Comadres

On a wall in my parents house hangs a picture entitled, “Las Comadres” by Simon Silva. Two women, one carrying a child, while the other is holding a laundry basket and leaning over a wall to whisper something to her beloved friend, sister, confident. I acquired it from a street vendor in Los Angeles thanks to the bargaining skills my friend, Sister Chase. Chase and I served together as missionaries, and we referred to each other as sisters, as well as to over 100 other women we served with during a one and half year period. This picture, although showing two mothers, reminds me of my cherished relationships we women had as we worked to provide Christ like service. There were many difficulties and personal tribulations during that time, and we were there to listen, confide, and comfort each other.

Most of you know of my usual upbringing, that of being sandwiched between six brothers, three older, three younger. I often sought after their acceptance, approval, and alliance without much success- as after all, I was just a girl. My sister moved out while I was still in elementary school, so we did not develop our relationship until I was much older. That left me with my girlfriends. Luckily, my neighborhood, church, and school provided me with many opportunities to whisper my secrets to other girls that handled them with care.

Tonight I watched a documentary called, Born into Brothels. You can easily guess by the title its subject matter. The beauty of this film, was the hope the film maker brought to it. She provided photography lessons to the children of the women that worked the Red Light District in Calcutta. She became an advocate for the children. She worked to get them into a boarding school and out of the life that chained them to a brothel. I was so proud of this woman, for finding a way to bring attainable beauty to the children, and for showing me their gifts and talents.

I wanted to be her comadre.

I thought back to my travels, and wondered at what impact I had. Any? Was it positive? Anything long lasting? What lasting change could I really hope to attain in a short few weeks here and there?

Throughout the movie, an agitating conversation I had with some American boy while in Bangkok kept repeating itself in my mind. He had asked out host if she had been to the Red Light District (RLD) in Bangkok. He wanted to go. He had heard that women there did some freaky stuff, and he wanted to experience it first hand. Of course he did not want to have sex with one, he doesn’t need to pay for that- only to see them do the bizarre and humiliating stuff would be enough.

From the moment I heard him ask my skin began to crawl, and my anger was pricked. What a prick! Doesn’t he realize that most these women didn’t have a choice? Were forced , blackmailed, beaten, or sold into this? Mostly likely as children?

I tried to be calm. I tried to sound neutral. Logical. Statistical.

I asked him if he thought that these women, sex workers, worked in this ‘profession’ by choice. How many did he think chose freely and willingly this career? He figured at least 70% did. I believe he had his percentage backwards, and I felt that it was even higher. He laughed at my prudishness and replied something to the effect that the RLD did not want to lose any business, and they made a good living.

Again, I tried not to explode.

Who? The women? Perhaps the madams do, I spitted out, yet the average worker gets nothing. Perhaps enough food for herself and children, perhaps not beaten that evening for bringing in a good price. Then another guy at the table chimed in that NGOs had gone into the RDL, and they were kicked out. Nobody wanted their medical assistance or education.

Again, I was stupefied.

Who didn’t want it? The workers or the owners? Of course the workers did not want anything that would bring them trouble: beatings, gang rape, disappearance of children or other family members…the atrocities go on and on that their pimps could rain down on them in retribution for cutting a profit, or lessening their control over the workers. The owners? They don’t want anything to hurt their business.

I was in shock. I don’t know why. The sex industry would not be around if there weren’t customers. And those customers are men, like them.

I implored, don’t you see by going and paying for a ‘show’ you are supporting the selling of children, kidnappings, and inequality of women? You could instead use your time, money, and interest to show that this industry is losing its customers, it men, because they want women to have equal access in life.

I was rebuffed by the boy with, I’ll just go to the women that are there by choice. He and the other paying customer laughed in camaraderie.

I left the table at this point and headed upstairs to the restaurant’s balcony. It had been raining for the last couple of hours, but the rain had stopped, and the clouds were wondering off.

I felt so defeated. So un…unhelpful. Like I had just left all my comadres of the world down. I thought of the many different women and girls I had met during my travels, and my heart ached that they would all be able to carry hope in their hearts. Win their battles, ‘cause I had just lost one of mine.

In the film, one of the boys that is especially talented is invited to go to Amsterdam to meet this other young photographers from around the world. During the filming of the documentary and prior to his departure, his mother is burned to death by her pimp. This boy said that at one time he wanted to be a doctor, then an artist. Then he says, “There is nothing called “hope“ in my future.”

I am not too sure why I am writing this. After watching the film, the sad birds are resting on my heart.

Maybe I want to say our actions matter. That our decisions can make for positive change. I am not trying to imply that many of you visit brothels and should stop, or that you don’t care for the equality of women. What I think that I want to articulate, it that I am very grateful for the women in my life. My mother, my sister, my SILs (sis-in-laws), my friends, my nieces, and my acquaintances. I am also very grateful for my CO-, padres, brothers, guys, boys, etc. that prove that the women have a chance to move on and up in the world.

I love, that of the child rearing brothers I have, they all have girls. I love that they love them. I love that they will fight for them to have the best of it. I love that I am supremely confident that my bros will put every effort forward to do right by their girls. I love that they can be copadres.

I love that as I believe woman play a special role in women’s lives, men can too play a supportive role in each other’s lives. That although I am powerless to stop the RLDs of Bangkok or Calcutta, I am powerful in COtributing to my brothers’ daughters’ -and sons’- equitable and bright futures.

That perhaps soon, I will see a painting that depicts two men at a wall, one with child, one with laundry, sharing each other’s burdens or hopes. And somehow, somewhere that will mean there is one less born into brothels.