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When Dusk Falls: Baring the Costs of Sex Trade in the Philippines

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For these women, the red light means “go.”

The night invited adrenalin, euphoria, and speeding taxis—anything fast enough to forget themselves for several hours and do it, go on, sell pleasure to strange men.

The streets lined with karaoke and nightclubs are aglow with neon lights. Outside the resto bars, amidst cigarette smoke and chatters of bystanders, there stood scantily clad women, braving the chilly Makati wind while flaunting their most marketable assets.

Beyond monetary negotiations and in between carnal transactions, these women are stripped, not only of their clothing, but also of their freedom. Inside high-end hotel suites, within the hours their bodies are slapped with a price tag—85 dollars when luck is on their side—they are diminished into a mere object.

This reality evokes not so much shock familiarity to many Filipinos. It dates back to centuries ago, when foreign predators arrived and entrenched them into a servile economic class. Their bodies have since been reduced to a commodity sold at foreigners’ disposal. Women, being the most oppressed gender, are the principal victims of this exploitation.

Angel in disguise

For tonight, her name is Michelle.

Her real name does not matter. Change her age, her gender, her body measurements, and it would not matter to clients who see the likes of her all the same.

They refuse to disclose their identities because their work is taboo. The sex business is regarded as invisible in plain sight. About 800, 000 women work as prostitutes in the country according to a Deutsche Welle data, a rough estimate considering that not all of them want to be included..

But behind these statistics are stories of abuse, of racial discrimination, of rape, of underaged girls sold off by their parents.

Under all that rogue, no one would know that Michelle was 18 when her neighbor took her to a bar, thinking that she was just going to dance, but later ended up being coerced to put her cherry-status up to sale.

No one would guess that her petite body has been fending for five children. Her striking makeup and clothes conceal the fact that she has been doing this for 14 years now, every moment of which she despised. “Hindi ko gusto yung trabaho ko. Sino ba gugustuhin yung ganitong trabaho?”

Michelle had sworn to herself before that she would leave this once she turned 30, but the streets of Makati are too inviting, and the world outside it too cruel.

Within a split second, her despondent mood shifts to a seductive one upon seeing a scruffy white old man walking in her direction. He will be Michelle’s first customer for the night. She tugs on his arm and smiles flirtatiously; yet, under the lights, as they walk away, her eyes look hollow, tired, telling a heavy emotion that would have to be suppressed all night long.

Dreamless nights

For many of these women, there used to be a time when dreams meant hopes and aspirations, not some erotic word on a neon sign draped outside a bar.

When asked about her dreams, Janella said: “Hindi matulad [mga anak ko] sa ganitong trabaho.”

Janella is a single mother. To provide for her three children, she once took housekeeping jobs overseas. Adversities were normative to her as an overseas worker, but she reached her tipping point when her Kuwaiti employer sexually harassed her. Not able to withhold it, she ran away and broke her contract. This led to her imprisonment and deportation.

She had not anticipated, though, that this predicament would still follow her even in her own country.

Janella was running out of means to provide for her children; no one was willing to employ her with her lack of education. That was when the streets of P. Burgos were more lit than ever, enticing her to make money out of what had already been used from back in Kuwait. “Pagkadating ko rito, ganoon din pala. Kaya parang inisip ko [mas] mabuti na lang [kung pinagpatuloy] ko ito sa abroad, kaysa dito.”

Abuses are inevitable, she said. But they just have to get through those nights, because what matters is that in the following morning, they still get to go home and give their children what they need.

Her children, Janella said, are the primary motivators and beneficiaries of her work. But when asked about her dream for herself, she was caught off-guard. “Sa sarili ko ah? Wala na kasi akong ano eh,” she trailed off. “Basta mga anak lang talaga sa ngayon.”

This is why Janella has been keeping her “work” a secret from her children. If she protects them from the reality of her nightly activities, they might continue to pursue her dreams in her place instead.

Tonight, while her children are sound asleep at home, she soldiers on in these dark alleys. She cannot go on dreaming because she has to stay awake. The night is long and the sun would not rise for her until she gets a hand on her hard-earned money.

Consent at a cost

Like any other global market, prostitution is an industry that is perpetuated by the insatiable demand from Western countries. The victims of this trade are the poorest and most vulnerable, usually, women from countries with economies ravaged by Western colonialism.

Recently, with prostitution put on the spotlight, discussions on its legalisation have picked up.

Groups calling for its legalization, reason that consenting adults should be allowed to sell their bodies as they please. However, in a country mired in poverty, consent here is too often elicited by the crumbling of their stomachs.

Ask Michelle and Janella a thousand times over and they will tell you a thousand times back: No one really wants to be a whore.

“Sigurado ako na karamihan ng nandito, hindi nila gusto maging ganito,” said Janella. “Kaniya-kaniya ng dahilan bakit napilitan magtrabaho [dito].”

Ultimately, to empower sex workers is to lay down first the conditions that will enable them to exit the industry—that of job opportunities, social services, and living wages. For as long as patriarchy runs deep, and the cycle of poverty entraps them within these districts, the red light overhead will not cease to blink.