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Excerpt by Dame Catherine Healy, delivered at the solidarity workshop held in Brisbane November 2024.
The long road to recognition
Sex workers in Aotearoa New Zealand have for decades advocated for a supportive social environment – one that upholds our rights, safety, health, and well-being. My own journey into sex work and activism did not start with understanding – like many, my first encounters with sex workers were shaped by media, literature, and film. Inevitably, sex workers are often depicted in a one-dimensional light, as being the focus of pity rather than people with agency. My first conscious awareness of meeting a sex worker was as uncomfortable as it was memorable. It was the 1970’s and as a newly minted teacher, I became aware a flat mate was working in the industry. Understandably, her fury at my assumption that she needed rescuing, from what I perceived to be her dreadful predicament, impacted on my awareness, or lack thereof sex workers and their agency. “Who are you, to tell me what I should and should not be doing” she asked. Her wrath was unexpected. I, of course, was poised to be her saviour, to rescue her, and find another way for her to support herself.
The struggles that unite us
A few years later, my life as a teacher was good but after 9 years in the classroom and at age of 30, and then through sheer luck, I found my way into sex work, and the rest is history. I became heavily committed to working for the rights of sex workers. Teachers had a strong union, and sex workers had none. HIV was on the horizon, the police were entrapping us, the courts were prosecuting us, and media was shaming us and we had no labour rights. So in 1980’s, we started building our movement determined to bring solidarity across diverse sex worker communities and move beyond the constraints of a hostile legislative framework, that cast us as being less deserving of equal rights and protections.
There were impediments to our sex worker solidarity movement - criminalisation (in the early days of our movement) weighed heavily on us, reinforcing a cloud of injustice. Stepping out, even today, comes with consequences. Vocal sex workers are not usually embraced as full and deserving citizens. Discrimination and stigma rain hard on our lives.
It’s no surprise that the symbol for international sex worker solidarity is the red umbrella, declaring that we need not only protection from a myriad of harms, but also recognition. And, of course, red is the color of love. What’s love got to do with it? Yet, sex workers aren’t usually portrayed as lovable.
Sex worker categories can be stretched to include and exclude; perceptions that there are more deserving sex workers – usually those who are trafficked, coerced or worse, murdered – may elicit sympathy. Attitudes towards sex workers from the media, some radical feminists, and faith-based fundamentalists, play out these approaches. There are many challenges to face as we continue to build our sex worker rights-based solidarity movement, to achieve our rightful place in the world.
Sex work is work
There is a well-known description, coined by the colonial writer Rudyard Kipling that ‘prostitution is the oldest profession.’ Kipling would not have been using this description as a compliment, nor to acknowledge the positive value of sex workers. It was Carol Leigh, a sex worker and activist from San Francisco, who in the 1970’s, introduced us to the terminology, sex worker and sex work. This has been adopted by sex workers and allies from around the globe. It’s a galvanizing, respectful, framing of our working lives. Sex workers in the organization I represent and beyond, will say unequivocally, ‘sex work is work so if you stand with us, you will need to recognize this’. It’s our foundation stone for solidarity. It’s our global catch cry.
Borders, stigma, and the fight for equal rights
It's important to acknowledge my place on the platform of privilege. I crossed an international border, loaded with the backing of other privileges, for one, my passport identity won’t attract scrutiny. This is not to say my heart isn’t pounding. it’s the idea that my sex work history will trip me up as I queue for acceptance at the border. Queuing for acceptance at borders is a global reality for most sex workers. The borders are everywhere metaphorical and literal. And acceptance is in scarce supply.
There are numerous settings to trip up sex workers: A visit to a sexual health clinic, should be an affirming experience- with welcoming, non-judgmental staff, with attitudes that embrace and support sex workers. At least, this is what is hoped for. However, disclosing as a sex worker in health settings may backfire. It could trigger an overly zealous interest, with a reach into those parts of our lives we’re not there to discuss. Seemingly well-meaning comments from the health professional such as, “I think you’re very brave, and I could never do what you do,” may sound supportive, but not a sex worker, it can reinforce othering – a subtle yet powerful form of exclusion. There are more extreme and hostile responses, where whole institutions dump on the sex worker persona. In Aotearoa, there have been examples of sex workers being ‘outed’ or doxed, to undermine not only the credibility of the sex worker, but those with whom they associate. A recent high profile court case was peppered with what I would consider many unnecessary references to sex workers. Intimate texts were shared describing sexual fantasies that the defendant had exchanged with a sex worker. It seemed like unnecessary padding, titillating for a packed court room, but irrelevant as evidence. It wasn’t the sex worker on trial, but it sure felt like this was the sub text.
The “Whorearchy” and internal Divides
In our movement towards solidarity, it is important to understand the destructive nature whorearchy – the concept of an acceptable whore. The acceptable whore is for the most part well behaved, and out of sight. Ideally, the acceptable whore is under control and managed by a brothel operator. It supports the idea that sex workers can’t be trusted to manage themselves in the context of their sex work. And yet, managers are sometimes demonized,their managerial skills overridden with negative labels like pimp, creating images of gun toting coercive thugs.
So, in our solidarity movement it’s important to avoid categorizing sex workers by creating demarcations in law or policy, that when enacted cause harm. People choose to migrate for work and other reasons. Sex workers are no different. In Aotearoa we have decriminalized most activities related to sex work for most sex workers, (and it’s the same in most states and territories in Australia) but watch out if you dare to do sex work as a migrant worker in New Zealand. The immigration and sex work law in my country prevents people who are on
temporary work visas from doing sex work and will deport them if discovered. This clause in our legislation has been identified by our Human Rights Commission as an enabler of trafficking, and the UN CEDAW committee, that advises the UN on the international convention on ways to eliminate all forms of discrimination has told our government it needs to be amended. We stand in solidarity with migrant sex workers. But when others stand with us, it matters!
The role of allies in our movement
Allyship is important to our movement. We recognize there are portals through which we can reach out to engage new allies. Sometimes, we won’t align completely with their way of viewing sex work, and the issues we face, but there may be scope to build bridges, foster trust, and make a difference to improve our space in the world.
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This blog is adapted from the address that Catherine Healy gave at the 3rd regional workshop on solidarity held by the Global health Solidarity Project in November 2024.
Dame Catherine Healy is the National Coordinator of the Aotearoa New Zealand Sex Workers’ Collective