The Sex Industry in New Zealand: A Literature Review

Foreword | Acknowledgements | Tables | Executive summary | Part I: The Sex Industry in New Zealand | Part II: Overseas Models of Prostitution Law Reform Evaluations | References | Appendix I: Methodological issues in researching clients of sex workers

Part I: The Sex Industry in New Zealand

Introduction and methodology
Background
Definitions of terms
History of the sex industry in New Zealand
Size, structure and organisation
Sex workers: characteristics and backgrounds
Entry into sex work
Motivations underlying entry into the sex industry
Drugs and child sexual abuse
Managing the impacts of involvement in sex work
Male sex workers
Transgendered sex workers
Illegal immigrants and prostitution
Exiting sex work
Clients: characteristics and motivations
Sex worker safety
Sex worker exploitation
Health issues
Control and empowerment issues
Prostitution and organised crime
Prostitution of persons under 18
Sex tourism
Initial responses to legislation change
Overview

Sex worker safety

The common perception is that sex work is a dangerous occupation. Rape, violence, and muggings are a recognised aspect of life on the streets in some countries, and even homicide can be viewed as an occupational risk factor. Statistics Canada, for example, reported that between 1991 and 1995, 63 known sex workers were murdered in Canada, a figure representing 5% of the total number of women killed in Canada over that period (Brock, 1998). Research by criminologist John Lowman found that 77% of prostitutes in Vancouver had at least one violent customer every month (cited in Brock, 1998). However, to keep this in perspective, a Canadian sex worker maintained the industry to be fairly safe overall, stating reassuringly:

Most guys don’t want to kill you, they just want to get fucked. (Donna, quoted in Brock, 1998, 21).

The marginal status of the industry, the settings in which transactions occur, and the characteristics associated with some client groups combine to exacerbate many sex workers’ vulnerability to attack. Such vulnerability is differentially experienced in the various sectors of the industry, with street workers typically being the most at risk (Jordan, 1992; Lowman, 2000; Perkins and Lovejoy, 1996). Those working the streets may be younger, sometimes under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol, and more likely to end up on their own in potentially hazardous situations such as the client’s vehicle or in a dark alleyway or park. Given that their clients may also be under the influence, and can sometimes display varying levels of misogyny, street work can be a risky enterprise indeed. However, safety issues affect workers in all sectors of the industry, in part because of the likelihood that most sex workers will spend significant periods of time with their clients in private and often unprotected settings. One New Zealand sex worker, for instance, described being unsafe even within a well-run massage parlour, where a client tried to rape her and threw her into a full-length mirror which shattered on impact (Jordan, 1991c).

Women who provide escort services can also face high risks given the difficulties associated with ascertaining in advance the mental state of the caller or even how many man may be present at the address. In the book Working Girls, for instance, Sarah describes being forcefully sodomized on one such call while Caroline had to fight for her life when a disturbed ex-Vietnam veteran tried to drown her in a motel bathtub (Jordan, 1991c).

Plumridge and Abel (2001) conducted an extensive survey of 303 female sex workers in Christchurch, representing just over 80% of the estimated working population. One significant aim of their research was to assess the differences in risk exposure among female sex workers in different sectors of the sex industry. Their research found that 83% of participants reported one or more adverse or violent event, with street workers being generally more likely to experience the more severe forms of violence. The study’s comparison of street and indoor workers is reproduced below.

Table 5: Adverse experiences in sex work for street and indoor workers

(Reproduced from Plumridge and Abel, 2001, 82)

Overall the authors of the study concluded that high levels of adverse experiences were reported for women working in both sectors, but especially concerning were the rates of serious violence reported by some street workers.

When discussing issues related to sex worker safety, both local and overseas research has indicated the importance of considering sex workers’ interpretations of risk and risk-taking (McKeganey and Barnard, 1994; Plumridge, 2001). Sex workers’ own appraisals of their work environment may differ from the assessments likely to be made by those outside the industry. Recognition of the extent to which sex workers’ beliefs and actions are mediated by context has been argued by some researchers, with writers such as Whittaker and Hart, 1996, arguing that:

it is through the social organisation of their work that we are best able to understand the nature of their risk exposure, and their strategies for managing the risk in relation to their occupational health. (Whittaker and Hart, 1996, 399).

As well as operating within social and structural contexts, however, sex workers also, like all individuals, operate within discursive contexts. In other words, their understandings and accounts are influenced by the dominant discourses which are evident regarding the sex industry. This is clearly and tangibly revealed in relation to New Zealand sex workers in an article by Plumridge (2001). Basing her analysis on accounts provided by 31 sex workers, she compares street workers with those operating within parlour or ‘inside’ venues.

In relation to ‘inside’ venues, she describes how the women emphasise the sociability aspects of the industry (such as the camaraderie with other workers, the sense of ‘freedom’, that this is not ‘real’ work, and the large amounts of television-watching, coffee-drinking and chit-chat that can occur in the parlours). Such an emphasis reduces the potential for highlighting labour concerns within the industry and leaves workers unprotected and vulnerable to manipulative or exploitative management strategies. Issues consistent with a labour relations perspective are interpreted instead as problematic intimate relations, with informal and personalised workplace controls dominating the industry. Plumridge argues that:

In the New Zealand context at least, it would seem that the personal risk of women working at sex work venues would be less if there was a structural change to decriminalise sex work, and they had access in the worksite to the usual collective approaches, sanctions, rights, duties and information that characterise non-criminalised industries. (Plumridge, 2001, 212).

For women on the street, major contradictions often emerged between their acknowledgement of high levels of risk and danger compared with their descriptions of themselves as strong, ‘savvy’, and in control. So while on the one hand the risks were well known and incidents often graphically described, the risks were effectively negated by accounts portraying themselves as "highly, almost heroically capable" (ibid., 210). Their assertions of powerfulness were undercut by frequent depictions of themselves as ‘wasted’ and unable to make rational decisions or protect themselves. Thus one woman recounted an incident in which she had been attacked and robbed, saying:

but I don’t really remember that one… I just sort of … keep running. I don’t know where I was running. I suppose just. ‘Cos I was still out of it and I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was. (Suzanne, quoted ibid.).

Plumridge describes how reference to being ‘out of it’ was used by many of the women to both blame and excuse themselves of their actions, and was not perceived as negating their assertions of being street savvy and in control. Thus she argues that while structural changes are imperative, such as promoting a decriminalised sex industry, discursive understandings also need to be acknowledged when assessing risk identification and management.

Male sex workers can also be targets of violence, although some studies have suggested this is a less likely occurrence than the risks faced by women sex workers (Prestage, 1994). Prestage argues that in fact the male clients of male sex workers tend to be wary of them, largely because they are fearful themselves of being ‘outed’ as homosexual. There is no equivalent for men involved in prostitution of the label ‘whore’ that is used so derisively of women and with the intention of legitimating violence against them.

Transsexuals working within the sex industry are often assumed to be able to protect themselves like men if they encounter violence. However, this group of workers may also bear the brunt of prejudicial hate crimes against them. Accounts from transgendered workers in New Zealand show how they can be just as fearful of violence as other women. As one said:

I was scared, because I’d heard, you know, before I even went there, to town, to do that, I’d heard stories of… prostitute got killed, a prostitute got bashed, you know, and that, that. …But still, because I was hungry and, you know, I had to eat and I was thirsty, I had to do it. (Fenella, quoted in Worth, 2003, 174).

A respondent in the same study recounted being attacked by three men after the one she was selling sexual services to realised she was also male (Worth, 2003, 176).

In order to reduce these risks, sex workers’ collectives internationally have sought to promote a range of safety measures. The New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective introduced, for example, an ‘Ugly Mugs’ list to provide a mechanism for any sex workers who had experienced abuse, robbery or violence to alert other workers to the characteristics of offending individuals. While this safety practice is not consistently adhered to, Collective workers in Auckland personally handed out notebooks and pencils to street workers following a series of attacks, to encourage them to record vehicle registration numbers (The Dominion, 8/2/02). Significant efforts have also been made to raise the New Zealand Police’s appreciation of the risks street workers face and to increase workers’ confidence in the police. On several occasions in recent years, the murders of street workers in Auckland have reinforced their vulnerability to target selection by particular violent offenders. In 1996, for instance, the mayor of Auckland, Les Mills, wanted to "to shut down the sex industry following the grisly murders of three sex workers in Auckland’s redlight district" (Timaru Herald, 30/10/96). More recently, the killing of a sex worker in a car park in 2002 made her the third street worker to be attacked over a three month period in Auckland (Sunday Star Times, 3/2/02). To solve such homicides, police have been largely dependent on the co-operation of other sex workers for the provision of relevant information (Sunday News, 20/10/96; Waikato Times, 4/2/02) or on their clients, although they have commented that, not surprisingly, the latter are typically "slow to come forward". (The Press, 8/2/02).

Sex worker exploitation

A recurrent concern regarding the sex industry in the years preceding legislative reform stemmed from the potential for exploitation within the industry. Workers in parlours and escort agencies were typically dependent upon the good will of the individual owners and operators of these businesses, since the latter operated in an absence of legal constraints and obligations. It became commonplace for sex workers to be charged a range of fees and to be subject to a series of fines, the money for these coming from the ‘extras’ which the client paid the worker after he had already paid a fee to the parlour. Although it may seldom have happened, a woman working in a massage parlour could pay a taxi to transport her to and from work, pay the operator a fee for being there, have no clients willing to pay for ‘extras’ and return home out of pocket. One of the sex workers who described this process in her submission to the Select Committee said:

The industry as it is set up, gives power to the management of parlours and agencies. When I am working I am aware I could be busted for prostitution. If I have trouble at work, I am not likely to go to the police. This has resulted in a sex industry culture, a culture that is not inherent in prostitution, but rather is a direct result of the present laws. I’m talking about things like having to work night shifts until 4 or 6 or 7 or 9 in the morning, sometimes regardless of whether there are clients around, sometimes until the clients stop coming in, however late that may be. We are charged bonds to work places; shift fees each night, dress hire, charged fines. A typical fining system, such as the one where I worked, was that if you are late for a shift, you pay half of your money from your first job as a fine. So for a one-hour job, the worker ends up with $25. That’s a $45 fine and $20 shift fee. If you don’t show up for a shift, you pay half of all your jobs that night as a fine. If you don’t give notice when you leave, they will keep your bond, that could be $100 or $200. (PRB 107A, 2001, 3).

Reflecting similar concerns, another sex worker asserted in her submission:

The commonplace practice of charging shift fees, bonds and fines must stop. It is unfair to allow venue owners to take money from sex workers as if they were employees, and yet not offer the workers any of the protections of being an employee. (PRB 107, 2001, 1).

While sex work has been increasingly perceived as a job, as employment, as work, the status of those employed in the industry reflected few of the realities that most workers in New Zealand take for granted. The potential for the operators of sex businesses to exploit their workers was large and virtually unchecked, a fact that, when considered in combination with the stigma of working in the industry, rendered the workers highly vulnerable. As one sex worker expressed it:

Girls have all the obligations of being employees and none of the benefits. Or look at it this way, the management has all the benefits of being an employer, but none of the obligations – not to any health and safety regulations, employment requirements such as holiday pay, sick pay, a system of warnings before dismissal; but we are charged shift fees, bonds, we have to provide medical certificates if we are sick, and give notice when we leave. The situation is entirely unacceptable. (PRB 107A, 2001, 3).

The diversity of experience evident within the sex industry extends to individual variations in sex workers’ abilities to exercise control over the labour process (Chapkis, 2000). A recent study based on in-depth interviews with 47 sex workers, activists, and law enforcement officials in the United States and the Netherlands confirmed that sex workers experience the sex industry differently, with a significant part of that difference being related to their location within the trade (Chapkis, 2000).

Several key structural factors have been identified that impact significantly on sex workers’ abilities to exercise power and control on the job. One major factor is the legal status of the sex industry, with writers noting the compromises many workers feel compelled to make in arenas where prostitution-related activities are illegal (Chapkis, 2000). This can be important even in essentially decriminalised contexts – one example given is in the Netherlands where a division exists between Dutch and other European workers who, often lacking work and immigration permits, end up working illegally. In clarifying the tensions surrounding migrant workers’ employment, one advocate noted:

There is so much that they can’t control in their lives here. And that is a critical difference between Dutch and migrant prostitutes. Everything is in a precarious balance for them. Their priorities are different: first it’s daily survival, then sending money home, then protecting yourself from the police who could deport you, and then maybe only after all these other things comes safe sex. In a good situation, safe sex might be the first priority for migrant women, too… (but) it’s about survival; they are trying to make the best of a difficult situation. (quoted in Chapkis, 2000, 183).

Debates about the sex industry have often been fought in a polarised manner which pits feminist against feminist even though both may be arguing for women’s rights and freedom from exploitation. One view argues that all prostitution is sexual slavery and seeks the abolition of the industry. One of the strongest proponents of this perspective, and a commentator who has spoken in New Zealand on this issue, is Australian academic Sheila Jeffreys. She represents a position that denies sex workers choice or agency, viewing all ‘prostituted women’, as she calls them, as passive and exploited victims (Jeffreys, 1997).

An alternative position has been argued strongly by another Australian academic Barbara Sullivan. She favours viewing prostitution as sex work rather than sexual slavery, while maintaining that exploitative practices within the sex industry should be opposed. Her approach recognises the complex and even contradictory experiences of those working in the industry, and stresses the importance of acknowledging diverse and opposing voices from within the industry itself. She articulates this position clearly when she asserts:

…there can be little feminist ground for condemning all prostitution transactions just because they involve prostitution, that is, some form of financial benefit in exchange for some sort of sex…. Feminists need to be careful that their arguments do not slide into heteronormative accounts of sexuality which pathologise some women (sex workers), some men (clients), and sexual transactions which, in practice, can be distinguished from normal sexual relations only by the presence of an explicit economic exchange. (Sullivan, 1997, 242).

Moreover, the argument that all sex workers are coerced, exploited and in need of ‘saving’ denies the diversity within the sex industry and disregards the voices of many sex workers themselves. Some, for instance, have articulated the view that it is legitimate and even subversive for women in a male-dominated world to exploit men for their weakness. In the words of a New Zealand lesbian feminist sex worker:

Men are quite silly when it comes to sex. A woman can win out every time.... That's why I see women who charge for sex as being quite strong and quite revolutionary.... If every woman charged every man, including her husband, for every fuck, then the whole ownership of the world's resources would start shifting to female control. (Jordan, 1991c, 238-239).

Perceiving all sex workers as victims, as some writers do (Jeffreys, 1997; Barry, 1979; Hoigard and Finstad, 1992), ignores alternative accounts, interpretations and experiences. The diversity that is characteristic of those involved in the industry is evident also in the extent to which they may, or may not, conform to depictions of victimisation. Accounts from the many sex workers who reject the victim label cannot be easily dismissed or ignored. If victimisation becomes the defining characteristic of prostitution, then, as Joanna Phoenix has

argued, no space exists to discuss non-victimised sex workers or those who do not see themselves as victims (Phoenix, 1999).

Health issues

Historically sex workers have often been reviled for being disease carriers and held responsible for the transmission of venereal diseases (Healy and Reed, 1994). Such thinking gave rise to the Contagious Diseases Acts in both New Zealand and the United Kingdom, as well as being evident in more general pronouncements (Eldred-Grigg, 1984; Knight, 1987; Lichtenstein, 1997; Macdonald, 1986; Robinson, 1983). More recently, it has been linked to perceptions of sex workers as a high at-risk group for the transmission of HIV/AIDS (Lichtenstein, 1997).

This has prompted assertions by sex workers and prostitutes’ collectives regarding high adherence rates to safe sex measures and articulating their professional investment in minimising the risks of contracting any STDs or AIDS infections (Delacoste and Alexander, 1988; Healy and Reed, 1994). In 1994, an article by NZPC workers Catherine Healy and Anna Reed observed:

In the early days of AIDS it was inevitable that the sex industry would be scrutinized. The media in our own country – Aotearoa/New Zealand – ran stories that whipped up hysteria against prostitutes, with images of the ‘vengeful AIDS victim… a crazed hooker on a revenge trip against all punters’. We have yet to hear about the crazed punter hell-bent on infecting prostitutes. (Healy and Reed, 1994, 16-17).

While some clients may successfully pressure workers to engage in unsafe sexual practices, it has been argued that the proportion of individual sex workers taking such risks is no higher than that found in non-worker populations (Scambler, 1997). The image sex workers have promoted of themselves has been of a group which has been unfairly stigmatized and whose members, by contrast, exhibit higher than average knowledge about the facts of HIV transmission. Legislation criminalising prostitution-related activities has frequently been identified as a barrier to the promotion of safer sex practices, with the World Health Organisation recognising the importance of enhancing sex workers’ rights in order to limit the spread of HIV/AIDS (Ministry of Women’s Affairs, 1991).

In a large Australian study of women sex workers, Roberta Perkins (1991) found condoms were used 95% of the time, with Hilary Kinnell finding similar results with regard to women sex workers practising low risk behaviours in her Birmingham study (Kinnell, 1989). Another Australian study identified that a key factor affecting sex workers’ adherence to safer sexual practices related to their mental health (Boyle et al, 1997). Sex workers who were identified as psychologically distressed reported less consistent condom use with their clients and also fewer sexual health checks and examinations.

Some research exists documenting the knowledge and practices of female sex workers in New Zealand. The establishment of the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective had been prompted in part by Health Department concerns regarding the extent to which sex workers might constitute a high-risk group for HIV/AIDS, although statistics from the late 1980s showed such concerns to be largely unwarranted with regard to this group (Healy and Reed, 1994; Lichtenstein, 1997; Saskia, 1989). Likewise, in 1991 the Ministry of Women’s Affairs maintained that the sex industry was virtually free of HIV and that, through its publication Siren, the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective was a key contributor to maintaining high levels of education and awareness (Ministry of Women’s Affairs, 1991). A pilot study commissioned by the Collective in 1991 assessed HIV/AIDS awareness and practices amongst a sample of twenty sex workers from various sectors of the industry (Chetwynd, 1992; Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993). The sample comprised 16 women, two male workers, and two transsexuals, all of whom were under 40 and had worked on average for five years in the sex industry. The results indicated a high proportion of condom use by sex workers, with condoms being used in all vaginal sex encounters and in all but one instance of oral sex.

While the small size of the sample interviewed precluded generalisations to sex worker populations overall, Chetwynd noted several observations of interest arising from this study (Chetwynd, 1992). In positive terms, considerable evidence existed to suggest sex workers had high levels of knowledge and awareness regarding HIV/AIDS, and this was accompanied by extensive use of condoms with their clients. On the negative side, however, there were numerous reports of clients offering sex workers inducements to forego the use of condoms. Chetwynd’s study also echoed overseas research in finding that sex workers associated their risk of infection with clients rather than with their non-paying partners, resulting in significantly lower rates of condom use – only one-fifth used condoms all the time with their regular non-paying partners (Chetwynd, 1992).

In 1993 Karen Woods was funded by the Health Research Council to conduct a study of women massage and rap parlour workers in Auckland. The aim of this study was to identify and understand the reasons associated with women sex workers being much more inclined to use condoms with their clients than with their non-paying partners. The study involved semi-structured interviews with 45 women parlour workers in Auckland. Those interviewed ranged from 17 to their early 50s, and in terms of the length of time they had worked in the sex industry, this ranged from as little as ten days to 16 years. Most of those interviewed were European (28), 7 were Māori, 5 Pacific Island, and 5 were Thai women. The study showed that with their clients, it is the sex worker who initiates the use of condoms. If resistance is encountered, they typically talk the client round or explore alternative safer practices. Woods noted:

The women feel confident in their ability to control what happens in the room with a client, to diffuse a difficult situation and negotiate with a difficult client. (Woods, 1993, 12).

The primary motivation for using condoms was identified by the parlour workers as providing a barrier to protect them from disease. Clients were perceived as risky in terms of possible infection because they were not known or trusted. Condoms also fulfilled a contraceptive function, and were useful in providing a psychological barrier to client-worker intimacy.

Outside of work, the women said condom use typically occurred at their initiation, and that, as with clients, it was the women who were providing and putting the condoms on their non-paying sexual partners. Often this arose from the women’s skill and access to condoms, although some chose to hide their expertise in case this ‘outed’ them to an otherwise unsuspecting partner. Generally it was easier to use condoms in the context of new relationships than introduce them into established partnerships, where partner resistance was feared or concerns voiced regarding his curiosity being aroused if he was not aware of her working life. The main reason for not using condoms with non-paying partners, however, was that the women felt it was not necessary to do so. Partners were not viewed as being as risky as clients; moreover, condom use was associated by many of the women with their work while sex with partners was viewed as, and expected to be, much different.

While an interesting study enabled by good qualitative interviewing methods, as the author herself suggests, the findings cannot necessarily be generalised to all sectors of the industry or even to all parlour workers. Some parlour owners and managers did not grant her access and it is possible that lower rates of condom use might have existed in these, or that the workers may have felt less supported in their insistence on condom use.

Regarding health issues, it is also important to note that health hazards may not be distributed evenly throughout sex worker populations. For instance, street and escort workers may find it harder to insist on condom use than those in parlour settings. The specific sexual acts involved will also present varying risk scenarios, and individual cultural differences may influence the ability or ease with which workers access safer sex education and supplies. Writing within the context of prostitution in the Pacific, for instance, one writer has emphasized the ways in which ‘the stigma of being a whore’ can determine health care access and treatment, resulting in minor venereal infections developing to more severe stages (Wichman, 1995, 59). Within New Zealand, different cultural and religious pressures may similarly impact on individual sex workers’ propensity to disclose their occupation, utilise educational and support services, and thereby minimise some of its associated health hazards.

An in-depth study over time of a cohort of female sex workers produced interesting findings regarding the rhetoric and realities of risk-taking (Plumridge, 2001). Typically both street and indoor workers described themselves as being in charge and in control of their interactions with clients, even whilst admitting they may be ‘wasted’ or end up succumbing to pressure on the job. On one level, their appreciation of the health and safety risks involved was realistic and well-informed, and was often clearly articulated to the interviewers. On another, however, their accounts often indicated significant contradictions and a lack of willingness to acknowledge the risks they faced or assume personal responsibility for risk-taking. Amongst the examples given is that of a street worker who insisted:

I always made sure that I was the one in control…. just made sure that I didn’t do anything that I didn’t want to do. (Plumridge, 2001, 210).

Anal sex was condemned by her as a risky practice that she did not engage in, yet she referred to a situation where she was so ‘out of it’ that the only way she knew she had experienced anal sex with a client was when her anus was sore the next day. As the author points out, the tensions and contradictions in the sex workers’ accounts are evident in the lives of all social actors, sex workers and non-sex workers alike (Plumridge, 2001). In terms of positive health interventions and ways of managing risk, the gap between reality and rhetoric needs to be acknowledged and understood if unsafe practices are not to continue being ‘masked’.

Before decriminalisation, the legal situation itself provided a barrier to safer sex practices. One potentially critical way in which this was evident relates to sex workers’ willingness to disclose the nature of their occupation to their doctor. In a study of 303 sex workers in Christchurch, of the 251 who had a GP, fewer than half (48%) informed them that they were sex workers (Plumridge, 2000). However, of the 135 women who went to their own GP for sexual health checks, 62% disclosed that they were sex workers. Younger women were less likely to disclose than older women, with none of those under 18 who used their GP for sexual health checks telling them about their involvement in the industry (ibid.).

Another major way in which the legal situation worked against health interests involved the carrying of condoms on the person. If sex workers, when questioned by the police, were found to have an abundant supply of condoms with them, these could be interpreted as evidence of prostitution-related activities. When Catherine Healy spoke to the New Zealand Venereological Society’s annual conference in 1992, she demonstrated clearly the relationship between legal and health issues, stating:

It’s hard to get a sense that you’re an okay sort of person when the law of the land says you’re scum, and when you are constantly hassled by the police in the course of your daily work. The current law is certainly no help if you are having difficulties liking yourself enough to be careful with your own health. The laws against soliciting are a dangerous road-block to the growth of empowerment, to the building of self-esteem and to the consistent use of safe practices by sex workers. (quoted in Townsend, 1992a, 3).

Although the legal road-block has now been removed, the question of individual workers’ levels of self-esteem remains salient with regards to their propensity for self-care, empowerment and control in workplace settings.

Males

Like their female counterparts, international research on male sex workers has shown them generally to exhibit high levels of awareness regarding sexual health and safety. This was exemplified in a quantitative research project undertaken in Montreal which found male sex workers were unlikely to engage in sexually risky practices with clients, were more likely than other men who had sex with men to be tested, and were less likely to report being seropositive (Shaver and Newmeyer, 1996, cited in Weinberg et al, 2001).

Again, relatively little local research has been undertaken in this area. Weinberg, Worth and Williams (2001) undertook a comparative study in New Zealand to assess HIV risk in male sex workers and other men who have sex with men. As overseas research had indicated, male sex workers were found to be younger, have lower income, be more likely to be in blue collar employment, more likely be from an ethnic minority, and more likely to be bisexual. These are all factors that have been associated with higher risk. In addition, the male sex workers interviewed were more likely to report using injecting drugs, more likely to engage in casual sex and less likely to be in a steady homosexual relationship. Of crucial significance was the fact that male sex workers were more likely to report being unsafe in their anal sexual practices (and also in relation to oral sex, but the latter is not considered to be as high risk for HIV transmission). Despite these findings, there was no difference in the reported HIV status of the two groups. What Weinberg et al. maintain is that the contextual environment within which such risky behaviours occurs helps to neutralize their possible health consequences. Of these, the most important is the current small pool of infection within New Zealand, which is related to various factors including a liberal political climate, the absence of abject poverty and corresponding lack of an extensive IV drug culture, high rates of education and awareness regarding HIV, and a national health system. The findings of their study suggest the importance of maintaining elements in the wider social and economic context which can minimise risk as well as working to increase male sex worker adherence to safe sex measures.

Research conducted in some parts of the Western world has found HIV to be significantly more prevalent among transvestite sex workers than among other male or female sex workers or among gay men (Modan et al, 1992; Suleiman et al, 1998; Tirelli et al, 1991 – all cited in Worth, 2003). Speculation by researchers regarding the possible reasons underlying this phenomenon has considered such factors as the social isolation and feelings of hopelessness many transvestite sex workers experience, their grouping at the lower end of the prostitution hierarchy, their lower earning ability, and their stigma and marginalisation by others including non-transvestite sex workers. Worth’s study in New Zealand did not replicate these findings, with her commenting instead on finding few signs of hopelessness or social isolation amongst transvestite sex workers here. A major reason for this she attributes to the family-type support and caring expressed within this population group (Worth, 2003).

Clients

Whilst the majority of sex workers are highly professional about health issues and increasingly insist on the use of condoms for every sexual exchange, their clients are not always as responsible. Hence in Working Girls Caroline describes how she ended up with two broken ribs and a serious eye injury after a client refused to accept her insistence that he wear a condom (quoted in Jordan, 1991c, 235-236).

Chetwynd and Plumridge’s pilot study of clients suggested knowledge about HIV transmission was lower in the client sample than for the general population in New Zealand as studied four years previously (Chetwynd, 1989, cited in Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 7). Clients perceived their own risk of infection as lower than that of other clients of sex workers, a finding consistent with studies of other groups, such as sex workers themselves (Chetwynd, 1992) and injecting drug users (Foley, 1990, cited in Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 7), who also typically perceive their individual risks to be lower than those of others involved in similar activities.

When questioned regarding their sexual activities with sex workers, just over 75% reported having vaginal sex on their last visit, and indicated this to be usual (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 8). About one-third indicated that they usually had oral sex or masturbation, while no client reported having anal sex. Forty per cent of clients reported that sex workers provided them with services they were unable to get from other sexual partners. In terms of other partners, half (N=15) of the sample had a regular partner, and most (N=13) said they had sex with that partner (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 9).

All the clients said they used condoms with sex workers, although five maintained they were able to get the sexual services they required without the use of condoms. Four of these five clients said by this they were referring to vaginal sex, and were offered sex without a condom either as a ‘treat’, or because they knew the woman, or because they asked or insisted for this to occur (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 10).

In contrast, although saying they felt positive about condom use, most of the clients never or only rarely carried condoms themselves, and the majority did not use condoms with their regular partner (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 11). The role of sex workers as sex educators was reinforced by the study, which noted:

More than half the clients thought that sex workers knew a lot about sexually transmitted diseases and several clients spontaneously reported that they relied upon sex workers’ knowledge in this regard. (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993,13).

Significantly, with relation to the potential for infection, the study found that 40% of the sample had also visited sex workers overseas (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 17). Overall, the study indicated the potential importance of clients in the transmission of HIV in New Zealand as well as the critical position occupied by sex workers regarding client education and the promotion of safer sex (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 24). The passivity of clients regarding safer sexual practices was especially noted, given the study’s finding that most rarely carried condoms and expected their partners both to provide them and put them on the penis. The reliance of the clients on the sex worker’s knowledge, and the degree of trust and intimacy that typically exists, renders the latter a valuable source of information and education (Chetwynd and Plumridge, 1993, 25).

A follow-up study involved in-depth qualitative interviews with 24 clients of female sex workers to determine how condoms came to be used in prostitute-client encounters and how clients viewed their participation in safer sex practices (Plumridge et al, 1997). Most of those interviewed were massage parlour clients and all of those who had vaginal sex with sex workers maintained that they consistently used condoms, and even insisted on their use. However, the men also stated that they perceived condoms as impediments to pleasure, impeding sensation and interrupting the flow of the interaction. Significantly, they also stipulated that they left the business of condom use to the worker, seeing her as responsible for providing these, putting them on, and being accountable for any lapses or failures. As the study’s authors point out, such a stance reflects a passive role in which clients acquiesce regarding condom usage and assume no responsibility themselves for adherence to safer sexual practices, offloading it to the worker. As they conclude:

In an ideal world both partners assume responsibility for the safety of the sex between them; in the real world rhetoric must not mask behaviour. If clients refuse responsibility for safer sex, sex workers must be aided in all possible ways to ensure it. (Plumridge et al, 1997, 241).

Control and empowerment issues

One of the most vexing and contentious issues regarding sex work relates to issues of power and control. It is a difficult quandary trying to ascertain the degree of control any worker can have in a situation where the client is paying money to procure services that are potentially so invasive of another person’s body and space. This tension has fuelled extensive and emotionally charged debates regarding the extent to which sex workers can be viewed as victims of exploitation.

Sex workers themselves are often divided on this issue, with the selling of sexual services being regarded as victimising by some and empowering by others. One of the women interviewed in Working Girls said:

Before I started I used to be disturbed by the idea that through prostitution men could, even if they had to pay for it, order men around and have a woman totally under their control. I had this idea that if they gave you $100 you were theirs for the next hour. But that’s not how it is at all. (quoted in Jordan, 1991c, 200).

Most of the women interviewed in this study maintained that exchanges with clients were usually negotiated around the sex worker’s terms, with the women determining the price, the rules, and the services available. While pimping appeared to be relatively rare, exploitative bosses were found more frequently. Several women reported male parlour owners demanding free sexual access to the women who worked for them, sometimes even violating all safe sex codes as well by insisting that no condoms be used (Jordan, 1991c). Financially also, of course, it is the predominantly male owners and operators who reap the greatest profits from the industry and from women whose socially stigmatized status means they have very little bargaining power in the workplace. Such marginalisation is even more evident in the case of Thai, Malaysian, Filipino and Chinese women whose vulnerability to exploitation is heightened by their frequently insecure immigration status. Overall, however, sex work appeared to be a chosen occupation for the majority of New Zealand women in the industry and one which, almost paradoxically, seemed to provide some with greater autonomy and control than they had experienced in conventional jobs.

As well as whether sex workers choose or are forced to enter sex work, another critical issue relates to whether they have a right of refusal on the job. The right to say ‘no’ to unwanted sex has been fought for and won within New Zealand law, yet an assumption traditionally held in some quarters has been that sex workers forfeit that right when they become a prostitute. It is in part this attitude which has prevented some police officers from considering that prostitutes can be raped, and such a perception can also be evident in the minds of clients and sex business operators. As one sex worker told the Select Committee in her submission:

… it is often nearly impossible to refuse a client. There’s no discussion of this in parlours, but women who have tried to refuse a client, say if they have seen them before and they are rough, or extremely unhygienic, have been told ‘you’re in no position to be refusing clients young lady’, or, one which seems to be a favourite around Wellington, ‘your cunt’s not golden, get upstairs.’ (PRB 107A, 2001, 4).

One New Zealand study sought to explore clients’ perceptions regarding the control of commercial sex encounters (Plumridge et al, 1997). While the men argued that they were regular and consistent condom users, they maintained that they acquiesced to sex workers’ wishes regarding these out of respect for her right to control her own body. As one client articulated it:

…it’s their body and you know if they don’t like something they don’t have to have it done really. (quoted ibid., 235).

The emphasis on prostitution as work is one which many sex workers emphasize in order to counter depictions of them as deviants, sinners or sexual slaves. Deborah Brock (1998) has argued that prostitution is organised as a work relation in ways that are not markedly different from how other kinds of women’s jobs are organised, particularly those of working class women. To survive in the business, sex workers must try to maintain control over their work relations with their customers. They blatantly use their sexuality as power in ways designed in part to compensate for a relative lack of social and economic power. Moreover, they become skilled in the manipulation of masculine power. Accordingly she asserts:

The institution of prostitution in the contemporary world may be a product of female oppression, but that does not prevent women from using it as a source of power. Women are, after all, not simply the objects of control. (Brock, 1998, 21).

Some writers have gone so far as to claim that prostitution is inherently empowering. Roberta Perkins, writing within the Australian context, has maintained that:

Female prostitution is a social situation in which women have more power over sexual interactions than in any other circumstance involving both sexes interacting. (Perkins, 1991, 389).

Consistent with such thinking is a perception of prostitutes as "rebels of the patriarchy rather than totally subservient to it" (ibid., 390). However, another Australian commentator contends such a view ignores the gendered power relations which frame all heterosexual relationships (Sullivan, 1994). Aspects of both these perspectives are typically evident in the realities of sex workers’ individual lives.

Prostitution and organised crime

Another area of concern and debate arises from perceptions of prostitution being associated with organised crime. In 1991 the Ministry of Women’s Affairs reported the New Zealand Police as believing there was little involvement of ‘Mafia’-type groups in the sex industry, although they noted concerns about some massage parlours being used for money-laundering and drug trafficking. While there may be some truth to such assertions, the Ministry document claimed it was possible such practices might also be associated with other businesses characterised by high cash turnovers, such as night clubs (Ministry of Women’s Affairs, 1991).

In November 2000, the National Bureau of Criminal Intelligence commenced a strategic assessment of the vice scene in New Zealand. In seeking to investigate links between organised crime and the sex industry, the New Zealand Police defined organised crime as:

a continuing association of persons having as its object or one of its objects, the acquisition of income or assets by means of a continuing course of criminal conduct. (PRB/WJP/1, 2001, 2).

Their investigation concluded that, while many sex businesses are not under the control or influence of organised crime groups, nevertheless there are extensive links between organised crime and the sex industry. Some of these are direct links resulting from the involvement of outlaw motorcycle gangs in a ‘behind the scenes’ manner in the operation and control of massage parlours in various centres. More common are the extensive and long-standing personal associations reported as existing between individual sex workers and members of organised crime groups.

Thus, some businesses, while not owned by crime groups, are regularly used for the provision of sex services to members, as outlets for the supply of drugs to sex workers and as ‘party venues’ for members. (ibid.).

Organised crime involvement is believed to be more direct in the non-regulated sector of the industry, such as escort agencies, strip clubs and rap parlours. The New Zealand Police stated that, of the 20 areas studied, if it had active outlaw motorcycle gangs present then such gangs were likely to be involved in running non-regulated sex businesses (PRB/WJP/1, 2001, 3). Private workers were noted to be less likely to be under the control or influence of organised crime.

Prostitution of persons under 18

There has been a paucity of research on child prostitution and it is only very recently that serious attention has been turned to this phenomenon (Saphira and Oliver, 2002). In New Zealand the legal age of consent for sexual activity is 16 years. Given that the age of consent is 16, under-age sex is technically able to be viewed as statutory rape. Child prostitution has been viewed somewhat differently because of the exchange of money or goods involved. Thus, until recently, the onus had been placed on the child for being the initiator of such an exchange, or for presenting themselves as older to prospective clients (Saphira, 2001).

In 2000, New Zealand signed the UN (United Nations) Convention on the Rights of the Child Optional Protocol on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution and Child Pornography. This Optional Protocol requires state parties to ensure that the provisions of their criminal law codes cover the sale of children, child prostitution and child pornography, and that extra-territorial jurisdiction over these offences is established (CEDAW, 2002). New Zealand government agencies combined with non-government organisations and community groups (including the Ministry of Justice, the Department of Child, Youth and Family Services, the New Zealand Police, Human Rights Commission, End Child Prostitution, Pornography and Trafficking (ECPAT), and NZPC) to develop a National Plan of Action Against the Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Children. This Plan of Action was approved by the New Zealand Government in October 2001.

The Plan of Action examines the four main activities that exploit children on the basis of their commercial value – child prostitution, child pornography, child sex tourism, and child trafficking for sexual purposes. It outlines the measures currently being implemented in response to these activities, identifies the challenges presented by each area, and suggests future action and a timetable for implementation. The Plan of Action states that child sex tours no longer appear to be operating out of New Zealand, nor do young people here appear to be involved in organised prostitution conducted in association with pimping. Instead it maintains that the commercial sexual activity of young people in this country can more aptly be described as ‘opportunistic prostitution’ or ‘sex for favours’. Most young people involved in commercial sexual exploitation do not perceive or define themselves as sex workers or prostitutes (CEDAW, 2002).

Under the Prostitution Reform Act 2003 it is an offence for any person to pay for sexual services to be provided by any person under the age of 18 years, or for any person to employ those under 18 in the sex industry. This is consistent with calls from the United Nations for international consistency in defining the age of children as under 18 (Saphira, 2001), as well as reflecting earlier New Zealand massage parlour legislation prohibiting the legal employment of those under 18 years of age.

Concern regarding young people’s involvement in prostitution is not new, and indeed in the nineteenth century reports were rife in many jurisdictions, including New Zealand, of child participation in the sex industry (Brown and Barrett, 2002). Much of the concern expressed at this time related to the immorality of such participation, although some commentators did link this phenomenon to poverty.

In recent years similar arguments have emphasised child exploitation and abuse, and raised concerns regarding the vulnerability of children to paedophiles and sexual predators. In the international context considerable debate has occurred regarding the trafficking of children and women (Kelly, 2003; Kelly and Regan, 2000). The available literature does not indicate child trafficking to be a major threat facing New Zealand children but does express overall concern regarding the participation of children and young people in the New Zealand sex industry.

One of the first interview studies conducted with female sex workers indicated it was not uncommon for them to commence sex work in their teenage years (Jordan, 1991c). This was reinforced by subsequent studies in Christchurch and Wellington revealing nearly one-third of the participants to have commenced sex work before they were 18 years of age (Plumridge, 2000, cited in Saphira, 2001). The figures cited from this study recorded 93 persons in the under 18 age group when they commenced sex work, compared with 87 in the 18-21 age group and 123 who were over 21 years. The ages appeared to be younger for street workers than massage parlour workers, which is not surprising given that parlours were not legally permitted to employ persons under 18 years.

An Auckland study of transgendered sex workers found that all of the six interviewed had started working on the streets while in their teens (Worth, 2003). One was only 11 when she started sex work in Fiji. Several recounted backgrounds of abuse, either physical or sexual, which precipitated their leaving home at a young age to work on the streets. A study conducted with 81 male sex workers in South Wales, United Kingdom, revealed the average age to be slightly under 18, which, when the interviews were conducted in 1992, meant that 97% were under the (then) legal age of consent for male homosexual sex (Davies and Feldman, 1997).

Miriam Saphira (2001) has noted the dearth of available information on child prostitution in New Zealand and has herself undertaken some of the most significant research in this area. In trying to obtain a fuller picture, she undertook a study to investigate the extent and characteristics of child prostitution in New Zealand (Saphira, 2001). Written questionnaires were sent to key agency and community informants (such as school counsellors, social workers, police, etc), and 43 interviews were conducted with persons working with young people.

Of the 280 questionnaire respondents, 101 said they knew of at least one child prostitute. A total of 195 child prostitutes were described, 145 of whom were under the age of 16 years. What was not apparent, however, was whether each child was a distinct case or whether the same children were well-known and counted more than once. Saphira noted that children as young as six were being sexually abused in exchange for money, favours or goods. From interviews conducted with Crown Law, it emerged that many instances exist where the use of bribes occurs within the context of child sexual abuse, a practice which could be one factor encouraging children into subsequent involvement in prostitution (Saphira, 2001). The respondents in this study said they knew that 64% of child prostitutes had been sexually abused and 68% had been physically abused (ibid., 12). They also reported that 82% were known to be using drugs. Saphira notes the possibility that all of these figures may be low estimates given that some of the young people had been seen only a few times and may have been reticent about divulging such information. Some seasonal variation was noted by the police who said higher numbers of teenage runaways were apparent during the summer months, a time when the weather is more likely to be conducive to street prostitution generally (Saphira, 2001). Overall, she maintains that:

From a therapist point of view it would be a safe assumption that most people under 16 years who are involved in child prostitution would have been sexually abused in order to have been in this position. At what point is childhood sexual abuse called prostitution? (Saphira, 2001, 6).

Hence she argues that, viewed from the child’s perspective, child prostitution may be better renamed as ‘survival sex’. She notes that many young people who go into prostitution do so in response to backgrounds characterised by abuse, family breakdown, poverty, and addiction. Contexts such as these are not conducive to ‘choosing’ prostitution as a job, given a perceived absence of viable alternatives.

The backgrounds and pressures on lower socio-economic groups in particular may influence some children to seek financial support through prostitution, with many of those working the streets likely to be Māori (Kiriona, 2003). A South Auckland transsexual Māori community worker, who herself began prostituting as an 11-year old boy and was anally raped by his first client, has expressed concern at the signal given to Māori youth by the recent law changes:

What message have we sent to our mokopuna? Have we just said to them that when they finish High School and turn 18 they can hit the streets or a parlour and be a hooker? (Mama Tere, quoted in Kiriona, 2003, 20).

Concern has also been voiced regarding participation by New Zealand adults in sex industries overseas. The organisation ECPAT (dedicated to the Elimination of Child Prostitution and Trafficking) has been active in highlighting this as a growing area of concern and calling for legislation changes. A recent amendment to the Crimes Act 1961 makes it a criminal offence for any New Zealand citizen/resident to engage in commercial sexual activity with children overseas (Saphira, 2001). It is also a criminal offence to promote or assist people to travel overseas when one of the purposes of the trip is to engage in commercial sexual activity with children.

Sex tourism

New Zealand’s growing development as a popular tourism destination is not, it seems, only related to its scenery, adventure sports, and recent Lord of the Rings popularity. While most of the limited discussion regarding possible connections between New Zealand and sex tourism has focussed on New Zealanders abroad, some attention has also been turned to activities within our own shores. A figure quoted in 1994 conservatively estimated the sex industries in Auckland and Wellington to contribute $9.4 million and $5.2 million respectively to the tourism industry, citing this as evidence of the demand by tourists for sex workers (Kinder, 1994, 28).

It could be argued that sex tourism has been part of our international profile since the nineteenth century. Accounts from a German physician who visited New Zealand suggested that as well as the Pink and White Terraces and the hot pools, visitors to Rotorua in the 1870s were able to acquire prostitution services from young Māori women (Buchner, 1878, cited in PRB 116, 2001). In providing descriptions of the children resulting from Māori-European prostitution encounters, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku has indicated links between nineteenth and twentieth century sex tourism (PRB 116, 2001). While the offspring of the whaling and trading era were affectionately referred to as ‘utu pihikete’ (the cost of a biscuit), progeny with similar origins in the 1960s and 1970s were named after the largest tour bus company transporting tourists into Rotorua as ‘Ngati Bonnicci’.

Despite such historical indications, globally it is only comparatively recently that sex tourism has been subjected to significant research endeavours. This area has emerged since the late 1970s as a legitimate area of tourism studies, with a typical definition of sex tourism being:

tourism where the main purpose or motivation of at least part of the trip is to consummate sexual relations. (Ryan and Hall, 2001, x).

Internationally there has been increasing recognition that vacation time can be significantly linked to greater risk-taking behaviour and adventure-seeking, including participating in activities that they may not routinely participate in (Chesney-Lind and Lind, cited in Kinder, 1994). Since prostitution has been recognised in part as an attempt by some men to escape the usual social and sexual norms (McLeod, 1982), time on overseas business or vacation trips presents increased opportunities for such activities (Kinder, 1994; Ryan and Hall, 2001).

In discussing common motives for travel, Chris Ryan has cited one of these to be ‘sexual opportunity’, the allure of holiday sex or romance. He notes:

The popular characterisation of the eighteen to thirty year old holiday market as sometimes displayed by the tabloid press is that it represents an opportunity for ‘bonking’. (Ryan, 1991, 27).

Mounting concern is being raised about sex trafficking as a related aspect of sex tourism – if the client cannot go to the market, the market can come to the client. The disparity in economic and cultural power that typically exists between these groups, however, complicates such possibilities. Traffickers may lure women with false promises, or directly coerce them into the trade, with debt bondage being regarded by Human Rights Watch as the most common form of coercion (Ryan and Hall, 2001). Concerns have been voiced regarding the trafficking of women from Thailand to work in New Zealand’s sex industry, an issue explored further in the section on "illegal immigrants". Child trafficking has also become the subject of widespread condemnation, although New Zealand’s involvement with child sex tourism is apparent more in the activities of New Zealand men abroad than in the large-scale importation of children for this purpose. Given international concerns that the demand for sex with children is increasing, however, this should not be grounds for complacency (Ryan and Hall, 2001).

What is also being increasingly challenged is that the sex workers will be female and the clients male, with recent commentators noting the growth in male prostitution as well as the increasing attention being given to the female sex tourist abroad (Ryan and Hall, 2001). No evidence exists to date of female tourists targeting New Zealand men, or women, as providers of commercial sexual services.

Initial responses to legislation change

Commentators have noted that the passing of the Prostitution Reform Act 2003 placed responsibilities on local governments that many will find difficult and complex to exercise (Bush, 2003). At minimum, local authorities will have to manage the location of brothels and the nature of their signage, and are now statutorily required to regard brothels as legitimate businesses and integrate them into the resource consent process. Difficulties may arise, however, because some of those charged with these responsibilities may hold fiercely strong and emotional views of their own regarding such matters. Graham Bush, an Honorary Research Fellow in Political Studies at Auckland University, has accordingly urged:

However tempting, councillors should at all costs avoid exploiting the regulatory role so assigned as a weapon by which personal attitudes towards prostitution and brothels can be promoted. Parliament has determined and it would be indefensible for a local body to use its powers under the Resource Management Act to seek to negate Parliament’s will. (Bush, 2003, 32).

Local Government New Zealand has declared that it will frame a model by-law and provide guidance about modifying district plans (Bush, 2003, 32). Such a move has been welcomed as a means of ensuring that local authorities operate within the regulatory framework provided by Parliament rather than asserting their own agendas within this new environment.

The legislation has allowed local body councils to introduce by-laws regarding the location of brothels but such changes do not restrict the operations of street-workers. Soliciting in public has been decriminalised, so there is no legal impediment to sex workers openly recruiting clients in public bars or hotels. The manager of Monica’s, a high profile massage parlour in Auckland, has warned bar owners to be prepared for an increase in soliciting on their premises (Scott McGregor, quoted in Terei, 2003, 12). An upmarket bar owner quoted in the same article, however, has other ideas, suggesting that prostitutes would not be tolerated for soliciting on the premises any more than any other hawker would be. The difficulties of enforcing such a stance, however, could produce embarrassment and leave the staff and management open to prosecution under the Privacy Act (Terei, 2003).

Given recent experiences in Australia, outlined in the second part of this review, it is clear that the major challenge in the immediate wake of prostitution law reform in New Zealand will be ensuring that the overall aim and intentions of the Act are not undermined by local body initiatives.

Overview

This review has sought to summarise key research findings of materials published prior to the legal changes of 2003 in order to provide a basis on which to build future assessments of the sex industry in New Zealand.

What emerges from the account presented here is a picture of the sex industry as a long-established feature of the New Zealand landscape. Men’s expectations and demands surrounding commercial sex have been evident since at least the arrival of early Western explorers, whalers, and traders, and there appears to have been little difficulty in finding women willing to exchange access to sex for the money and material goods they typically lacked. Such a pattern persists today, with the most significant changes being not in the practice of prostitution itself but in the social attitudes surrounding it. Social tolerance of the sex industry is generally evident to a greater degree, as the recent legislation itself illustrates. Both sex workers and their clients face a reduced social stigma, although by no means could it be said that prostitution is promoted as an acceptable vocational choice to school leavers or the unemployed.

Those entering the sex industry as workers do so primarily for economic reasons, a factor highlighting the economic marginalisation of some sectors of our communities, and the difficulties of securing well-paid employment. The financial demands that may emanate from drug or alcohol addiction may also be a precipitating factor, while for many women the financial pressures associated with caring for children on their own may influence their decision to enter prostitution.

Most of the time, most of the sex industry operates discreetly and behind closed doors. Many people are unaware that their neighbours work in the sex industry, or even that their street contains a brothel (Bush, 2003). The issues likely to provoke concern are typically related to the visibility of prostitution – issues such as brothel location, advertising and signage. Community anxieties can also be unleashed by obvious street soliciting, in ways that mirror the affrontery reported by nineteenth century theatre-goers in Christchurch when jostled by ‘nymphs of the pave’ (Robinson, 1983). More recently, police officers themselves have remarked that crackdowns on the industry have been provoked by public complaints about unruly street workers (Robinson, 1987). Early responses by councils to the Prostitution Reform Act 2003 have endorsed a similar stance, in some cases seeking to place restrictions on sex industry signage and advertising as well as ban brothels completely from suburban areas (see, for example, articles relating to Auckland: "Bylaw forces brothels away from houses," New Zealand Herald, 11/9/03, "Saving the city from sleaze," Sunday Star Times, 21/9/03; Christchurch: "Brothels face council’s red light," The Press, 17/12/03; Hamilton: "MPs seek ban on urban brothels," Waikato Times, 27/4/04). As one newspaper headline proclaimed early this year, in 2004 the message still seems to be: "Sex and the city – it’s okay if it’s discreet", Waikato Times, 12/4/04).

A further concern often voiced regarding the sex industry relates to public health issues. Most contemporary health commentators do not consider the sex industry to be a major at-risk area for the transmission of HIV/AIDS, and are hopeful that the establishment of a more tolerant legal environment will contribute to enhanced attention to health and safety issues. The vulnerability of some sectors of the industry to violence and exploitation is, however, a serious problem. Street and escort workers in particular often operate in essentially unprotected environments, encountering clientele who may be drunk, drugged, disturbed, and/or misogynistic. Women who work as illegal immigrants are also a particularly vulnerable group, some of whom may be dependent on unscrupulous operators for their safety and livelihood. High levels of fear and isolation can also exacerbate their situation.

Although the legislation prohibits the involvement of those under 18 providing prostitution services, the high client demand for such services may encourage some operators and young people themselves to disregard such prohibitions. Prostitution can present as an attractive operation to teenagers who, as well as lacking money, may also lack a secure home background and high self-esteem. If these factors are further accompanied by drug or alcohol addiction, selling sex can come to be viewed as a necessary survival option.

The difficulties of exiting the sex industry are also of high concern. The stigma of prostitution effectively locks many workers into the industry, undermining their sense of esteem and jeopardising their chances of securing alternative employment. Sex work as an occupation does not currently lend itself to inclusion on one’s curriculum vitae, despite the wide range of skills any successful sex worker must possess. A lack of obvious work history or recent references makes it difficult to secure employment elsewhere. Scope for accessing re-training programmes or alternative funding sources can also be restricted as a result, further hindering movement out of the industry.

Prostitution law reform may remove some of the legal barriers and contribute to the creation of a more open climate around the sex industry, but the many social, economic, and cultural issues surrounding its operation still clamour for attention. The final word goes to a sex worker who articulated well her vision for a decriminalised sex industry when she passionately argued to the Select Committee:

I want to be a sex worker, I don’t want to be a criminal, and I don’t deserve to be. I work in a demand driven industry. Without clients there would be no workers. We are not predators. I sit in a secured building and clients choose to come and see me. When you are thinking about the industry, it’s not something ‘over there’, to do with a whole sector of society cut off from everyone else. What we are talking about is my life, and the lives of a whole lot of women and men in this society. It’s often hard enough dealing with the social stigma of being a sex worker, please don’t leave us to be criminals any longer. I’m not asking any of you to condone sex work, or believe that what I do is OK, I’m just asking for the full human rights that this Bill would give us. (PRB 107A, 2001, 6).

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