Way back, when I was practicing law and writing ‘socially aware’ Op Ed articles syndicated in major newspapers across Canada, I came across a Supreme Court case which caught my interest.
The argument?
“Does it make sense that prostitution is legal, but soliciting customers on the streets isn’t?”
It didn’t make sense. It's like saying, "It's okay to sell cars, but you can't show them in your showroom."
So, I landed up driving to Ottawa to interview the chief crown prosecutor who had pleaded the case.
He had a better suggestion for an interviewee…
“Why don’t you interview the woman who spearheaded the case right up to the Supreme Court?
Vicky, the President of the Prostitutes Association for Canada.”
Why not!
I made an appointment to interview her.
\Next week, her place, 11 pm - after her working hours.
The day of the interview, I flew to Toronto, checked into the hotel and… got cold feet.
The voices in my head started cackling. “Don’t go. She’s probably head of a white slavery ring!”
A voice of reason cut off the voices. “You’re crazy or something?
You came all this way only to go back with nothing in hand?”
At 10:30 pm, I forced myself to the reception desk of the hotel, explained the nature of my interview,
and that I was scared. I gave the receptionist the address, Vicky’s name and tel. number,
and gave firm orders to the night clerk – just like in the movies:
“If I’m not back at the hotel by 3 am, call the police!
Shortly before 11 pm, I was walking the streets of Vicki’s neighborhood. Dark. Hardly anyone on them.
But, surprisingly, I didn’t feel any fear. What few people were on the street were all walking with a destination in mind. Nobody just 'hanging out’.
To be frank, I have felt fear on the side streets of downtown Toronto or Montreal. But not here.
I rang the doorbell. Exactly on time. Vicky opened the door. And my entry into another world began.
As I walked in, I felt a surge of 'deja vue’. Nothing about the inside of Vicky's house gave any feeling of being in another world. It was a two story home, furnished very sparsely. Nothing about it to indicate that, “Here lives the President of the Prostitutes’ Association.”
I felt a little sheepish about my initial reaction. The house reminded me of the time I was applying for an internship with a criminal law firm in Montreal and was surprised to find a “normal” lawyer’s office - no nooses hanging from the ceiling!
We sat down on the sofa and I asked the first “brilliant” question that popped into my head.
“So tell me what you do.”
She didn’t hold back.
“I pick up men as they drive slowly by, scouting for flesh. A car stops. I jump in.
He drives to a vacant parking lot behind a building.
He does his job. I’m lucky to get paid, let alone get back intact.
"This is a job filled with danger. There’ s no protection for prostitutes.
The customer can rape us, mutilate us, rob us, murder us, and we are completely at their mercy.
That’s why my partner always waits behind me, so that right after I’ve popped into the car, she takes down the license number and the make of the car.”
As she’s talking, Vicky’s partner, a short, young woman, walks to the door. She’s putting on her cap about to take her bicycle out to buy some milk.
Suddenly , without warning, in the middle of a sentence, Vicky runs to say a loving goodbye to her partner.
And in a flash, in my mind’s eye, Vicky is transformed into a delightful, "innocent,” 3-year old little girl wearing a pink tutu, black patent leather shoes, reaching up to kiss her father good-night.
Vicky returned to the sofa and continued telling me about her work.
“When it’s available, we work on our own premises.”
“Who are your customers?”
"Men who are in between affairs.
Men who don’t want sex but who just want to talk.”
"Men who are not comfortable with women"
For a moment a fleeting smile hit Vicky’s lips.
“When it’s a woman client, we give her a special rate.”
There is also a telephone service Vicky provides .
“Men who call and ‘order’ you to be at their hotel room at a certain time.
They like the feeling of control they get from giving that order.”
Vicky, now more relaxed, began to share her feelings.
“I have always felt incensed that we as prostitutes are not protected.
At a certain point, I was driven to start the Prostitutes Association.
One of my first project as the President of the Association was to visit bordellos in different countries
to experience the different conditions in which the prostitute works.
The contrast of working in a bordello made being self-employed as a prostitute a dream job!
"The girls in the bordello had no say as to who their clients would be.
Even when the client had a history of being abusive.
“On the surface, the money looked good.
But the reality was different.
50% of what they earned was skimmed off the top by the house.
25% was skimmed off the top for taxes.
"And out of the pitiful amount that remained, they had to pay the house’s price for a pack of cigarettes: $12 when the store price was $1!”
“Would you like to get out of the business?”
“No, I’m good at what I do.
But what i want - what I need - is respect from society.
I do work that is needed.
I do it well.
But society owes me something.
I am owed the protection of the law.
I need the right to work on my own.
The right to rent an apartment in a safe location.
And an end put to the practice of a landlord able to get
grubby for extreme sums of money because of my vulnerability.”
"What has been the worst experience of your life?”
“Being blocked from attending a meeting of female activists
because they didn’t want prostitutes sitting next to them."
p
