Kempadoo F E Abstract M I N I S T

Freelancers, Temporary Wives, and Beach-Boys: Researching Sex Work in the Caribbean

Kamala Kempadoo F E Abstract M I N I S T

This article presents insights from a research project on sex work that took place R E in the Caribbean region during 1997–8. First it briey summarizes common themes V I E W

in historical and contemporary studies of sex work in the region, then describes N O

the aims, methodology, and main trends of the project. It pays particular attention 6 7 , to the differences between denitions and experiences of sex work by female and S P R I male sex workers and of male and female sex tourists, as well as describing con- N G

ditions in the Caribbean sex trade. Finally the article identies some implications 0 0 1 of the complexity in the region that were uncovered through the research project , P P .

for feminist theorizing about sex work. 3 9 – 6 2

Keywords Caribbean; feminist research; male prostitution; female prostitution; sex tourism; international relations

Introduction Until recently sex work, prostitution, and the wider sex trade in the Caribbean has commanded little attention from social scientists, researchers or activists – even among those concerned with gender relations – despite its long history and embeddedness in Caribbean societies. In this article I present insights that draw from a recent research project that took place in a number of English, Dutch, and Spanish-speaking territories in the region that attempted to ll this lacunae. The project, which involved a team of Caribbean, British, and North American-based researchers, women’s, human rights, and sex worker organizations as well as individual sex workers, was one of the rst region-wide efforts to produce knowledge about a part of Caribbean society that is so tightly interwoven with gendered, economic, and international relations yet has been sorely neglected in social studies.

In the following I rst briey review the common themes and treatment of 39

Feminist Review ISSN 0141-7789 print/ISSN 1466-4380 online © Feminist Review Collective http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals 1 0

0 prostitution in historical and contemporary studies of the region that 2

G formed the backdrop for the project. I then present the aims, methodol- N I R P

S ogy, and main trends in the research. A central conceptualization of prosti- , 7 6

tution in the region that emerged was of sex work as an activity that O N provides material benets, shaped and given meaning by broader gen- W E I

V dered, racialized, and economic patterns and relations. In addition, with E R

T the research indicating that prostitution was not exclusive to women’s S I N I activities, but rather was also shared by men in the region, it was found M E F that the global location of the Caribbean as a service center and playground for wealthier nations and peoples has positioned both Caribbean women and men as sex workers, reinforcing not only global gendered inequalities but also long-standing patterns of dominance and subordi- nation between the North and the South. I discuss these and other trends in greater detail. Finally, I identify some implications of the complexity in the region that was uncovered by the research for feminist theorizing about prostitution and sex work.

Earlier studies of Caribbean sex work Despite the earlier work undertaken by Jamaican anthropologist Fernando Henriques on prostitution in the Americas (1965), no extensive study has been made on the subject in Caribbean history. Nevertheless, the references to sex work that do exist indicate that it was an integral part of the region’s past, inextricably tied to colonialism and the power and control exerted by European men over Black women, and stood at the nexus of at least two areas of women’s existence – as an extension of sexual relations (forced or otherwise) with (white) men, and as labor (Kalm, 1975; Del Omo, 1979; Martins, 1984; Beckles, 1989; Morrissey, 1989; Bush, 1990). Since the 1960s, reecting the concerns expressed by Frantz Fanon (1963) about the region becoming ‘the brothel of Europe’ due to the neocolonial relationships established through the emerging global tourism industry, various studies have focused on the interplay of prostitution with tourism in such countries as Barbados, Jamaica, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba (Press, 1978; Karch and Dann, 1981; Pruitt and LaFont, 1995; Díaz et al., 1996; Fusco, 1996; O’Connell Davidson 1996; O’Connell Davidson and Sanchez Taylor, 1996a, 1996b; de Albuquerque, 1998; Cabezas, 1998a). Within this focus, the involvement of both men and children has also drawn attention. The trafcking of women both internationally and regionally has been another important issue, addressed primarily by feminist researchers, prompted in the rst instance by an analysis of prostitution as violence towards women (Cavalcanti et al., 1986; Imbert Brugal, 1991). Trafcking 40 K A was also the topic of several conferences in the region, among them the M A L Caribbean Conference on Prostitution held in Bonaire in 1978, and two A

K E held in the Dominican Republic in December 1996 and June 1998. Much M P A D

of the recent work done on the issue of trafcking was developed in the O

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context of an international investigation on trafcking, forced labor and R E S E

slavery-like practices that was commissioned by the UN special rapporteur A R C on Violence Against Women (Azize Vargas and Kempadoo, 1996). The H I N G research project clearly indicated that while prostitution involved many S E X

violent and coercive practices for women, it was also being experienced W O R

and dened as a labor issue (Wijers and Lap-Chew, 1997). K

I N

The HIV/AIDS pandemic, and the fact that countries such as Haiti and H E

Guyana were experiencing some of the highest rates of infection in the A R I B western hemisphere prompted several studies in the early 1990s among the B E A ‘vectors’ of the disease. Given that the transmission in the region was N identied as primarily heterosexual, prostitutes were identied as an important group, with studies being carried out, most often under the aus- pices of governmental health departments or Pan American Health Organization (PAHO) programs, in countries such as Suriname, Belize, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, and Guyana (see, for example, Terborg, 1990a, 1990b; Carter et al., 1997; Kane, 1993, 1998; Alegría et al., 1994a, 1994b; COIN, 1994; O’Caroll-Barahona et al., 1994; De Moya and Garcia, 1996; Jamaican Ministry of Health, 1996; Cannings and Rosenzweig, 1997). Finally, studies in the 1990s – in Curaçao (Kempadoo, 1994), Barbados (Paul, 1997), and the Dominican Republic (Brennan, 1998; Cabezas, 1998b) – have focused on the general living and working conditions, rights, and perspectives of sex workers. Within these studies, issues of migration within the region and between the Caribbean and Europe and North America were highlighted, as well as the role of the global economy in structuring the local practices. A report on the rst sex workers conference in the Dominican Republic is one of the few publications that presents extensive analyses and testimonies by sex workers themselves (COIN, 1996). The focus in the majority of these studies – on sexually transmitted dis- eases, forced prostitution, child prostitution and sex tourism – emphasizes the social problems associated with the sex trade, and in doing so unwit- tingly reinforces notions of prostitution as a social evil or disease. It also, for a large part, obscures other dimensions of the everyday lives of female and male sex workers in the region, such as their own agency and subjec- tivity, their roles as mothers or providers for the family, and their hopes and aspirations, with the consequence that whole arenas of social life have 41 1 0

0 been overlooked. This is indeed strange, given that within the Caribbean 2

G arts – literature, theatre, and music – and in everyday story-telling and N I R P

S anecdotes, prostitutes are invariably portrayed as an integral part of village , 7 6

and town life. There can be little doubt to anyone familiar with the region O N that widespread common knowledge and experience with sex work is a W E I

V part of Caribbean history and contemporary society, yet this is barely E R

T reected in academic studies. Part of the aim of the research project was, S I N I therefore, to produce studies that would neither pathologize nor condemn M E F working women and men for taking up prostitution to make a living, but would instead critically examine the sex trade, foregrounding sex worker experiences and perspectives.

The project methodology The project was born out of a specic concern among Latin American and Caribbean feminists about the rapidity and ease with which ‘sex tourism’ was becoming embedded in Caribbean societies in the mid-1990s, particularly in Cuba. We realized that this new development was not isolated from a sex trade that had existed in the region for several centuries or from international racialized and gendered divisions of labor and power and the new recolonizations that were occurring through globalization (Bolles, 1992; Carty, 1994; Kempadoo 1994). Nevertheless, it was not until Gladys Acosta Vargas, who at the time was attached to the Instituto Latinoamer- icano de Servicios Legales Alternativos (ILSA) in Bogota, Colombia invited Elena Díaz, director of the Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales Program (FLACSO) at the University of Havana, Cuba, and myself in late 1995 to address the issue together, that an initiative was taken to conduct a collaborative region-wide research project on the contemporary sex trade in the Caribbean. Our hopes, from the beginning of the project, were to document the contemporary sex trade, to stimulate regional attention from policy makers and activists for the subject, and to encourage Caribbean feminist analyses of prostitution. We conceptualized a research project that would be a collaborative, inter- active effort where, rather than proceeding from a top-down approach to the production of knowledge about sex work, it would develop from an exchange between and among feminists who were already engaged with, or seeking to be engaged with, the subject – as sex workers, researchers, and/or activists. Very quickly the Caribbean Association for Feminist Research and Action (CAFRA) joined the project, and a coordinating team, comprising of myself, Cynthia Mellon of ILSA, and Jacqueline Burgess of CAFRA, rened the project concept, raised the necessary funds 42 from international agencies and sources,1 and managed the project further. K A

In order to accomplish our objectives of developing grounded research on M A L Caribbean sex work, we outlined a general framework for the project and A

K E invited proposals for qualitative research proposals that could form the M P A D

substance of the project. Our focus was on identifying and working with O

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feminist Caribbeanists who could combine research with some forms of R E S E

activism and public consciousness-raising around the subject of prosti- A R C tution, and who were interested in breaking down hierarchies and divides H I N G between ‘the researcher’ and ‘researched’ and the sex worker and non-sex S E X

worker. Understanding prostitutes and other sex workers to be one set of W O R

actors in the sex trade – as providers of sexual labor – yet a social group K

I N

whose lives and voices had commonly been dismissed or ignored, we were T H E

emphatic from the outset of the project that the perceptions and experi- C A R ences of this population needed to be center stage. I B B E A The coordinating team selected and sponsored eight research proposals N that appeared to share the general approach and concerns. With a restric- tion that we placed on the number of countries that could participate in the study, the site also acted as a criterion in the selection process (one study per country was to be chosen), enabling us to gather as broad a basis for comparison and elaboration as possible. The project design led to case- studies in the eight Caribbean territories of Belize, Barbados, the Domini- can Republic, Guyana, Jamaica, the Netherlands Antilles, Suriname, and the Colombian Caribbean coastal city of Cartagena, with participation by three organizations – the Stichting Maxi Linder Association for sex workers in Suriname, the Center for Gender and Development Studies at the University of the West Indies in Jamaica, and the Red Thread Women’s Development Program in Guyana – and thirteen researchers who were attached to these organizations as well as to universities in the United States, Canada, and Britain.2 Fieldwork was conducted during 1997–8, culminating in a two-day conference that was held in Kingston, Jamaica, in July 1998 at which not only the project participants, but also various other researchers and representatives from sex workers’ and non-governmental organizations presented their work and ideas. Papers that were delivered by Julia O’Connell Davidson and Jacqueline Sanchez Taylor on their research among sex tourists, and by Beverley Mullings on tourism in Jamaica, complemented the project work so well, sharing the framework and goals of the project research, that these were later included in the book in which the case studies were published (Kempadoo, 1999). Ultimately, the studies all fell loosely within a framework that views prostitution as a form of sexual labor that is shaped and transformed by a variety of gendered, economic and racialized relations of power – a generalized orientation that has been used by others (for example Truong, 1990; Chapkis, 1997; Bishop and Robinson, 1998; Kempadoo and Doezema, 43 1 0

0 1998; Lim, 1998; O’Connell Davidson, 1998). This was not necessarily 2

G the starting point for all the project researchers. Indeed, it was through the N I R P

S research process itself, from listening to, observing and interacting with , 7 6

women and men who worked in the sex sector (very few of whom were O N associated with sex workers’ or women’s organizations), that such an W E I

V understanding of sex work developed. The results thus constituted notions E R

T about the Caribbean sex trade that were not theoretically or politically S I N I derived but, instead, lodged in everyday realities and practices. Sex work M E F emerged through these studies as a sexual-economic exchange in which the persons providing the sexual labor did so with multiple partners while pub- licly acknowledging their participation in this exchange. This denition of sex work rested not simply on a concrete action and a set of relations, but as much upon the meanings and interpretations of the act by the persons providing sexual labor. The researchers employed a number of research methods, often relying on a combination of two or more, among them observations, in-depth inter- views, life histories, and focus group sessions. The study in Suriname was an extension of out-reach work undertaken by the Maxi Linder sex workers’ association, involving prior experience with research on the Surinamese sex trade and researchers who were also sex workers and/or peer-educators. It was structured as part of the organization’s efforts to gain new knowledge about sex work practices in the country (particularly around issues of safe sex), and to make contact with sex workers who had, to that date, no knowledge of, or access to, the organization’s support programs. In the other seven case-studies, the issue of gaining trust among sex workers was critical. Rapport had to be established and condentiality ensured before work could begin. In some cases, such as in Colombia and the Dominican Republic, local sex workers’ organizations and/or peer educators facilitated the process by providing information about sex work sites and practices. In the case of Belize, the Ministry of Health that was engaged in AIDS prevention work among sex workers was an important vehicle. In some instances, however, ofcials acted as gatekeepers, attempt- ing to censor the information collected and to control the researchers’ movements. The fact that prostitution was by and large an illegal activity yet lined the pockets of many a business person, police ofcer or government ofcial (apart from providing pleasure to many Caribbean men) meant that probes and investigations by, in particular feminist, researchers into the eld could be viewed as a challenge to state or male complicity in the sex trade. Care and caution was thus needed on the part of the researcher or teams to avoid placing themselves in a situation where they could be perceived as a threat by the authorities or where their investigations would harm sex workers. 44 K A

From discussions throughout the project and at the conclusion of the eld- M A L work period, the positionality of the researcher was considered important A

K E to the construction of knowledge about sex work in the region. In par- M P A D

ticular, ideas and specic biases held by researchers regarding female O

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sexual agency were areas for reection and discussion. Relations of power R E S E

between the researcher and researched around ‘race’ and ethnicity, nation- A R C ality, class, and gender were also interrogated during the research process, H I N G in some studies more explicitly and extensively than in others. In some S E X

cases, an unfamiliarity with sex work studies and practices meant that the W O R

researcher was confronted with an ‘outsider position in a way that she had K

I N

not anticipated – being ‘of the local culture’ or of the same nationality or T H E

ethnicity was, she soon discovered, not a sufcient basis for gaining access C A R to the sex trade. Other codes and sensibilities that revolved around in- I B B E depth knowledge or prior experience with the sex trade were required. A N Being in an outside position to the very specic local context, yet very familiar with Caribbean societies in general, sometimes, however, enabled the researcher to feel more comfortable with entering the arena, particularly because she was not hindered by knowledge of local taboos, dominant constraints on ‘decent’ feminine behavior, or the possibility that a friend or relative may see her in a place of ‘ill-repute.’ In such a situation the researcher was able to extend the boundaries of her investigation in ways that may not have been possible if she were a part of the local com- munity. A complete outsider position – of having no longstanding relationship with Caribbean culture and society or the sex trade – however, was also a severe limitation on the cultural interpretations that a researcher could make, and this was particularly evident in one of the studies. The complexity in the researchers’ positionality was a constant reminder of the signicance of cultural identity in the research process, and of the import- ance of taking into account ‘the problems of hierarchy, exploitation, appropriation and empowerment’ that shapes the eldwork encounter (Wolf, 1996: 32). During the course of the project, a total of 191 sex workers were interviewed in the eight countries – of whom 170 were women and twenty-one men. In addition, twenty clients – half of whom were women – were interviewed. These gures were not intended to be representative of the gendered composition of the sex working population or the clients in the Caribbean, but were a reection of general assumptions that undergirded the project and underpinned the initial research proposals. The main concern was for the lives of, and conditions for, female sex workers, and rested on notions that the high degree of female participation in the global sex trade was due to the way in which female sexuality and labor has historically been controlled and organized to serve masculine and male 45 1 0

0 interests. Nevertheless, we could not ignore the fact that in each country, 2

G men were also active in the trade. Only one case-study, however, explicitly N I R P

S addressed this aspect, focusing on heterosexual male sex work and recog- , 7 6

nizing the need to theorize gender relations more broadly (male sex work O N for men as well as male-to-female transgender sex workers are also a part W E I

V of the Caribbean landscape, but were not the focus of any of the proposals E R

T submitted for consideration in the project). This study later became S I N I important in helping to complicate the analysis we were making of sex M E F work, and to probe meanings of female sex tourism. The overall project methodology helped to ensure that the research was locally situated, dependent upon specic cultural and national experiences and meanings of sex work, and was part of feminist discourses and practices in the region.

De ning sex work in the region In each of the case-studies ‘sexing for money’ was an important aspect, often described as an economic activity and captured in the following state- ment by a Guyanese woman: ‘I will say is a job I doing . . . I don’t go fuh feelings, I does go fuh me money,’ (Red Thread, 1999: 277). In most instances, there was little confusion between commercial transactions and a steady, loving relationship in the minds or lived experiences of sex workers, although in some cases, particularly among those who worked with tourists, a relationship that started off as a brief materially driven encounter could grow into a long-term relationship or marriage. Sex work or prostitution was represented in sex worker discourse as an alternative to income-generating activities such as domestic work, street or beach vending, shing, work in manufacturing plants in Free Trade Zones, security guard work, waitressing, or bar tending. In the majority of cases, men and women described sex work as more lucrative than these other jobs and, in some cases, less demanding or less hazardous to their well- being. In Cartegena, on the Caribbean coast of Colombia, and Sosúa in the Dominican Republic, for example, the humiliations, abuse, and hunger experienced as a domestic worker were reasons enough for the women to state that they ‘preferred’ prostitution as a way to make a living. One young Colombian woman described her experience as a domestic worker in the following way: ‘. . . it was a starvation diet, and then I could not live with that . . . I am not used to living on just lunch without dinner or breakfast’ (Mayorga and Velásquez, 1999: 172). Sex work enabled her to escape the drudgery and hunger that domestic work forced upon her. A distinction between commercial sex work and ‘love’ was dened in terms of the different negotiations that took place with the client and a steady 46 K A friend or lover. Whereas, for example, many sex workers stated that M A L condoms were regularly used with clients, once a client achieved the status A

K E of a steady partner, boyfriend, husband, or ‘man’ in a woman’s life, M P A D

condoms were more than likely to be dispensed with. Sex work, thus, was O

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associated with condom-use and the likelihood of sexually transmitted dis- R E S E

eases, while a relationship in which a certain level of trust and familiarity A R C existed was considered ‘safe’ and healthy. This practice is not without its H I N G problems to a sex workers’ health, as has been pointed out elsewhere by S E X

Dusilley Cannings (Cannings et al., 1998), but nevertheless appeared to be W O R

common practice among sex workers who participated in the project (see K

I N

also Chanel, 1994 on Haiti). Also, with a steady partner sex workers T H E

stressed the possibility of nding tenderness and sexual pleasure for her or C A R himself. With a client, providing sex was seen as a job – to satisfy the client I B B E according to rules that the sex worker implicitly or explicitly applied. In A N the studies in Guyana, the Dominican Republic, Belize, and Cartegena various parts of the body were dened as off-limits to the client, commonly a women’s breasts and lips. As one woman described this: ‘some a dem [men] does want suck yuh bubby, some does want you kiss dem, I does tell dem no, no I ent deh suh, you not me husband, yuh come fuh an affair and we nish wid dat’ (Red Thread, 1999: 277). Prices for sex varied according to whether the client wanted a ‘short-time’ session or asked the sex worker to stay over the night; an extra amount was to be paid if the client did not ‘break’ or ejaculate within the allotted time (a regular session ran between ten to twenty minutes); and for sex that was uncommon for the workers – such as oral or anal sex – the client may be refused or would have to pay an extra amount. The studies in Guyana, the Dominican Republic, and Belize also all noted the emotional distance that sex workers maintained while ‘on the job’ – of clearly distinguishing between providing sex and giving one’s self during the sexual act, of performing a certain role without having to reveal their private selves. The distancing that was described by Caribbean sex workers is not unusual, nor specic to sex work. It has been argued elsewhere that such boundary maintenance is a typical strategy that people develop in a variety of jobs that rest upon emotional and sexual labor, and that rather than being a destructive element, it allows the professional to control the extent to which public life touches upon the private and intimate (Hochschild, 1993; Chapkis, 1997). The clear emphasis on the activities as ‘work’ made by sex workers themselves contradicts some of the ideas that exist in tourists’ minds about prostitution in the Caribbean. Many visitors to the region express the idea that Caribbean women are not really hustling for money, as in the following: 47 1

0 You can have any girl you want. Just stop any one on the street and ask her to 0 2

G go with you and she will. That’s because the average salary is about US $10 per N I R

P month and they know that hanging out with a foreigner will bring them some- S ,

7 thing if only a drink and dinner . . . Bring little gifts like panty hose and perfume 6

N and you’ll be treated like a king.

E (World Sex Guide, 20 June 1995) I V E R

S O’Connell Davidson and Sanchez Taylor’s research among tourists also I N I points out that men who would not necessarily practice prostitution at M E F home, are able to do so while on holiday abroad due to notions that what occurs in Third World countries is ‘not really prostitution’ and that the ‘girls’ are ‘not really like prostitutes’ (1999: 43). Oppermann conrms this notion:

Men also look for ‘love’ in a customer–prostitute relationship – thus their ‘dis- appointment’ in the commercial approach to prostitution in Western societies . . . perhaps this is the reason for some men to engage in sex tourism with planned sexual behaviour with prostitutes in developing countries where their money supposedly can buy not only more sex, but also more tenderness on the side of the prostitutes. (1998: 157) Women tourists interviewed in the course of the project in Barbados likewise tended to dene their relationships with Black Caribbean men as ‘romances’, rarely identifying themselves as prostitute-clients or sex tourists. Different perspectives and perceptions of the relationship clearly circulate, although among those providing sexual labor, a consistency is apparent. Caribbean sex workers’ denitions of their activities as a way to materially improve their lives echo those of many women and men involved in the sex trade around the world (see Chapkis, 1997; Sleightholme and Sinha, 1997; Kempadoo and Doezema, 1998; Kulick, 1998).

Boundary crossings Several interviewees in the studies commented upon gray areas where women and men engaged in sexual-economic exchanges without ever acknowledging or referring to themselves as sex workers. The ‘mistress,’ was one such category, represented by terms such as ‘outside woman,’ ‘deputy,’ ‘bijzijd,’ and ‘sweetheart,’ yet sometimes described by self-dened sex workers and other members of society as prostitution. To date, however, no systematic study has been done among this group to deter- mine their own self-perceptions and denitions of their sexual relationships, and little can be said about this relationship at this point. The boundary between sex worker and non-sex worker has also been further 48 K A complicated by ndings in other studies on sexual relations in the M A L Caribbean in which it has been pointed out that, particularly among Afro- A

K E Caribbean women and men, heterosexual relationships are constructed on M P A D

the basis of explicit and conscious sexual-economic exchanges (Senior, O

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1992; Miller, 1994; Wekker, 1994; De Zalduondo and Bernard, 1995). R E S E A R

Another fuzzy area that drew attention was between female and male sex C H I work. While women interviewed in the project had little problem in identi- N G

S fying themselves as prostitutes or sex workers, men involved in similar E X

W practices did not necessarily self-dene in the same way. Rather the terms O R K

‘beach boy,’ ‘beach bum,’ ‘gigolo,’ ‘sanky panky,’ or ‘hustler’ were most I N

T common. Prior research on tourism has likewise created a distinction H E

C between ‘romance tourism’, (involving men as providers of sex to female A R I B tourist clients), and ‘sex tourism’ (involving female sex workers and male B E A tourists). This distinction, I concluded at the end of the project, needed N further examination in the context of racialized, gendered, and economic relations of power and in relation to gendered identities and empowerment. Caribbean women, for example, were being marginalized and dis- respected as ‘whores’ within local cultural logic if they aunted their sexual selves, and many of the women interviewed in the context of the project spoke candidly about the ways in which they were scorned because of their public appearances. For men:

fundamental hegemonic constructions of Caribbean masculinity are not ques- tioned or denied to the male heterosexual prostitute. An exchange of sex for material and nancial benets with a female tourist instead reafrms notions of ‘real’ Caribbean manhood, creating a space for . . . the liberation of a Black masculinity that within the international context is subordinated to an econ- omically powerful, white masculinity. (Kempadoo, 1999: 24–5) The empowerment that occurred for women through sex work was not necessarily dened along the axis of gender and sexuality as it was for men, but rather in economic terms, suggesting distinctly different gendered sites of power for Caribbean men and women within the sex trade. However, the project studies indicated that liaisons between Caribbean men and female tourists and Caribbean women and male tourists were similar on other dimensions. Undeniably, for both men and women who were oriented to working with tourists, an exchange of sex or romance for money, status, or material goods took place. The study of male hustlers in Barbados, for example, cited men describing their encounters with tourist women as highly dependent upon the women’s wealth: ‘I like to get involved with executive ladies, with women with class, women with cash,’ one young man declared. ‘Technically speaking I love women who have 49 1 0

0 money. I can tell the ones who got money . . .’ (Phillips, 1999: 188). 2

G Nothing seemed accidental about their choice of ‘romance’ partner. N I R P

S O’Connell Davidson and Sanchez Taylor’s research among tourists con- , 7 6

rmed this trend. They noted, ‘almost all the sexually active women sur- O N veyed stated that they had “helped their partner(s) out nancially” by W E I

V buying them meals, drinks, gifts or giving them cash’ (1999: 48). Sex E R

T workers – both male and female – more often than not acknowledged that S I N I they were in it for material gains. In addition, both male and female sex M E F work with tourists could rest heavily on notions of the Caribbean person nding a caring foreigner with enough nancial security to assist them to overcome economic hardship, unemployment, and a bleak future, of obtaining ‘La Gloria’ in the Dominican women’s words. For many this included leaving their home countries and migrating to live with the lover, of ‘going a foreign’ in Jamaican ‘Rent-a-Dread’ parlance (see Pruitt, 1993). Being able to sport material symbols of ‘development’ – designer clothes, shoes, US dollars, and the like – was commonly the external trapping that accompanied this search, but not always an important motivating factor to engage with tourists. A further similarity between ‘romance tourism’ and ‘sex tourism,’ that appeared through the project and has been elabor- ated also in the work by O’Connell Davidson and Sanchez Taylor, was the representation of sex in the Caribbean in the minds of North American and Western European men and women. Thus apart from perceiving the region as an area where sex could be purchased or ‘had’ that was fun, cheap, undemanding, and allowed for a adventure away for the mundane, Caribbean men and women alike were constructed in tourist imaginations as racialized-sexual subjects/objects – the hypersexual ‘Black male stud’ and the ‘hot’ Brown or Black woman – whose main roles were to serve and please the visitor. Both women and men represented ‘the exotic’ to the tourist. Our research on sex tourism also suggested that gender and sexuality for both men and women in the Caribbean was being constructed in the international context as part of a service provided by the Third World to the First. As a playground for the richer areas of the world to explore their fantasies of the exotic and to indulge in some rest and relaxation, the labor and racialized-sexualized bodies of Caribbean women and men constituted primary resources that local governments and the global tourism industry could exploit and commodify to cater to, among other things, tourist desires and needs. This type of leisure travel, for purposes of rest and relaxation, was not an exclusively masculine domain but one increas- ingly shared by Western European and North American women who, particularly during the last two decades, have established their own bases of cultural and economic power in their home countries, traveling individually in search of ‘Sun, Sea, Sand, and Sex’ (see also Alberquerque, 1998). 50 The case-studies by Cabezas in the Dominican Republic and Phillips in K A

Barbados, conrmed by those by Mullings in Jamaica and O’Connell M A L Davidson and Sanchez Taylor in Jamaica and the Dominican Republic, A

K E also indicated that the sex tourism experience provided a stage for First M P A D

World gendered performances – for European and North American men O

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to re-enact traditional masculinity and to reassure themselves of their R E S E

dominance over women, for European and North American women to A R C experiment with and expand their gender identities. While male sex H I N G tourists often viewed their home countries as places where women enjoyed S E X

excessive power through which traditional male authority was being W O R

undermined, they seemed able to fully reafrm their masculinity through K

I N

the control they exerted based on their racialized/cultural economic power T H E

while in the Caribbean. Among women tourists, an experimentation with C A R being able to control men, while retaining a sexualized femininity, appears I B B E to have taken place. Caribbean masculinity and femininity, I concluded A N from this, could be viewed as ‘the stage upon which a reshaping and retool- ing of western identity occurs,’ securing the reproduction of First World labor and the (re)construction of First World/white/western masculinity and femininity (Kempadoo, 1999: 26). Thus while a discursive distinction between ‘romance tourism’ and ‘sex tourism’ may have seemed appropriate for describing western women’s denial about their own behavior, moti- vations and positionalities within international relations, it did not reect sex workers’ experiences or denitions. In short, while differences in social identity and gendered bases for empowerment were evident, it also became clear through the research that male and female sex tourists, on the one hand, and male and female sex workers on the other, shared many commonalities with each other in their position and location within the global racialized, economic order.

Despite the above insistence on the commonalities in various types of sex work, I do not wish to imply here that ‘the sex worker’ in the Caribbean appeared as an homogenous category. The project case-studies revealed that the category had been constructed within different social and cultural settings in a number of ways. Hierarchies existed among sex workers according to their work locations, level of education, and to a limited degree, ethnicity or nationality. Many of the women and men who participated in the project were not full-time sex workers: for some the sale of sexual labor was a way to support a drug-use habit, for others it was classied as ‘opportunity’ work – that which was done on an irregular basis. Saleswomen and cooks in the interior of Suriname, hotel employees and ‘muchachas de su casa’ in the Dominican Republic, entertainment coordinators in all-inclusive hotels in Montego Bay, waitresses in Ocho Rios, nurses and teachers in other parts of Jamaica, bank tellers and sec- retaries in Belize, and oddjobbers or beach-vendors in Barbados, also did 51 1 0

0 not necessarily identify themselves as sex workers, yet acknowledged the 2

G incorporation of sex work into their range of income-generating activities. N I R P

S Age also mediated the category. Young people, girls and boys were not , 7 6

always self-dened or dened by others as sex workers, as was the case in O N the Cartegena study. The research indicated that the term perhaps be W E I

V reserved for those considered by law adult enough to work and to be E R

T sexual agents in their own right. Further, from the case-studies in the S I N I Spanish-speaking locations in the study, in Colombia and the Dominican M E F Republic in particular, the researchers explained that the denition of a sex worker or prostitute was also closely interwoven with Catholic standards of womanhood. Chastity until marriage and monogamy constituted critical elements of ‘decent’ femininity in these contexts. Once a girl or woman had had sexual intercourse outside formal marriage she was considered ‘ruined’ and no longer t for marriage. Hegemonic denitions of gender already discussed above, also qualied the construct – men were not always considered to be sex workers, while women were easily dened as ‘prostitute’ and ‘whore.’ The heterogeneity and specic cultural constructions of ‘the sex worker’ in the region that we encountered through the project demanded our constant attention to avoid facile and stereotypical assertions and claims.

Structures and arrangements within the sex trade Beyond providing insights into the social denition of sex work across the region, the studies distinguished several ways in which sex work was organized. Prominent characteristics were the personal autonomy that sex workers – both female and male, young and old – claimed, and the ways in which they controlled a large part of their activities and earnings. ‘Pimps’ and ‘trafckers’ were absent in their stories. For example, the thirty-ve women interviewed in Sosúa in the Dominican Republic who worked in the tourist resorts, and several of the women interviewed in Orange Walk bars and clubs in Belize were ‘freelancers’: women who managed their own affairs. For the twenty male beach hustlers interviewed in Barbados, and the thirteen young women and teenagers in Cartegena, a similar situation was recorded: the sex workers’ services were not mediated by a ‘manager’ or brothel keeper. In Guyana, the researchers described the women as ‘self-employed,’ observing that ‘none of the women we interviewed admitted to giving money to a “pimp”,’ although within the study it became clear that many women in the country paid men for protection from potential violence from clients (Red Thread, 1999: 280). Other scenarios also existed. Reports about Amerindian women in Guyana have suggested that this particular population is extremely vulnerable to recruit- 52 ment for sex work under false pretenses or that their work and clients are K A regulated and managed by the proprietors of entertainment establishments M A L (Trinidad Guardian, 2 August 1998). None of these women, however, par- A

K E ticipated in the project. The research in the Surinamese interior revealed a M P A D

mixture of both autonomous and coerced sex workers (Antonius-Smits et O

–

al., 1999). Women working in clubs and camps and as occasional sex R E S E

workers independently controlled their work and earnings. Among women A R C who worked as cooks, some had been mislead into sex work. Brazilians H I N G were recruited, trafcked, and paid by mining operators and foremen S E X

although 80 per cent of the women interviewed in this category reported W O R

to know that they were traveling to Suriname for the explicit purpose of K

I N

earning money through sex work. In Maroon communities, women and T H E

teenage girls worked independently, although initially some mothers forced C A R their daughters into the business. Where the lines between autonomy and I B B E coercion lay was neither rigid nor always easily discernible. A N In general, however, the organization of sex work reected a high degree of autonomy on the part of the Caribbean sex worker with some instances of direct male control and coercion, a situation that appears to differ vastly from that in Southeast Asia, yet is similar in many respects to those in African countries where ‘freelancing’ is a common occurrence and where sex workers often independently manage and control their own resources and capital (see White, 1990; Anar, 1998; Tandia, 1998). However, as in the rest of the global sex trade, it was, for the most part, men who accumu- lated the largest nancial prots from the sexual labor that was expended, controlling the sites where sex work occurred – as bar and hotel proprietors, tourism industry operators and managers, as recruiters and trafckers of women, or as direct intermediaries between client and prostitute. Female and male sexual labor was thus an integral part of many small and large-scale money-making enterprises in the region that were run by, and were protable for, men. There were a few main sites where sex work was recorded in the project, each of which represented specic types of arrangements. In the case- studies sex work was most commonly loosely organized around hotels and guesthouses in downtown districts, where clients met sex workers, rooms were used on or off the premises, and where the proprietor was not involved directly in money transactions between clients and sex workers. In the capitals of Guyana and Suriname, for example, sex workers rented a room on the premises, independently seeking customers either outside the hotel, guesthouse, or in the hotel bar. In the Dominican Republic in some instances women lived on the premises attached to a bar, and were paid weekly by the proprietor rather than by the client. In such a scenario, if clients wished to take the sex worker to another location, an exit fee was paid to the bar owner. In Orange Walk, Belize, arrangements at a hotel 53 1 0

0 combined with the ‘cha’ system (in which the sex worker was paid a com- 2

G mission on the number of drinks that the client bought), and where the sex N I R P

S workers lived in rooms on the premises. Here the hotel/bar owner charged , 7 6

a set amount from their earnings instead of rent. O N

E Hotels or guesthouses where sex work took place were often closely con- I V E

R nected to a bar night-club, or Go-go dance club, which is where the major-

T S I ity of sex workers who participated in the studies met their clients (tourists N I M

E and non-tourists). In Orange Walk, Belize, the ‘cha’ system ensured that F the woman would not necessarily have to have sex with the client, since she was guaranteed an income from entertaining guests at the bar. The ‘cabaret’ system in the Dominican Republic operated in a similar fashion. Women were recruited by the bar owner to attract men to the premises to drink, although here the bar owner directly employed women on a weekly basis. A similar arrangement was also found to be in operation in the interior of Guyana. In Ocho Rios, Jamaica, yet another variation at the bars and clubs was recorded. There, sex workers paid an entry fee to night- clubs in order to meet clients inside. The research in Belize City and Sosúa described ‘freelance’ sex workers who visited bars and night-clubs to meet clients without having to pay the bar owner. In Curaçao at the open-air ‘snacks’ that sold drinks and fast food, the counter served as a site where sex workers would meet clients. Not wholly unrelated to the bar and night- clubs were entertainment establishments where the primary job of the sex worker was exotic dancing, lap dancing, or stripping (noted in the studies in Guyana, St Maarten, and Jamaica). Commercial sexual intercourse was, in these cases, a sideline. Another location that emerged from the project as important in the organization of sex work was the gold mining industry in the interiors of Guyana and Suriname. While this is perhaps not a new site, it is certainly one that has been barely acknowledged to date. The studies represented some of the rst initiatives in the region to document this practice in any detail. In the interior of Suriname the sex trade encompassed several arrangements. One, referred to as the ‘sex-on-credit’ system, took place within the miner’s living quarters. Brazilian women would be recruited and hired by the foreman of a mining operation to live for a three-month period with one miner who paid 10 per cent of his total earnings to the foreman who, in turn, paid for the woman’s travel into the camp, all her lodging expenses, and a xed salary in gold. In effect the woman became a domestic partner or a ‘temporary wife,’ providing the miner not only with sex but also domestic labor for the three-month period. Where women were not allowed to live in the mining camps, they traveled to the interior and resided in so-called women’s camps – a designated area of huts nearby the 54 mining camps, where miners could visit them. Hotel/bar complexes (called K A

‘clubs’ in Suriname) also existed around the mining camps, where women M A L were more likely to be recruited and employed directly by the bar or club A

K E owners. Finally, the gold mining industry has fostered prostitution in M P A D

nearby Maroon and Amerindian villages, particularly among women and O

–

teenagers (see also Colchester, 1997). Dominant features in sex work in R E S E

and around mining operations were the migration or trafcking of women A R C into the mining areas for a set period of time (usually three months), and H I N G payment in gold. S E X

Tourist resorts – hotels and beaches designed primarily for North Ameri- W O R K

can and Western European tourists, which were located at a distance from I N

the center of town – constituted another site where sex work was organ- H E

ized. Sex tours arranged by a travel agency or tour operator that deliber- A R I B

ately promoted sex as part of the vacation package or organized visits for B E A the tourists to specic hotels, brothels, or night-clubs did not surface in the N research project. Instead, the beaches, bars, casinos, and night-clubs within tourist hotels and resorts functioned as sites where tourists individually met sex workers. Characteristic of much of the sex work in and around the resorts was the longer-term relationships that were forged between client and sex worker – lasting in many instances for the period of stay of the tourist, sometimes extending into a situation where the tourist sus- tained the relationship through gifts, a ticket, and money after returning home. However, as described in Jamaica, in some instances, sex workers would rent a room in an all-inclusive resort hotel in order to have ‘short- time’ clients. The tourist resort was the only site where heterosexual male sex work was frequently observed or noted. Docks for both cargo and cruise ships represented another site in the project. In Georgetown, Guyana, for example, women gained permission to board freighters to service their clients on board. In Ocho Rios, Jamaica, crew members of cruise ships visited specially designated ‘lounges’ near the pier where sex workers rented a room to conduct their business. In all the case-studies there was also mention of sex work that was street based, although this formed the focus of only one study – in Cartegena, Colom- bia – as well as prostitution that occurred out of women’s homes, and through escort services. Special red-light districts did not appear in the research and very few places were designated exclusively for prostitution. Only one site where non-sex working women were banned from entering – Campo Alegre in Curaçao – was identied. In all other places, clients and non-clients, sex workers and non-sex workers mingled, danced, drank, and socialized together. Woven through all the case-studies were indications of the inter- relationship between the different domains of sex work. Workers did not necessarily stay in one site or in one type of arrangement, but often 55 1 0

0 operated in various systems simultaneously or at different times in their 2

G lives. Also, the categories easily overlapped, in that hotel or club-based sex N I R P

S work could occur in tourist resorts or mining areas. However, not all sites , 7 6

were open or accessible to all sex workers. Some were highly controlled O N by men, for example foremen at the gold mines or bar owners, thus access W E I

V to these workplaces was conditioned by factors well beyond the sex E R

T worker’s control. Other arrangements relied on multinational language S I N I skills and/or a well cared for appearance that often went hand in hand with M E F a higher level of education and a middle-class status. Many of the sex workers interviewed, while not illiterate, were also not highly educated, and were poor, thus these avenues were often closed to them. For the most part, those who worked in tourist resorts did not work elsewhere – the money and conditions being better than in other places – suggesting a hierarchy based on location and type of arrangement. Even so, advantages that went with tourism-oriented prostitution did not guarantee a desire for upward mobility. Young street walkers in Cartegena, Colombia, for example, indicated that they did not seek to move up the hierarchy, for while tourism-related sex work was more protable to them, the street walking areas around the tourist resorts were far more restricted by the police than in downtown neighborhoods, and foreign clients more demanding than local men. The young women and teenagers thus preferred the down-town areas even though it required more clients on their part. Treatment by the state and clients in this case, conditioned the young women’s ‘choices’ in sex work. Overall, the number of different locations where sex work took place, the various patterns around the organization of sex work, as well as the diversity of ways that the work site and arrangements were connected, contributed to notions that the sex trade in the region could not be discussed or represented in a monolithic way. The trends in the research project emphasized distinctive patterns across the region that embodied a high degree of heterogeneity and complexity.

Further implications of the research The project was designed to develop a substantive body of feminist work on the sex trade in the Caribbean through collaborative research. It was a rst Caribbean-wide effort to record and analyze details of sex work as dened by the people who provide sexual labor, and thus provides new information and insights, carrying with it a number of implications for feminist theorizing. The variety of arrangements and working conditions, the diversity of people as both clients and sex workers, and the various perspectives that were described through the project indicate that sex work and prostitution relations are produced and recongured not simply along 56 the axis of gender, but also along those of ethnicity and ‘race,’ nation, and K A class. In this respect the project conrms ideas that have been advanced by M A L such theorists as Thanh-Dam Truong and Laurie Shrage (1994), that A

K E feminist theory on sex work and prostitution needs to proceed with great M P A D

care and attention to historical and contextual specicities, and not reduce O

–

itself to the production of grand, universalizing notions about prostitution R E S E

as the quintessence of women’s oppression that rests upon the assumption A R C of a unied category of ‘woman.’ Careful empirical investigations such as H I N G those conducted through this project thus contribute to reformulations and S E X

reconceptualizations that are critical to feminist discourse and practice in W O R

a world characterized by heterogeneity, diversity, and multiple forms of K

I N

domination. T H E

The difference in accounts given by Caribbean women and men sex A R I B workers about their activities, with those of tourist-clients, is another area B E A for further reection. With on the one hand the Caribbean being pos- N itioned as a place in the international imagination as a ‘naturally’ sexual playground, with male and female tourists paying for sex yet dening their relationships with Caribbean women and men as ‘romances’ or ‘not really prostitution,’ and, on the other hand, Caribbean women and men involved in the sex trade dening their activities as ‘work,’ lines seem to be drawn around denitions of sex work that emerge from different locations within structures of power in the sex trade around not just gender, but also ethnicity, ‘race,’ and class. It would be premature to claim a particular ‘vantage’ or ‘stand’ point of Caribbean sex workers or their clients due to their specic location, given the small empirical basis on which the project rests (although this is certainly an area that I have begun to explore for ‘Third World’ sex workers globally – see Kempadoo and Doezema, 1998). However, the demarcations around these perspectives, as well as the nuances and oppositions articulated within and between sex worker and sex tourists discourses urge us to keep in mind that feminist knowledge and accounts of sex work must engage with a range of diverse and hybrid conditions that produce often contradictory and oppositional locations, denitions, and perspectives. And even though few postcolonial feminists who advocate this approach to women’s lives have barely examined sex work or prostitution, the research nevertheless contributes to this particular body of knowledge (see Alexander and Mohanty, 1997; also Lal, 1996). Finally, the participation of women as sex tourists that was identied through the project as an important part of the late twentieth-century Caribbean landscape, forces an engagement and interrogation of the recolonizations shaped through the global tourism industry, on a number of dimensions. That both Caribbean women and men are subject to eroticiz- ing, sexualizing fantasies and exploitations, and that sex tourists – both male and female – use the Caribbean as a place to consolidate or redene 57 1 0

0 their own cultural identities, underscores the point that feminist accounts 2

G that focus exclusively on the operations of masculine hegemony to explain N I R P

S prostitution and sex work may not be entirely appropriate. The ways in , 7 6

which sexual labor has been historically, culturally, and socially organized O N and how these specicities allow for a multiplicity of sexualized and gen- W E I

V dered categories, identities, and dependencies, need to be integral to E R

T theories of sex work. Indeed this research moves us beyond essentialist S I N I notions of ‘the prostitute’ and ‘the client’ to remind us that these categories M E F are not xed, universal, or transhistorical, but are subject to transform- ation and change in particular ways (Marchand et al., 1999). The project also starkly illustrates the global repositioning that is occurring between postindustrial and postcolonial societies, where Black and Brown bodies become (or continue to be) the sites for the construction of (white) North American and Western European power, wealth, and well-being. The research thus, while providing us with many new details about constructions of sex work in contemporary Caribbean societies, also contributes a substantive basis for the re-examination of theories of prostitution and sex work and to feminist theorizing that pays attention to contradictory and multiple gendered positions and locations within contemporary globalized relations.

Notes

Kamala Kempadoo is acting head/lecturer at the Centre for Gender and Develop- ment Studies, Mona, at the University of the West Indies while on leave from the University of Colorado-Boulder. She has been engaged with research on sex work in the Caribbean since the early 1990s, and is editor of Global Sex Workers: Rights, Resistance and Redenition and Sun, Sex and Gold: Tourism and Sex Work in the Caribbean.

1 The project was funded and supported by the Women in Development Division of the Dutch Government, the United Nations Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM), Mama Cash Foundation, Tides Foundation, Interpares Foundation and the Project Counseling Service for Latin American Refugees, the University of Colorado, and the Funding Exchange.

2 The principal researchers were: Christel Antonius-Smits, (Anton de Kom Uni- versity/Maxi Linder sex workers association, Suriname), Amalia Cabezas (at the time PhD candidate, University of California-Berkeley), Shirley Campbell (academic director, Jamaica College Semester Abroad Program), Jacqueline Martis (senior health statistician, Central Bureau for Statistics, Curacao), Laura Mayorga (PhD candidate, University of California-Berkeley), Patricia Mohammed (Gender and Development Studies, University of the West Indies- Mona), Linda Peake (Red Thread Women’s Development Programme, 58 K A

Guyana/York University Canada) Althea Perkins (Gender and Development M A L

Studies, University of the West Indies, Mona), Joan Philips (PhD candidate, Uni- A

K E

versity of Luton, England), A. Kathleen Ragsdale (PhD candidate University of M P A

Florida-Gainesville), Jessica Tomiko Anders (graduate student, University of D O

Florida-Gainesville), Alissa Trotz (Red Thread Women’s Development Pro- –

R E

gramme, Guyana/Queens University, Canada), Pilar Velásquez (Luis Galan Insti- S E A

tute, Colombia). R C H I N G

S E X

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