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Sitting on the curb of a busy road along the railroad track.
Wearing a mini skirt with your legs spread, bent over
Scratching your wig with one of your long fire-engine red fingernails, while
Reaching in your purse for the matching lipstick.
It’s half past midnight, the night is young.
4 women on the Ho Stro’ between the railroad track, a busy road, and a giant city park.
Hoes stroll day and night.
I’ve been on my way to work, or
Watching the sunrise on my way home from clubbing,
Rain or shine,
These hoes are inline
Scattered along the railroad track facing the park,
Sometimes 1 by 1, sometimes in twos;
And an elderly woman within eyeshot.
I’ve seen a crack head or two, too,
Trying to push herself up to any mens passing by.
Crack or smack,
I’m not sure what these hoes do,
But I know it’s whack.
Frail, emaciated, veins popping and tattered.
They rarely cross the road and venture along the train track.
Over here it’s wide open,
The hoes along the track roam in packs…
Whereas the park side of the stroll provides the crack heads some cover.
For a while, I resisted knowing that these women were hoes.
But one evening,
A couple of hoes showed up at my favorite Beef Noodle joint as I sat for dinner.
All cheery and bubbly,
Dressed for a night out.
Greeting everyone that comes in as you do in your neighborhood joint*
One of the ladies came over towards me, all bubbly and cheery,
Stretched out and unfolded her hands as if she were about to offer me something,
Then jabbed her index finger in-and-out of… you get it.
Yes, THAT universal gesture,
Though it didn’t seem lude coming from her, over a bowl of Pho.
I politely declined, they placed their orders and sat down.
Hoes gotta eat, too.
In my after-dinner walks around the lake,
I have to watch out when I reach the long, straight, tree-lined stretch along the track.
There, there’s nothing but cars parked,
And tea stalls at both ends.
Hoes tend to congregate right in the middle.
No man gets by unsolicited.
It’s as if the bright fire-red were their signal.
Fire-engine red lipstick and false nails to match.
Sometimes a matching skirt, purse and shoes, too.
It’s loitering, but
Soliciting men, too.
The men know where to find them, these hoes are always there.
Street crawlers know where to find them.
Rush hour or late-night,
Early morning, and absolutely at high noon…
Women can’t loiter.
Just look at how we treat women who are not even in the trade.
Meanwhile, men and boys in most parts of the world can hang out anywhere, anytime.
Men are much freer at this level of corporeal control and bodily integrity –
In public and private space.
Although I’d argue that we teach boys to disintegrate into the night.
This is exactly the breach that’s reached here.
These hoes stroll.
There is a Ho Stro’ in every city I know!
Pimps, hookers, hoes, tricks, johns and everybody in between can see.
Hey mister, have you got a dime?
Mister: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
*I’ve only lived here a half a year, so I’m sure this is their hood; I’m new to the party.
NB: Ho Stro’ or whore stroll is an American southern vernacular term – the first term I learned as a kid – for a red-light district. PLEASE, do not look up Ho Stroll on YouTube but if you must this one from LA is HILARIOUS And please, seriously, don’t bother looking up words for the clients of female sex workers.
The academic year is almost over and it offers the time and space to think. It’s easy to become focused on what needs to be done – for staff; teaching and marking assessments, for students; studying and writing assessments – which leaves little time to stop and contemplate the bigger questions. But without contemplation, academic life becomes less vibrant and runs the risk of becoming procedural and task oriented, rather than the pursuit of knowledge. Reading becomes a chore instead of a pleasure, mindlessly trying to make sense of words, without actually taking time out to think what does this actually mean. We’re all guilty of trying to fill every minute with activity; some meaningful, some meaningless that we forget to stop, relax and let our minds wander. Similarly, writing becomes a barrier because we focus on doing rather than thinking. With this in mind what follows is not a reasoned academic argument but rather a stream of thought
As some of you will remember, a while ago Manos and I had a discussion around words in Criminology (Facebook Live: 24.10.16). In particular, whether words can, or should, be banned and if there is a way of reclaiming, or rehabilitating language. Differing views have emerged, with some strongly on the side of leaving words deemed offensive to die out, whilst others have argued for reclamation of the very same terms. Others still have argued for the reclamation of language, but only by those who the language was targeted toward.
All this talk made me think about the way we use language in crime and justice and the impact this has on the individuals involved. This can be seen in everyday life with the depiction of criminals and victims, the innocents and the guilty, recidivists and those deemed rehabilitated, but we rarely consider the long-lasting effects of these words on individuals.
The recent commemoration (27.07.17) of the fiftieth anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act 1967 brought some of these thoughts to the forefront of my mind. This legislation partially decriminalised sex between men (aged 21 or over) but only in private, meaning that homosexual relationship were confined and any public expression of affection was still liable to criminal prosecution. This anniversary, coming six months after the passing of “Turing’s Law” (officially, the Policing and Crime Act 2017) made me think about the way in which we recompense these men; historically identified as criminals but contemporaneously viewed in a very different light.
I view the gist of “Turing’s Law” as generally positive, offering the opportunity for both the living and dead, to clear their names and expunge their criminal records. After all it allows society to recognise the wrongs done in the name of the law to a not unsubstantial group of citizens. For me, where this legal righting of wrongs falls down, is in the wording. To offer someone a pardon suggests they are forgiven for their “sins” rather than acknowledging that the law (and society) got it wrong. It does not recognise the harm suffered by these men over the course of their lifetimes; a conviction for sexual offending cannot be shrugged off or easily explained away and leaves an indelible mark. Furthermore, whilst the dead are to be pardoned posthumously, the onus is on the men still living, to seek out their own disregard and pardon.