Dear Kathleen: An Immersed Reflexive Inquiry of Sex Work, Sexual Violence, and College Students
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| Title: | Dear Kathleen: An Immersed Reflexive Inquiry of Sex Work, Sexual Violence, and College Students |
|---|---|
| Language: | English |
| Authors: | Terah J. Stewart (ORCID |
| Source: | New Directions for Higher Education. 2024 (208):43-50. |
| Availability: | Wiley. Available from: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030. Tel: 800-835-6770; e-mail: cs-journals@wiley.com; Web site: https://www.wiley.com/en-us |
| Peer Reviewed: | Y |
| Page Count: | 8 |
| Publication Date: | 2024 |
| Document Type: | Journal Articles Reports - Descriptive |
| Education Level: | Higher Education Postsecondary Education |
| Descriptors: | Sexual Abuse, Violence, Sexuality, Occupations, College Students |
| DOI: | 10.1002/he.20516 |
| ISSN: | 0271-0560 1536-0741 |
| Abstract: | Within scholarship and public discourse, the concepts sex work and sexual violence are often conflated. More specifically, sex work is specifically framed as sexual violence that relies on a prevalent oppression paradigm analytic with respect to erotic labor(ers). This necessarily impacts research and scholarship on sex workers, and it informs the experiences of college students engaged in sex work. Situated as an immersed reflexive inquiry, we analyze the bounds of sex work, sexual violence, and what, if any, nexus exists between them through our personal, professional, and academic experiences in tandem with an artifact (a reflexive letter) written by a college student sex work to her past self. We interrogate implications and offer a clear perspective on whether sex work is sexual violence and why it matters. |
| Abstractor: | As Provided |
| Entry Date: | 2024 |
| Accession Number: | EJ1453084 |
| Database: | ERIC |
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| FullText | Links: – Type: pdflink Url: https://content.ebscohost.com/cds/retrieve?content=AQICAHj0k_4E0hTGH8RJwT4gCJyBsGNe_WN95AvKlDbXJGqwxwFWoFOvL0WuPCIxor73N8usAAAA4zCB4AYJKoZIhvcNAQcGoIHSMIHPAgEAMIHJBgkqhkiG9w0BBwEwHgYJYIZIAWUDBAEuMBEEDDN6K_20STNOUv6s5wIBEICBm0uHblYWDORybHERM-we3pbj_JbDyejMpCToGWyU5gyvgnbuSpk_hFbU7SUww1OeOtCHzmQtXg0HM4bKSaChmP6WZDc0B41lzMogUC-nxOsWunmppd7tYza-SFJvXRZr_5HEZT2CBjFH4kzFwTnuk-AVsCqQ1TOH1OTq4VvIsbuhRmXPGqzmTnN4Wg_2ZZ39lFnl_Z0dt3xgbQX4 Text: Availability: 1 Value: <anid>AN0181679675;ndh01dec.24;2024Dec18.01:51;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0181679675-1">Dear Kathleen: An Immersed Reflexive Inquiry of Sex Work, Sexual Violence, and College Students </title> <p>Within scholarship and public discourse, the concepts sex work and sexual violence are often conflated. More specifically, sex work is specifically framed as sexual violence that relies on a prevalent oppression paradigm analytic with respect to erotic labor(ers). This necessarily impacts research and scholarship on sex workers, and it informs the experiences of college students engaged in sex work. Situated as an immersed reflexive inquiry, we analyze the bounds of sex work, sexual violence, and what, if any, nexus exists between them through our personal, professional, and academic experiences in tandem with an artifact (a reflexive letter) written by a college student sex work to her past self. We interrogate implications and offer a clear perspective on whether sex work is sexual violence and why it matters.</p> <p>Keywords: college student sex work; consent; erotic labor; higher education; rape; sexual violence; sex work</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-2">Introduction</hd> <p>Researchers, policymakers, and practitioners have broadly engaged sex work within their scholarly and community work throughout history. However, sex work has been nearly absent in higher education research, praxis, and discourse. This absence is concerning for many reasons; namely, sex workers broadly occupy a vulnerable position due to hyper marginalization, hyper stigma, shame, and at times legal constraints (Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref1">21</reflink>]). Further, both empirical and anecdotal evidence suggests that sex workers generally need more support in postsecondary environments (Lister [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref2">13</reflink>]; Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref3">21</reflink>]). An area of ongoing concern held by practitioners, law, and policymakers is on the issue of safety and sex work. Specifically, sex work and sexual violence are regularly conflated within public discourse and occasionally within higher education discourse, policy, and practice (Stewart and Linder [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref4">25</reflink>]). As such, we seek to better understand the entanglement of sex work and sexual violence and if—and as—it exists, through a case narrative by a college student sex worker, Kathleen.</p> <p>Through invoking Danticat ([<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref5">6</reflink>]), we position this work as "dangerous research", where we seek to write dangerously and practice dangerously—for students like Kathleen, for all students (and people) in the margins—toward realizing a world better than this one; and may we accept nothing less than freedom.</p> <p>We do not center research questions as part of our approach, as they can be limiting to critical, constructivist, and reflexive work (Birks and Mills [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref6">4</reflink>]; Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref7">21</reflink>]). Instead, we use a research purpose to center this manuscript, which is more conducive and flexible to exploratory and reflexive projects. To this end, the purpose of this immersed reflexive inquiry (Lyle [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref8">14</reflink>]; Warwick and Board [<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref9">27</reflink>]) is to examine the contours of sex work, sexual violence, and the nexus of the two. We will begin by providing a brief literature review, then we offer background and context about the larger study in which Kathleen's experience and letter are couched within. Next, using Kathleen's letter as a point of departure, we write reflexive letters in response to Kathleen from our various positionalities, and we conclude by synthesizing an analysis and offering implications.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-3">Summary</hd> <p></p> <ulist> <item> Sex work and sexual violence should be considered as two distinct issues and engaged as such in research and practice (including in student support services, sexual violence student support services, and student health services).</item> <p></p> <item> Sex workers can and do experience sexual violence and not necessarily related to their sex working.</item> <p></p> <item> Sex workers need additional, non‐judgmental support, related to finances, mental health, and physical health. They can both communicate challenges with their sex working and still decide to engage it as their labor choice.</item> </ulist> <hd id="AN0181679675-4">Literature Review</hd> <p>To begin, we define sex work as the exchange of sexual services between adults for money, this can include direct or full service sex work (including sex in exchange for money) and indirect sex work (including exotic dancing, phone sex, camming, domming, kink, and other performance or engagement of a sexual nature where no sexual intercourse occurs). This definition does not include sex trafficking or human trafficking, nor any sexual labor or exploitation of minors/underage persons of any kind. The literature on sex work and consent cut across disciplines including feminism, philosophy, sociology, and public health (Berg [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref10">2</reflink>]; Showden and Majic [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref11">20</reflink>]). The broad discourse often relies on a few stratified layers but usually narrows down to two broad views of sex workers as either being inherently victims (incapable of consent due to the sexual nature of sex work, this is sex work is/as violence) or having agency (read empowered) given their power to decide to engage in sexual labor forms (Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref12">21</reflink>]).</p> <p>In philosophical literature, this binary can be articulated around whether sex work is a form of <emph>inherent harm</emph>‐ as a patriarchal economic structure of gender violence—or <emph>contingent harm</emph>‐ given all labor under capitalism is violent (Wu [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref13">29</reflink>]). While various disciplines may use varying language and frames, most ultimately simplify to this repetitive binary. Other more robust frameworks exist—including the polymorphous paradigm of sex work (Weitzer [<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref14">28</reflink>])—which suggests that we should reject the "oppression paradigm" and the "empowerment paradigm" for a paradigm more nuanced which can account for sociopolitical contexts; as well as those that account for individual sex work engagements (micro) as part of and within the (macro) social, labor, and political contexts (see, Cruz [<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref15">5</reflink>]; Hardy [<reflink idref="bib10" id="ref16">10</reflink>]). The more robust frameworks are often decentered and left out of the prevalent victim/agent binary debates.</p> <p>Often intrinsically tied to these prevalent debates is the issue of morality (see, e.g., Fanghanel et al. [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref17">9</reflink>]; Wu [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref18">29</reflink>]). As Rand and Simpson ([<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref19">18</reflink>]) state "through this moralising lens, sex workers are constructed as 'victims' and the concept of consent is disregarded in legal frameworks that seek to 'rescue'—primarily cis‐women –from presumed coercive sexual labour" (<reflink idref="bib279" id="ref20">279</reflink>). The question of morality is an urgent one within this frame precisely because the ways morality has been weaponized in many social, political, religious, and legislative contexts but especially as it relates to sex work (Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref21">21</reflink>]). Specifically, the issue of morality in relation to sex work, consent, and sexual violence is inextricable from prevalent frames of sex trafficking and the moral crusade against sex work (Rand and Simpson [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref22">18</reflink>]; Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref23">21</reflink>]). As Stewart ([<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref24">21</reflink>]) suggests:</p> <p>One lineage—there are many—of the sex work and sex trafficking conflation is rooted in the Swedish model response to sex trafficking. In 1999, Sweden implemented legislation that criminalized buying sex with the aim of decreasing sex trafficking; the overarching belief was that no person could or would choose [read willingly consent to] sex work, and therefore "Johns" and "pimps" must be prostituting and trafficking these individuals (<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref25">28</reflink>).</p> <p>These sentiments can be traced to—primarily anti‐sex work radical feminists—who argued if sex—and thereby consent—could be bought it is disqualified and is instead paid rape (Dworkin [<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref26">8</reflink>]; MacKinnon [<reflink idref="bib15" id="ref27">15</reflink>]); these are similar arguments advanced by antipornography feminists (Nash [<reflink idref="bib16" id="ref28">16</reflink>]). Likewise, there are those who suggest one could consent to sex work or transactional sex but that it is inherently objectifying and becomes a human violation—thus nullifying consent—due to one being "used" to sexually service and satisfy another (Barry, [<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref29">1</reflink>]).</p> <p>A primary critique we offer of many extant debates—including some we have cited—is few actually talk to sex workers themselves and those that do (see Bindel [<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref30">3</reflink>]) often only center sex workers (usually former) who agree with their positions and assertions (such as sex work abolition due to "inherent harm") or they suggest only those voices deserve to be heard. We argue this is a violent social, political, and academic position to take. In this paper, we choose to center the voice of a sex worker who, (<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref31">1</reflink>) names the at times violent nature of sex work including referring to it as "paid rape" based on their own experience and (<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref32">2</reflink>) does not call for sex work abolishment nor an ethic of resorting to paternalism of those who engage sex work, irrespective of harm. This allows us to engage on the concept, ethics, possibilities, and complexities of sex work and sexual violence in a more careful and holistic way.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-5">Background and Study Context</hd> <p>We take Kathleen's letter from a larger study focused on college students engaged in sex work, with a specific focus on those with racially and sexually minoritized identities (see Stewart [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref33">21</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib22" id="ref34">22</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref35">23</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref36">24</reflink>]). The purpose of the study was to explore the stories, narratives, and experiences of college student sex workers, their personal histories, and how their colleges and universities could potentially support them. The study employed a genre‐blurred critical narrative inquiry using aspects of the biographical and literary‐based genres (Kim [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref37">11</reflink>]).</p> <p>Data collection involved reflective interviews, artifact elicitation, and co‐writing creative nonfiction memoirs of students' first or memorable time engaging sex work. One of these artifacts is the center of this article. I (TJ) asked students to write two letters, one to a person or entity at their undergraduate institution, and another letter to their past self. Researchers have situated artifact elicitation in inquiries to contextualize interview responses that assist a researcher in negotiating meanings related to the interview data and to the artifact itself (Douglas et al. [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref38">7</reflink>]; Kim [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref39">11</reflink>]). Further, artifacts can be used to help collaborators articulate and deepen memories of incidents, and to help researchers gain a better understanding of their experience and knowledge (Douglas et al. [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref40">7</reflink>]; Kim [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref41">11</reflink>])</p> <p>This research is urgent for higher education because there is a notable gap in the literature concerning college students in the United States who engage in sex work. While the scarcity of studies on this topic is not inherently alarming, it becomes troubling when considered alongside contemporary socio‐political hostility toward sex work and clear conflation with sexual violence. Globally, student sex workers have reported negative experiences at their institutions, including being removed from courses, facing pervasive stigma, and even threats of expulsion (Lister [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref42">13</reflink>]; Stewart [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref43">25</reflink>], [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref44">21</reflink>]). These experiences underscore the urgent need for further exploration to address the challenges faced by this population.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-6">Methodology and Positionality</hd> <p>We employed an immersed reflexive inquiry (Lyle [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref45">14</reflink>]; Warwick and Board [<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref46">27</reflink>]) approach to engaging Kathleen's letter. This approach involves self‐reflective writing, which includes attending to our personal experiences to the topic and focus of the project coupled with thoughtful observation and critical thinking, in this case, with respect to sex work and sexual violence. Warick and Board ([<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref47">27</reflink>]) make clear that when attempting an immersive reflexive project there is no " fixed set of rules" (<reflink idref="bib151" id="ref48">151</reflink>). Similarly, they cite Van Maanen ([<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref49">26</reflink>]), who suggests that such projects should "remain open to a relatively artistic, improvised and situated model of social research" (<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref50">18</reflink>). However, we recognize some articulation of the process will be instructive to the reader. There were four steps to our approach: we first read Kathleen's letter individually, then we came together to discuss the letter and any initial thoughts and reactions. We then each wrote short reflexive commentaries on Kathleen's letter—in the form of a letter in response—and finally came together to synthesize an overall analysis.</p> <p>Integral to this process is an articulation of our positionalities and intimate connections to the topic. First, Kathleen is a White bisexual cisgender woman who identifies with a middle‐class background. Her identity as an intersectional feminist was especially salient to her and she identified as an escort when I inquired about the type of sex work she engaged in. She was 21 years old when she began escorting and her letter is the primary data source through which we engage, analyze, and react. TJ identifies as a Black, queer, fat‐bodied, and cisgender man who operates from a critical Black/endarkened feminist and womanist onto‐epistemological frame. He believes sex workers themselves need to be centered in discourse, policy, and practice about them and that essentialist and reductionist frames of sex work are more harmful than helpful. TJ situates himself as a scholar at the nexus of sex work/erotic labor and higher education/student development specifically.</p> <p>Olivia is a bisexual cisgender Slavic Dominatrix. She emphasizes her ethnicity because the specter of the Eastern European prostitute is often weaponized against sex workers to erase their agency and to reanimate 19th‐century hysteria surrounding "white slavery." Her perspective is informed by her experience as a sex worker and a scholar as identities widely understood to be mutually exclusive. As critical analyses of sex work by those outside of the sex trade (e.g., MacKinnon) are instrumental in sex‐worker erasure, she believes that sex workers must speak aggressively as such to reclaim their own narratives and resist SWERF (sex‐worker exclusionary radical feminist) tendencies to compound material violence against sex workers through correspondingly violent policy. Her research on sex workers as the "canary in the coal mine" for state and algorithmic surveillance demonstrates that sex‐work studies are essential for understanding how institutions refine violent practices on marginalized bodies.</p> <p>Chris is a queer, White cisgender nondisabled woman from a working‐class background. Chris is a faculty member and administrator in higher education who started out as a victim advocate and educator, focusing both on supporting survivors during and in the aftermath of sexual violence and engaging in campus‐wide education. She largely came to the work as a traditional, White feminist focused on "centering survivors," failing to recognize the ways this ignored people who did not fit society's definition of "survivors." After much reflection and engagement with feminists of color, she now subscribes to abolitionist ideas, recognizing the complexity of causing and surviving harm and how those experiences are often wound with each other. Our experiences, coupled with Kathleen's—whose voice and letter we position as a perspective all its own—underscores the unique combination of views and expertise that may be uniquely situated as truly immersed and allow us to address the notion of sex work, sexual violence, and if, when, and how they meet.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-7">Dear Kathleen, From Kathleen</hd> <p>Dear Kathleen,</p> <p>Alright so you're about to meet up with Harvey and Jessica. I know you don't think it's a big deal if you sleep with them, but after you do, you're going to see them for the next 6–9 months.</p> <p>Please be confident in what you allow/don't allow. Tell Harvey that he has to use condoms, even though he swears he's clean. Make him prove it, even if you use condoms. They don't protect against everything.</p> <p>Ask Jessica questions. She has no life outside of Harvey and don't you find that strange? Maybe it's a red flag on how ya'll's relationship will be.</p> <p>Your experiences with Harvey and Jessica are going to be exciting—you will go to swinger parties and Halloween hotel parties. You will walk naked through a club and have everyone's eyes on you. You will learn to dance on a pole and win a wet T‐shirt contest. You will pretend you don't care that Harvey's penis is small. You actually prefer it, now that you think about it. You can't really feel it when it's inside of you, compared to the monster sizes you'll have to take down the road.</p> <p>They're going to pay you $300 for the night. You will later realize this isn't enough, that they were actually shorting you. $300 for ∼8 h of work? (meet up at 7 pm. Drive to [redacted] from [redacted], get dinner, go to the club, get home at about 3 am). You will make $500 for a couple of hours from other people. Don't let them short you. If you lose them, it's okay. There's more from other people. They are a nice, good couple, but that doesn't mean you're not allowed to have standards or demand things, such as wearing condoms and paying a good amount.</p> <p>You will spend a lot of nights driving the 2.5 hou back from [Redacted] at 3 a.m. then 4 a.m., sometimes 5 a.m. just so you don't have to spend the night in their house, listening to the buzzing of their strange house in that hard, cold bed upstairs.</p> <p>They will ask you every time if you want to join them in their bed. Say no. You are not their girlfriend. You finished your job, they payed you, and you do not have to do anything more. You are only sleeping there because it is late. Even though most nights you realize you won't be able to sleep and that is when you will find yourself driving home in the early hours.</p> <p>I just want you to know that you have worth. I want you to know that this is not bad or dirty or wrong. It is a job. And even though Tim didn't understand and said it was cheating and even though he didn't believe you when you told him you would be fine if he did it, it's okay. You will find someone who will understand.</p> <p>You'll be fine. You do not have to do this forever, but for the time being, it's okay to enjoy it. It's okay to have fun and demand an orgasm (Even though it rarely happens because you soon realize you don't want men you aren't attracted to touch you like that). Harvey will use a variety of toys and lubricants on you. These are okay—you're allowed to enjoy it and to have an orgasm (or multiple).</p> <p>You will have more prostitute‐like experiences. Not all of them are going to be fancy clubs and rich desserts, lying in a silk bed kissing a woman while a man goes down on her. That is rarely what this will be. It will be letting a man pound into you in the woods for 30 min before he has his shift at a haunted house. It will be meeting up with a man on his lunch break and fucking in your car until he gets too paranoid, throws his money at you, and gets out of the car, his pants barely on.</p> <p>There will be times when you do things you do not want, and you won't get paid. That will only happen once and you will not let it happen again. Do not send videos to people. They will keep them and keep their money. They are not to be trusted.</p> <p>Keep sending your location to your friends. Send the pictures you have of the person. Send their phone number and the name they gave you. Give as much information as possible in case something happens. Luckily nothing does happen.</p> <p>Instead, you spend your summer with a girl who is also doing this. She tells you she has to be drunk while he fucks her because of her inverted uterus. Penetration hurts. She tells you she's a lesbian and that penetration is the worst thing ever. You two talk about paid consent. Paid rape. You know that maybe, deep down, that is what this is.</p> <p>You're still allowed to enjoy what you do. But that doesn't mean you don't immediately shower after a client, scrub them from your body, ignore your red and irritated vagina, sit on the floor and let the hot water soothe you.</p> <p>You're still allowed to enjoy it. But you're also allowed to feel angry sometimes. To feel like these men stole something from you, even if they paid. Even if you technically consented. It's okay to still want to do it, even after all that. And you will still do it. It's easy money, or at least that's what you tell your friends that are skeptical. It's not always easy. But it is always an experience. I hope you still learn, still grow, still love, and can be loved.</p> <p>Take care of yourself and your body.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-8">Dear Kathleen, From Chris</hd> <p>Dear Kathleen,</p> <p>As I read your letter to yourself, I think about how sex work connects to sexual violence. And as I think about this, I think about the ways our culture is so incredibly condescending and paternalistic around both issues—assuming college students, especially women and queer people, can't make decisions for themselves (Stewart and Linder [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref51">25</reflink>]). Similarly, our culture's inability to engage in nuanced conversations about power and oppression, paired with our obsession of saving "missing white women" (Rosner [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref52">19</reflink>]), leads to a complete misunderstanding of both sexual violence <emph>and</emph> sex work. Often, the dominant narrative about sexual violence on college campuses is that "scary" Black and Brown men attack pretty white cisgender women (Patton and Snyder‐Yuly [<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref53">17</reflink>]). A dominant narrative around sex work is that women are forced into "sex trafficking," which is incorrectly conflated with sex work (Lerum and Brents [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref54">12</reflink>]). Both of these dominant narratives lead to misinformed carceral responses to the problem that focus on imagined "victims" rather than the people who actually experience harm or engage in sex for money.</p> <p>As I read your letter, I am also struck by the last few paragraphs where you wrestle with the ideas of "paid consent" and "paid rape." To me, this illustrates the complexity of the way our culture constructs sex work and sexual assault. It makes me think about how survivors regularly talk about the confusion they experience between unwanted sex and sexual assault, the ways that they don't feel like the experienced "rape," but that the experience was one they did not want because they did not feel respected as an autonomous person in the interaction. I sense something similar from you... you are engaging in sex as a form of labor, yet, you still have agency in interactions. Just because someone is paying you for your labor does not mean that they can do whatever they want... you still have agency. You still get to consent to what happens, even when sex is exchanged for money. In reality, this is not different from other forms of labor. I consent to engage in particular kinds of labor in my employment as a university professor as well. I can negotiate with my employer how I spend my time and energy. This should be a basic understanding of various types of employment, including sex work.</p> <p>What is the responsibility of people who work in higher education to provide space for the both/and here? To discuss that students may not want to do this job in the same ways that they do not want to shelve books at the library, yet also provide space for the nuance here? To ensure that we're not equating displeasure from boredom (i.e., shelving books at the library) with displeasure because you constantly have to reassert or remind people like Harvey that you have agency in your work and you get to negotiate every step of the way—that he does not have free reign on your body, simply because he is paying you?</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-9">Dear Kathleen, From T.J</hd> <p>Dear Kathleen,</p> <p>There are many who are skeptical or downright hostile to the idea of power‐conscious, ethical, and nonpaternalistic sex work research and advocacy, which is what I strive to do. I am often asked by such individuals about whether I have <emph>any</emph> critique about sex work or erotic labor; <emph>any</emph> negative thing I can or am willing to say about it or some of the—at times—attendant harms. I always go back to the work of Heather Berg ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref55">2</reflink>]) <emph>Working for Love, Loving for Work: Discourses of Labor in Feminist Sex‐Work Activism</emph>. Her view then captures my view now and I think it important in relation to the nexus we seek to examine together, she writes:</p> <p>Mine is an argument, then, against sex‐work exceptionalism. Commercial sex exchange is not exploitative because of anything unique to sex; <emph>it is exploitative because it is labor under capitalism</emph>. That sexual labor is for many a better paid, more fulfilling alternative to other forms of waged work does not unsettle this premise.</p> <p>So when I think about the experience you share in your letter, I do have thoughts about the way capitalism requires labor and that, to me, the violence is first and foremost within that requirement. I believe all people born on the planet earth should have free access to housing, food, and healthcare, those are minimum human necessities. Yet, that is not our reality. We all must survive a capitalist system and as such how one goes about that survival is, or at least should be, their choice; however a false or a non‐choice it may be. So yes sex work is problematic insofar as work/labor is required within a white supremacist capitalist patriarchal structure.</p> <p>So then we are left with what compels you, or anyone, to labor. While you choose erotic labor, we all must labor, to live and this is where Berg ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref56">2</reflink>]) is instructive in my view. While you do not state this explicitly, I think part of your story suggests that like Wu ([<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref57">29</reflink>]) an analytic of <emph>consent</emph> as opposed to <emph>harm</emph> might be an additional lens through which to consider and examine this enigma. Wu ([<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref58">29</reflink>]) ultimately argues that it is impossible to consent to sex work due a broad lack of the enthusiasm criteria which is described as "a quality of a mental state, not a quality of the performative agreement" (<reflink idref="bib34" id="ref59">34</reflink>). I wonder how this lens might land with you and your experience.</p> <p>I wonder about this enthusiasm argument and return to Berg ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref60">2</reflink>]), does the <emph>sex</emph> of sex work make it uniquely troublesome? Wu ([<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref61">29</reflink>]) compares sex work to coal mining as a way to illustrate how enthusiasm ultimately connects to consent. To be clear I <emph>wholly disagree</emph> with Wu ([<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref62">29</reflink>]) on several points. Namely they violate Berg's ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref63">2</reflink>]) imperative to avoid sex work exceptionalism. Further Wu's ([<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref64">29</reflink>]) analysis ultimately suggests that consent should be <emph>the</emph> benchmark; that one should be allowed to harm themselves—say the coal miner—because it is consensual but another cannot—the sex worker—because it is always nonconsensual. What a tangled web we weave.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-10">Dear Kathleen, From Snow</hd> <p>Dear Kathleen,</p> <p>Thank you for your letter. I'm a scholar and a sex worker, but I write from my perspective as a Dominatrix more than as an academic. I could quote theory to ground my thoughts, but I think you and I can cut the shit and just talk, sex worker to sex worker.</p> <p>Like my colleagues, I was intrigued by your ideas of "paid consent" and "paid rape." Regarding the former: is this necessarily bad? All consent is, in a way, negotiated, less as a contract and more as a conversation. "Consent" in sex work often means our understanding of clients' boundaries as much as their understanding of ours.</p> <p>As a Dominatrix, I sometimes receive inquiries for CNC: consensual non‐consent. Such sessions are only available to longer‐term clients whose boundaries, fears, desires, and eccentricities I know and can anticipate. Is sex work a form of consensual non‐consent? Maybe. But even in a CNC scene, I'm attuned to my client's needs, and they can communicate to me when I've gone too far, or when the pain becomes unbearable. Rape offers no such grace.</p> <p>As for "paid rape," sex worker to sex worker, your language feels violent to me. Coercive, even. Having been raped and done sex work, the implication that the latter may in fact be the former is disorienting. Rather than wonder if sex work is in fact rape—it is not—I wonder if the violence I experienced as a sex worker really was rape. What exactly did I think was going to happen? Had I not consented to the risks?</p> <p>But I'm talking about my experiences, and you're talking about yours. I know you're not trying to invalidate me as a worker or a victim. You're not even talking to me—you're talking to yourself. But as sex workers, our identities are inherently political. Whether we like it or not, selling sex is a political act that places us in a sociocultural class distinct from the vanilla world, a world that includes our clients despite our exclusion from it. By selling sex, we unwittingly introduce ourselves into a community of stigmatized, marginalized, and criminalized workers.</p> <p>It is from that perspective that I tell two stories.</p> <p>The first is the story of my last booking before I took what I naïvely believed then was my retirement from sex work. There wasn't much of a market for BDSM in my city, so I took whatever gigs I could get. I forget what we had negotiated: $500? $2000? Regardless, he didn't pay me either sum. I told him he had to use a condom. He didn't care. I told him I was worried about disease, not pregnancy. He didn't care. He rammed his average‐sized cock into my throat, came, and let me go. I drove home and resumed work on my master's thesis.</p> <p>The second is the story of my first client when I returned to sex work, about 5 years later. He, like the rapist, refused to be clear regarding money. He didn't want to be "a client." He didn't want to tribute. He wanted to give me a "gift," an "allowance" like the one he gave his daughter. Sometimes it was $200; sometimes it was $400. He, like the rapist, had a fixation on condoms and the lack thereof. I told him that I wouldn't have sex with him, certainly not without a condom. He told me that he "didn't consent to using a condom." I was older, now, in my 30s, and had stopped letting myself be coerced into sex I didn't want to have. I had started throwing punches instead, to mixed results.</p> <p>Both men failed to purchase my consent. But one was a rapist, and the other was not, at least not with me. The rape was most certainly not paid. Had it been, would I have considered it "paid rape"? Maybe. But I don't know and hopefully never will.</p> <p>What I did know was that I couldn't go to the police, regardless of whether or not the rapist paid me, to report it. I know this because four months earlier, in August, I had woken up under the Williamsburg Bridge with a broken foot and no idea where my phone, wallet, or panties were. Even though I wasn't engaged in sex work that summer, I wouldn't have reported the incident if I'd had my phone with me. I would have just gone home. But I didn't have my keys either, so I hobbled a mile or two west until I flagged down an officer. She called an ambulance.</p> <p>"Slut with a tongue ring got raped," quipped one cop to another as I vomited into a gutter.</p> <p>I was rushed to Bellevue—the first time triage worked in my favor!—where I expected I'd receive a rape kit. Instead, the doctors, social workers, and police officers unanimously urged me against it. "How do you know it was non‐consensual," asked one officer, "if you can't even remember it?" But I insisted, and a nurse came in to collect data and debris. As I learned the next morning in a cramped East Harlem office with a detective from NYPD's Special Victims Unit, I wouldn't know the results of the DNA test or toxicology report for months. I also wouldn't be able to say for sure if I'd emerged HIV‐negative until February.</p> <p>I learned in December that the rape kit had yielded a hit from the DNA test, which I thought meant the case would go forward. It was overridden, however, by the toxicology report, which indicated that I had both cocaine and morphine in my system. I did remember his dosing me with <emph>something</emph>, but no matter. I wasn't a rape victim; I was a party girl who fucked a stranger and regretted it. I was a slut with a tongue ring.</p> <p>So I didn't go to the police when I was raped later that month—not like I had to, as I managed to leave his apartment with my keys. But even if I hadn't, it seemed much more likely that I would be convicted of aggravated assault for exposing my rapist to HIV than he would even be charged with rape, nevermind the prostitution case against me.</p> <p>"Paid rape" is language meant to blame us for violence against not only sex workers but also rape and trafficking victims. "Paid rape" is the language of people and institutions who seek to harm sex workers, who call me an agent of "the pimp lobby," who accuse me of "recruiting" young women by "glamorizing" prostitution through my unabashed and unashamed existence as a sex worker.</p> <p>The concept of "paid rape" doesn't only hand clients the power to cross our boundaries; it also frames rape as something that victims can choose to risk or even exploit for money. Framing our attempts to survive in an oppressive society and an untenable economy as violence—violence that we enact upon ourselves, no less—will never liberate us from that oppression or empower us within that economy. At best, it reinforces the inequalities that led both you and me to sex work in the first place. At worst, it excuses violence against us. After all, we knew the risks of this line of work. What exactly did we think was going to happen?</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-11">Discussion and Synthesis</hd> <p>Taking together these four perspectives and combining what they offer, we have painted a picture of deep complexity, some competing, and conflicting ideas, but in all cases, a clear articulation of the ways power and dominance mar our individual and collective experiences. This immersed reflexive inquiry was designed intentionally to lose sight of the forest for this one tree, this one issue, so deeply complex. Now, as we try to close and offer a bit of forest view, we invite you to hold the tree in your periphery. Kathleen joined this study in 2018 and we wonder if her sentiment would change nearly 6 years later. Even so, Kathleen of 2018 felt the way presented here and her perspective is worthy of deep examination and consideration.</p> <p>A major impetus of this paper is the way each author has been asked to speak to sex work as sexual violence which inevitably illustrates a problematic surface engagement (if any engagement at all) with the theory or literature, on either topic, and likely no engagement with sex workers themselves. Our responses to Kathleen's letter reinforce two key considerations. First, in our examination sex work cannot and should not be inevitably conflated with sexual violence. Whether from the perspective of a vast amount of power‐conscious literature on sex work and sexual violence (cited throughout) to Kathleen's own narrative. The assertion and assumption that they are one and the same should be resisted and heavily scrutinized. While our author team's views are likely clear, let's unpack Kathleen's letter a bit more which also supports this arrival. Although she suggests there may be a nexus, one we sought to explore, her framing of it in our read is tentative in a few different ways.</p> <p>She discussed this nexus of sex work and sexual violence as "maybe deep down" it is paid consent or paid rape. Her use of "maybe deep down" suggests the tentativeness of the sentiment, or rather, she was at the time of writing still working with and wrestling things out for herself. Or perhaps because it is "deep down" there is something, someone, or some context that she felt was holding her back from boldly claiming that it is so. Since society broadly believes that sex work is problematic or wrong we would suspect they would likely agree with Kathleen on that point, so the hesitation is interesting. Does her hesitation then, the "deep down‐ness," come from not wanting to disappoint other sex workers? What about that framing makes her feel compelled to push or leave it deep down? The answers to these questions we may never know, but then the assertion remains tentative and while it is so, it must be rejected and scrutinized for many of the reasons articulated by Snow (above) and throughout our reflexive inquiry.</p> <p>Second the notion of sex work as sexual violence does not resolve sex work exceptionalism principle, it only reifies it, particularly because sex work necessarily invokes a labor or anti‐work analysis. To return to Berg ([<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref65">2</reflink>]), "Our critique of work under capitalism cannot be restricted to its most sensationally harmful forms. Such a frame invites one‐dimensional narratives of Others' victimhood while it simultaneously mystifies more privileged workers' position vis‐a‐vis capital" (694–695). In essence, there are three layers to how one can think about sexual violence and sex work in a labor context. The first is, can a person ever choose sex work? This question necessarily requires us to decide if an individual can ever truly have a choice about <emph>anything</emph> within a broader structure/system of power. If an individual can have a choice (any choice) does a choice necessarily mean that there is ever (or never) any harm? Or are there situations and conditions when harm is contextual, contingent, or conditional? To be clear this is a cyclical question as we could depart from the question of harm altogether to the question of consent only (see Wu [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref66">29</reflink>]) but this, we assert, is a paradigmatic ruse. The subtext that makes it a ruse is that consent is impossible within sex work thus harm will always be inevitable. And such a subtext is violence and should be rejected.</p> <p>Finally, we wonder what this all means in relation to Kathleen's needs as a college student but more broadly all college student sex workers and victims/survivors of sexual violence. As evidenced by Snow's narrative these two groups should not be considered as mutually exclusive and not because sex work is violence but because sex workers too experience sexual violence. What if anything can higher education leaders do to support them? Higher education institutions must clearly differentiate between sex work and sexual violence, addressing them as distinct yet occasionally overlapping phenomena in research and practice. By making this distinction, institutions can avoid oversimplifying or conflating the experiences of student sex workers, thus improving the efficacy and inclusivity of sexual violence support programs and student health services. It is critical that these services acknowledge that sex workers may experience sexual violence unrelated to their work, and therefore require responses that do not reinforce harmful stereotypes or biases.</p> <p>Moreover, student support services should provide holistic, nonjudgmental care that addresses the broader needs of sex workers, including financial, mental, and physical health support. Higher education professionals must respect students' autonomy in their labor choices, recognizing that sex work can be both a source of agency and challenge. By offering comprehensive, stigma‐free resources, and institutions can create a more inclusive campus environment that affirms diverse student experiences and responds to the complexities of sex work without presumption or judgment. What is clear from Kathleen's narrative is despite her musing on sex work as paid rape, she still chose to do it and wanted that choice respected. Our focus must be on how to support student sex workers in ways that do not compel students like Kathleen or others to share their story if they do not wish. Higher education must have resources to support students to and through any difficulty and in whatever ways they may be wrestling with their work, labor, and socio‐emotional feelings and boundaries. Finally, researchers need to ask difficult questions and disentangle the prevalent move and discourse of sex work as violence as it is unfair, uncritical, and frankly, unhelpful.</p> <hd id="AN0181679675-12">Conclusion</hd> <p>Dear Kathleen, thank you for your story and for your courage. Thank you for the opportunity to engage, and for being the impetus for us to go further and deeper. May the stories you told within the Sex Work on Campus project move our hearts, minds, and spirits to action, toward liberation. 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| Items | – Name: Title Label: Title Group: Ti Data: Dear Kathleen: An Immersed Reflexive Inquiry of Sex Work, Sexual Violence, and College Students – Name: Language Label: Language Group: Lang Data: English – Name: Author Label: Authors Group: Au Data: <searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Terah+J%2E+Stewart%22">Terah J. Stewart</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5205-0999">0000-0001-5205-0999</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Olivia+Snow%22">Olivia Snow</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0009-0006-3294-3611">0009-0006-3294-3611</externalLink>)<br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Chris+Linder%22">Chris Linder</searchLink> – Name: TitleSource Label: Source Group: Src Data: <searchLink fieldCode="SO" term="%22New+Directions+for+Higher+Education%22"><i>New Directions for Higher Education</i></searchLink>. 2024 (208):43-50. – Name: Avail Label: Availability Group: Avail Data: Wiley. Available from: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030. Tel: 800-835-6770; e-mail: cs-journals@wiley.com; Web site: https://www.wiley.com/en-us – Name: PeerReviewed Label: Peer Reviewed Group: SrcInfo Data: Y – Name: Pages Label: Page Count Group: Src Data: 8 – Name: DatePubCY Label: Publication Date Group: Date Data: 2024 – Name: TypeDocument Label: Document Type Group: TypDoc Data: Journal Articles<br />Reports - Descriptive – Name: Audience Label: Education Level Group: Audnce Data: <searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Higher+Education%22">Higher Education</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="EL" term="%22Postsecondary+Education%22">Postsecondary Education</searchLink> – Name: Subject Label: Descriptors Group: Su Data: <searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Sexual+Abuse%22">Sexual Abuse</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Violence%22">Violence</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Sexuality%22">Sexuality</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Occupations%22">Occupations</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22College+Students%22">College Students</searchLink> – Name: DOI Label: DOI Group: ID Data: 10.1002/he.20516 – Name: ISSN Label: ISSN Group: ISSN Data: 0271-0560<br />1536-0741 – Name: Abstract Label: Abstract Group: Ab Data: Within scholarship and public discourse, the concepts sex work and sexual violence are often conflated. More specifically, sex work is specifically framed as sexual violence that relies on a prevalent oppression paradigm analytic with respect to erotic labor(ers). This necessarily impacts research and scholarship on sex workers, and it informs the experiences of college students engaged in sex work. Situated as an immersed reflexive inquiry, we analyze the bounds of sex work, sexual violence, and what, if any, nexus exists between them through our personal, professional, and academic experiences in tandem with an artifact (a reflexive letter) written by a college student sex work to her past self. We interrogate implications and offer a clear perspective on whether sex work is sexual violence and why it matters. – Name: AbstractInfo Label: Abstractor Group: Ab Data: As Provided – Name: DateEntry Label: Entry Date Group: Date Data: 2024 – Name: AN Label: Accession Number Group: ID Data: EJ1453084 |
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| RecordInfo | BibRecord: BibEntity: Identifiers: – Type: doi Value: 10.1002/he.20516 Languages: – Text: English PhysicalDescription: Pagination: PageCount: 8 StartPage: 43 Subjects: – SubjectFull: Sexual Abuse Type: general – SubjectFull: Violence Type: general – SubjectFull: Sexuality Type: general – SubjectFull: Occupations Type: general – SubjectFull: College Students Type: general Titles: – TitleFull: Dear Kathleen: An Immersed Reflexive Inquiry of Sex Work, Sexual Violence, and College Students Type: main BibRelationships: HasContributorRelationships: – PersonEntity: Name: NameFull: Terah J. Stewart – PersonEntity: Name: NameFull: Olivia Snow – PersonEntity: Name: NameFull: Chris Linder IsPartOfRelationships: – BibEntity: Dates: – D: 01 M: 12 Type: published Y: 2024 Identifiers: – Type: issn-print Value: 0271-0560 – Type: issn-electronic Value: 1536-0741 Numbering: – Type: issue Value: 208 Titles: – TitleFull: New Directions for Higher Education Type: main |
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