Chapter Six
Inevitable but Undesirable: Sex, Stigma and Double Standards
I want you to let other people know that sex workers are also humans. We all hurt the same, tremble from fear, feel happy and sad, and cry the same as everyone else. Most sex workers have harder hearts than normal women. We have to be brave and have a strong constitution because we endure a lot in this work and most of us are doing it for our families (Interview, Linda, 3 October 2003).
Offences against women working in the Cambodian sex industry cannot be viewed in isolation. Rather, they are fundamentally linked to social and economic inequalities and criminal sanctions that in large part determine the structure of the sex industry and the conditions under which sex workers operate.
In this chapter, I examine the local cultural and legal contexts in which women perform sexual labour. The laws governing the sex industry cannot be understood in isolation from the context in which they are interpreted and enforced (Arnot 1988:55). Consequently, I devote much of this chapter to explaining the cultural context, especially gender relations in contemporary Cambodia and the patriarchal order, after which I undertake an analysis of one specific mechanism of regulating the sex industry, namely periodic crackdowns.
In Cambodia, women working in the sex industry are widely despised and face strong stigma, yet the modern sex industry has been constructed as an integral part of the social fabric of Cambodian society. Hence, the sex industry has been constructed as inevitable but undesirable. In this chapter, I examine the effects of such patriarchal ideologies that both create a demand for sex workers and condemn the women as deviant. In the latter part of this chapter, I consider a prime ministerial proclamation
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Chapter Six: Inevitable but Undesirable: Sex, Stigma and Double Standards
(prakah) issued in November 2001, demanding the immediate closure of all karaoke bars in Cambodia.[1]
The closure of karaoke bars in Cambodia made the life of women working in the nation’s capital more difficult, by pushing many women out onto the streets where they were forced to charge less for sex, exposed to gang rape and became easier targets for police violence and extortion (WAC 2005a:79). My previous chapter chronicled the widespread practice of violence against women and showed that rape and violence is not only culturally condoned but something that most women in Cambodia face. In this chapter, however, I illustrate how women working in Cambodia’s sex industry are particularly subject to increased levels and more extreme forms of violence and abuses of power, primarily because of their stigmatised occupation.
Srei Khouc/Srei Thoamada: The Stigmatisation of Sex Work and Division of Women in Cambodia
In order to understand the dominance of female labour in Cambodia’s sex industry, in this section I examine some of the ideologies that are used to justify and legitimate the current structure of the sex industry in Cambodia, which is predominantly ordered around male interests. Outlining these ideologies allows me to expand upon Alison Murray and Tess Robinson’s (1996:45) claim that sex workers in particular are affected by ideologies that both create a demand for sex workers and condemn the workers as deviant. I explore this relationship in some depth as the core analytical framework of this chapter.
In Cambodia, legitimate expressions of female sexuality are confined by indigenous gender ideals. The ideal of the “perfectly virtuous woman” or srei krup leakkhana is inscribed by rules contained in the chbap srei, normative poems that spell out gendered codes of behaviour (Ledgerwood 1990, 1994b; Frieson 2000).[2] While none of the women referred to the chbap srei when talking about “normal” (srei thoamada), “proper” (srei trum truv) and “respectable” (srei s’aat la’or) women, the concepts srei krup leakkhana and her counterpart, srei khat leakkhana (virtueless, or disreputable woman) are central to sex workers’ self-perceptions of the gender order in Cambodia.
The dichotomy created by this juxtaposition is central to the strong stigma attached to sex work in Cambodia: “srei thoamada”(normal woman), is often distinguished from “srei khouc”(prostitute; spoilt, rotten or bad woman). Katrina demonstrates how these categories are used to control not only women’s behaviour (especially sexual behaviour) but also social relationships, including women’s relationships with other women as well as men:
It upsets me when a person doesn’t like me because I am a sex worker. Most people look down on us; they don’t like us […] because they think that female sex workers [srei rok sii phlauv phet] are no good. Normal women [srei thoamada] think that we are bad because we are women looking for money [women having sex for money] (Interview, Katrina, 2 February 2004).
In the previous chapter, I discussed how marriage and motherhood are believed to constitute the essence of Cambodian womanhood (see pgs 184-6). In such understandings female bodies have cultural meaning primarily as potential reproducers so that, in Cambodia there has never been a socially acceptable place for women outside of the family roles of wife or mother (Frieson 2000:16).
Female sexuality is directed towards biological reproduction; “legitimate” sexuality for women is located solely within marriage and reproduction. Women’s sexual desires are closely controlled and heterosexuality is naturalised and normalised. With “legitimate” female sexuality channelled in such a way, Katrina reveals how women working in the sex industry are viewed as transgressing the dominant (hetero)sexual order. Sex workers are “bad women”, as their participation in monetised sexual exchanges is “immoral”. Contrasting herself with a “normal woman”, Katrina suggests she is automatically disassociated from the category, since a “normal woman” would not sell sex for money. Thus, the very source of her economic survival renders her “abnormal”, attaching stigma not just to her occupation but her person, as a “bad” or a “rotten woman”. Moreover, marginalising sex workers collectively as a class apart, or an outcast group compounds that stigma:
Most Cambodians look down on us because we do this kind of work. They say that it is not good because we see a lot of men; there is no shortage of men [who will come and visit us]. So, we see a lot of men and they look down on us because of this and say that we are no good. They distinguish between us because of the amount of men we see and ask us “how come you don’t look for a different job; there are lots of other jobs you could do, so why do you do this?” […] because it is against Khmer customs.
Larissa: In what way is it against Khmer customs?
Louise: Our umm … in the customs of our country, we should not do this kind of work. For example, women can work, but our job, we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t have sex [for money]; we shouldn’t do this kind of thing. Khmers, Khmers really uphold these customs; they are very sensitive about them. But we umm … we have to do whatever work we can […] We make a living from this; we do whatever we can so that we can look after ourselves (Interview, Louise, 21 November 2003).
Louise shows how even their clients treat them as transgressive females, “look down” on them, and see their job as against Khmer customs. But she counteracts the stigma suggesting the work is necessary for making a living. Jackie elaborates on how the stigma is potentially contagious for “normal” women in undue proximity:
Because I do this kind of work, whenever I leave the brothel to go out anywhere I’m very shy. I’m a prostitute [srei khouc] and they are proper women [srei trum truv] and I don’t dare go out with them, I’m afraid of them…
Larissa: …you don’t go out together because you are both afraid…
Jackie: …I’m afraid of them because when I go out they say, “You are not a respectable woman [srei s’aat la’or]”. Like them, they are respectable women, so they don’t go out with me because they are afraid that their neighbours will see them and say that they are also like me (Interview, Jackie, 2 February 2004).
Jackie shows how the category srei khouc (bad woman/prostitute) is stigmatised and explicitly juxtaposed with another category srei trum truv (proper/good woman), which potentially reinforces the dominant discourse in which marriage (and child-rearing of legal children) defines a proper adult women (see also Wardlow 2006:318-9). She discusses how the stigmatisation of sex work and sex workers and the division of Cambodian women into “good” and “bad” is internalised by some sex workers. This division is strongly reinforced by relations of mutual avoidance, so that local women who do not do sex work refuse association and collective contact. Simply being seen with a sex worker is enough to bring a woman’s reputation into question. On the other hand, it is also Jackie’s fear of shame that reinforces this hegemonic discourse.
Oppressive aspects of the gender order maintain the strong divide between women, policing women’s behaviour on both sides. Leah criticised the complicity of women in perpetuating this system. When I asked her about the discrimination she faces, before I could even finish my sentence she vehemently interjected with:
I get this all the time, they say this directly to me that they see me, feel nauseated by and hate sex workers. They tell me not to do this work, or any kind of sex work. Their husbands, their brothers come and visit us and sometimes they forget to wear a condom and they get a disease and bring this home, and this is why they feel nauseated by and hate sex workers (Interview, Leah, 6 November 2003).
The linking of brothel-based sex workers like Leah with the spread of HIV and other STIs reinscribes stigma, as threat, especially to other women. Sex workers are homogenised as a “pool of infection”, solely blamed as the vectors of the country’s HIV epidemic, while other women are sorry “victims” (Campbell 2003:110). I consider this in more depth in the following chapter, but here elaborate on some other points Leah highlights.
Leah’s interjection suggests the stigmatisation of sex work and sex workers is so strong that it is felt viscerally. Other “good women” are “nauseated” and “hate” sex workers. The threat of their husbands’ or brothers’ infidelity is projected onto the sex worker, who is solely to blame for the failure to use a condom and the threat of disease. It is women’s own internalisation and deployment of these categories that reproduces this intensely patriarchal logic. This includes all women: women working in the sex industry as well as women who are not.
While it may not reflect the viewpoint of other “good women”, there are other aspects of stigma and the division of women into good and bad that are not discussed so often. Murray rightly argues that the high incomes earned in sex work (discussed in the previous chapter) are directly related to such stigma and the perceived illegality of sex work. Indeed this is what a woman will weigh up when choosing to do sex work (Pers. Comm. Alison Murray, Scarlet Alliance, 21 October 2005). Stigma is central to how many women see sex work as a last resort (e.g. Linda’s comments pgs 192-4, chapter five), and why most women choose not to do sex work. While, as I have shown, many women clearly articulate their choice in doing sex work, many did so in full awareness of the costs in their social status, and the disapproval and hatred of people, including other women:
I don’t really hate people who say that they feel nauseated by and hate sex workers because I like people. But I don’t know what I can do about how they feel; if we do this kind of work, we have to put up with people’s hatred (Interview, Leah, 6 November 2003).
Like other women featured in this chapter, Leah reveals her own internalisation of the stigma attached to sex work and thereby the sexual status quo and the division of women into “good/bad”. Such internalisation is important in the replication of this patriarchal gender order (Bourdieu 1976:140-2).
Leah’s statement also suggests how the overwhelmingly negative associations of sex work and sex workers can be used to justify and legitimate abuse and oppression. Leah attributes her perceived inability to resist stigmatisation and abuses to her own relative powerlessness, and thus impotence to act against widespread and pervasive discrimination. Leah’s life history (discussed in chapter five) of poverty, physical, sexual and psychological abuse is one that does not favour her to develop a sense of power, confidence and ability to take control of her life (Campbell 2003:41; see pgs 178-82). Feeling isolated, alone, divided, powerless and unable to effect change is crucial to the internalised stigmatisation and marginalisation of sex workers. Thus, the sexual status quo is maintained.
Cynthia spoke of some of the effects of the stigmatisation of sex work and sex workers, of women’s own internalisation of stigma and how women and men perpetuate it. Stigma leads her to live a double life. Cynthia lives and works away from home but conceals this from her immediate family:
My dad doesn’t know that I come here and I do this kind of work. So, when he asks me “Where has my daughter been?” I say “Koh Kong”. I lie to him because I don’t want to let him know about what I am doing. If he found out, he’d beat me and he’d beat my mum. He asks, “When you’re in Koh Kong, what do you do?” I say “I sell fish caught in the sea” and then he lets me come back home. My mum is very sick and when I found out about this, I came here so I could look after her. She isn’t well and she needs a lot of money to look after herself with and so I do this for her. I don’t want to go back home because people in the countryside, the villagers hate people that do this kind of work. Society feels nauseated by and hates us, so I don’t want to go back home. If my father found out that I was doing this, he’d think I was no good […] Some people pity sex workers, other people hate and despise us; in our society it is not good for a woman to do this type of work (Interview, Cynthia, 25 November 2003).
Here Cynthia talks of deceiving her father in order to help her mother. The claim “I do this for her” distances Cynthia from the stigma attached to sex workers. It questions conventional ideas of her being “bad”, rather imparting a sense of moral legitimacy. But her justification acknowledges societal perceptions, that what she is doing is “wrong” and against Khmer customs. This shows that, while some women internalise normative gender roles (as that which makes them srei khouc), at critical moments they can and do question dominant representations of themselves.
Responsibility is central to Cynthia’s challenge of the stigma and such ideas. Her ability to make a living from sex work, and thus to support herself and her sick mother grants her confidence and strength in her choice. She views this as just but also sacrificial as she is aware of the social costs. Thus, her attitude to the stigma is ambiguous and conflicted. Cynthia speaks of going home, and from the love, care and concern she shows for her mother of wanting to go home, but also not wanting to go home. Perhaps the idea of going home is more of a rhetorical device, allowing her to communicate the effects of the stigma (Campbell 2003:77). She challenges the notion of sex workers being “bad women”, for she is doing it for her mother, yet she also admits to deceiving her father and living a double life. Cynthia’s contradiction shows how, while she may disagree with dominant representations of sex workers, she is not offering resistance to them. Cynthia thus simultaneously challenges yet complies with dominant social structures.
Her father’s suspicions that she is a sex worker are perhaps fuelled by her mother’s history, but it seems Cynthia’s father would not have evinced such compassion towards his daughter. Before marrying, Cynthia’s mother worked in a brothel where she met her husband-to-be. He visited her as a client, and Cynthia’s mother shared her life experiences with him: of how she had had an affair with a married businessman who left her when she became pregnant with Cynthia. After this, Cynthia’s mother found work in a brothel so that she could look after herself and the child she was expecting. Cynthia said that when he heard her mother’s story, her father felt great pity for her and asked for her mother’s hand in marriage (Interview, Cynthia, 25 November 2003). Yet, Cynthia also proudly commented that as “mixed race” (gounkat) half-Chinese, half-Vietnamese, her mother, like her daughter Cynthia, was also considered to be very beautiful, and perhaps this was a factor behind her father’s decision (Interview, Cynthia, 25 November 2003).
Cynthia’s story illustrates that one good quality of a sex worker is her beauty. In Cambodia cultural images of beauty, shaped around men’s sexual desires and exotic fantasies further reinforce the division of women into “good” and “bad”: “Men like to sleep with a young fat girl who is tall and white, free from viruses and has long hair. She should know how to [wear] make-up and have a good smell” (Cambodian man cited by Phan and Patterson 1994:18). Or “I like to have sex with women who are pretty and gentle, who use make-up, perfume and powder, and are slim, young and well dressed” (Cambodian man cited by Phan and Patterson 1994:18). As Phan and Patterson (1994:18) argue, very few women in Cambodia fit these physical ideals of beauty, most of which preclude wives and mothers. And men’s ideas of beauty, as reflected in the above comments, can be contradictory: they should be plump and slim, although most stress youth and bodily adornment.