I failed. 

I don’t even know what that word means.  

Failed. 

Failure. 

Failing. 

Dictionary.com tells me it means I received less than a passing grade.  

F.  

I didn’t cry until I let that grade sink in. F. F. F. F. F. Fuckin F! I didn’t even know what that grade means. But it erased, for a moment, all the other things that I accomplished before I opened my grades. My heart sank to my stomach. I put my head in my hands and I cried. 

Before I received this failing grade, I kept asking everyone, “What happens when you fail? If you fail?” And the replies? “Oh don’t worry, you won’t fail.” But I did fail. And I still don’t know what that means! 

The only thing I know for certain is that I have this big fat fuckin F on my transcript which I know is not representative of my ability to actually understand law or talk about law. I also don’t know if I passed the second chance at doing the re-write. I don’t know what it means if I fail again. I don’t know what it means to write an exam that reads, “You have to pick the most correct answer. There will be two most correct answers. These questions are meant to mark your nuanced judgment.”  

Nuanced. In other words, it is a fancy way to describe how an exam question is going to judge your level of ability to distinguish between a subtle difference or distinction in expression, meaning, response, etc.—as dictionary.com says (but not like I don’t know what “nuance” means).  

What does it mean to fail an exam that tries mark your nuanced judgment?! What does it mean to fail an exam in law school?! I am entirely not sure…yet. And still, I am scared when I read or hear the things others are telling me. What does it all mean!  

I have other peers who also failed in other courses. We are each other’s support—even if we never talked to each other throughout our term. We eventually reached out to one another.  

If I could take a moment to describe law school to non-law school people, it’s like this weird social experiment where they place all the Type As and the perfectionists into the deep end of this gigantic pool. Everyone is learning how to swim for the first time. Some of us learn how to stay afloat right off the bat. Some of us struggle with just barely keeping our heads above the water. But some people realize sooner rather than later that law school can’t be done alone. Your peers become your support in law school. They become your support as soon as you realize that the strangeness of law school cannot be comprehended by non-law school folks and those who see this strangeness too, all come together. We learn that this isn’t about competition or being better than one another. We learn that this is about support and friendships. It is about forming relationships that become your rock during that dark time…like fear of failing an exam or actually failing an exam. And relationships to one another and relationships to other beings are essential to indigenous legal traditions and for some colonial legal traditions, our relations to one another and to other beings take a back seat. In fact, some colonial legal traditions completely negate the importance of these relationships. So, being an indigenous law student can be isolating and alienating because of the negation of the importance of these relationships. 

And for me? Law school has been an isolating and alienating experience. But I have learned to deal. These experiences are nothing I haven’t been through before. And I write this post to feel less alone and less alienated. I also write to heal. I write to understand. I write to reflect. I write to feel vulnerable. My vulnerability teaches me. It opens me up to a different understandings of… things, relationships, perspectives, lives, etc.
Nevertheless, I want to have a real conversation about failures, especially failures in law school. 

Nobody talks about failing in law school. For someone who likes to plan for things, it was strange for me. I like to plan for things, for even the worse, like failing. I reached out to a professor who never taught me but who has been super supportive in other capacities. I started planning. It was the only thing I could do: plan.

And here is what I learned since receiving my grades: the world doesn’t end when you fail. Life continues. Sometimes wine helps you to understand failing but not entirely and you will still have no idea what “to fail” means. I learned that I suck at multiple choice exams and that some people like to believe that multiple choice exams can gauge your nuanced judgment (note: there is nothing nuanced about a multiple choice exam, as one of my peers put it). I learned (again) that tests are really not my forte. I learned that nobody likes talking about failure in law school. And throughout my year at law school? There really isn’t any kind of mental health support that is easily accessible for students at my school (and this isn’t law school specific)–I had really bad anxiety from being violently harassed by people because of my advocacy work. I seriously thought about suicide because I seriously didn’t want to be around anymore to experience this violent and basically unstoppable harassment.

Still, this lack of mental health support really added to the level of stress and anxiety I experienced. It also contributed to the feelings of alienation and isolation. The fact that I had to contact a counselling friend who lives in a different city and pay for access to mental health services says a lot about the lack of mental health support available at my school. I know I am not the only one in my year at law school that required additional mental health support. The difference with me, however, is that I am new to the Ottawa area and I had to make an appointment with the local clinic, wait to have a family doctor, wait to have a referral (even after experiencing stigma and judgment from this family doctor relating to my mental health when asking for the referral), wait to have an appointment for the referral and then have to cancel the referral because I didn’t have time that day (since the appointment was scheduled three months in advance)–life changes. I couldn’t wait to talk to someone. I had to reach out. But the support available for students on campus shouldn’t be that way.

In the end, I also learned that I am more than all the bullshit I’ve been through within the past year. I am more than a failing grade. I also learned that I am not the only who failed an exam in law school and I want others to know, you are not alone in this wholly isolating experience. If there is one piece of advice I could give to others, I would say: don’t be afraid to reach out to others, including a professor, a peer, or someone you know who is in law school. It’s hard to talk about failing a law school exam because failure in law school is rarely talked about and yes, it can feel like the entire weight of the world is on your shoulders–but you don’t have to carry that all on your own. 

A strange thing happened earlier this year. Back in March, there was a Toronto Star article making it way around my social media.[1] My friends were posting and sharing the article. Some of these friends are in law school and some are simply interested in the law. Everyone kept complimenting the decision. And the lawyering folks on social media? Majority of them also complimented the decision and few (if only one) did not approve.[2] Sure, the decision was a good one. Yet, the discussions missed the obvious point: the glaring issues with the criminal justice system especially pertaining to Aboriginal persons.

Yes, it is important to have decisions written in clear and plain language. Though, I have to ask, what happened to those 7+ years of education/professional training?

Yes, it is important to have judges who care about and respect the people who stand in front of them in their courts. But, shouldn’t this be basic treatment of any person another one meets?

Yes, it is important to have standards within our own justice system. But why are we applauding and commending basic skills that should be expected by all of us (judge or not) in the legal community, as trained, educated folks.

As people kept commenting on the decision, R v Armitage, I grew increasingly frustrated.

I just kept shouting: “You are missing the point!”

That point? Well, the decision cites R v Gladue which is the principal case that interprets s. 718.2(e) of the Criminal Code. Section 718.2(e) tells the sentencing judge that they must consider “all available sanctions other than imprisonment that are reasonable in the circumstances should be considered for all offenders, with particular attention to the circumstances of aboriginal offenders.”[3] This section does not mean that sentencing judges think more about the circumstances of the Aboriginal persons, but that they consider their unique circumstances, like their social backgrounds and histories. 

Parliament enacted s. 718.2(e) to deal precisely with the over-representation of Aboriginal people in the justice system.[4] Following the R v Gladue Supreme Court decision in 1999, the Gladue court, which Justice S. Nakatsuru refers to in Armitage, was created. The Gladue court is a specialized court dealing explicitly with Aboriginal persons who have been arrested and charged with criminal offences.[5] More appropriately, however, the Gladue court may also be referred to as a sentencing court. Calling the Gladue court system a sentencing court re-positions the framing of Armitage.

In R v Armitage, Nakatsuru J. outlines the history of Gladue and the history of Jesse Armitage. Jesse’s histories include history of intergenerational trauma, history of sexual abuse, history of substance use, lack of western education and lack of employment experience. Other histories? Jesse first came into contact with the justice system as a youth. He also committed mainly non-serious offences (property-related and breaches of court orders). And how did Jesse end up in the Gladue court that day in front of Justice Nakatsuru? He was arrested for stealing a television in order to purchase things he needed. Jesse’s history and reality isn’t much different from other Aboriginal people who end up in the prison system. Other Aboriginal folks are usually arrested and incarcerated for similar offences: breaches and non-serious offences. They also share similar histories.

Justice Nakatsuru further outlines how Jesse ended up in front of him. Jesse had already been in custody. Jesse had also been accessing relevant services while in custody. Jesse wanted to continue to access those services. And so, Jesse asked to serve the remainder of his conditional sentence while in custody to access the services. For Jesse to ask to serve the remainder of his conditional sentence in custody to access services, I commend Jesse.

Jesse’s histories tell the story of many Aboriginal persons in the justice system, which Justice Nakatsuru also admits. The stories remain the same. And still, a court created expressly to deal with the over-representation of Aboriginal people in prison does not address the fact that services to help with rehabilitation of an individual can only be accessed while in custody.

I have been in the Gladue court system. I have both lived experience and educational knowledge about this court system. I would argue, however, the lived experience is more valuable than the educational knowledge.

In order to access the services that a Gladue court outlines after sentencing, a person must plead guilty. Maybe it’s just me–I seem to be the only one that finds it completely bizarre that one must plead guilty to benefit from a scheme that is meant to deal with the overrepresentation of Aboriginal people in prison while in custody. Shouldn’t there be something more suitable in place before an Aboriginal person gets to that position of standing in court, pleading guilty, and having the stain of a criminal record to deal with the over-representation of Aboriginal people in prison? Shouldn’t there be something in place to help deal with the overrepresentation of Aboriginal people in the prison system before they are arrested? Specifically, can we stop arresting and criminalizing Aboriginal people to deal with the over-representation of Aboriginal people in prison? It’s absurdity.

Sure, some people might try to say, “Stop committing crime then.” But if we look at Jesse’s histories, we see the histories of many Aboriginal people. For example, the histories of intergenerational trauma, which is directly connected to all the other things compounding the issue of the over-representation of Aboriginal people in the prison system, is all too prevalent. Hello, Truth and Reconciliation. And if we look precisely at Jesse’s history: when a person has a lack of western education and lack of employment experience, how is that person supposed to just walk up to the next place and find employment to help buy the things he needs (whatever those needs may be)? Jesse did what he knew best to survive: taking things. Taking things just like the land has been taken from Aboriginal peoples for centuries. And to deal with other structural issues like racism when finding employment or even finding a place to live in Canadian society—what then?

I suppose Justice Nakatsuru did a good thing when he described Jesse like a tree. But really, a tree? I guess when you look at the state of Aboriginal land and the natural resource extraction industry, and then sure, Jesse is like a tree. And sure the prison system is designed to do what it was always designed to do: Get rid of the Indian problem. 

[1] http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/2015/03/05/judge-writes-simple-and-inspiring-legal-decision-for-repeat-offender.html

[2] http://canliiconnects.org/en/cases/2015oncj64 and http://www.slaw.ca/2015/04/16/in-praise-of-judicial-empathy-humility-and-simplicity/

[3] Sadly, also earlier this year, our current conservative government amended s. 718.2(e) to include the phrase “circumstances and consistent with the harm done to victims or to the community.” A principle issue with these amendments include the fact that it sginificantly alters the Gladue principles and that the amendments are “redundant” (See: http://www.parl.gc.ca/About/Parliament/LegislativeSummaries/bills_ls.asp?source=library_prb&ls=C32&Parl=41&Ses=2&Language=E&Mode=1). This comes into effect 90 days after April 23, 2015. 

[4] See R v Gladue at para 45-48.

[5] http://www.justice.gc.ca/eng/rp-pr/csj-sjc/ccs-ajc/rr12_11/rr12_11.pdf

As I am sitting here and writing this, I am currently living and working in a northern Alberta community. A northern Cree community. Treaty 8 territory. It is beautiful territory. I wish everyone could experience these communities for their beauty, their history, and their love for one another, love for the community, and love for the land.

I just tweeted out that I wanted to blog. So, here I am: blogging. I haven’t done so in a long time. It was frustrating to me that I couldn’t do what I loved most: writing and sharing…story telling.

Three summers ago, I was living and working in the more northern part of Alberta. I was living and working Chateh, Alberta.[1] It was my first summer in Alberta—let alone northern Alberta. I still have fond memories of the area. This evening, however, some memories were triggered from earlier this year and from 2013.

The summer program I am working for is called Alberta’s Future Leader.[2] I am living and working in Sucker Creek First Nation. The community, as mentioned, is beautiful! Though like Chateh, the mosquitos are a little challenging 😉

This evening I was scrolling along my Facebook feed and trying to see what is up with my family and friends back home and from other places in the world. I noticed someone posting the vamps made for the children who have gone missing or who have died in residential schools and through other on-going colonial tactics/policies to “get rid of the Indian problem” (like the forced removal of children from their homes/communities). The creators of these vamps were submitted to the Walking With Our Sisters commemorative art installation.[3] Taken directly from the WWOS site:

“Walking With Our Sisters is a commemorative art installation to honour the lives of missing and murdered Indigenous Women of Canada and the United States; to acknowledge the grief and torment families of these women continue to suffer; and to raise awareness of this issue and create opportunity for broad community-based dialogue on the issue.”

I remember when the call for vamps first went out. I even remember the suggested “deadline” to submit vamps. I remember this date because I thought it would be a nice art project for the youth we working with that summer to submit some vamps to WWOS.[4] Then, I thought it would be nice to just submit one myself. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to submit any vamps because of the deadline. All I remember was having these sad emotions about not being able to submit anything, even if just by myself.

Earlier this year, I remember seeing a posting for a youth that was reported missing. She was only about fifteen to sixteen years old. She was last seen walking from Bushe River and supposedly walking to High Level. The distance between the two communities? Approximately 5 kms. I remember seeing this youth’s poster because I was looking at it for quite some time. I wondered if the youth in the post was one of the youth I had worked with in 2013. Maybe she had moved from Chateh into Bushe? Maybe she had cut her hair? Maybe she had dyed her hair? I studied the picture closely. I couldn’t remember. The poster still broke my heart. The distance between Bushe and High Level is not that far. Yet, there is a lot of traffic, including many truckers and transports (semis) that travel through to the north/south. My mind wondered a bit about what might have happened. I tried to think of the best, which isn’t exactly the best in these situations. Maybe she wasn’t picked up? Maybe she walked to a friend’s house? Maybe she forgot to check in? Selfishly, I thought to myself, “I don’t want this to become real.” But for a family and friends, having their loved one go missing or be found murdered is all too real.

When I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and as I saw these children vamps, I cried—my heart is too broken to break anymore.

The vamps were still being made and not just for missing or murdered women but also children. And here I am, sitting, living and working in another northern Alberta community with vamps still being made. Three summers later. The vamps seem like a never-ending supply of those Indigenous peoples who have gone missing or have been murdered, not just women but also children, youth, men, or two-spirited folks. The vamps seem like a never-ending supply of those Indigenous peoples who have gone missing or have been murdered because Indigenous peoples continue to live with the on-going hurt and pain of those who continue to go missing or continue to be murdered.

This summer, after I first arrived in Alberta, I thought of Cindy Gladue. I had major anxiety just returning to the area. I had major anxiety knowing that Barton is still out there. I had someone message me on an online dating site. I asked him what he did for work. “I drive trucks,” he wrote. I immediately blocked him. Then, one night after leaving the parking lot of the hotel in the west end where I was staying, after receiving harassing messages online, I had tried to go for a walk and meet up with a friend. A man driving a silver SUV followed me for quite some time. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been followed creepily by a man driving a vehicle in strange areas but it was certainly triggering.

Here I am, still here. Sad. Hurt. Angry.

Yet, I don’t know if I am sad because I am still here and others like me are not, or if it is because these vamps are still being sent in…a never ending supply.

[1] https://kwetoday.com/2013/07/10/chateh-alberta/

[2] http://albertasport.ca/sport/future-leaders-program.aspx

[3] http://walkingwithoursisters.ca/about/the-project/

[4] Part of the program I work for requires that we include both art and sports projects throughout the summer.

Aaniin, Tansi, hello from Treaty 8, Nehiyaw/Cree territory. I am honoured to be able to share a few words at this important event. Miigwetch for the invite.

Originally, I am from Garden River First Nation, located in northern ontario. Presently, I am in Sucker Creek First Nation, located in northern alberta. I am speaking from my own realities and knowledge of my particular communities and I do not mean to erase the realities and knowledge of those communities that exist in more northern parts of canada. Yet, I think it is safe to say that colonialism and all of its racism, misogyny, gendered based violence, etc. remains the same to all of our realities as indigenous peoples in colonial canada.

These word are inspired by my little sister’s essay entitled “Homeless in their homeland” where she outlines the history of our family’s migration over colonial borders imposed on the communities my family originate from. I credit her for the research on my family’s history.

Before confederation of colonial canada in 1867, my thrice-great grandparent, Cecile, to my maternal grandmother, Lillian, migrated to manitoulin island from wisconsin. Cecile became a part of the South Bay Band, where her partner, Samuel was from. The band travelled for an annual harvest. In 1862, however, at the signing of a new treaty for manitoulin and while the band was travelling for the harvest, the band missed the signing and was not granted any land. At this point in time, my sister describes my family as having no rights to their land, or homeless in their homeland.

With an increase of white settlers literally settling on the band’s land, and less than 100 years later from the prior mentioned displacement, my great grandfather, Edward, was removed from the same band. Edward was removed from the band because he left the reserve to make a living for his family. A source of income for families was cutting pulpwood and Edward could not cut pulpwood. A newspaper title of the time reads, “Indians Must Steal Wood to Eat” (Emphasis on the word Indians). And the main image under the title? A picture of my great grandfather with his daughter, Gladys. This is the second forced displacement.[1]

Then, over 100 years after the 1862 treaty, the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, which is now called Aboriginal and Northern Development Canada, granted the same band land by forcing the band to amalgamate with Wikwemkong. As my sister writes, “my people could now lead their lives but only in terms of where the government allowed them to do so.” Today nothing has changed.

The third forced displacement that I want to talk about is my migration from the north to the south for better job and education opportunities within the context of sex work. I mention my family’s history and this point about my experiences within the context of challenging colonial borders to bring two important points to light: the forced displacement of indigenous peoples from their communities and the criminalization of their lives within the context of that forced displacement.

My great grandfather was criminalized for trying to provide basic necessities for his family and was forced to move because of white settlers settling onto band land and who occupied the majority of jobs. When I moved, I was leaving a call-centre job, one of the limited jobs available to women, especially Indigenous women, in a northern city. I called a southern ontario strip bar, asked to be put on schedule and move into a dancer house. Under canada’s current anti-human trafficking policies, I would be labelled a human trafficking victim: a young indigenous woman moving from the north to the south while working in the sex trade.

I want to briefly deconstruct the human trafficking narratives produced by the state and forced onto Indigenous bodies. I want to deconstruct these narratives because the state is not safe. It does not protect Indigenous peoples. The state chooses to define when the forced displacement of Indigenous people is human trafficking or not. The forced displacement as a result of state action is okay. But the forced displacement when seeking to provide for one’s self or for one’s family is not okay: the state chooses to criminalize our movements, our lives, and our livelihoods.

In the context of sex work, indigenous persons are forced to move from their communities because of lack of job opportunities in or around their communities. Some are pushed into sex trade by the industry (natural resource extraction) or by sexism, racism or misogyny in the only available “legitimate” or “legal” jobs.

The colonial government’s love-affair with anti-human trafficking policies is an example of the ongoing criminalization of Indigenous people’s lives. We need to be cautious about who is defining what is trafficking and who is being targeted by these policies. We need to question how these policies increase the risk of violence in the lives of Indigenous peoples—the state is violence and criminalization is violence. If we look at the history of policing and our criminal code in canada, we will see that it is directly related to the colonialization of indigenous lands, bodies and sexualities. We must always remember that colonialism and colonial canada is violence.

Miigwetch, thank you.
[1] Note: the title actually reads “Must Steal Wood to Eat–Indians” but for sake of the presentation, the title was slightly altered to prevent any confusion in understanding the overall essence and message of the title: that Indians must still wood to eat.

This is the original draft sent to a media outlet when I pitched a story to write on the Cindy Gladue case. I did not sign off the published article, which had major factual and legal errors. The published article also contained phrases and words I would clearly never employ in my writing. I asked the editor to remove my name, remove the article, or use the draft I signed off on. I did not want my name attached to the article that was published as I could not stand by it 100%. The published article has since been removed. Again, this is the original draft.

---

On June 22, 2011, Bradley Barton left Cindy Gladue’s body in his hotel room after he checked out and went to work. In a statement to the police, his co-worker stated that Barton told him it “would be a good day unless the cops showed up.” His co-worker asked him what he meant by this statement and Barton explained that there was a dead woman in his bathtub. His co-worker asked if Barton called the police. Barton did not call the police until his co-worker suggested he do so.

Back at the hotel, a hotel maintenance worker described the room as having blood everywhere. There was blood in the bathtub, where Cindy lay dead, on the sheets, on the carpet and significant blood in and around the bathtub. Barton testified that he digitally penetrated Cindy with her consent. He said that after he removed his fingers, he noticed blood on his hand. At that stage, he stated he would not pay Cindy for her services and that she should shower and leave the hotel room. Barton said that Cindy told him she might be menstruating. Of course, blood from menses does not cause blood to appear “everywhere.”

In a statement made to police, Cindy’s boyfriend said he tried to contact Barton at the number he provided when Cindy. Her boyfriend said he called the number provided at approximately 4:00 am and that someone picked up but then quickly disconnected the call. Her boyfriend then went and knocked on the hotel room door. There was no answer but her boyfriend stated to the police he heard movement in the room. If the above holds true, then this contradicts Barton’s version of events that he was sleeping. Barton, in his defence, explained that he fell asleep to the running water from the shower.

Video evidence shows that Cindy and Barton entered the hotel room just before 1:00am and shows Barton leaving the room around 8:00am. Cindy’s boyfriend said he called the number Barton provided around 4:00 am. At what point did Barton fall asleep? Did he still hear the water running at 4:00 am? Did he hear the knocking at his hotel room door shortly after the phone call? Did he not hear a body fall in the shower if Cindy did indeed walk to the bathroom herself? Did Barton still notice the shower was running when he left for work that morning? What time did he meet his co-worker? Did he start work at 6:00am or 7:00am? Barton was already checked out of the room by 8:00am. He was ready to continue on with his day even as a native woman lay dead in his hotel room bathtub. He did not think to call the police. And why would he? Cindy was just another dead Indian.

The 1200+ missing and murdered Indigenous women tell society that Indigenous women are disposable. Cindy is just another number. She is just another statistic in a pile of missing and murdered Indigenous women. But who cares? Barton certainly did not care.

In this case, the Crown unsuccessfully argued that Barton committed a sexual assault that caused Cindy’s death. There was no real dispute about how the death was caused. And so, if the sex were not consensual, then the appropriate verdict would be manslaughter rather than aggravated sexual assault. Under section 229(a) of the Criminal Code, the crime would be elevated to murder if Barton intended to cause Cindy’s death. Given that the death occurred while committing a sexual assault, the crime would be classified as first-degree murder under section 231(5) of the Criminal Code. Yet, he was acquitted on both the murder and manslaughter charges.

This verdict raises a series of questions about how sexual assault law treats the consent of women like Cindy. The digital penetration caused an 11 cm wound, resulting in Cindy bleeding to death. Barton’s defence was that Cindy consented to the sexual activity because she “appeared to him to be enjoying herself.” Yet, the issues remain: was it aggressive digital penetration that Barton admitted to doing or was it a weapon, as some expert evidence indicated, that caused the wound? Consent to either action that resulted in Cindy bleeding to death is impossible. More explicitly, Cindy certainly cannot and did not consent to being abandoned with a bleeding, fatal wound.

The law around sexual assault and consent states there are three elements of proof: touching, sexual nature of the contact and absence of consent. The first two elements are established objectively. The third element is established based on the mind of the complainant at the time of the sexual activities. We must look into the mind of the complainant—not the accused. If Cindy attended the hotel room on the belief that she was going to be paid for sexual services, but then later was not paid, would she have gone to the room in the first place? Does money change the circumstances of sexual assault?

Section 265 of the Criminal Code states that “no consent is obtained where a complainant submits or does not resist by reason of (a) the application of force to the complainant; (b) threats or fear of the application of force to the complainant or to a person other than the complainant; (c) fraud; or (d) the exercise of authority.” Barton was not in a position of authority. We do not know if Cindy resisted. We only know the story from Barton’s perspective. Yet, the absence of consent is to be looked at from the mind of the complainant. Unfortunately, we cannot ask Cindy what she did or did not consent to—she is dead. But if Barton agreed to pay for sexual services, engaged in sexual services and then later withheld payment because of an injury he caused, did he obtain consent through fraud?

Cindy had a blood alcohol limit four times the legal limit. Barton testified that Cindy consented. The judge then instructed the jury by stating the following, “drunken consent is still valid consent.” In essence, if someone is an Indigenous sex worker who can tolerate alcohol four times the legal limit, this is enough to establish consent. The judge also instructed the jury to consider Barton’s “perceptions of Ms. Gladue’s responses – verbal and non-verbal” when thinking about Barton’s defence of mistaken belief. If a sex worker enjoys sexual activity which later results in an injury that causes her to bleed to death and if an accused withholds payment because of said injury, then that is sufficient to establish consent. In other words, if a sex worker “enjoys” being assaulted, then that seems to be enough to establish consent.

The acquittal of Barton tells sex workers that if they are sexually assaulted and their client can establish consent because of their bodily (non-verbal) responses, they consented. It appears that money does change the circumstances of sexual assault or assault. And well, if she does not survive the assault, it doesn’t matter if she consented—if her bodily (non-verbal responses) tell the client she enjoyed “it”, then that may be enough to establish consent and enough to be acquitted for manslaughter or murder.

But money does not change the circumstances of violence. The law is clear. Nobody can consent to violence. Nobody can consent to his or her own death. Most certainly, sex workers do not consent to violence and they most certainly do not consent to their own deaths. The acquittal in the Cindy Gladue case sends a clear message to sex workers, especially to those sex workers who are also Indigenous: The laws surrounding consent and assault or sexual assault do not apply equally to them.

With the acquittal of Bradley Barton, it tells sex workers that transactional sex does change the circumstances of violence – that violence is condoned in the context of a transaction. People can argue that all prostitution is violence and that nobody chooses to be a prostitute. In this case, that view both ignores and condones the violence that occurred. In Cindy’s case, she voluntarily went to a hotel room, not once but twice. While one can consent to engage in an exchange of sexual services for money, one cannot consent to violence. Her voluntariness ended with the violence and cruel neglect that Barton delivered to her.

In the case of Cindy Gladue, we are left with more questions than answers. We do not know if Cindy resisted. We only know that Barton said she seemed to be enjoying herself. Yet, the law states that we must consider the assault in the context of the complainant. Barton went a little bit harder than the previous interaction. He admitted to causing the injury. Barton said he was mistaken on the consent of Cindy. But we don’t know if Cindy resisted. Did she ask Barton to stop? Did she ask Barton to not go as hard? Did Barton continue despite Cindy’s resistance? Money should not change the circumstances of violence.

Some lives matter more and in the lives of Indigenous sex workers who also use substances, the acquittal of Barton tells them that their lives matter less—they are just another number, another statistic. The acquittal of Barton tells Indigenous sex workers that their assailants can continue to go on with their daily lives, just like Barton admits he did after ignoring Cindy Gladue’s injuries, subsequent death and then heading to work after that violent night. The acquittal of Barton tells Indigenous sex workers that their lives are disposable. The acquittal of Barton tells Indigenous sex workers that one day he or she will be just another dead Indian.

I have no hope in the criminal (in)justice system. How the criminal (in)justice system treated Cindy Gladue after death demonstrates this hopelessness. Every time I read about how the system treated her, it strikes me to the core. My body literally hurts.

Since writing my last post, it is beautiful to see people coming together to rally for justice. I do believe in writing letters calling for justice for Cindy Gladue. But I want to look for something more long term. What can be done to help protect Indigenous peoples, especially those in the sex trade or street economies, from gender/colonial violence? What are some things that people can start doing today? And start doing in our own communities whether the community be urban or rural? What can we do where we do not rely on the criminal (in)justice system for safety?

I am inspired by Andrea Smith’s post, “Transformative Justice Strategies for Addressing Police/Vigilante/Hate/White Supremacist Violence”. In her post, she describes transformative justice as the following:

Hence the “transformative” justice model builds on restorative justice to hold that our goal is not to restore a community to a state that was structure by oppression but to create and transform communities so that are less oppressive.  In addition, whereas restorative justice models generally operate through the state through sentence diversion programs, etc – transformative justice models operate outside the legal system all together.

I know as an Indigenous woman with sex working experience and who has also been in the criminal (in)justice system that the system does not and will not protect Indigenous peoples, especially Indigenous women in the sex trade. I know that relying on the criminal (in)justice system sometimes invites more violence in my own life and my own community. This violence often is labelled as “helping” or “protecting” but in reality, the help or protecting does very little to actual help the situation.

I want to think long term about what it means to be safe and feel safe in our communities or our places that we call home. I want to think about ways in which we can rely on one another for support and safety. I want to think about ways that do not rely on the criminal (in)justice system to feel safe. I recognize that some people can and do rely on the criminal (in)justice system for safety and security. However, there are many others who cannot rely on that same system. So I thought what would I like to see happen in our communities that people can start doing today that do not rely on the criminal (in)justice system. Here is a list of some of those things that you can do to help support people in your communities, in our communities who trade or sell sex (or who work in street economies):

• Offer a safe place with non-judgmental support. If someone calls you for support, do not impose or ask invasive questions, offer a place for them to just be, whether they be angry, sad, or overwhelmed. Do not judge someone for his or her circumstances. For instance, saying things like “maybe you should stop doing that…” (whatever that is in their life). Sometimes it can be hard to find a place where one does not have to think or worry about what people might think or say about their situation.
• Offer to be a safe call for someone working in the trade. A safe call is someone a person can call before and/or after a date to check in to make sure they arrived safely, the date ended and they are leaving the date. Ask them what you should do in the event that they do not call you after a certain time. Sometimes calling the police will exacerbate the issue.
• Extend an invite for a warm meal if someone reaches out to you
• Create a community response team that doesn’t rely on the police or the criminal (in)justice system for protection.[1]
• If someone asks for help, offer to help on someone’s own terms and not your own
• If someone asks for help, ask them what that help will look like today, tomorrow and in the long run
• Check in with others, one another and check in with yourself
• Understand that not all organizations that proclaim to offer help and support are not truly helping or supporting in all circumstances
• Research organizations and become familiar with the organizations in your communities that offer non-judgmental support and help to all Indigenous peoples including those who are in the sex trade and/or work in street economies
• Research and understand how the criminal (in)justice system works from your own perspective so that you can help others understand the processes/role of the system and how they fit into the larger colonial project
• Think about ways to respond to gender and colonial violence within your own communities that does not rely on the criminal (in)justice system and that is inclusive of people who trade or sell sex and/or work in the street economies

This is just a draft, short list. My goal is to have people think about ways that do not rely on the criminal (in)justice system or colonial responses to gender/colonial violence. In the end, I suggest you take the time to read Andrea Smith’s blog post on transformative justice. It is truly inspiring–but of course, Andrea Smith is inspiring herself!

[1] Kind of like this response here: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/bear-clan-patrol-to-return-to-winnipeg-streets-1.2968602

I will not be linking to any media articles for this post. There is enough out there for my readers to find the articles on their own. Be forewarned that what you will read may shock you with how the media is treating this violent death. If it doesn’t shock you, you will understand when an Indigenous woman who dies a violent death, it is “just business as usual.”

People are asking who else wrote about this, who else is talking about this besides the media. Basically, nobody. Typical. In that same breadth, pay attention who stays silent. It scares me.

I am scared. I am angry. I am sad.

Yesterday I received the news of the verdict. “You must have heard by now,” my friend sent me. I didn’t. I just got off the plane. I was on my way to an interview. I checked twitter. Practically silent. I checked Facebook. Same thing. I googled his name to find the media had begun reporting on the verdict.

Her name is Cindy Gladue.

The defence was that she consented and that he didn’t “mean to hurt her.” Nobody consents to have an 11cm wound inflicted on his or her genitals with a blood alcohol level that is over four times the legal limit. Her body parts were brought into the courtroom. It was on display in front of a jury made up of all non-native jury of mostly men.

She was also a mother.

I had no time to process what I just read. I stopped for four seconds in the corner before getting onto the ferry to take me to mainland. The tears immediately came down my face. “Don’t forget to breathe.” Forgetting to breathe, that’s my problem. I wish that was my only problem. I arrived to the mainland. I called my friend. We talked briefly in the cab. We tried to let each other go on a good note.

She was also a sex worker. And this is the thing that makes this verdict even more violent. Sex workers do not consent to the violence that they experience. Money does not change the circumstances of rape, violence or murder. Nobody consents to have an 11cm wound inflicted on his or her genitals with a blood alcohol level that is over four times the legal limit. That is something that a person cannot consent too.

I walked into the interview. I put a smile on my face but I just wanted to scream. Immediately following the interview, I left and went had a couple of beers at the local pub. There were white men around me everywhere and the thoughts going through my mind were terror.

I kept re-reading the news articles. Did I miss something? Even the medical examiner agreed she died from trauma caused by her wound. The accused said he found her in the bathtub at 8am.  She probably couldn’t even walk to the bathroom by herself given the alcohol in her system. He then said she started her menstrual cycle that night. Women do not die from their periods. He said he tried to call for help. That help would have included the police. The same police that Edmonton Indigenous sex workers, and Indigenous women and girls say are the source of their violence. Some people say the Crown and the police failed her. But the system is doing what it was always designed to do… get rid of the Indian problem. Some say that there are legal tests and cases that would support the Crown’s case. Reducing her death down to abstract legal tests is violence. The violence that she experienced does not exist in isolation from all the other systems policing her life as an Indigenous woman and as sex worker. The system is violent.

By the time I was on a plane, I still struggled with holding the tears back. I just wanted to scream out. But who would listen? Everyone around me is silent. Everyone just wants to get home to their family. My seatmate complained about the 50+ cm of snow he had to shovel once he arrived home. I wish that was all I had to worry about. But as an Indigenous woman with sex working experience, I have to worry about the violence that I may encounter just because I am indigenous and the violence that may be done to my body. The stigma of having sex work experience increases the likelihood that other people will write me off as calling the violence into my life and consenting to that violence. We do not consent to violence. The sex work experience also increases the likelihood that the sex work experience will be the focus instead of the fact women who go missing or who are murdered are people too. The stigma is violence.

As my friend says, “Our bodies are not terra nullius.” Our bodies are not empty. They belong to us. They belong to this land. Cindy is on her way home. The ancestors will keep her warm and safe now. And her body always belonged to this land.

Comment section is closed on this post as of Saturday March 21, 2015. Regardless of their contents, new comments will not be approved. 

Note: The fact surrounding the jurors updated March 25, 2015. Initial version said 2 women were on the jury which was updated March 19, 2015 to read all men. Detail confirmed to read mostly men. 

tl;dr

Dear Chris Hedges,

No. Just stop.

From an Indigenous woman

---

The long version?

Well, if you haven’t heard or read by now, there is apparently an article authored by a white dude by the name of Chris Hedges. I don’t even know who he is or what he is about. But his recent article on truthdig (ironic) tries to present a more “balanced” perspective on the prostitution debate or tries to add some “truth” to the discussion.

Let’s be clear here, the truth will differ depending on whom you talk to and that really just invalidates the whole point of his article. Of course if you talk to only people who believe all prostitution is exploitation, then well, you will obviously be presented with one picture. I won’t address the comments made by the people he interviewed because they are free to express their opinions based on their experiences.

His whole “truth-ing” article really doesn’t do any justice for those who do experience violence in the sex trade especially for Indigenous peoples and even for those who do experience violence who are not in the sex trade. Not all Indigenous women and girls who go missing or murdered are working the sex trade are they? Yet, we still have over 1000+ names in a database being controlled by a policing agency whose history is tied to the colonial agenda (you know, to get rid of the Indian problem).

In Hedges’ article, he tries to postulate that the fight to legalize sex work[1] (also known as the “left”) is tied to neoliberalism and increasing capitalistic structures. He tries to argue that this fight to legalize sex work contributes to the further exploitation of women and girls in the trade. He then tries to suggest the new prostitution laws will help with ending this exploitation.

I will premise the rest of this post with the following: I am not saying that exploitation does not happen. Not at all. But we need to acknowledge that exploitation occurs in a variety of contexts and focusing on only one really does not do trafficking victims any justice. As the Global Alliance Against Trafficking in Women even notes that “End Demand” (aka the Swedish model or the Nordic model) does not actually reduce trafficking (which is the entire goal of End Demand), ignores trafficking into other sectors (which TIPS critiqued the Canadian government for), relies more on ideology than evidence, and increases stigma against sex workers which ultimately contributes to violence in their lives. You can see this recent 2015 report by the UNDP that calls for the decriminalization of sex work to address the HIV epidemic and to also address the violence that sex workers experience because of this stigma. Hedges even goes so far to highlight the plight of people in Vancouver’s DTES including the high rates of HIV. But he does not engage in a discussion as to why or how the DTES experiences such heightened marginalization in that area—you know things like colonialism which Hedges doesn’t even acknowledge in his “truth” paper. So, I ask, whose truth is really being advanced here? Because if we are actually concerned about exploitation of women through prostitution, something more has to be done because criminalizing their lives did not help before and it certainly will not help now or in the future.

Organizations like Butterfly, which is an Asian and migrant sex worker support network in Canada, delineates the harms with the criminalization of prostitution especially for Asian and migrant workers in their brief to the Senate for c-36 (the new prostitution laws). And similar to the UNDP 2015 report cited above, Butterfly outlines the fact that new laws would cause sex work to go “underground [and] further restrict and stigmatize all sex workers”, but this stigma would affect Asian and migrant female sex workers the most.[2] To further emphasize this point, the UNDP report, who did research in four Asian countries, also concluded the same thing: increasing stigma, increases violence which negatively affects sex workers’ health, equity, dignity, safety and human rights.[3]

If prostitution is exploitation and criminalization is supposed to end this exploitation, we don’t have to look too far to see the effects of criminalization and how it does not help end exploitation. In fact, if you take the time to read the Bedford decision, you can see that the previous laws, which the Supreme Court of Canada struck down as unconstitutional, aims were to also prevent exploitation (as well as public nuisance). Did exploitation of women in prostitution exist before the Bedford decision? Yes. Were these women criminalized before? Yes. Did the Bedford decision strike down all prostitution provisions in the Criminal Code? No. Do the new laws decriminalize them (as some tried to argue)? No.

So with all these others laws that Supreme Court of Canada did not touch, there are still plenty of other options for the police and colonial state to rely on in their fight to end exploitation of women (as if that is the entire goal of the police and colonial state anyways). In the end, the people who are concerned about the exploitation of women don’t really have anything to worry about: you still got your police and criminalization of their lives in other ways! It’s not like Indigenous women and girls don’t experience criminalization only through prostitution. I mean, did the Indigenous women federal prison population increase by 109% because of only prostitution related offences?[4] No.

But really, both sides do agree on two things: we want the violence against women to stop and we do not want the exploitation of women to occur. Unfortunately, we disagree on options to get there.

The argument is often that prostitution is like slavery. You can see this argument premised in Hedges’ article. Yes, slavery happens and even sexual slavery happens. However, we must position this argument within an appropriate political, social and historical context to meaningfully engage in this argument.

An appropriate definition of slavery within a Canadian context must be applied. Afua Cooper’s The Hanging of Angelique offers a succinct and appropriate definition. She writes:

“A useful definition of slavery is the robbery of one’s freedom and labour by another, usually a more powerful person. Violence and coercion are used to carry out the theft and to keep the slave captive in the condition of bondage and servitude. This definition applies to slavery in Canada. Laws were enacted and institutions created to rob persons of their freedom and labour and keep them in perpetual servitude. In the earliest era of colonial rule in Canada, both Aboriginal people and Africans and their descendants were enslaved (Aboriginal slaves were colloquially termed ‘Panis’). From 1628 to 1833, slavery was a legal and acceptable institution in both French and British Canada and was vigorously practised.”

The initial reason our sweet and lovely MPs did not abolish slavery outright was because some of those same MPs also continued to own slaves.[5] It wasn’t until much later that the abolishment of slavery did occur.[6] In the first steps to abolish slavery, slaves became “free” if they met any of the requirements set out in the initial Act. One of the conditions was that the slave could be set free at the age of 25 years (the average life span of a Black slave was 25 years; it was 17 years for an Aboriginal slave). Today, you could potentially be sent to prison for “life” and life translates to 25 years—coincidence? It is argued elsewhere that the institution of slavery was never actually abolished; rather it was transferred from one institution to another: the prison.[7] The fight to decriminalize sex work is connected to a larger movement that calls for the abolition of the prison system. We will not accept anything less. The prison system is a violent and colonial system.

The whole point of the “left” isn’t to try to argue that exploitation does not occur in prostitution. Rather, people who support the decriminalization of prostitution want to diversify the discussion. Not all prostitutes are exploited and not all exploited people are prostitutes. If the latter were false, then why are we only focused on prostitution? In that same breadth, if the former is false, then why are we not addressing the push factors into exploitation as opposed to just one effect (or in the alternative, cause) of exploitation? As you know, you smart people out there, simple logic shows that something cannot be both a cause and effect of exploitation of women. Let’s just lay bare the problem with Hedges’ entire argument: prostitution is both a cause and effect of women’s exploitation.

And if we focus on the bolded words in Cooper’s definition of slavery, “Laws were enacted and institutions created to rob persons of their freedom and labour and keep them in perpetual servitude” then through the criminalization of prostitution, we see that people who do enter into the trade out of “desperation”[8] are robbed of their freedom and their labour, and kept in perpetual servitude, being forced to rely on minimum wage jobs for their “freedom” and “labour.” If we connect this definition of slavery to the history of the criminal (in)justice system including the Criminal Code, we also see that this institution, the prison industrial complex, was created to rob people of their freedom and labour. And who is most likely to get arrested in the DTES and elsewhere in Canada? Well it certainly isn’t people like Hedges. It’s the very same people his article claims to be providing more “truth” to their reality: the vulnerable and the exploited which also often are defined as young Indigenous women and girls.

Hedges goes on to conclude in his piece that does not acknowledge the truth in the reality of the women who have gone missing or murdered and who live in DTES. He outlines the reality that these women in the DTES “have been severely beaten, tortured or murdered or have disappeared.” To acknowledge the truth about this reality would mean we have to admit the fact that police played a role in these disappearances: they ignored their pleas for help and they failed to investigate (and continue to fail to investigate) their missing and murders (and not just in the DTES but across Canada) carelessly and thoughtlessly.

To quote Warren Goulding’s book title, just another dead Indian.

[1] Note: Hedges only discussed legalization of prostitution in his article, and not decriminalization which is the whole point of the “left.”

[2] http://www.parl.gc.ca/Content/SEN/Committee/412/lcjc/Briefs/C-36/C-36_brief_Butterfly_E.pdf

[3] http://www.parl.gc.ca/Content/SEN/Committee/412/lcjc/Briefs/C-36/C-36_brief_Butterfly_E.pdf

[4] See http://www.oci-bec.gc.ca/cnt/priorities-priorites/aboriginals-autochtones-eng.aspx

[5] See The Hanging of Angelique for a rich discussion on the history of slavery and its legislation in Canada.

[6] See http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/christopher-stuart-taylor/black-history-month_b_5645643.html.

[7] See Stephen Dillon, “Possessed by death: The neoliberal- carceral state, Black feminism, and the afterlife of slavery.”

[8] Whatever that means because I would call working a minimum wage job also working out of desperation with no “free” choice.

Three years ago, I published my first post on my blog about my sex working experiences.[1] There is nothing particularly special about it except for the fact that I may have been the first one (openly) writing about sex work from an Indigenous woman’s perspective. I don’t recall any other Indigenous woman writing about her experiences before that first post. But I do recall the feelings I felt when I first published it and the feelings that led up to why I decided to publish it. Earlier that year, I attended my first sex-worker only event. From what I can recall, it was a two-day event. It was also an opportunity for sex workers (former or current) to come together in a safe space (a truly safe space without fear of judgment) and talk about opportunities for public education. We learned about Goffman’s theory of stigma. Coincidentally, for my sociology of deviance class, I was also reading Goffmans’s work on stigma and I was also writing a paper on how stigma affected me personally. The amazingness felt at this sex-worker only event though? I cannot describe how being in this space made me feel. It was the first time I ever felt welcomed without judgment and without stigma. It was the first time I knew that I belonged.

When I first moved to London, ON, as my readers know, I moved in the context of sex work. I overcame homelessness and I was able to push myself to apply to school. I applied to three programs: broadcasting and journalism, early childhood education and law clerking. I heard back from the law clerking program first. I was so scared that I wouldn’t be accepted into any of the other programs that I accepted the initial offer to enter into the law clerkly program right away. I ended up being accepted into all three programs. Looking back now, I am happy that I chosen the law clerk path.

While in college, I still worked in the trade. I was probably most involved and connected to the trade at that point in time.  I met many girls and made many friendships. Some of those friendships still remain today. That is not to say, however, I am not connected still. Since becoming active in the sex work movement, I have met many more sex workers, who are all beautiful and resilient human beings. The funny thing though, I remember the first time I was arrested in London and I had to tell my civil procedure professor that I had to miss class one day. I had to miss class because of one of my many court dates. She asked for proof. So I showed her my “papers.” She seen all the charges listed and she just said, “okay.” I kind of laughed afterwards. But what the hell?!? Who the hell would lie about going to court to miss class?!? I wrote about those experiences here. 

Today, two years later, I am now in law school.

After going through college and undergrad hiding my sex working identity, I now have to go through law school hiding the same identity—despite the fact that I’ve already testified at parliament and spoke on national news outlets as someone with sex working experience. This is a different kind of isolation though. It’s like everyone talks about sex work or prostitution as if it is some far away concept and that these issues affect nobody in their real lives.

Yet, I have friends who still come to me for help… I can’t offer any help because of fear of criminalization. That’s how far the effects of criminalization extends: you can’t offer safety and support to your friends who need it because under current laws, safety and support is still criminalized.

I feel helpless and hopeless.

I can’t turn to anyone for help or support here; I feel alienated and isolated. It’s probably the worst kind of feeling in the world. Everyone is talking about sex work/prostitution as if it is in the abstract. Everyone around you is worried about the vulnerable and the victims. Meanwhile, your friends are the ones being victimized and being made to feel vulnerable. And you? You dare not say a word about your experiences! That is not the law.

I struggle with this identity that I have come accept and assume. This identity, my sex working identity, informs my position and place within the law school: I dare not say the term “sex work” in some spaces because of fear of further isolation and alienation. I have withdrawn myself from campus and from specific social spaces and places because of this identity. Some people want to be my friend but I have to be careful about who I let in. Can I trust them? Are they an ally? Can I just be “normal” around them?

So two years ago, I felt safe enough to publish my experiences for others to read. But what has it been like for me since then? I’ve grown. I’ve learned many lessons. But I have been attacked, stalked and harassed. I have been blamed for supporting the traffickers and the pimps. I also have been blamed for causing Indigenous women and girls to go missing and murdered. I guess that is what happens when you survive and speak out against the criminalization of your own life. But I just want the police and state violence to stop! Is that so much to ask? Can we just at least get on the same page on that one topic? The police are not there to help. Is that so hard to understand? I don’t even know anymore. How does one deal with all this hate toward you on multiple levels: anti-indigenous AND anti-sex work.

[1] https://kwetoday.com/2012/04/25/experiences-of-a-sex-worker/

“People should be required to behave in a certain way. They should be required to pay for their misbehaviour.”[1]

These were the words of PC, Arnold Malone, an MP in the House of Commons. The date for the quote is May 29, 1981. Malone, in the above quote, was talking about criminalizing youth in the sex trade. He also conflated youth crime with adult crimes. And before saying all of this? He suggested that “mere fines or prisons terms” constituted people just “get[ing] off” (interesting choice of words given the context). Malone also suggested that “mere fines or prison terms” removed the “sense of obligation that follows a criminal act.”

A controversial issue: youth in the sex trade. I often wonder at times what people would presume about my story: still in high school and working in the sex trade. If I did not disclose the fact that it was just nearly two days after my 18th birthday that I decided to call a local agency, how would my story be constructed? Would people assume that I did not know what was best for me? Would I be considered a youth based on age/experience (rhetorical question obvs)? Would I be seen as a victim who was being exploited? Yes, exploitation happens but that is only one part of the story. The other part of the story is a story of resiliency and resistance to violence, individual and institutional.

In 2009, the Young Women’s Empowerment Project (YWEP) released a report documenting how young women and girls perceive their experiences in the sex trade and street economies.[2] The report is diverse and vibrant, documenting ways of being resilient and ways of resisting violence in their lives.[3]

The YEWP report defines sex trade as “any form of being sexual (or the idea of being sexual) in exchange” for a myriad of items in various situations (like for safety, drugs, survival, needs, money, gifts, housing, foods, clothes, immigration and documentation).[4] In contrast to this report, there are very few resources on how young women and girls provide safety or protection with and amongst each other. This isn’t surprising since the way criminal laws are structured usually criminalize the ways in which young women and girls keep each other safe. Just last year, the government enacted the Protection of Communities and Exploited Persons Act.[5] These new laws are often touted as “protection for the women and girls” or the “vulnerable” in the sex trade. Yet, it assumes that all prostitution is exploitation and it creates victims where there may be none. It could be more correctly described as a law that creates victims, instead of protecting victims.

The YWEP report highlights that young women and girls experience violence both at an institutional and an individual level. The new law assumes that violence only happens at an individual level. In fact, it categorically ignores the ways in which institutional violence happens in young people’s lives who may be involved in the sex trade or street economies. The new law does not distinguish between a trafficking victim and a prostitute. It assumes they are one in the same. Yes, exploitation happens but it also only focuses on strengthening some of the very same systems that cause violence in young women and girls’ (who are in the sex trade or street economies) lives. As the Justice Critic pointed out, “The Conservatives are still criminalizing prostitutes and investing a measly $20 million.”[6] Often lost in this discussion is how these laws will actually create harm in the lives of the very same people it was meant to protect: young women and girls.

The YWEP outlined that young women and girls in the sex trade are being denied services because of their involvement in the sex trade.[7] They also report that police will sexually harass girls.[8] In other parts of the report, the YWEP documents “violent experiences at non-profits and service providers” and “how systems are set up to make things worse.” The report also highlights the fact that police refuse to help young women and girls. Sometimes the police will force girls “to trade sex to avoid arrest but arrest them anyways.” In other instances, young women and girls are forced into psychiatric units because of their involvement in the sex trade or their gender identity. The report also highlighted that individual violence does happen at the hands of johns, pimps and/or boyfriends. But sometimes systems that were set up to save them often made things worse. The girls in the report also cited other girls as source of violence and that this violence caused them to feel further isolated.

In light of this violence, we must not forget the importance of this report: to build community. The YWEP doesn’t deny violence or exploitation happens. In fact, they acknowledge these diverse experiences up front and at the beginning. They focus not just on prostitution, but they also focus on other forms of sexual labour. The range of sex trade and street economy engagement includes lingerie modeling, street based, stripping, escorting, in exchange for gifts, dancing, survival sex, trafficked, or in exchange for drugs. They also acknowledge that the term sex worker is exclusionary. In other words, it excludes girls who may have been trafficked and exploited. I agree.

In acknowledging this violence in the context of community building, they also want to speak back to the harmful narratives that relegate their voices and experiences. In describing the importance of this report, the YWEP report reads, “we are not just objects that violence happens to but that we are active participants in fighting back and bouncing back.” This is a move away from the victim-model in young women and girls’ lives. It is a move toward a harm reduction model, acknowledging the various ways girls experiences violence, including from police and institutions with good intentions or with rescue-only models.

The new law is a rescue only model. In fact, the new funding that the government attached to the new law only allows funding to be provided to those programs or organizations that offer “exiting” programs.[9] While it seems like a good idea at first glance, we have to examine more closely how only focusing on exiting programs harms young women and girls and prevents them from seeking help in the first place.

In “Speaking for Ourselves,” for instance, the two individuals talk about how programs who only assist victims or only assist those who want to exit prevent youth in the sex trade from accessing safe and non-judgmental services; they have to fitinto a certain kind of label in order to access services. The “Speakng for Ourselves” dialogue/interview also critiques how these same programs reproduce colonialism via protectionist or saviour policies and programs. The YWEP reported very similar findings (as noted above) including girls being denied helped from police, hospitals and social service agencies—all because of their involvement in the sex trade and/or because of their gender identity.

The report also highlights that in the face of institutional and individual violence, the girls rely on each other. Specifically, when the system fails them, they turn to each other or to their own selves, as a form of harm reduction.[10]

Yet, the new law criminalizes youth who may rely on each other for a safety or support network. Young people rely on each other in the sex trade for support in different ways. The new law does not distinguish between those who may rely on another person for support or safety. In fact, it assumes that anyone who receives a “material benefit” from someone who is selling sexual services under the age of 18 is exploiting them. All of the time. The new law presumes that anyone who is “habitually” in the presence of a person “who offers or provides sexual services for consideration is, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, proof that the person received a financial or other material benefit from those services.” In only very limited circumstances, persons who are “habitually” around someone who offers sexual services for money will not be considered exploiting that person selling sex. They are presumed to be guilty unless they can prove otherwise which means that they must show that they were not exploiting the person. How is that evidence supposed to be presented? By the person offering the sexual services? And if all prostitution is exploitation, then wouldn’t all instances of being in the presence of someone who offers sexual services be, by default, exploitation? But what about young people who may rely on each other for support? Does this new law really “protect” them?

There are many issues with this new law but what often gets lost is how these ways of resisting violence and building community in young people’s lives is weakened by increased criminalization of their lives. In the YWEP report, they cite that many girls will share information about the law. If we apply these same experiences to Canadian girls under the new law, it would potentially translate to procuring or trafficking charges. And we do see an increase in these kind of heavy charges being laid against young people who may be working with other young people. When we criminalize lives of young people, we weaken the control they have over their lives. They will less likely seek out services if they know they might be denied services because they are not playing the victim or if they fear they might be criminalized. Yes, some girls do report violence but this often comes with the risk of more violence. The YWEP eloquently states, “creating solidarity and collective wisdom with other girls is the greatest act of resistance.” But it is under laws like the new prostitution laws in Canada that this solidarity is diminished. It is through these laws that exploitation occurs: by pushing those who do need help to get out harder to reach because they fear increased violence in the “helping systems” and increased criminalization in those same systems. Their friendships and communities are criminalized all in the name of “rescuing” and “protection.” We must remember that young people in the sex trade and street economies are capable of having agency and are capable of making choices as experts in their own lives.

If we return to the above quote, asking people to behave in a certain way, not much has changed with these new laws. These new laws assume that only a certain kind of woman and girl is worthy of being protected as thousands continue to go missing and murdered, including non-Indigenous/non-white women and girls. We must learn to be honest with ourselves and we must be willing to critically engage in how new laws always affect the lives of the most vulnerable. We must also be willing to take a step back and critically examine our own communities: Are they helping or hurting young women and girls? Do we shame young women and girls for the choices they make or because they choose to live different lives than we could ever imagine? We must also be willing to interrogate the mainstream narratives that shape how society constructs young women and girls’ lives, experiences and bodies. What do these narratives assume about young women and girls? And most importantly, even if you think you are helping, you must be willing to accept that sometimes your help isn’t needed and that sometimes it creates more harm than actual help. We don’t need more white saviour/colonial bullshit in our communities than we already have.

Some of the recommendations from the YWEP report include some of the following:

• Having no police or security guards on site of organization as girls are less likely to confide in staff if they know you are working with the law (they reported security guards soliciting sex, sexually harassing girls or being homo/transphobic toward girls)
• Any program open to girls needs to be open to trans girls
• Think critical about the law before advocating for policy (they suggested asking questions like “Will the law really help girls trading sex for money right now or will it lead to an increase in police presence? Will removing a law decrease girls’ risk for violence or abuse?”) – this point cannot be stressed enough
• They acknowledge and recognize that getting out is harder than it is to get into the trade but they suggest that others begin asking: does the law help?

YWEP sources:

• https://ywepchicago.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/girls-do-what-they-have-to-do-to-survive-a-study-of-resilience-and-resistance.pdf
• https://ywepchicago.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/healing-in-action-zine.pdf
• https://ywepchicago.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/how-the-reproductive-justice-movement-can-support-youth-in-the-sex-trade.pdf
• https://ywepchicago.wordpress.com/our-work/

[1] http://parl.canadiana.ca/view/oop.debates_HOC3201_09/700?r=0&s=1

[2] The term street economy refers to ways of making money without having to show identification or pay taxes.

[3] https://ywepchicago.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/girls-do-what-they-have-to-do-to-survive-a-study-of-resilience-and-resistance.pdf

[4] Because of the lack of accessible reports/research on youth in the sex trade, this is the only report that is being referenced in this post. There are also references to the chapter “We Speak for Ourselves: Anti-Colonial and Self-Determined Responses to Young People in the Sex Trade” which is a dialogue/interview between an interviewer and a young person with sex trade experience (See http://www.ubcpress.ca/books/pdf/chapters/2013/SellingSex.pdf).

[5] http://www.parl.gc.ca/HousePublications/Publication.aspx?Language=E&Mode=1&DocId=6767128

[6] http://openparliament.ca/debates/2014/6/12/francoise-boivin-5/

[7] Also see, “Speaking for Ourselves” chapter in “Selling Sex: Experience, Advocacy and Research on Sex Work in Canada”

[8] https://ywepchicago.wordpress.com/our-work/our-campaign/

[9] http://news.gc.ca/web/article-en.do?nid=910819

[10] http://www.parl.gc.ca/HousePublications/Publication.aspx?Language=E&Mode=1&DocId=6767128&File=4 (See S. 286.2(1)-(3)).