It happens a lot. For every 100,000 of us, 213 will be murdered at work. After each of those women is murdered–if anyone notices, or if anyone who does notice bothers to report it–there will be news stories. The word “PROSTITUTE” will be in the headline, make no mistake: Prostitute Found Stabbed, or Victim Identified as Local Prostitute. Our deaths are entertainment, their investigations the stuff of pulp novels and Lifetime specials. And last night, it happened again.
I didn’t know her. We’ve never met, though we have some common clients. Had. We had some common clients. She was not street-based. She got work from the same message boards I have used. Her photos are professional, her smile seems genuine enough. And last night police found her dead in her apartment.
The story in the news, it was just a blip. Woman found dead, apparent homicide. Police are investigating, anyone with information should speak the fuck up, and get to it. It’s not yet been made public what her job was, but soon enough polite society will breathe a sigh of relief that it is in no immediate danger. They will sip their lattes and peruse the details. When a sex worker dies, her murder does not incense the community. We are marginalized. Disposable. The most compassionate of onlookers will cluck their tongues and sigh that the poor thing didn’t have any other choice in life, and isn’t that so goddamned sad.
No. You know what’s sad? When we, as a society, hold a class of citizens as expendable. When we culturally condone violence against women who charge for their time, their companionship, their love. Her whole damn life was tragic, is the sentiment. Why not her death, too? And those of us for whom the details of this case are not salacious, but terrifying–we’re left with a culture that is relieved to hear that no crime against a person was committed. Thank god it’s just another dead hooker.
Veronica Said:
on September 1, 2010 at 7:17 am
Yes. I always get so annoyed when ‘it was JUST a prostitute’, like her job suddenly defines everything that she is. At the end of the day, her job is just that, a job. She’s still a daughter and a friend, she has family and friends. A person isn’t expendable, no matter how they pay their bills.
Miss Ash Said:
on September 9, 2010 at 3:26 pm
You had been in my reader for a while.
This was how I discovered you, and you’re now in my favorites folder.
Your words are pungent. I will enjoy reading what you write and have written. Thank you.
Fergus Said:
on October 18, 2011 at 2:53 pm
This brings tears to my eyes. I used to feel that no death was good. Then I learned how truly mind-fuckingly horrific some child rapists could be. But even then, even there, even now, I can’t consign even the most evil versions of humanity to a category whose death doesn’t really affect the quota of humanity on the globe. That so many people take that attitude to sex workers, who, in the simplest of terms, are net additions to the sum of human happiness, is desperately desperately sad.