does anybody "want" to be a prostitute?

On a recent episode of Interface (SABC 3), three women debated whether prostitution should be legalized, decriminalized or abolished. A Doctors for Life rep concluded that, since "nobody wants to be a prostitute," the trade should be abolished in South Africa.

Is this true? In a literal sense, yes. Every prostitute I've interviewed has said that they do not "want" to be prostitutes. They too see sex work to be "degrading" and know it can entail major negative consequences: social stigma, disease, pregnancy, alcoholism, drug abuse, violence, etc.

But they still do it. Why?

In South Africa, they do it mostly for practical reasons: to make a living. Many are school drop-outs from abusive families, often bearing children from adolescent relationships. Many have kids and grandparents to take care of. They face real financial pressures. But given their backgrounds, their options are limited. They can work as check-out girls at supermarkets; hang up clothing at retail stores; work as domestics; do waitressing; dress hair; sit at home; etc. Or they can sell sex. Most women choose the former options, skimming a meagre living as casuals, but maintaining decent reputations in their communities. But they never earn the money that a prostitute can.

So, while prostitutes say that they don't "want" to be prostitutes, they feel that their other options are even worse. On any given night, a dockside pro can earn the same amount of money that a checker or sales clerk earns in a week. Though they do not get men every night, the mere possibility of such one-night bonanzas is enough to make the women think twice about slaving away six days/week in "straight" work.

Moreover, dockside prostitutes can work when they want to. There's no pimps or bosses to answer to. And they get to drink, smoke, dance, and sing as part of their solicitation duties—stuff they do when they party anyway. For many, it would be difficult to give up their relative freedom for the constrictions of shift work under a boss.

Thus, to ask again: do prostitutes "want" to be prostitutes? They say "no," but their actions say, "though we understand prostitution to be immoral, damaging, and dangerous, we prefer sex work over the other options currently available."

And few, if any, desire the abolition of the trade as it is the source of their livelihood. Though few would advocate prostitution—and almost all say that they do not "want" to be prostitutes—for now, they choose to sell sex because they feel it answers their practical needs better than their other options.

Based on this, we should not jump to the conclusion that, because prostitutes say that they do not want to be prostitutes, they support the abolition of sex work. Rather, we see that though prostitutes recognize the hazards of their work, they choose it because their alternatives seem even more undesirable. And until those alternatives look more attractive, some South African women will continue to sell sex.

What's the deal with your penis?!

Many dockside prostitutes in Cape Town & Durban say that Filipino seamen sew little plastic balls—ballitos—into the shaft of their penises.

Uh, what?!

When I first heard this, I couldn't believe it. But the ladies insist: oh yeah, those boys are NAUGHTY!

I learned this during the course of my research and was immediately curious. When I asked Filipino sailors whether it's true, most nonchalantly acknowledge it as a fairly common practice, especially amongst the older sailors. But they say it's dying out amongst the younger generation. (The "body modification" community calls this "pearling" or "genital beading."

When I ask why they do it, the seamen say that it makes them feel more "manly," more "part of the crew," and that it "makes the women enjoy sex more."

How do they do it? Most sailors insert their own ballitos (bulitas in Tagalog) by making a small incision in the shaft, then inserting the small silicon bead and sewing it shut. Some have a friend help. It's incredibly painful.

And as far as "styles" are concerned, three patterns stand out. The first is the single ballito on the top of the shaft. The second is a row of ballitos across the top of the penis, for maximum—bumpety-bump-bump-bump—clitoral stimulation. And the third, pictured above, is a comprehensive cover of ballitos around the shaft.

What was the inspiration? Filipinos say that they learned the practice from Japanese sailors. Yakuza (Japanese "mafia") members are known to do this and may have introduced it to the Asian seamen. The history remains vague.

So what do the women think? Most find it a strange custom and say it hurts. Some refuse to go with guys over this, taking it as a sign of poor character and health. But one woman I talked to got a twinkle in her eye and said, "yeah, those ballitos add a little something extra."

Indeed.

Waiting for the Gush of Seamen

When I get downtown, the dockside clubs are totally empty. No sailors anywhere. Everything else is in place—willing women, cross-armed bouncers, bored barmaids, earphoned DJs, sleepy cabbies—but their presence lacks meaning without the seamen. They are the source of their livelihoods. Needless to say, everyone feels slightly agitated.

The women lounge around in the booths and watch Animal Planet on the big screen TV. The "Crocodile Hunter" is busy taunting spitting cobras into squirting venom in his eyes. He relishes every jet of poison deflected off his glasses. Meanwhile, the club girls squirm as they watch slow-mo close-ups of snakes shooting liquid death from their hissing fangs. For the moment, it relieves the boredom, but it doesn't shake their deeper financial anxieties.

Eventually, a couple of Taiwanese sailors walk in. Three women race to them. The men sit down and enjoy the attention: their laps are never empty. And they're generous enough, buying beers for themselves and the ladies.

But after awhile, the women realize that one of them has to go. Three ladies with two sailors: not gonna work. Despite the promiscuous atmosphere at the club, the women are profoundly monogamous in their sexual negotiations: they insist that everyone pairs off. No three-somes allowed. (No one wants to split the fees.)

While the men crawl deeper into insobriety, the women follow close behind. But they also become aggressive with each other. Then it happens. Two of the girls go at each other. Fists fly toward faces, hands grab for hair, palms hurtle toward cheeks, fingernails claw at flesh, feet kick at shins, tongues hurl abuse, and lips spit at eyeballs. Their smacks reverberate across the room above the noise of the music as the two stumble, struggle, curse, and thrash about.

The bouncers watch with mild interest—quite unperturbed—then reluctantly break it up. But like on Jerry Springer, the bouncers don't separate them so far that they can't still smack each other every now and then.

The three girls—who live together!—forget about their quarry as they are escorted outside. They yell endless accusations and insults at each other while a small crowd of women gather around them (happy for the distraction). They eventually share a cab home and continue the drunken dispute there. The Taiwanese, meanwhile, just laugh, imbibe a few more beers, and accept the attentions of other ladies.

Cape Town's dockside clubs are prone to seasonal fluctuations. But usually there's at least a couple dozen sailors to go around. Tonight, virtually NO ONE came. Instead, what came out were the women's expressions of boredom, anxiety, and frustration at a totally wasted evening of work.

What are these girls DOING?!

A couple of young white guys from Jo'burg wander into a Cape Town seamen's clubs. As they sit down, two sugar girls immediately attend to them. The guys look pleased: they've only walked in and already they're getting attention! Schweet!

They drink and talk with the women for awhile. Late, around 4am, I chat with the guys. They look relieved to see another white face. They are surrounded by Filipino sailors. It seems strange to them. They can't quite figure out what's going on.

After we greet, they don't want to let me go. They tell me they are pilots—in town for an evening—staying at a nice Waterfront hotel. I tell them I'm a student writing a book about dockside nightlife. One of the women proudly concurs, "Ja, Henry's writing a book about us!"

After some more chat—and a few more drinks on their part—one of the guys leans toward me and asks, "Dude, what are these girls?!"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He looks around, making sure the two women who are hanging on them can't hear him: "What are these girls doing?

"Oh!" I smile. "They're soliciting."

The two guys look at each other in a mixture of amazement, horror, and fascination, then exclaim in unison, "Dude, they're prostitutes!"

I'm still smiling. "Indeed."

They look at each other, me, the women, then each other. Stunned. One of them pipes up, "I knew it. I knew they were prossies." The other one cuts in, "No wonder they're so friendly. Shit!"

It takes 'em a few minutes to overcome their astonishment, but then they ask me where they can find clubs with "normal" girls. I tell them about the bars on Long Street, "but it's late. It's doubtful you'll find much happening there at this time of night." It's a week night too.

So the guys—looking more than a little drunk now—shrug and say, "Fuck it." They take a look at the ladies sitting with them—also piss drunk—and say, "Hell, might as well stay here." They toast the decision and carry on drinking with the women.

The Problem with Local "Johns"

Cape Town: Last night a local drunk guy stumbles into a dockside nightclub. Not many sailors around and the ladies are restless for business. The owner lets the drunk man in, hoping that he might spend some money on the girls.

Half-an-hour later—as I'm talking to the owner downstairs—the drunk comes skidding down the stairs head-first. He slams into the opposite wall of the stairwell. The bouncer stomps down the steps behind him. He takes a look at the crumpled heap and grabs him by the collar to haul him outside. He roughly deposits the drunk on the sidewalk, giving him a final slap across the face for good measure.

One of the prostitutes comes down the stairs and says that the guy had been cursing the girls and verbally abusing the staff. The bouncer asked him to leave, but he persisted. Then the bouncer clapped across the face and sent him tumbling down the stairs. To all of this, the owner doesn't even blink.

Violence in this context isn't uncommon, but this particular scene reveals some unique aspects of dockside prostitution.

At "seamen's clubs"—where local ladies solicit sailors for business—drunk men are everywhere. And for the most part, they're harmless. But if a local guy comes around, there can be problems.

Local guys don't feel welcome at dockside clubs. They're surrounded by foreign sailors and the local women aren't interested in them. Though they're in "their own" country, they get the distinct feeling that they don't belong. This can piss some guys off, especially if they're drunk. So they mouth off at everyone—going on about "this is South Africa!" and "you girls are just whores!"—but then the bouncers sort them out.

One of the reasons why local women solicit at dockside nightclubs is so they don't have to work with local men. The women can protect their privacy and anonymity by going with seafarers who have no impact beyond the dockside. Locals, though, can hassle them within and beyond the clubs. And, according to the women, they're more likely than sailors to throw it in their face that they're prostitutes. So the ladies tend to ignore locals (unless they demonstrate that they're really generous and really cool).

Prostitutes Love Wrestling

Last night at one of the dockside clubs in Cape Town—where local sugar girls solicit foreign seamen—business came to a halt as John Cena and Shawn Michaels wrestled for the WWE Championship belt. No matter that the Chinese and Russian sailors were drinking in large numbers; no matter that there was plenty of money to be made. The women's eyes were glued to the club's big screen watching Wrestlemania 23.

It seems that, even for the most money-minded of prostitutes, some things are more important than a sexual contract. Like decent entertainment, for instance. But one can understand why:

Most evenings at the club are fairly routine for the women. They arrive at 8pm, talk to girlfriends for a spell, sip a drink, and wait for the seamen. When the sailors arrive, they sidle up next to them to chat, dance, drink, smoke, and laugh and caress. (Or they sit alone, neglected). This lasts for hours. If prospects are good, a woman will try to negotiate a sexual contract with a guy. If she's lucky, she'll get it and they'll go off for sex. And hopefully get paid a decent fee. More often than not, though, the night ends without a contract and stumbles into a cab for a lift home alone.

While there are plenty of opportunities for surprise and drama within this nocturnal routine, it can get pretty boring. So when a good diversion comes around—like hip-hop white-boy John Cena bodyslamming his way to victory at Wrestlemania—they don't miss it.

Many of the women watch daytime soapies like The Bold and The Beautiful and Days of Our Lives. Many also catch South African evening soaps like 7de Laan (in Afrikaans), Backstage and Egoli.

But the weekly wrestling shows like Raw, Velocity and Smackdown also provide narrative satisfaction due to their slick presentations, athletic feats, beefcake voyeurism, and sheer muscularity. American "professional" wrestling is like a soapie on steroids, complete with good guys, bad guys, and all other sorts of interesting characters. For working-class prostitutes, what's not to like?!

As the music pulsates throughout the club, the lady next to me bites her lip and squirms while Cena looks sure to lose. But when he turns the situation around and puts Michaels in a painful submission hold, she starts jumping up and down in anticipation. And when Cena wins, she and the other women literally scream with delight. She then turns to me, rather flushed, and says, "I would love to fuck John Cena."

Breaking Up Brawling Sailors

The other night at one of the dockside clubs in Cape Town, a dozen Chinese seamen stood poised to brawl with 8 Filipino sailors.

The trouble started by the pay phones. A Filipino guy bumped into a Chinese who was busy talking to his family on the phone. The Filipino failed to apologize and the Chinese shoved him in return. They got in each other's faces, growling in their respective tongues. Then the Chinese went back to the phone while the Filipino stomped off.

Soon after, the Chinese guy complained to his shipmates who immediately demanded redress from the Filipinos. The atmosphere at the club changed. No more good times, no more touchy-feely with the ladies, no more happy-go-lucky jacks. The crews flexed their sinewy muscles, ready for fisticuffs. The women stood helpless as their johns abandoned them to stand by their mates. Their honor was on the line.

Such displays of testosterone and rigor are regular features of dockside interaction. Insobriety, jingoism, and competition over females put the sailors on edge with each other. Usually nothing happens, but if the macho tension becomes too great, bedlam can ensue.

A few months ago, a group of Vietnamese sailors stabbed a Chinese seamen to death in one of the clubs. A Vietnamese guy had a drunken dispute with the Chinese over a prostitute. When the Chinese left and stumbled over to another club, the Vietnamese sailor rounded up his mates and followed him. There they surround him while one of the gang finished him off with a single stab.

When I was in Durban last year, Korean and Indonesian sailors cracked each other's skulls with pool cues. Two women—unhappy with the fees they had negotiated with the Koreans—tried to see if they do better with the Indonesians. A big NO-NO. When the Koreans saw the women with the other guys, they waylaid them. Two had to go to the hospital. And the women left empty-handed.

So what is the club owner to do? Bouncers typically get between the opponents, establish their dominance, and send one of the parties outside. In this situation by the phone, the Chinese were escorted outside.

But the owner called the Chinese guy back inside and insisted the Filipino sailor apologize to him. The Chinese accepted with a handshake and joined his mates outside. But they refused to accept it. So the owner sent out two 6-packs of beer that mollified them. Cops and security guards kept an eye on their public drinking—shrugging off the illegality—but the problem was defused.

The next night, the same group of Chinese and Filipinos were at the clubs again, sitting right across from each other. But they carried on as if nothing had happened. Such is the power of alcohol-based conflict-resolution strategies by savvy club owners.

Sex Drugs Booze: Prostitutes' Chemical Coping

The Cape Times (16 April 2007)—paraphrasing a report on streetwalkers in Cape Town, Durban, and Jo'burg—says that "reducing the high levels of anxiety and fear normally associated with sex work is one of the reasons why sex workers use drugs."

Charles Parry, a director of the Alcohol & Drug Abuse Research Unit and co-author of the report, says that violence and fear are key for understanding chemical abuse. He also states that such alcohol and drug use inhibits safe sexual practices, enhancing the likelihood of HIV-transmission between clients and sex workers.

At seamen's nightclubs, all of the prostitutes drink and many also take drugs. The African women in Durban tend to go for dagga (marijuana) while the coloureds and whites of Cape Town may also add rock, tik, ecstacy, or Mandrax to the mix.

But they use chemicals to cope for quite different problems than streetwalkers. Since the women solicit in nightclubs, protected by bouncers, they are relatively free of client violence. When they go to a hotel or their apartment for sex, they are also in spaces that they have more control over than the foreign seafaring clients. Most dockside women report that, if they have ever been raped, molested, or abused, it has almost always been at the hands of relatives or local men. Unlike sailors, locals know what they can get away with.

Dockside women do not experience the same "anxiety" that streetwalkers do because they are not as exposed to negative legal attention (abusive cops), financial predators (pimps), or anonymous men (local johns). This is because police don't bother coming into the clubs, all the women are independent operators (no pimps), and everyone knows which ships the sailors belong to in case they need to complain.

The anxiety they feel is related to more mundane social and psychological stresses: shame, depression, boredom, financial worries, and low self-esteem. Many felt these anxieties before working in the clubs—due to childhood abuse, dysfunctional family lives, and low educational achievement—but the stigma of sex work exacerbates these feelings.

Almost everyone woman I've spoken to says "you can't do this work without drinking. It's not nice to go with a different man every night. It makes us sick to our stomachs. Drinking is the only way to deal with it." Some say that they must drink to "get wet" for intercourse, otherwise they will think too much about their "degrading" circumstances and remain "dry." Alcohol takes the edge off their shame and battered self-worth, they say.

But the women take drugs and alcohol for recreational purposes as well. As we know, plenty of people who are not involved in sex work drink and take drugs because they find it enjoyable. Most dockside women feel the same. Many enthusiastically report that "we LOVE alcohol!" Thus, there is an ambivalence as to whether these chemicals answer a need (which makes them seem helpless and less culpable for their actions) or a want (which highlights their sense of agency).

Either way, alcohol and drugs are a big part of life for dockside prostitutes. Few survive the business without struggling with addiction issues, health problems, or the consequences of drunk/high behavior (STIs or pregnancy due to unsafe sex).

A Woman in Every Port?

Popular lore holds that sailors have a woman in every port. Is that true today?

My first stab at answering the question came back in 2003 when I sailed from Los Angeles to Cape Town on two cargo ships. Along the way, we berthed in 14 ports and I got to see how the seamen behaved. Here's how I wrote about my evening in Oakland & San Francisco:

I start primping myself for a wild night out with the sailors. I spike my hair with gel, lube my pits with Right Guard, disguise my liver breath with Binaca, splash my cheeks with Old Spice, and wink at myself in the full-length mirror. Oh you dog you!

As it turns out, just a few of the sailors plan to hit the town: three Tuvaluan crewmen and the Estonian cook. I size ‘em up. The Islanders are young and imposing, more than able to handle themselves. The cook is wizened and of doubtful vigor, but his wry countenance betrays a crafty intelligence beyond calculation. Probably the most dangerous of the bunch.

As we disembark from the ship, I see that there are no ladies waiting for us at the docks. Surely they're waiting somewhere else for us.

We call a taxi. An Indian guy picks us up, mentioning that he almost never comes to the docks. Sailors are scarce. He drops us at the nearest BART station, where we jump on a train to San Francisco. As we travel under the bay, I’m assaulted by the smell of mildew and urine. I look down: Some genius decided to carpet the trains! An incredibly stupid idea, as the train seems the last refuge of hobos, juvenile runaways, and stray dogs whose bladders are finite.

When we get off at one of the downtown stations, I rub my hands in anticipation. With a gleam in my eye, I ask, “So, what did you guys do last time you were here? Make the rounds of the seamen's dives?”

They look at each other hesitantly, “This is our first time getting off here.”

I blanch. “What?! But haven’t you guys docked here before?”

“Yah, but we never went ashore.”

“Huh?” I’m confused. These sailors had never even explored the port!

But I’m too excited about my prospective initiation into the hallowed rites of seamen’s culture to consider the implications. “OK, well, no matter. So what do you guys wanna do? The night is young! We’re sure to find plenty of action nearby.” I’m imagining an evening of grinding lap dances, g-stringed booties and greasy poles, fights with the locals, tattoos from the steady hand of Chainsaw Bob, and waking up under the Bay Bridge in the arms of someone who may or may not have an Adam’s apple.

Then the sailors say what they want to do:

“I want to buy an I Love San Francisco t-shirt for my girlfriend in Tuvalu.”

“I want to get a Golden Gate Bridge tote bag for my papa.”

“I want to find a teddy bear for my newborn.”

“I want to call my wife in Estonia from a payphone.”

It took me a minute to register these desires. I just stared at their faces. I didn’t hear any of the words I expected to hear, like “hookers, liquor, marijuana, penicillin,” the key elements of my imagined maritime world. I was so sure that these bastards would be wild som’bitches, ready to release me from my life of teetotaling prudery.

As we walk to the nearest Taiwanese-owned tourist shop, I ask myself, “Whatever happened to the rip-roaring, brawling, whoring, disreputable dockside culture that I had so hoped to find?! Where were all the taverns that catered to seamen, the pros that awaited the arrival of te next cargo ship, the jazz clubs that would make space on stage for a sailor with his horn, and the thugs who preyed upon unsuspecting seafarers?”

I knew that the peg-legged sea-dogs and talking parrots were the stuff of legend, but it wasn’t so long ago that that seamen truly did have a woman in every port. Whole dockside communities made their livings by the presence of sailors. Today, that world has largely vanished. With no more Brutuses to fight, today’s Popeyes spend just a few hours (if any) at any given port searching out touristy t-shirts for their Olive Oyls and Swee'Peas. Then it’s back to work, on to the next port before 20 hours have even passed.

They were so excited by the idea of getting little trinkets for their loved ones at home, something to show that they were thinking of them while away. But, but…damn them!

What a disappointingly respectable lot, so responsible and conscientious. Like accountants and bureaucrats in a floating office. Already thinking of their duties for the company.

Rounding out the evening, we ate a soggy meal at Burger King and rode the train back to Oakland. One of the sailors pissed on the side of the ship when we got back. Then we climbed up the gangway, heading to our respective rooms. I read myself to sleep while the crew watched soft-core porn in the recreation room.

In years after this voyage, I've learned that there are still outposts for maritime sexual recreation in different ports. Cape Town and Durban still have them, but not in the strength or capacity that they used to. By all accounts, the numbers of women available for seamen has greatly diminished over the last few decades.

So, a woman in every port? No way. In some ports? Sure.

A Sailor and His Cape Town Girl

In 2003, I sailed on two cargo ships from Los Angeles to Cape Town. On the voyage from London to Cape Town, a Filipino sailor told me about his Cape Town "girlfriend" who worked at one of the dockside nightclubs. Here's how I wrote about it back then (using pseudonyms here):

When I take my walks around the ship in the afternoon, I always chat with Manuel, an Able-Bodied Seaman, who goes about his duties chipping, painting, scrubbing, and splicing. He’s a short, pudgy guy, with a low-budget Superman "S" tattoo on his jiggly tricep. But he’s very easy with the smiles. A nice guy.

Manuel comes from a wealthy family near Manila. He says his father is a big-shot businessman who could have landed him a cushy office job with a dubious “import-export” firm, but he chose the more exciting life of an sailor. Lots of Filipinos try their luck as seamen, so he did too. He’s in his early thirties now, having worked as a seafarer for nine years.

One day he asks me if I have a girlfriend. I reply I do. In fact, she lives in Cape Town. His eyes light up, “You have a girlfriend in Cape Town?! Wow, me too! Me too!” He gives me a slap on the arm, buddies now.

Then he whispers conspiratorially, “The other guys are jealous that I have a girlfriend in Cape Town, so I don’t like to speak about her in public.”

“Ahhhh, right, of course,” I feign understanding.

He whips out a few pictures of a pasty white girl with black hair and a pleasant face. He gets a far-away look in his eyes as he talks about her. “That’s Christy, my girlfriend. I love her so much. She’s Portuguese.”

Manuel met Christy at one of dockside nightclubs where she works as a "barmaid." Though the club is known as a pick-up joint for sailors looking for prostitutes, Manuel assures me that Christy has nothing to do with that. She just works with the drinks. He boasts that he is the first guy who she met at the bar that she has really ever spent time with. “I’ve done this run to Cape Town a few times now, so when I first saw her at the club, I immediately fell in love. She’s so beautiful. Just look at her, man—isn’t she beautiful?!”

I scrutinize the pictures, “Yah, a real peach, Manuel.”

“Yah, my beautiful peach," he exclaims. "So, after the first time we met, I wrote to her from the ship and even called her when I was back home. Then I saw her twice again after that when the ship came into Cape Town. We’ve remained faithful for the last two years.”

Manuel's gush of sincerity and vulnerability is refreshing. I'm happy for him. “That’s great, man. So why are you so secretive about it with the crew?"

He knits his brows, “They’re jealous. They’re always laughing at me, telling me that she’s nothing but a whore, that she isn’t faithful to me, that her job allows her to meet plenty of guys who will pay money to hang out with her. They say she’s not serious, but just having a good time with me. They say I should just look for a real relationship in the Philippines, like they all do.” His eyes glisten, “But Henry, I’m in love with this girl. Look at her! She’s so beautiful!”

I look at the pictures again. In one photo, Manuel’s got his flabby Superman arms wrapped around her as they perch on a barstool. His face is the image of pure contentment. In another, she rolls her eyes at the idea of being photographed behind the bar’s cash register. The third is a portrait shot of her in front of a line of fancy skyscrapers, not in Cape Town. In the last, a dog yips at her legs in her backyard.

When I ask where she lives, the name of the suburb reveals that it is one of the areas built for “poor whites” during the apartheid era. Apparently her family came to South Africa from Mozambique in the 1970s when the liberation war sent the Portuguese colonials packing.

“So do you have serious plans with this woman?” I ask.

“I’ve asked her to marry me three times already!” he exclaims.

“What?!” I jump.

“Yes, I want to marry this girl, but she says that she wants to take her time about it. She’s still in her early twenties, so wants to have a few more experiences in her life before she gets married. But I’m in my thirties, I’m ready now.”

As I keep thumbing through the few photos, I ask where the one with the fancy buildings was taken. Manuel’s embarrassed now, “This one is actually in Hong Kong.”

“Wow, so she’s well-traveled!” I enthuse.

He emits a nervous laugh, “Yah, kind of. Uh, actually, a rich Chinese businessman who she met at the club offered her a trip to Hong Kong.” He quickly reassures me, “But it didn’t mean anything, it was just a holiday. She said that she didn’t do anything with the man, but just wanted to have a different experience. You know, travel a little. But she didn’t do anything with him. Nothing. I know. I trust her.”

I battle to compose my face to look convinced, “I’m sure you’re right, Manuel.” I can see that he is struggling too, anxiety creeping across his brow. I switch back to safer ground, “OK, so…still, do you think you’ll get married?”

Manuel’s back on a high again. “Oh yes, definitely. She just needs time. And after this trip to Cape Town, I’m sure she’ll be ready.”

Manuel wants to take Christy to the Philippines, maybe even give up his sailing career so that they can live together, as proper husband and wife, near his family. He might even take up that import-export job if she comes. He’ll build her a house too! And she can have lots of dogs! Etc.

He’s got two days in Cape Town this time, then another two in three weeks time. But he has no idea if he will ever come back to South Africa as a sailor. His agency can hire him out to any company on any route. It's just been Manuel’s luck to get to Cape Town enough times to fall hopelessly in love with a dockside woman.

Pro/Positions: Guide to Positions on Prostitution

Radical feminists demand the abolition of prostitution, Christians decry the moral degeneration that sex work represents, and libertarians say "let 'em do what they want."

Prostitution—commodified sexual relations—is one of the most fraught issues in Western society. Discursively, it is a minefield of opposing arguments and positions. For my research, I have had to engage with a vast literature on the subject. And I've engaged in many fruitful discussions with academics, sex workers, and other interested parties. I'd like to briefly discuss some of the major viewpoints that currently shape our understanding of this field.

There is no neat way to delineate the various positions, but for convenience, I divide them into feminist and non-feminist approaches. This bifurcation recognizes the powerful role of feminism in changing the nature of discussion about sex work over the last few decades.

FEMINIST POSITIONS

The broad feminist camp would include abolitionists, romantics, sex worker rights activists, and harm reductionists.

ABOLITIONISTS believe that prostitution violates women's human rights, it is inherently violent and abusive, it is categorically harmful. They represent women as "victims" and men as "abusers." More than any group, they have raised awareness about the perils of prostitution, about its link to international trafficking, and the post-traumatic legacy that "survivors" often endure. For abolitionists, there is no reforming the sex trade; it must be wiped out. The women must be "rescued" from the abhorrent trade. Melissa Farley's Prostitution Research & Education, plus many others, reflect this perspective.

ROMANTICS see prostitution as a field in which women can express their aggressive or "transgressive" sexual feelings. They highlight the agency women demonstrate in their choices, their strategies with men, and their stubborn refusal to abide by "polite" social conventions. "Johns" are seen as dupes in the hands of savvy prostitutes who manipulate male desires for their own financial gain. Romantics use such striking images of "independent" women to battle the pathetic and helpless images promoted by abolitionists.

SEX WORKER RIGHTS ACTIVISTS believe that sex work should be decriminalized and reformed into a legitimate trade. Through this, sex workers should be guaranteed adequate rights and protections. Activists borrow metaphors from the trade union movement: women are to "organize" as sex "workers" in the sex "industry" and have women "represent" their needs to official structures. Sex workers should be able to count on legal protection and access to health care, treated like any other laborer in a legal workforce. In South Africa, this perspective is represented by SWEAT (Sex Worker Education and Advocacy Taskforce).

HARM REDUCTIONISTS take a pragmatic interest in the safety and health of sex workers. They believe that, given the general ineffectiveness of policing or regulating of prostitution, society should guarantee that the women can at least operate without fear of harm, disease, abuse, or treachery. As many prostitution sectors expose women to high levels of violence and viral risk, reductionists believe their protection and empowerment is a crucial first step in addressing their needs. To the extent that societies recognize the vulnerability that sex workers face from clients, cops, pimps and other locals, reductionists believe we need to at least keep them safe from foreseeable harm.

As these positions illustrate, feminist positions are far from monolithic. But they all recognize the vulnerability of the women in the trade. Their differences revolve around strategies for empowering them.

NON-FEMINIST POSITIONS

The non-feminist camp would include religious moralists, patriarchal legalists, libertarians, and chauvinists. There is no ideology that ties them together except their relative indifference to the health of the women.

RELIGIOUS MORALISTS argue against prostitution through religiously coded language, often seeing it as a sin, a pollution of one's body ("temple"), and an abuse of the "God-given gift" of sexuality. They believe that uncontrolled sexual expression—especially female—goes against God's design of sex within the bounds of marriage. They deem prostitution an abomination, but they are also keen to "save" and "redeem" the women who have been "lost" to this "sinful" activity. Male purchasers are rarely targets of moralists' campaigns, but most believe that anyone involved in that exchange needs to repent and seek "God's grace."

PATRIARCHAL LEGALISTS support historical legislation that criminalizes the selling of sex, but not its purchase. In South Africa, this is codified in the apartheid-era Sexual Offences Bill of 1957 which is still in force today. Parliament is currently debating the bill in hopes of changing certain clauses; but many "law and order" types believe that the basic tenets of the old law should remain. They promote the status quo which places the burden of social stigma and legal vulnerability on female sellers of sex. Few explicitly claim that men deserve more rights than women, but their promotion of current legal standard reinforces a tradition of gender bias. Legalists believe that the government must be actively involved in "controlling" or at least "regulating" vice.

LIBERTARIANS see commodified sexual relations between two consenting adult as fine. They believe that the government should not interfere in the "private" realm of non-coercive sex. To the extent that such activity is free of harm, they say let the market regulate it.

CHAUVINISTS believe that "boys will be boys," that male sexual urges are natural and inevitable, and that they need outlets for their passions, including prostitution. This perspective comes through from so-called cultural traditionalists and through masculinist forms of popular culture. Cultural traditionalists place the onus of sexual moral probity on females, relieving men of responsibility for their sexual actions. Women are deemed the moral bedrock of the community, of morality, of domesticity, of family, etc. Traditionalists leave women to face public opprobrium while they praise men for going about their "natural" ways.

Young people under the influence of American rap music—depicting sexually expressive females as "bitches" and "hos"—often reveal a double-standard in their values. In the popular Usher track, "Yeah," Ludacris concludes his rap with the statement "we want a lady in the street but a freak in the bed." The idea here is that the qualities of a "lady" and a "freak" are oppositional, or at least non-coterminous. Such binaries derive from classic Victorian oppositions, like the "Madonna/whore" complex.

CONCLUSION

Most people identify with different positions depending on the context. In the face of abolitionist arguments, we may insist that not all prostitutes are hapless victims. But in the face of romantic arguments, we may highlight the ways in which women can be victimized through the trade. Ultimately, most of us sympathize with certain elements of a number of positions, especially when we are confronted with the sheer diversity of prostitution experiences, sectors, and contexts. We should be cautious of asserting blanket recommendations for all prostitutes. The industry is just too diverse for one-size-fits-all solutions.

Clarifying the ideological foundations—and limits—of each position is crucial for formulating intelligent responses to this fraught issue. Understanding the distinctions between each perspective—and what is at stake between them—can help us better communicate with each other about our own thoughts on this question. Even a rudimentary appreciation of other people's position will allow us to better determine whether we want to abolish, reform, preserve, or embellish prostitution in our society. Or some combination thereof.

Male Needs & Prostitution Sectors

The needs and constraints of sex-buying men determine the logic and structure of the different prostitution sectors. Though most analyst's focus on female sellers, it is the johns who actually determine the shape of each prostitution niche.

For instance, the dockside sex sector caters explicitly to the needs and constraints of transient foreign seamen. Their transience and foreignness, as well as their work life and social demands, forces prostitutes to accommodate them in certain ways. Truck-stop women cater to truckers who also have special work-related constraints. Courtesans cater to international businessmen. Call-girls cater to local middle- and upper-class men. It is not that the women who dictate the profile of the sector; they participate in a sector that is already structured around the needs of men. It's a case of sellers meeting the buyers' demands.

So what are the sailors' needs and constraints? How might they compare to johns' needs of other sectors?

SAFETY: Foreign sailors are particularly vulnerable to local predators who can take advantage of their relative ignorance of the city. They can rob, abuse, or injure them. Thus sailors demand safe places for their social and sexual recreation. Without safety and security, they will not proceed with sexual negotiations.

From the 1970s, dockside nightclubs have provided a safe space for foreign seamen to drink and socialize with their mates, to enjoy the companionship of local women through dancing and conversation, and to engage in negotiations with a women for a post-club tryst. (Before this time, brothels were mor