Here is a challenge. You are Amnesty International. You want to take a position on sex work. It must not, however, have an impact anyone else’s human rights, in particular the “human right” of men to purchase sex. Therefore whatever your research throws up, your conclusion has been set in advance. How can you get from A to B, at least without openly treading on the corpses of too many trafficked women and girls?

Fear not! For now you can read Amnesty’s own draft policy doc and work out how it’s done … (more…)

Confession: I am not sure what a “feminist choice” is meant to be, other than something that people use to defend bad arguments before deciding that the people they’re arguing with are the ones who believe in “feminist choices” to begin with. But I do think if we are to have any discussions about gender, work and possibilities for change, it makes sense to distinguish that which is inevitable and/or gendered from that which is not.

For a man, the alternative to paying for sex is not having sex. That is it. The sex “not done” is not an undue burden that will one day need to be relieved, no matter what the average adolescent boy might claim. For a woman, the alternative to paying for childcare is doing the work yourself, immediately, unpaid, and isolated from the broader economy. One is not the same as the other. It should not be the case that social class privilege enables some women, but not others, to mitigate sex class disadvantage (albeit at a cost). Nonetheless, it is not the case that paying for childcare is a form of exploitation based on class privilege in the same way that paying for sex is (and I realise the original quote is about selling, not buying, sex, but I refuse to compare apples and pears just because it suits someone else’s desire to hide the true comparison).

Someone has to do childcare. That someone does not have to be a woman but it usually is. All people – including men of all classes – benefit from the fact that children are cared for. Yet it is only women who are expected to bear the burden of this work, regardless of whether they are doing it themselves or not.

A society in which sex is not work for anyone – in which it is leisure for both parties – should not be unthinkable. It may be impossible to achieve under patriarchy (and people can and do disagree on what is the safest, most humane way to proceed in the meantime) but anyone who suggests that such a society cannot even be imagined – that even to dream of it is a pointless indulgence – might as well give up any pretence of holding men to account in the here and now.

On the other hand, a society in which childcare is not work for anyone – in which it is always times leisure for both carer and child – is impossible to achieve. And yet we find it easy to imagine. More than that, we pretend it exists right this very minute. Women who outsource childcare are vilified not least because of the myth that when it is your own child, childcare is not really work at all. It is “natural.” It is just how things should be, so why shouldn’t you knuckle down and accept the exhaustion, sleep deprivation and ecomonic exclusion that goes with it? For some, the thought that childcare is inevitably work – and that therefore we should find better ways to distribute it equally between the sexes, to make it pay better and to remove all stigma associated with it being paid for – is much more taboo than the thought that sex is sometimes, for women, inevitably work (which it isn’t in any absolute sense). It is a strange imbalance, one that can only be justified by seeing the world as one in which men “naturally” need sex in the same way that women “naturally” want to care for others (which is not, by the way, a feminist way of seeing things at all).

The meaning of women’s labour should not be contingent on how men feel about it – whether they realise that they themselves benefit from it, whether they would wish to do it themselves, whether they notice that it is work at all. There is another way of seeing things, one which recognises women not just as objects who meet supposed “needs” but as human beings who have needs themselves. Neither childcare nor sex is “what we’re for” but we are expected to live in a male-dominated world which treats us as though this is the case, not paying us for the former because they love it really, paying us for the latter because who gives a shit whether they love it or not? That each of us is making a contribution to the world – on average a greater one than the men around us – gets lost in discussions of how compromised each of our contributions is and fearful disagreements over how far one might dare to imagine alternative societies, ones which demand more from men and less from us.

The solution is not to make what should be leisure for both sexes into work for women, while pretending that what should be work for both sexes is leisure for women. That is, however, the “solution” that patriarchy offers us and it is incredibly difficult to disentangle ourselves from it without feeling that we lose what little value we have been granted as human beings. Nonetheless, that is no reason to avoid thinking the unthinkable, nor is it one to distort debates that matter and which we need to be having right now.

In his brilliant blog post on purity leftism, Matt Bruenig describes a group of activists whose “interest is not in reducing oppression as much as it is in reducing their own participation in it”

Above all else, they want to be able to say that they are not oppressing, not that oppression has ended.[…] A purity leftist that carries out some action or campaign does not care whether it achieves anything. Just participating in the action, although a meaningless gesture, is a gesture nonetheless.

We all know the type: someone who boasts loudly of their revolutionary credentials but who avoids all practical commitments for the simple reason that the moment you start doing something, you are tainted. It might be that your organisation has to ask the wrong people for money; perhaps you’ll need to use products that aren’t ethically sourced; maybe your resources are limited and you’ll need to choose whom you can and can’t help. For whatever reason, the moment an idea becomes a deed, it’s never as pure as it once was and for some people, the damage this would do to their self-perception is just too much.

You can admire purity leftists as people who stick to their principles and never compromise or you can see purity leftism for what it is: privilege in action. People not getting their hands dirty because they simply don’t have to. It has much in common with choice feminism, described by Michaele L. Ferguson as a feminism that is “motivated by a fear of politics”:

It arises in response to three common criticisms of feminism: that feminism is too radical, too exclusionary, and too judgmental. In response, choice feminism offers a worldview that does not challenge the status quo, that promises to include all women regardless of their choices, and that abstains from judgment altogether.

Way-hey! A feminism that enables you to see yourself as the most principled, inclusive person while never, ever having to lay your own neck on the line. You never have to make a decision about who can be admitted to a shelter, or whether or not certain forms of work have a negative impact on women as a class. You just get to sit in judgment on those who do and that in itself can be your “activism”.

Becky, who founded the ethical clothing company Who Made Your Pants?, is neither a purity leftist nor a choice feminist. In a country with horrendously weak employment laws, in which employers are well within their rights to do the bare minimum for their employees – and in which most do — she founded a business that does more than that. She employs women who desperately need jobs to make clothing from recycled materials. The conditions in her factory are excellent. That said, it is not a perfect business. It is based in the UK, not on a fluffy cloud in Perfectland where nobody ever has to make compromises. It is a business which, on the spectrum of “never good enough”, strives to do as much as possible rather than as little as one can get away with. For this Becky deserves admiration.

And yet, for the likes of Brooke Magnanti, writing in the Telegraph, this is not good enough. To Magnanti, Becky’s project deserves not applause but derision. For how can it ever be free from the taint of capitalism? Isn’t everything, when you think about it – as first-year politics students often do, after several pints down the student bar – just all part of the same fucked up process? As Magnanti notes,

I can claim to be wearing an ethical jumper that I knitted myself, but where was the wool from? Shorn from what animals, in what conditions? What’s the dye? I can’t buy local wool; everything produced in the part of Scotland where I live goes off to stuff mattresses in Italy. And don’t even get started on the environmental wreckage of cotton crops. Ethical consumerism can’t be assessed on a single metric, and those who do so are laughable. It also does not mean the same thing to everyone in every circumstance.

She’s right, isn’t she? It’s complicated, oh so complicated. So complicated, in fact, that we might as well all sit on our privileged arses and do fuck all. Or better still, get paid to write about how complicated it is. At least then we’re not lowering ourselves by making pants that lack the requisite level of ideological purity.

Still, in a world that is so, so complicated it’s a good job there are still some occupations that aren’t complicated at all. Take sex work, Magnanti’s previous profession. In this case, one transaction between two (hopefully) consenting adults has no impact whatsoever on anything else in the entire world. It has no impact whatsoever on the extent to which all women’s bodies are objectified, commoditised and dehumanised. For some magic reason, upon which Magnanti never expounds, sex work is totally self-contained. Here, ethical consumerism can indeed be assessed on a single metric, despite the enormous power imbalances between men and women, and between clients and sex workers. It’s only when we’re dealing with pants and jumpers that being immersed in the capitalist-patriarchal mire happens to be of any relevance, or so we’re meant to think.

Do you know what? I am struggling to buy this bullshit, based as it is on a merging together of choice feminism, purity leftism and pure, naked spite. I would rather, a million times over, support someone who exploits people’s anxiety over capitalism than someone who exploits men’s anxiety over female sexual autonomy. I would rather, a million times over, support someone like Becky, who changes the material conditions of other women’s lives, than support someone who feeds off the fear of judgement that allows individualism to masquerade as feminism.

So, go ahead, Brooke. Choose your non-ethical pants, choose your column in the right-wing press, choose to believe you’ve fucked your way out of being privileged, white, and middle class. Choose all of these things but don’t ever, ever choose to try to make a difference. You’ll never meet the requirements of your own prudish politics so you might as well not try.

This post is brought to you by sex. Lots and lots of sex, which I may or may not have had in the past and/or be having right now. The precise nature of said sex shall remain undefined. Suffice it to say that it’s as rude – or not rude – as you want it to be. The point is, I’ve fucked my way to credibility – or have I?

It has come to my attention that in most discussions of porn, sex work and objectification, there’s immense pressure placed on feminists to demonstrate they have the lived experience required to take part. It’s not enough that to have grown up in a patriarchal culture, nor to have felt the daily impact of being reduced to passive flesh. You’re obliged to show your bits. After all, if you don’t do that, how can anyone tell whether you’re not just some sex-fearing neurotic? Disliking sex is not the same as, say, not liking sugar in your tea; it’s become a form of bigotry and thus, as a bigot, you’re not allowed an abstract opinion on how objectification affects womankind. Indeed, even if you’re fond of most things sex-wise, it’s probably best to express unbridled enthusiasm for anything at all that you find problematic, otherwise you may not be permitted to find it problematic in the first place. Does that make sense? (more…)

Young women with low-paid jobs in retail are dead useful, aren’t they? I don’t mean just for stacking shelves and beeping stuff through the checkout. I mean as a debating device for the middle-classes, people who’d never dream of finding themselves on their hands and knees in Asda, making sure the Moshi Monsters tinned spaghetti hadn’t got mixed up with the Third & Bird wholewheat pasta shapes.

When I was growing up, for instance, the threatened penalty for not working hard at school was “ending up on the sweetie counter at Woollies”. Whereas to me this would have meant strawberry laces on tap, to my parents this meant only misery and failure. It’s only in a post-Woolworths world that we see how much worse it can get; if the pick ‘n’ mix counter were open today, it’d be run by staff receiving only JSA for their troubles. (more…)

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