1 Introduction
Sex work – especially prostitution – is often described as ‘the world’s oldest profession’,1 even by sex workers and their supporters and advocates. But if sex work was a profession, never mind the oldest one, then those who carry out the labour of sex work, namely, sex workers, would not feel quite so compelled to try to collectively and independently organize themselves as they have done in order to fight for their rights and interests. This is because professions, whether new or old like accountancy, law, medicine and teaching2 and which make claim to a monopoly of specialist knowledge, exert substantial control over entry into their own ranks and then internally regulate themselves, making themselves into powerful professional collectives able to pursue their collective self-interest. They also are accorded large measures of respect and worth by society and its elites. So being a profession provides the structures and resources of influence and power as well as legitimacy to exist and operate in pursuit of a group’s collectives interests. The legitimacy involves marking out a respected place and role for the profession, where society is widely believed not only to benefit from the work of the profession but also be unable to function properly without it. None of this is true so far or to any significant extent for sex work and sex workers.3 Consequently, sex workers have sought to organize themselves into their own collective agencies in order to fight for their interests, namely, collective organizations to exert control over their work and working lives. Many have done so by creating their own labour unions or by joining existing ones. This study not only tells this story but also analyses what advances they have made so far. In so doing this study examines what obstacles sex workers have faced and still face. There is something both inherently interesting and challenging in sex workers unionizing.4 Interesting in that it is not often heard of and
seems counter-intuitive given that sex workers are seldom employees so making unionization more difficult; politically challenging in that selling sex and sexual services are seen by many as morally repugnant. But sex workers have been attempting to unionize themselves for over 30 years. This increases the importance of examining those efforts around the globe, looking at the where, why, when and how of their story as well as the successes, failures, opportunities and difficulties and present and future challenges and possibilities. In order to foreground this study, this chapter lays out its intellectual approach and the attendant theoretical and conceptual components as well as a discussion of terminologies and research methods deployed.
Components of thesis
The thesis of this book has a number of inter-connected components based upon the major ramification of the sex work as work discourse being that sex workers as workers are subject to economic exploitation by capital as part of the capitalist economic order with attendant political oppression as part of the capitalist political order. In this situation, the formation of collective interest representation – especially through unionization – is a logical and necessary next step in order to contest the terms of the wage-effort bargain (sometimes called the wage-labour bargain) and the political ideologies and structures which support it (in terms favourable to capital). And, the projects of unionization raise the prospect, however distant, of creating a transitional method for ending that exploitation and oppression (see Gall 2006:231–2). Expressed separately for clarity, there are seven inter-connected components.
First, the processes by which collectivism and unionization of sex workers are created arise from a complex combination of consciousness, ideas and conditions among sex workers. The contribution of each varies across space and time but the elementary point is that it is not simply the case that discontent over working conditions on their own – and of their own volition – lead to collectivism and unionization. For discontent to develop into grievances that may then be addressed requires social organization to be put in place and collective mobilization undertaken (quite apart from attribution being made and opportunity to act existing) (Kelly 1998). The ideas of collectivism and unionization constitute the essence of sex-worker labour unionism, namely, directed and shaped conscious collective action can be taken, and heightened states of consciousness are required to allow sex workers to perceive that unionization and consequent action can be the means for defending
and advancing their fundamental economic interests. The emphasis on consciousness and ideas is important in the case of sex workers for the sense of Marx’s ‘collective worker’ is not always present. Not only do sex workers often not work together but they do not work together in the creation of a singular service and, on top of that, such generation of service is often carried out in competition with each other and through direct contact and negotiation with the purchaser of services.
The second is that unionization has been selected by a number of sex workers, from among those who have chosen to be active in sex-worker collective action and organization, as the preferred modus operandi for representing their collective interests, marking it out as an advance on other forms of sex worker collective organization. This is because it represents an attempt to organize sex workers as workers and does so in regard of both the economic and political regulation of their work. Given the radical view that workers’ power quintessentially arises within the workplace and within the economic exchange between capital and labour, this represents an advance in ideology and consciousness. Traditionally, sex-worker collective organization has sought to reform the political and moral regulation of sex work. In this guise, sex workers are cast more as citizens who are sex workers (than as workers who are sex workers). But, as with workers more generally, those of advanced collective consciousness and collective organization are a minority making the achievement of effective representation of their collective interests a demanding challenge.
The third is the sense of a cyclical process to sex-worker unionization, whereby the trajectory is explosion, stabilization and implosion and this is repeated as other successor unions move through the same cycle. Explosion not only involves a rapid increase in volume and a release of energy but also makes a change to the surrounding environment while stabilization involves a balance of internal and external forces permitting existence, and implosion involves destruction and collapse as a result of superior external forces and disintegration of internal forces. This suggests not only are there limits to the success of sex-worker unionization projects but that those succeeding their now predecessors may not operate in any more of a conducive environment because of the existence and actions of predecessors.
The fourth is that compulsion to form and practise sex-worker labour unionism varies not just across space and time but also across groups of sex workers and individual sex workers. Thus, those that constitute the sex workers activists are primarily the progenitors of sex-worker unions which other sex workers join and became active within (to
whatever extent). For these progenitors, the importance of the idea of unionization, especially as part of a wider struggle for social justice for sex workers and workers per se, as well as the advanced consciousness that creates the effort and resources to put this into practice, suggest that a radical ideology is a critical – if not dominant – component leading to the creation of the collective agencies of labour unions. In this process, collectivism can precede unionization and, to some extent, unionization can precede (wider) collectivism.
The fifth is that sex-worker unionization has tended towards forms of labour unionism that can be best described as a hybrid of social movement unionism because of the nature of the relationship, on the one hand, between sex workers and sex-industry capitalists and, on the other, because of regulation of the sex industry by the state. With regard to the former, the widespread absence of fixed workplaces and employed status as well as peripatetic working patterns have compelled adoption of this particular form or approach. With regard to the latter, substantial legal and public policy regulation has meant a number of hurdles exist for sex-worker unionization that do not exist for other workers’ unionization. Among these are criminalization of selling sexual services and registration as sex workers to gain welfare benefits but which brings with it opprobrium. This particular form or approach of labour unionism does not fixate on the place of work as the locus of organizing. Instead, it seeks to influence workplace regulation from without the workplace, especially by seeking allies in wider civil society. To the extent it is practised and how it is practised raise issues about whether the labour unionism should be characterized as a form of collective pressure-group politics (like a social movement) and not as labour unionism per se.
The sixth is that the diversity of activities and structure within the sex industry is sufficiently great as to preclude homogeneity and commonality being its main features. This is not a case of not seeing the wood (capitalist sex work) but for the trees (contours of sex work under capitalism). Rather, it is to recognize that in analysing the political economy of labour, work and employment within the sex industry (and especially in regard of unionization) there is sufficient difference to obviate the utility of a ‘one size fits all’ approach. The differences are in degree as well as kind at the micro- and meso- (but not macro-) levels. One of the most pertinent consequences of this horizontal stratification is that not all objective sex workers see themselves subjectively as sex workers. In other words, a common ‘industry’ consciousness is militated against, adding to the effect of vertical stratification in regard to developing a
common ‘industry’ consciousness. The seventh component, following from these, is that there is a heavily contingent nature to labour unionism among sex workers whereby i) legalization of sex work (especially prostitution) – rather than decriminalization – has been shown to be either necessary but not sufficient in itself to facilitate further unionization or an obstacle to it; and ii) sex-worker unions have, thus, been thrust into the role of political (rather than economic) campaigning organizations. These seven components come together when diagnosis is combined with prognosis (in terms of a means to shape future developments in sex worker unionism).
Sufficient time has now elapsed since the first sex-worker unionization projects came into being to allow more than an exploratory analysis of emerging phenomena (cf. Gall 2006, 2007). Indeed, the first wave of sex-worker unionization projects took place from the 1980s and 1990s in a number of the most advanced economies (Gall 2006) and these have been added to subsequent waves (especially in the 2000s) in other advanced and not-so-advanced economies covering both the global north and global south. This, coupled with identifiable outcomes and trajectories, allows not only a less tentative diagnosis of the conditions and dynamics for sex-worker unionization but also a prognosis in terms of what is needed to extend its presence and effectiveness. To this extent, this research has policy and practical implications that are critically supportive of sex-worker unionization projects. The prognosis takes its clearest form when the model of an occupational form of labour unionism, infused with social-movement unionism, is proffered as being necessary to help ‘square the circle’ of workers who have no employed status, are in direct competition with each other and work in small groups in hostile legal, moral and regulatory environments. In order to make the analysis of sex-worker unionization projects as robust and rigorous as possible, other forms of collective non-union interest representation will also be examined. These are principally class-action law suits, semi-spontaneous worksite actions and worker cooperatives. This provides not only for points of comparative assessment in terms of alternative means of progressing and advancing the representation of sex-worker interests but also may help explain the presence and absence of sex-worker unionization (and its quality and quantity thereof), particularly by contemplating whether the alternative means are complementary or competitive. Moreover, it may help also evaluate the generalized challenges facing sex-worker collective self-organization, mostly obviously including providing insights into those of a union form.
Intellectual perspective
The approach of this study is one of radical political economy where politics and economics are believed to be co-joined, together with the result that the key thematic components are material interests, power and ideology. It is contended that all lower-order aspects and issues can be more than adequately accommodated, appreciated and analysed within this framework and the complex, dynamic inter-relationship of its three parts. This is because this framework has the virtue of totality as well as being both systemic and deep-seated. It is taken as a given that this is a radical political economy of capitalism where its two key characteristics are the drive to create profits (surplus value) and the division between capital and labour produces social classes. Out of these arise exploitation and oppression of labour (workers) and betterment and benefication for capital. Here the thematic components of material interests, power and ideology can be seen, including their superior and inferior contexts for capital and labour respectively. But to intellectually contemplate sex workers unionizing themselves and unions unionizing sex workers, several additional foundations are necessary.5
The first is the perspective that ‘sex work’ is viewed as a legitimate form of employment and economic activity and as such requires unionization to reduce the exploitation and oppression of sex workers associated with it. The second is the related perspective that sex workers perform sexual labour comprising emotional, erotic and manual or physical labours which are but variants of more conventional wage labour (particularly in regard to ‘emotional’ labour performed by service workers and which relies on social skills). Reinforcing these is a political awakening in the consciousness of those who are usually and conventionally regarded as downtrodden and super-exploited women (and who are often regarded as victims and unchaste) and the sex industry representing a large and growing form of economic activity that has become corporatized. Even though the labour is often relatively hidden from public view and there are no official censuses, hundreds of thousands of workers are believed to engage in this corporatized economic activity throughout the world.
That said, this study does not explore the discourse of sex work as work, erotic labour comprising emotional and physical labour, the managing and coping techniques deployed by sex workers, the size of the sex work industry and its profitability, new technology’s role in revolutionizing sex work, and so on, because these tasks were undertaken previously (see Gall 2006) and subsequent developments in the
salient scholarship and research have merely confirmed this knowledge and understanding. Nevertheless, a brief re-statement of the sex-work discourse is warranted (see also Gall 2006:23–5).
Sex as work
The key foundation for organizing sex workers is the perspective, on the one hand, that the work of sex is sex work, namely, a form of service work, and, on the other, of viewing sex workers as workers who have nothing to sell to survive economically but their labour, making them wage labourers. The labour of sex work and sex workers is then deemed to be of sufficient levels of moral legitimacy as well as social worth as a form of employment to be comparable to other forms of labour and paid employment that are deemed worthy and acceptable to organize. The perspective is also of sex workers selling sexual services and not their bodies and persons per se. A distinction is not especially made between acts that involve the selling of sex itself and selling sexual stimulation, or between those acts which involve entering a body, acting on another body or entering personal spaces and those that involve the production of such imagery and experiences. Allied to this, sex work is viewed as comprising work that can be socially useful and can provide job satisfaction, personal fulfilment, empowerment and self-actualization, where becoming a sex worker can be a genuine life choice. The conditions of this potentiality are acknowledged to presently exist to some extent and can be enhanced in the future under different conditions, namely, of sex-worker control through decriminalization. However, it is recognized that alongside these potential benefits, there are downsides in terms of violence, stigmatization, poor pay and conditions of employment, and job and employment insecurity. These downsides are believed to exist as much from the way in which society and the state view and regulate sex work as they are about the selling of sex and sexual services under capitalism.
The discourse emerged from the 1970s onwards in response to two stimuli, namely, an attempt to deal more efficiently and effectively with challenges facing prostitutes (of stigma, harassment and violence) and to respond to the ‘prostitution as rape, misogyny and male power’ discourse of the radical feminism. At the core of the sex work discourse is a view that the abolition of sex work in the short- to medium-term is neither possible nor desirable. Consequently, reform and changes in law, regulation and social values are believed to present more attainable and desirable goals. To flesh out the aforementioned basic exposition, and
following from an earlier representation (Gall 2006:23–5), the sex-work discourse is defined as comprising the following beliefs, assumptions and propositions:
• The production, distribution and exchange, often called ‘selling’, of sex, sexual services and sexual artefacts are a means of economic subsistence or income for the wage-labourers that carry them out and represent the selling of wage labour, regardless of variations in the real or formal employment relationship contained therein.
• ‘Selling’ of sex, sexual services and sexual artefacts represents one of the main aspects of the commodification of sex under capitalism. ‘Selling’ represents the transformation of labour into an exchange value, and the labour involved in addition to any physical labour, is primarily of an emotional and psychological nature because of the direct interaction with the consumer where a marketable persona is constructed that represents an alienation or estrangement from the inherent self, creating dissonance. Consequently, the labour is denoted as ‘erotic’ labour and can be subsumed with the category of ‘service work’.
• Sex work – the labour involved in generating sex, sexual services and sexual artefacts – is not solely the result of economic coercion but also of choice albeit from a narrowed range of options determined by other social forces. Lack of choice represents an environment of both inequality of opportunity and outcome, compelling personal and individual decisions in constructing life chances. Where sex work is coerced by a third party, particularly through trafficking, this should be recognized as such but without negating the existence of (voluntary) migrant sex workers.
• Sex work represents a rational choice and action given limitations on work and employment opportunities. Its abolition would deny sex workers a means of subsistence and sustaining themselves and their dependants.
• Sex work can under certain circumstances offer benefits vis-à-vis remuneration and working conditions (hours, autonomy, selfdirection, job satisfaction) superior to many jobs available to those without much in the way of skills, qualification and job experience as well as be superior to living on state benefits.
• Carrying out sex work requires certain social and inter-personal skills (such as emotional intelligence, disassociation, deep acting) as well as knowledge. Together, these represent the ability to perform the work of erotic labour.
• Many of the problems associated with sex work for sex workers relate to stigmatization, criminalization and discrimination and the subsequent marginalization and social exclusion (in addition to any legal discrimination or neglect).
• Sex workers require a series of legal rights as workers and in relation to dominant patterns of economic and political power relations in order protect and advance their interests in regard to non-payment of wages, unfair dismissal, victimization and the like.
• Sex work should be regulated as conventional work is, and this ordinarily requires decriminalization rather than legalization.
• Sex work involves negotiation by sex workers with employers, facilitators or operators (e.g. club owners) and customers providing potential leverage points by individual and collective means for improving remuneration and working conditions.
• Sex workers, as workers, manufacture identities and strategies in order to exercise control over effort, remuneration, safety and the like in the same way other workers as workers do.
• It is inconsistent, illogical and harmful to argue, and operationalize, the position of ‘for sex workers, against sex work’.
To summarize, the sex-work discourse does not subscribe to the ‘happy hooker’ or ‘belle de jour’ notion in rejecting sex work is a form of ‘dirty work’ (as per Hughes 1962), and sex work under capitalism creates the objective need for sex workers to advance and defend their interests (economic, political) through collective organization and action. In toto, the need for unionization shows the conditions of sex work are far from perfect but they can be ameliorated and improved. Indeed, a number of studies have indicated that any initial sense of freedom and satisfaction can deteriorate as the ‘novelty wears off’ so that more realistic self-appraisals of exploitation and oppression develop later on (see, for example, Lewis 2006, Barton 2002, 2006).
Sex work and slavery
Sex workers, especially prostitutes, are often portrayed in popular and radical feminist discourses as ‘selling their bodies’, invoking images of sexual slavery. This appears to be self-evident as sex workers, again especially prostitutes, decide themselves to ‘sell’ themselves directly to customers. Ruth Breslin of Eaves, a prostitute rescue organization, argued: ‘Work is selling your labour, not selling your body. … It is one of the oldest forms of slavery’ (Morning Star 3 August 2009). But sex
workers do not sell their bodies. If it were possible given that slaves are sold by one party to another and if they did, sex workers would sell themselves into slavery and would not be able to ‘sell’ themselves again (given they would be the property of another). Only another can sell a person into slavery whereupon the labour conducted becomes forced, not free. It is not economic compulsion (for food, shelter) in the main that makes slaves work; it is coercion and ownership. Rather sex workers, prostitutes in particular, sell their labour to provide sexual services and they do so under conditions of mainly free labour. Free labour represents a situation where the worker is free to sell his or her labour or to starve (assuming there is no safety net of a welfare state). There is economic compulsion for the person to sell their labour as they have no independent resources with which to subsist and their choice of to whom to sell their labour may be limited but it is a choice nonetheless. And it is on this basis that it is possible to envisage the demands of sex workers for means by which to regulate the sale of their labour, determine its price and the conditions under which it is performed. Hence, there is a potential role to be played by unionization.
Terminology and definitions
Throughout this study, the term ‘industry’ is used to collectively describe the economic and social organization of the selling of sexual services and the labour necessary to undertake this. Because of the connotations with manufacturing (rather than being industrious), ‘industry’ does not seem the most appropriate term but it is widely used and one which is less cumbersome than describing all the different sectors that comprise the ‘industry’. And while little of a physical nature is made in the sex industry by sex workers given that they are essentially service workers, the term ‘sex trade’ is also problematic (see below). So, although far from perfect, the term ‘sex industry’ is used in this study, where industry in the singular does not preclude recognition of its considerable internal heterogeneity and sex workers moving in and out, as well as across the different sectors, of the ‘industry’.
The term ‘labour unionism’, and not ‘trade unionism’, is used for two reasons. First, ‘trade unionism’ no longer describes what most unions are – they are no longer unions of trades and most workers no longer have trades as such. Second, although sex workers often ‘trade’ sex and the industry is sometimes referred to as the ‘sex trade’, there is no sufficiently wide consensus that the work of sex workers constitutes a trade in either objective or subjective terms. Indeed, such is the diversity
of the sex industry it would be inappropriate to talk of a single ‘trade’ should ‘trade’ be deemed acceptable and appropriate in other ways. The term ‘project’ is heavily used to indicate the nascent and fragile nature of ventures to establish sex-worker unionization and to encompass both (new) unions being formed by sex workers and sex workers joining existing unions.
Although carrying clearly derogatory connotations, the term ‘prostitutes’ is used to specifically denote sex workers who carry out physical sexual services (vaginal or anal intercourse, oral penetration, masturbation) for, as yet, there is no satisfactorily alternative term in existence. Using the term ‘sex worker’ for prostitutes lacks specificity, and the intersections between the different activities of sex work are still insufficiently wide to militate against sex work being a one-size-fits-all term where precision of definition is concerned. This situation arises because the sex work discourse has yet to generate a suitable substitute term. The term ‘exotic dancer’ is used when ‘erotic dancer’ could alternatively be used given possible racialized connotations of the former. However, the term ‘exotic’ is widely used and understood, with dancers themselves using it, and ‘erotic’ is a term used to refer to a wider array of acts of labour than are involved in dancing (even when the dancers perform acts of prostitution).
Following from the above, and given the central concern of this study with sex-worker unionization, it is critical to outline the definition of labour unionism (especially when the common conception of a union in terms of its workplace presence does not make labour unionism seem appropriate for all sex workers in quite the same way). So for most workers, the conception of a labour union is of a body of employees in a workplace coming together to form a collective organization that results in the creation of a workplace union with workplace representatives and where their work is carried out in fixed and semi-permanent places and is of a fixed and a semi-permanent nature. The purpose of the labour union is to focus upon economic and workplace justice for workers by negotiating improved terms for the wage-effort bargain as well as influencing the organization of work on terms favourable to workers by creating collective leverage over the employer. In essence, labour unionism is concerned with collectively regulating the wageeffort bargain. Its key resources are its activists and its members’ collective power – when mobilized through industrial action – at the points (i.e. workplaces) of production, distribution and exchange. The key motif of labour unionism is then described in the slogans of ‘unity is strength’, ‘united we stand, divided we fall’ and ‘an injury to one
is an injury to all’. Yet because workers are the weaker party in the employment relationship with capital, labour unions also seek to influence the state to regulate employers and capitalism by intervening in the political arena (often through sponsoring political parties). Yet any political intervention is anchored upon collective regulation of the wage-effort bargain. It is the sine qua non. The emphasis on ‘servicing’ or ‘organizing’ orientations (see Gall and Fiorito 2011) comes after these foundations are laid.
A number of other components of labour unionism also need outlining. Any union is a voluntary, collective (sic) association of citizens whose purposes can be many and varied throughout civil society. The modus operandi is that by pooling resources together in a solidaristic fashion, common interests can be more effectively prosecuted. While a labour union has this in common with a union of citizens, the essential rationale of labour unionism as a union of workers is to reduce competition among workers and, thereby, leverage up the economic value of the terms and conditions given by employers in the wage-effort bargain. This is the fundamental sense of strength in numbers. Consequently, a labour union is quintessentially a collective organization of workers for workers and by workers and which is concerned with collectively negotiating the terms of the wage-effort bargain and collectively establishing job control to co-determine the organization of work. Labour unionism is not simply about collective strength and collective protection but the specific ends it is used for. This also means former workers (like retired workers) can only play a supporting role.
For most sex workers, there is no de jure employed status (which generates the traditionally understood bilateral capital–labour relationship), worksites are neither fixed nor semi-permanent and neither is the nature of work. This makes traditionally understood labour unionism seem at first sight inappropriate. Moreover, the nature of the economic exchange is often trifurcated given the presence of customers and negotiation of prices and effort with customers. The extent of direct negotiation with customers may range from being substantial where sex workers are owner operators, i.e. genuinely self-employed, and where the market of supply and demand allows, to very little where owners and operators of clubs and brothels set the prices and standards for varying acts of labour, namely, services. So long as there is an agent (such as an owner or operator of a sex-work establishment like a strip-club, brothel or escort agency) that contracts sex workers to provide it with labour and then regulates this labour, comprising work and its associated activities, then there is a potential bargaining partner for labour unionism. This is true even
though some sex workers are compelled to pay to work (exotic dancers’ rent of a stage, brothel prostitutes’ rent of a room) and take on an element of entrepreneurial risk in doing so. Indeed, it is hard to conceive of a situation where the contractor of sex-work labour does not seek in practice to regulate the labour of sex workers (even when on occasion barred in law from so doing) because doing so is vital to the ability to generate profit (and where no external agency supplies the labour). Where there is no operator, with sex workers facing customers in a completely bilateral relationship (and one of economic consumption) then there is no prospect of identifying a bargaining partner for regulating the ‘wage’ element of the terms of economic exchange.
In this context of sex workers working effectively as contract labourers, what is likely to be more appropriate for sex workers is a form of occupational unionism that regulates the industry at levels not predicated on the worksite. Consequently, the traditional contractual, relational, spatial and temporal dimensions are then not the be all and end all that they might otherwise be thought to be. Thus, an appropriate form of ‘unionism’ can be found for sex workers that can be classified as labour unionism because it fundamentally concerns itself with negotiating the terms of the wage-effort bargain and establishing job control by actions within the economic sphere. Concentrating only or solely upon the political regulation – via decriminalization or legalization – of sex work is not tantamount to labour unionism.
Legalization refers to the situation whereby states recognize sex work as lawful activity and regulate it through licensing and registration. By contrast, decriminalization sees sex work taken out of criminal or penal codes, removing prohibitions and penalties, and treated as normal commercial activity, subject to the rules and regulations of any business. Sex workers favour decriminalization for two reasons. First, legalization creates additional state powers, with it having vested interests and reflecting dominant ideology. Second, mainstream political parties (including greens and social democrats), which are antipathetic or agnostic towards sex workers’ interests being defined by sex workers themselves and see sex work as a social problem, have a significant role to play in creating regimes of legalization.
Research methods and source materials
The materials for this study come from three sources. First, some 30 interviews with sex-worker activists, sex-worker union activists, sexworker union officers and officers of sex-worker support organizations
in Australia, Britain and the United States, and correspondence with sex-worker union activists and officers in these three countries and a number of other countries included in this study (see Appendix). Although funding was again applied for (see Gall 2006:150), none was gained for conducting fieldwork. But attendance at academic conferences in Australia and the United States allowed ‘piggybacking’ to carry out interviews. In this respect, the financial support of the universities of Hertfordshire and Bradford for conference attendance is acknowledged. Similarly, a fellowship at Griffith University in Brisbane facilitated further interviews. Within Britain, the cost of travelling to interviews was funded by the University of Hertfordshire. And, since publication of Sex Worker Union Organising (Gall 2006), it has become markedly easier to gain the access, consent and frankness in order to be able to interview sex-worker union activists.6 This is because of the favourable reception to it among sex workers in terms of its critical but sympathetic focus upon sex-worker unionization. And, as a result, those performing a ‘gatekeeping’ role facilitated access to others. Consequently, the same degree of tentativeness and caution expressed in Gall (2006:14–20) is not now so appropriate.7 Notwithstanding this, there are still gaps in the generation of primary data, particularly with regard to Germany and the Netherlands where language difficulties and dissolution of the sex-worker unionization projects meant conducting fieldwork interviews was unachievable. Where possible, email correspondence was entered into with these activists or former activists. The appendix details the fieldwork interviews and correspondence. The citing of material from email correspondence is explicit while the more copious amount of material from interviews is only cited where specific quotations are used or specific occurrences mentioned. Where there is no reference to cited material, the material has come from interviews. However, and on occasion, in order to protect interviewee anonymity where criticism of others was expressed and where working relationships were still ongoing, no attribution to a particular interviewee is made. Instead, it is merely noted that the material came from fieldwork interviews. Finally, and again to protect interviewee anonymity, publicly available material is referenced instead but only where interviewee material corroborated this.
Second, writings and reports by sex-worker activists and sex-worker union activists on their activities via their magazines, blogs, websites and postings. These have been particularly useful as activists have debated issues among themselves as part of the process of their own development of self-agency. However, because the purpose of these
writings and reports has been to proselytize in order to induce activism and exhort greater activism, they were read with a critical eye, not least because seldom was self-criticism or hard-headed analysis engaged in.8 This is all the more salient when it is recognized that sex-worker union activists are necessarily unrepresentative of sex workers by virtue of being a vanguard in terms of commitment and consciousness. Third, extensive coverage by mainstream and radical media, stimulated by titillation and challenging of contemporary conventions and mores. Coverage comprised reporting and investigations as well as analysis and think pieces so essential ‘facts’ on developments were presented while more discursive writing was also offered. Although often episodic and sometimes in response to actions of sex-worker union activism (rather than independently initiated), coverage has been particularly useful given the broad scope of this study. Thus, even where interviews were carried out, monitoring of developments was aided and where no interviewing was possible, the utility of media coverage became greater.
The three sources facilitated corroboration and a form of triangulation even if not all three could be used in parallel with each other because of restrictions on fieldwork interviews and email correspondence to a certain number of countries. Contrast between agendas and discourses of various writers in both media and among sex-worker activists also served to elucidate some of the issues for investigation. Yet this study should still be viewed as somewhat exploratory (cf. Gall 2006:20). First, greater resources (access, financial, linguistic) would be needed to provide the basis for conducting fieldwork of the same breadth and depth within the larger number of countries covered within this present study. Second, a form of counter-factual reasoning is used to help explain the processes and outcomes of sex-worker unionization in terms of why most projects have not succeeded or grown as might be hoped. This is called alter-factualism for it seeks to develop salient lines of investigation by posing legitimate alternative scenarios which organically emerge from actual processes and events. Darlington (2006) suggested this method can be productive and legitimate where, inter alia, based upon alternative courses of action that were considered at the time by actors and that historical inquiry into what might have happened can be shown to be directly related to providing a more comprehensive understanding and explanation of what did happen. It is the sense of the latter particularly which is most pertinent for this study. That said, this method is controversial within social science and difficult to operationalize. The way the difficulty is addressed is to take the approach of implicitly asking what conditions and resources would be necessary
(without being sufficient) to produce alter-factual outcomes. The sense of offering informed but tentative suggestion rather presenting definite and definitive conclusion is important for what is being argued is if the criterion of necessary conditions and resources was present then alternative outcomes could be arrived at. The approach is not so bold as to state alter-factual outcomes would be guaranteed for the complex processes of human agency are the added ingredient in deciding the what, when, how and why of using the conditions and resources for certain ends. Thus, it can be proffered, if certain conditions and resources existed alternatives outcomes would be possible, if not necessarily probable. Studying what did not happen as well as what did is a challenging task but in the case of sex-worker unionization it is essential. In keeping with this, the prognosis of what might be done with the necessary conditions and resources is suggested in the last chapter.
Approach and plan
The approach of this study has been to draw upon earlier published work (primarily Gall 2006) to provide a platform from which to describe, assess and explain developments in the intentions, processes and outcomes concerning sex-worker unionization since 2004 (the point in time at which Gall (2006) stopped). A short book aimed at activists, namely, Gall (2012), has also been used as it outlined a proposal of occupational unionism. However, there may appear to be slightly more re-treading in this current study than was to be expected given that it is based upon post-2004 developments. This has been warranted for two reasons. First, in undertaking further surveys of the literature and secondary data, a number of sources and materials about the period prior to 2004 have been unearthed that were not deployed in Gall (2006) and which merit usage. For example, a number of postgraduate theses were discovered as well as peer-reviewed journal articles which were outside the scope of feminist, gender and women’s studies that had previously been surveyed for a literature review. Consequently, where significant analyses were uncovered, some of the previous ground covered by Gall (2006) was revisited in order to be retold and re-analysed with the aid of these. Second, in order to understand the post-2004 developments, it has been necessary to foreground these in the previous literature and research (primarily Gall 2006). Put together, this current study then focuses again upon the period prior to 2004 but in doing so has a sharper focus upon deploying this consideration for the purposes of analysing post-2004 developments.
The next chapter considers the progenitors and direct antecedents of sex-work unionization as a result of discovery of new sources and materials in order to give a fuller historical grounding to contemporary developments. The first substantive chapter analyses developments in the United States and Canada in terms of their context, content, dynamics, and strengths and weaknesses. The following chapters do the same for i) Australia and New Zealand, ii) Netherlands and Germany, iii) Britain and other European countries, iv) countries in Africa, Asia and Latin America. Throughout these chapters, means and forms of non-union collective interest representation are examined to provide context so as to better judge unionization projects. However, in the following chapter on influences on unionization, these means and forms will be discussed as alternatives to labour unionism as well as whether, how and when they may operate in a complementary or supportive manner to unionization projects. This provides for a more robust and rigorous analysis of the strengths and weaknesses and opportunities and challenges of sex-worker unionization. The final chapter outlines a combined occupational and social movement form of labour unionism for sex-worker unionization. The content and structure of these chapters represents a marked advance and development from Gall (2006) in terms of not just wider geographic coverage, consideration of historical antecedents and the longer period studied but also in terms of a firmer analysis.
Conclusion
This study seeks to provide a globalized consideration of the intentions, processes and outcomes of sex-worker unionization, focusing upon the salient actors, agencies and environments. It is neither an inter-national nor a comparative study in the sense of comparison between and among different countries. Rather it is a trans-national one, whereby consideration is across and throughout countries in search of a more effective form of unionization.
2 Sex Workers before Sex Work
Introduction
The modern prostitute and, thus, sex worker, movement is commonly believed to have begun with two events in two separate cities, namely, San Francisco in 1973 and Lyon in 1975. In San Francisco, COYOTE (Call Off Your Tired Old Ethics) was founded as the first ever advocacy and pressure group for prostitutes, subsequently operating with the subtitle, ‘The Sex Workers’ Rights Organization’. In Lyon, in 1975, an occupation of a church by prostitutes was carried out to protest against lack of police vigour in arresting murderers of prostitutes and lack of adequate police protection for those who continued to work as prostitutes as well as to oppose increased police harassment through fines and imprisonment. The two events led to the emergence of a large number of other similar pressure group and advocacy organizations for prostitutes around the world over the next ten to 20 years. Part and parcel of the development of these organizations was the emergence of the sex work discourse. In time, these organizations campaigning for civil and human rights led to the emergence of proto-unions which concentrated upon the worker, labour and economic rights of sex workers. Therefore, they can be viewed as existing as antecedents which facilitated sex workers defining themselves as wider than just comprising prostitutes and provided inspiration for the creation of the organs of collective selfrepresentation of sex worker as workers. However, there are a number of historically significant antecedents that existed long before the 1970s. These are worth outlining in order to demonstrate that sex work being thought of as work and those who carry out sex work being held to be workers are not solely a product of the post-1970s. Equally, the antecedents may show that, notwithstanding difficulties, if sex work could be
categorized as work then sex workers as workers could and should be organized collectively into labour unions. So there is not inconsiderable evidence of sex workers existing in both objective and subjective senses well before and up to the aforementioned breakthroughs in 1973 and 1975. This short chapter ends with a brief consideration of the transition within the sex worker movement from pressure and advocacy groups concerned with civil rights to labour unionism concerned with worker rights.
United States
In the 1880s in Chicago, the Illinois Woman’s Alliance, led by labour and socialist activists, campaigned against the police victimization of prostitutes based on a labour relations understanding of prostitution (Tax 1980:21,66,69). Possibly helped by this influence, the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW, or Wobblies), founded in 1905 in Chicago, had no problem in campaigning for prostitutes’ rights or supporting them in collective action. Indeed, its analysis of all problems of oppression linked to class exploitation meant that prostitutes were not stigmatized, as might have been expected at this time, by radicalized workers and socialists. Prostitutes were seen as victims of capitalism. Moreover, the IWW philosophy that all workers should be enjoined in ‘one big union’, in its words, to ‘smash the boss class’ meant that prostitutes were as much entitled to join the ‘one big union’ as any other workers. Thus, the IWW organized prostitutes in the west of the country in the early part of the twentieth century as part of its ‘one big union’ strategy but the practical emphasis on organizing prostitutes largely concerned organizing workers who were important but ancillary workers to industrial workers. For example, prostitutes were organized to prevent strike breakers from being allowed custom. This was at odds with the view of founding and influential IWW member, Lucy Parsons, who argued for organizing prostitutes as prostitutes in their own right. Indeed, the IWW tended to believe women working as prostitutes indicated inadequacy in male worker wages such that, were they higher, then women working as prostitutes would be unnecessary and consequently families would be able to have women remain in the home to rear children, and the like. Evidence of IWW-influenced prostitutes being organized to defend and advance their own interests is less clear. For example, there is some dispute about whether a walkout of prostitutes in New Orleans in April 1907 was organized by the IWW or whether the prostitutes were merely associated with the IWW.
Nonetheless, the strike against increase in rents instituted by the madam brothel keepers was won when prostitutes organized pickets to stop customers entering the brothels (Foner 1979:421, Hall 1999:81). But a firmer example of the IWW’s efforts is found in 1905 and 1906 in Goldfield and Rhyolite when prostitutes were recruited and collective actions taken in these mining towns (Brents et al. 2000:51). In Honolulu in Hawaii in 1942, prostitutes went on strike and picketed for three weeks to protest against specific brothels rules (primarily about the price of sex and where they could work) and the martial law that denied them their rights, including their freedom of movement. They were partially successful (Bailey and Farber 1992, Greer 2000:192, Yellin 2004:313–15).1
Burlesque artistes and dancers in the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s were members of the American Guild of Variety Artists (AGVA), which provided them with individual representation (Wilmet 1999:466, Burana 2001:150). Some reports suggested the famous burlesque artiste, Gypsy Rose Lee, attempted to unionize burlesque dancers in the early 1950s. Earlier, the Burlesque Artists’ Association (BAA) was established in 1933 (Shtier 2004:159), led by former burlesque producer, Tom Phillips, in response to 80-hour working weeks and low earnings. At its height, its paper membership was 1300, though it remained male-dominated throughout (Bouclin 2004b), up from some 900 members of whom 10 per cent paid subs (Shtier 2004:159). While one woman executive board member (and secretary) was elected in 1934, it was only in 1936 that the BAA began to represent striptease artists (Zeidman 1967). The same year, the BAA was successful in obtaining a charter from the Associated Actors and Artists of American (AAAA) and achieved a closedshop union, effectively increasing the minimum wage for entertainers to $22.50 per week and rehearsal time was cut to 15 hours a week. But as Zeidman (1967) noted, it was ironic that the BAA was most successful and active just before the decline of the burlesque industry. Equally so was that, in 1937, the BAA changed its name to the Brother Artists’ Association, reflecting the temper of the times and removing itself from association with burlesque (Zeidman 1967:216). However, in 1940, AGVA began to represent some dancers through recognition agreements, contracts for minimum wage, and casual engagement contracts. But it was compelled to abandon striptease artists when the Federal Court classified them as ‘independent contractors’ (Wilmet 1999:466). This meant that they could no longer be covered by union recognition and collective bargaining agreements. Around the same time, the Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees (HERE) union organized
Playboy ‘bunny girls’ in Detroit, gaining a collective bargaining contract there in 1964, and then a national collective bargaining contract for eight Playboy Clubs, covering 500 women ‘bunnies’, in 1969 (Cobble 1991b:128–9, 2010:290). These contracts involved the introduction of a wage as previously the women had earned only customer tips and HERE was able to contest Hugh Hefner’s right to determine what attractiveness was (in terms of body shape, age, costumes, and so on) as well as gain the introduction of a ‘no touching rule’. Myra Wolfgang was the HERE organizer who initiated the recruitment and recognition drive (Cobble 2004:2–3). As a labour feminist, she sent her daughter to work at the Detroit club in order to ‘salt’, namely, internally spy and organize for HERE. The campaign took seven months to realize its goal of a union contract in Detroit but longer for a national contract as Hefner organized against HERE.
Elsewhere
Prior to establishment of the Canadian Association of Burlesque Entertainers (CABE) in 1979 (see later), there were some sporadic collectivization and unionization attempts by dancers in Canada. Without normal entitlements, such as holiday pay, sick leave or pensions, dancers became aggrieved over basic issues of pay and working conditions. For example, in Vancouver in 1967, three ‘topless dancers’ picketed a club for two nights demanding higher wages, staff privileges, and a dressing room heater. They highlighted the need to organize dancers at other clubs in the city but nothing came of this. Between 1965 and 1980, while various working conditions constituted grievances, the lack of occupational identity, intra-dancer competition and absence of permanent workplaces were three key factors in militating against unionization of dancers (Ross 2000, 2006). But there were also the forces of owner/operator hostility and opposition from the union movement in regard to seeing sex work as work. Of these attempts, Althorp (2013:27–8) argued:
Given the numerous barriers, it is not surprising that attempts by Vancouver-based dancers to unionize in the late 1960s were ineffective. According to Ross (2009:329), when Vancouver dancers attempted to unionize at that time, they encountered five obstacles: a) the small and transient work force; b) competition among dancers as independent contractors; c) working conditions in a quasicriminalized, stigmatized business; d) the resolute efforts of club
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nojatuolissa, ja hänellä oli kirja polvillaan, mutta hän luki vähän.
Hänen silmänsä vaelsivat laiskasti Suuren joen leveää, sileätä pintaa, ne seurasivat vasemmalla olevan Ngombin metsän tummia
ääriviivoja ja oikealla olevan Isisin alavaa maata. Siellä täällä näkyi kylistä kohoavia savuja. Pienet kalastajainkanootit, jotka olivat ankkuroidut sopiviin paikkoihin, papukaijojen käheät huudot, pienten marakattien tirkistelevät naamat, joita hän näki laivan tullessa rannemmaksi syvään veteen, kaikki nämä huvittivat häntä enemmän kuin olivat tehneet — oh, pitkään, pitkään aikaan.
Kun hän sivuutti kylän, niin hän veti höyrypillin nuoraa, ja pikku laiva huusi tervehdyksen rannalla viittoville olennoille.
Lasi kädessään, lukematon kirja polvillaan hän tuijotti hajamielisesti ja huvittuneena maisemaa.
Ruorimies Bogindi, joka seisoi katoksen alla käsi ruorirattaassa, mainitsi hänen nimensä.
— Herra, edessäpäin on kanootissa mies, joka haluaa puhua kanssasi.
Sanders varjosti silmiään. Aivan laivan tiellä oli kanootti poikittain, ja siinä seisoi mies, jonka ojennetut kädet puhuivat halusta tärkeään palaveriin.
Vain suuret asiat, kapinat ja sellaiset, oikeuttavat kuninkaan laivan seisauttamiseen.
Sanders nojautui tuolissaan eteenpäin ja käänsi merkinantajan ensin osoittamaan: »Seis» ja sitten: »Hiljaa taaksepäin.»
Hän nousi ja katsoi miestä kiikarilla.
— Tämä on nuori mies, Abibu, sanoi hän, — ja luullakseni isisiläisiä; varmastikaan hän ei ole päällikkö pysäyttääkseen minut.
»Zaire» laski hitaasti kanootin luo, ja siinä oleva tuli laivan viereen käyttäen tarmokkaasti melaansa ja nousi laivaan.
— Kuka sinä olet, kysyi Abibu, — ja mikä suuri asia sinulla on pysäyttääksesi herramme hänen loistavalla matkallaan?
— Olen Isisin Kobolo, Togobonobon kylästä, sanoi nuori mies, ja rakastan päällikön tytärtä.
— Lähettäköön Jumala sinut vesien pohjaan, kirosi äkäinen Abibu, — että tuot saastaisen ruumiisi tälle laivalle ja häiritset herraamme hänen korkeissa mietiskelyissään. Tule, kafferi, ja sillaikaa kun sinä puhut Sandin kanssa, minä menen etsimään ruoskaa, jota hän varmasti sinulle määrää.
Niin Kobolo tuli Sandersin eteen, ja Abibu esitteli hänet sanoin, jotka eivät olleet mairittelevia.
— Tämä on outo palaver, sanoi Sanders melkein ystävällisesti, — sillä ei ole tavallista, että nuoret miehet pysäyttävät kuninkaan komissaarin laivan sen vuoksi, että rakastavat tyttöjä.
Nuori mies oli pitkä, suoraryhtinen ja leveäolkainen, eikä hän näyttänyt ensinkään katuvan outoa tekoaan. Pikemminkin hän näytti olevan hyvin vakavissaan.
— Herra, sanoi hän, — rakastan Niminiä, joka on päällikköni tytär, Togobonobon kylän päällikön. Ja kun hän on kaunis tanssija, miehet
tulevat katsomaan häntä kaukaa, ja hänen isänsä vaatii hänestä kaksituhatta matakoa, ja minä olen köyhä.
— »Isä on aina oikeassa», siteerasi Sanders, — sillä sanotaanhan
Joella: »Esine on hintansa arvoinen, ja se, mitä annat pois, ei ole minkään arvoinen.»
— Tämä nainen rakastaa minua, sanoi nuorukainen, — ja hänen vuoksensa olen säästänyt tuhat matakoa, joka, niin kuin sinun ylhäisyytesi tietää, on suuri omaisuus.
— Mitä minä voin tehdä? kysyi Sanders hymyillen harvinaisuuden vuoksi.
— Herra, sinä olet voimakas, sanoi kiihtynyt nuorukainen, — ja jos sanot hänen isälleen…
Sanders pudisti päätään.
— Ei käy, sanoi hän.
Kevätilmassa oli jotakin, hänen veressään oli jotakin, joka pani hänet toimimaan niin kuin teki, sillä hetken kuluttua hän kääntyi Abibuun.
— Ota tämä mies, sanoi hän, — ja anna hänelle…
— Herra, minulla on ruoska valmiina, sanoi Abibu ymmärtäväisenä. —
Sillä tiesin tämän hupsun loukkaavan sinua.
— Anna hänelle varastosta tuhat matakoa, jotta hän voi ostaa toiveittensa naisen.
Abibu hämmästyi hieman ja meni hitaasti täyttämään isäntänsä käskyä.
— Herra, sanoi Kobolo polvistuen komissaarin eteen, — olet kuin isäni ja äitini, ja minä maksan sinulle hyvillä sanoilla ja ajatuksilla.
— Maksa matakoilla, sanoi käytännöllinen Sanders. — Mene, ota tyttö ja Jumala sinua auttakoon!
Mutta hän ei silti ollut kyynillisellä tuulella. Pikemminkin hänen sävynsä oli lempeä, kauan kateissa olleen tunteen ailahtelua, omituista sydämen lempeyttä, joka sopi puiden tuoreuteen ja hänen ympärillään heräävään keväiseen elämään.
Hän seisoi katsellen alkuasukasta, kun tämä meloi rantaan laulaen matalaäänistä laulua, jossa ei ollut muuta säveltä kuin siinä vallitseva ilon sointu. Huvittuneena Sanders katseli. Tämä mies, joka oli vain hiukan eläintä korkeammalla tasolla, kuunteli niitä elämän kirjoittamattomia lakeja, joita Sanders sivistyneisyydessään uhmasi, ja kiiruhti putkineen onnelliseen elämään, majaan ja vaimon luo, kasvattamaan lapsistaan miehiä — kohtalonsa vaaroihin ja vastuksiin, mutta korkeimman tarkoituksensa täyttämiseen.
Komissaari katseli, kunnes näki kanootin tapaavan rantaan, miehen hyppäävän siitä ja kiinnittävän sen.
Sanders pudisti päätään ja käänsi merkinantajan osoittamaan täyttä vauhtia.
Hän ei yrittänytkään lukea; hänen mielenkiintonsa oli muualla. Hän nousi ja meni hyttiinsä. Hän veti verhon oven eteen, jottei kukaan
olisi päässyt todistamaan hänen hupsutteluaan; sitten hän otti taskustaan avaimen, avasi seinään vuoteensa pääpuolelle tehdyn varmuuslokeron ja otti esille pienen ruskean kirjan.
Sen hän laski pöydälle ja käänteli lehtiä.
Se oli Coxin rannikkoasiamiehen talletuskirja, jonka talletussumma kohosi viisinumeroiseen määrään puntia, sillä Sanders oli ollut huolellinen mies ja oli ostanut maata Lagosista silloin, kun puvun hinnalla vielä sai hyvän tonttimaan.
Hän sulki kirjan, asetti sen paikalleen ja palasi kannelle.
Seuraavana päivänä hän saapui päämajaan.
Myöhään iltapäivällä »Zaire» hitaasti peräytyi pieneen satamaaltaaseen, jonka Sanders suurella vaivalla oli rakennuttanut. Se oli pieni kuivatelakka, hänen ylpeytensä, sillä siinä oli betoniseinät ja jykevä portti, jotka oli tehty silloin, kun »Zairea» korjattiin. Sanders ei koskaan silmäillyt laitosta tuntematta sisäistä tyydytystä. Se oli »lapsi», joka odotti hänen paluutaan, hänen mielensä ylpeys, kun hän sen tullessaan tapasi. Ja satama-altaalta asuntoon vei asfalttitie — sen hän oli rakennuttanut. Kummallakin puolen oli isisiläispalmuja ne olivat hänen istuttamiaan.
Asuntoaan hän katseli ilottomana.
Se oli pienellä kummulla, aaltopeltikatosta kivijalkaan asti sievyyden ja järjestyksen perikuva.
— Jumala siunatkoon paikkaa! sanoi Sanders katkerasti.
Sen vanha viehätys oli kadonnut, ennen miellyttävä oli tullut vaivaavaksi ja viheliäiseksi toimitukseksi. Ja talo oli yksinäinen ja tarvitsi jotakin.
Se tarvitsi kättä, jota hänellä ei ollut.
Hän käveli kyllästyneenä läpi huoneiston, sytytti piipun, kopautti sen jälkeen tyhjäksi ja meni hitaasti hausain asunnoille päin.
Valkopukuinen kapteeni Hamilton nojautui kuistinsa kaiteeseen.
— Kotona taas? sanoi hän keskustelun aluksi.
— En, sanoi Sanders kieltävästi, — olen Joen latvamailla kärpäsiä pyytämässä.
Hamilton pani pois piippunsa.
— Olet lukenut jonkin amerikkalaisen lehden sunnuntailiitettä, sanoi hän tyynesti, — mikä on joko luonteen voimattomuuden tai heränneen huumorintarpeen merkki.
Hän kutsui palvelijaansa.
— Ali, sanoi hän juhlallisesti, — valmista herra Sandille kuppi sellaista teetä, jota ihanat immet paratiisissa valmistavat kaliifille suurena päivänä.
— Mitä roskaa sinä puhut, Hamilton! sanoi Sanders ärtyisenä miehen mentyä. — Tiedäthän, ettei kaliifi juo muuta kuin joskus turkkilaista kahvia.
— Kuka tietää? virkahti filosofinen Hamilton. — No, miten sinun hyvä kansasi jaksaa?
— Mainiosti, sanoi Sanders istuutuen suureen tuoliin.
— Tavallisia murhia, konnuuksia ja tihutöitä, sanoi Hamilton irvistäen. — Hyvä Bosambo istuu Ochorin metsissä kiilloittaen sädekehäänsä ja laulaen huvittavia lauluja!
— Bosambo — oh, hän on nykyisin alakuloinen! sanoi Sanders tuijottaen miehen tuomaa teetä. — Hän on paras päällikkö tällä joella, Hamilton, ja jos minulla olisi valta, jos olisin Englannin hallitus, niin tekisin hänet näiden seutujen päälliköksi.
— Silloin olisi sota kymmenessä minuutissa, naurahti kapteeni, mutta hän on hyvä mies. Alakuloinen, vai mitä sanoit?
— Tavattomasti — en ole koskaan nähnyt häntä niin huolissaan, ja kunpa tietäisin edes, miksi!
Hamilton hymyili.
— Se osoittaa, että kurja sotilas parka, joka ei ole perehtynyt Joen oloihin, voi olla viisaampi kuin joku patenttileimalla varustettu komissaari, sanoi hän. — Bosambo on hyvin ylpeä kanovaimostaan.
— Tiedän sen, poikani, sanoi Sanders, — ja hyvä vaimo puoliksi tekee miehen. Niin, mitä on mies ilman…
Hän näki toisen omituisesti nauravien silmien tähyilevän itseään, ja päivetyksen alla hänen kasvonsa punehtuivat.
— Olet kovin innokas, Sandi Labolo, sanoi hän käyttäen komissaarin alkuasukasnimeä, — et ajattele…
— Mitä Bosambon vaimosta? keskeytti Sanders äänekkäästi.
Hausa katseli häntä epäluuloisesti.
— Bosambon vaimosta, kertasi hän, — oh — hän menee naisväen tietä!
Bosambo toivoo ja pelkää — miesten tavoin. Hänellä ei ole lasta.
— Ahaa — en tietänytkään. Kuka on kertonut?
— Mieheni, he laulavat siitä pikku laulua — minun täytyy esittää sinut rykmentin runoilijalle.
Tämän jälkeen tuli hiljaisuus; kumpikin mies istui mietteissään.
Sitten
Hamilton kysyi:
— Tietysti kävit Kosumkusussa?
— Kävin — kyllä, Sanders näytti vastahakoiselta jatkamaan.
— Entä neiti Glandynne?
— Hän — oh, hän oli viehättävä.
Hamilton hymyili.
— Lähetin hänelle kimpun kirjeitä, jotka saapuivat viime postissa, sanoi hän. — Luultavasti sivuutit kanootin paluumatkallasi?
Sanders nyökkäsi, minkä jälkeen syntyi toinen hiljaisuus
— Hän on melko sievä, eikö olekin? kysyi Hamilton.
— Hyvin, vastasi Sanders tarpeettoman innokkaasti.
— Todellakin sievä tyttö, jatkoi Hamilton hajamielisesti.
Sanders ei vastannut pitkään aikaan — sanoi sitten:
— Hän on viehättävä nainen, Liankin hyvä…
Hän pidättäytyi.
— Hyvä…? uteli Hamilton.
— Hyvä — hyvä tällaiseen elämään, sammalsi Sanders lämpimänä ylt'yleensä.
Hän nousi äkkiä.
— Minun on kirjoitettava muutamia kirjeitä, virkahti hän ja lähti nopeasti.
Ja Hamilton, joka katseli asuntoonsa kiirehtivää valkeata miestä, pudisti päätään surullisesti.
Sanders ei kirjoittanut kirjeitä. Hän aloitti monta, repi ne ja pani palaset taskuunsa. Hän istui ajatellen, kunnes palvelija tuli tuomaan valoa huoneisiin. Hän tuskin maistoi päivällistä, ja lopun iltaa hän vietti kuistilla tuijottaen pimeyteen, mietiskellen toivon ja hämmennyksen vaiheilla. Läheisessä kylässä olivat vihkiäismenot käynnissä, ja sieltä kuuluva rummun ääni soveltui hänen ajatuksiinsa.
Ei seuraavakaan päivä vienyt häntä lähemmäksi ratkaisua, eikä seuraava eikä sitäkään seuraava.
Tyttö oli liian hyvä hänelle — hän ei voisi pyytää tyttöä elämään kanssaan maassa, jossa kukaan ei tietänyt, mitä päivä toi mukanaan
maassa, joka oli täynnä tropiikin tauteja ja ihmissyöjiä, joiden suhde häneen saattoi muuttua minä päivänä tahansa. Sitä ei olisi sovelias kysyä — ja kuitenkin oli tyttö sanonut rakastavansa maata; hän rupesi jo ymmärtämään kansaa. Ja kesän kuumina kuukausina hän voisi matkustaa kotiin; Sanders ottaisi lomaa siksi ajaksi.
Miehen tulisi olla naimisissa; ja hänelle karttui vuosia — lähes neljäkymmentä.
Hän pelästyi.
Ehkä hän oli liian vanha? Se oli kauhea olettamus. Hän havaitsi, ettei tietänyt omaa ikäänsä, ja etsiskeli kaksi päivää ahkerasti henkilötodistuksiaan saadakseen tarkan tiedon. Ja niin meni kolme viikkoa, ennen kuin hän kirjoitti lopullisen kirjeensä.
Koko sinä aikana hän näki vain vilaukselta hausain kapteenia. Hän ajatteli jo kerran kertoa hänelle suunnitelmansa, mutta luopui ajatuksestaan viime hetkessä.
Hän tuli eräänä iltana Hamiltonin asuntoon.
— Huomenna lähden Yläjoelle, sanoi hän väkinäisesti.
— Lähden niin pian postilaivan tulon jälkeen kuin mahdollista odotan kirjettä kuvernööriltä.
Hamilton nyökkäsi.
— Mutta mistä tämä luottamuksen osoitus? kysyi hän.
— Sinä et usein kerro suunnitelmistasi.
— No niin, alkoi Sanders, — aioin kertoa jotakin muuta, mutta jääköön se tällä kertaa.
Hän vietti lopun iltaa pelaamalla pikettiä ja hävisi huomattavasti.
Hän oli jalkeilla päivän koitteessa valvomassa »Zairen» matkavalmistelua, ja kun kaikki oli valmista, hän odotti kärsimättömästi postilaivan tuloa. Kun siitä näkyi vain heikko savujuova taivaanrannalla, hän meni rannalle, vaikka tiesi, että sen tuloon vielä kuluisi ainakin tunti.
Hän seisoi hietikolla kädet hermostuneesti tyhjää hypistellen selän takana, kun Abibu juoksi hänen luokseen.
— Herra, sanoi käskyläinen, — jumalanainen tulee.
Sandersin sydän sykähti, ja sitten hän tunsi kylmevänsä.
— Jumalanainen? kysyi hän. — Mikä, kuka jumalanainen?
— Herra, se, jonka jätimme viime kuussa Kosumkusuun.
Sanders juoksi rannalta suoraan hausaparakkien ohi joenrantaan. Kun hän tuli telakkansa portille, hän näki tytön kanootin kääntyvän joen mutkasta.
Hän meni tervehtimään tyttöä ja auttoi hänet maihin. Hän oli Sandersin mielestä maailman rakastettavin ilmestys. Lumivalkea päästä jalkoihin; vakavat harmaat silmät hymyillen hatun leveän laidan alta.
— Tuon teille tyydyttäviä uutisia, sanoi tyttö, — mutta sanokaa ensin, onko postilaiva mennyt.
Sanders sai puhekykynsä.
— Jos se olisi mennyt, sanoi hän, — niin minä en olisi täällä.
Sitten hänen kurkkunsa tuli kuivaksi, sillä tässä olisi tilaisuus, jos vain rohkeus ei pettäisi; mutta rohkeutta hänellä ei ollut.
Hänen aivonsa olivat sekaisin. Hän ei pystynyt muodostamaan kahta järkevää ajatusta. Hän sanoi jotakin jokapäiväistä ja häntä itseään tympäisevää.
— Tulkaa aamiaiselle, saattoi hän vihdoin sanoa, — ja kertokaa sanoitte minun tulevan tyytyväiseksi eräästä uutisesta.
Tyttö hymyili, eikä Sanders ollut nähnyt hänen milloinkaan hymyilevän sillä lailla — vallatonta, onnellista, inhimillistä hymyä.
Niin, sen hän näki ensi kerran: inhimillisen naisen edessään.
— Menen kotiin, sanoi tyttö.
Sanders oli menossa asuntoonsa, ja tyttö käveli hänen rinnallaan. Sanders pysähtyi.
— Kotiin? sanoi hän.
— Menen kotiin.
Hänen silmissään oli läikähdyksiä ja väriä, jota Sanders ei ollut ennen nähnyt.
— Ettekö ole iloinen? Olen ollut sellainen hoidettava teille — ja pelkään olleeni pettymys lähetyssaarnaajana.
Se ei näyttänyt tyttöä kuitenkaan surettavan, sillä hän oli onnellinen.
— Kotiin? kertasi Sanders hölmistyneenä.
Tyttö nyökkäsi.
— Uskon teille salaisuuden, sanoi hän, — sillä olette ollut niin hyvä ystävä, että teidän pitää saada tietää — aion mennä naimisiin.
— Naimisiin? toisti Sanders.
Hänen sormensa hypisteiivät kirjettä, jonka hän oli kirjoittanut ja joka oli hänen taskussaan. Hän oli aikonut lähettää sen kanootilla lähetysasemalle ja saapua itse päivää jälkeenpäin.
— Aiotte mennä naimisiin, sanoi hän jälleen.
— Niin, sanoi tyttö, — olin… olin hyvin hupakko, hra Sanders.
Minun ei olisi pitänyt tulla tänne — riitelin — tiedättehän, että sellaista sattuu.
— Tiedän, sanoi Sanders.
Tyttö ei voinut odottaa aamiaista. Postihöyry tuli satamaan ja lähetti purtensa rantaan. Sanders valvoi hänen matkatavarainsa lastaamista, otti postin toiselta perämieheltä ja tuli sitten sanomaan hyvästejä tytölle.
— Ette ole toivottanut minulle — onnea, sanoi tyttö.
Hänen silmiensä sisimmässä näkyi rauhaton omatunto, sillä hän oli nainen ja oli ollut Sandersin seurassa lähes tunnin, ja naiset näkevät asian tunnissa.
— Toivotan teille parhainta onnea, sanoi Sanders sydämmellisesti ja puristi tytön kättä niin, että tämä vavahti.
Tyttö oli astumassa purteen, kun kääntyi Sandersiin.
— Olen usein ihmetellyt…, aloitti hän, mutta vaikeni.
— Niin?
— Se on tunkeilevaista, sanoi tyttö nopeasti, — mutta olen joskus ihmetellyt ja ihmettelen nyt sitä enemmän, kun oma onneni antaa siihen enemmän aihetta — miksi ette ole mennyt naimisiin?
Sanders hymyili omaa vaisua hymyään.
— Kerran melkein kosin, sanoi hän. — Hyvästi ja hyvää onnea.
Hän läksi samana aamuna Yläjoelle, vaikka hänen käyntinsä aihe olikin mennyt laivalla, joka vei tyttöä onneaan kohti, läntisen taivaanrannan taa.
Päivän toisensa jälkeen »Zaire» höyrysi pohjoista kohti, ja sen päällikön sydämessä oli kivistävä tyhjyys, joka ei helpottanut päivässä eikä tunnissa.
Eräänä päivänä he tulivat kylään ja aikoivat sivuuttaa sen, mutta hänen vieressään seisova Abibu sanoi:
— Herra, tämä on Togobonobo, ja täällä on mies, jolle sinun ylhäisyytesi antoi tuhat matakoa.
Sanders näytti hampaitaan.
— Katsotaanpa tätä onnellista miestä, sanoi hän arabiaksi, — sillä
Profeetta on sanonut: »Ystäväni ilo puhdistaa sydämeni surusta.»
Kun »Zaire» tuli rantaan, olisi Sanders lähettänyt hakemaan nuorta aviomiestä, mutta tämä mies oli jo odottamassa häntä, onneton olento, joka tuli komentosillalle kasvot surullisina.
— Huomaan, sanoi Sanders, — että tytön isä vaati enemmän kuin voit maksaa.
— Herra, sanoi nuorukainen, — toivon, että hän olisi vaatinut, sillä, herra, olen surullinen mies.
— Onko nainen kuollut?
— Herra, sanoi nuori mies, — jos paholainen olisi vienyt hänet, niin olisin onnellinen: sillä tämä nainen, vaikka hän on vielä tyttö, on lujatahtoinen ja tekee mitä haluaa eikä ota minua lainkaan huomioon. Ja kun puhun hänelle, niin hänellä on kirpeä kieli, ja herra, tänä aamuna hän antoi minulle raakaa kalaa ja haukkui minua rumilla nimillä, kun oikaisin häntä. Ja, herra, sanoi nuorukainen järkyttyneellä äänellä, padallakin hän heitti minua koko kylän nähden.
— Se on paha palaver, sanoi Sanders, — mutta sinun pitää antaa hänelle myötä, Tobolo, sillä hän on sinun vaimosi, enkä voi sallia…
— Herra, sanoi nuori mies tarttuen hänen käteensä, — olen velallisesi, ja velkani on tuhat matakoa — jos herramme nyt erottaa meidät, niin maksan mielelläni.
— Mene rauhassa, sanoi Sanders, ja kun nuorukainen näytti vastahakoiselta lähtemään, niin Abibu heitti hänet veteen.
Tapaus antoi Sandersille miettimisen aihetta — ja muutakin oli.
Kaksi päivää jokea kuljettuaan hän tuli Ochoriin ja tapasi Bosambon kansan surullisena.
Päällikkö odotti herransa tuloa majansa pimeydessä, ja Sanders meni katsomaan häntä.
— Bosambo, sanoi hän vakavasti, — tämä kuulostaa pahalta.
— Herra, valitti päällikkö, — toivoisin, että olisin kuollut — kuollut kuin esikoiseni, joka makaa vaimoni majassa.
Hän vääntelehti tuskissaan sinne tänne, sillä Bosambolla oli lapsen sydän, ja hänen pieni poikansa, joka oli elänyt vain muutaman päivän, oli koko hänen elämänilonsa keskipiste.
— Jumala olkoon kanssasi, Bosambo veljeni, sanoi Sanders hiljaa ja laski kätensä mustan miehen kumartuneille hartioille, — nämä asiat ovat määrätyt aikojen alusta.
— Niin on kirjoitettu, sanoi Bosambo nyyhkytystensä lomassa ja tarttui herransa käteen.
* * * * *
Sanders kääntyi myötävirtaan, ja sinä iltana, kun hän laittautui makuulle, päällikön suru oli tuoreena hänen mielessään.
Ennen vuoteeseen menoaan hän otti taskustaan kirjeen, repi sen sataan palaan ja heitti ne hytin ovesta jokeen.
Sitten hän meni vuoteeseensa ja sammutti valot.
Hän ajatteli Isisin nuorta miestä, ja hän ajatteli Bosamboa.
— Jumalan kiitos, etten ole naimisissa, sanoi hän ja nukahti.
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