Sex workers are commodities by the definitions examined in this thesis. This is not meant to be a negative judgment, but simply a product of how sex workers are often defined. The Joint UN Programme on HIV and AIDS probably reflects the most idealism, and it states, “For the purposes of this document, sex workers are defined as ‘female, male and transgender adults and young people who receive money or goods in exchange for sexual services, either regularly or occasionally, and who may or may not consciously define those activities as income-generating.’”
Here, at first glance, the commodity is “sexual services,” but where do these sexual services come from? From the body, of course. The body therefore becomes a commodity—a use-value which has exchange value, and it does not matter whether this use-value comes directly, in the form of satisfying a need, or indirectly, in the form of a means of production (Marx 1887: 26).
Therefore, a sewing machine is a commodity because it is a means of producing clothes. A calculator produces calculations and is therefore a commodity, and of course the word
“calculator” in the past referred to a person and not a machine. Bodies, minds, and labor can therefore be commodities. The only place that Marx at first appears to contradict this is where he defines a commodity as “an object outside us” (Marx 1887: 26), but this does not actually
exclude bodies. It only supports the idea that when a sex worker is defined as a commodity, she becomes an object, and furthermore she becomes an object “outside us”—outside of subjectivity.
At first glance, this seems to exclude a sex worker from controlling her own commodity, however, she does not sell “herself,” she sells her body as an object. And that is what is being sold, not literally the sexual services, because there are no sexual services without body—the labor put into a commodity determines (in part) its value (Marx 1887: 29), and in this example,
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sexual services are the labor which is being put into the commodity of the body in order to give it value. Therefore, a body can both be used for sex and exchanged for other commodities or money, and this is sex work.
To be clear, Taiwanese sources differ on the definition of sex work, but retain the idea of the sex worker as a commodity. However, this statement should not be shocking. The purpose of stating it is actually to introduce a series of other questions: “Are all bodies commodities?” At certain times, yes. Any laborer has use-value and exchange value, so she is sometimes considered a commodity. This idea aligns with Marx when he points out that labor power can be directly sold as a commodity (but only if it is offered on the market as a commodity—it is often used for other things such as increasing the value of another commodity, as discussed above) (Marx 1887:
117). “Are all instances of sex traded for money, goods, or services considered sex work?” Here, it really depends on definitions. According to the above definition, it looks like this is the case.
Taiwanese definitions are similar:
The Criminal Code, first adopted in the 30’s in mainland China, in its most recent incarnation (not counting amendments) in 1979 states, “A person who for purpose of making a male or female to have sexual intercourse or make an obscene act with a third person induces, accepts, or arranges them to gain shall be sentenced to imprisonment...” (Criminal Code of the Republic of China 2013: Article 231). The Social Order Maintenance Act enacted in 1991, Article 80, defines a sex worker as “any individual who engages in sexual conduct or cohabitation with intent for financial gains” (J.Y. Interpretation No. 666 2009). (Pause for a moment here: Cohabitation with intent for financial gains? Does this include wives? This will be an important question later.) Article 2 of the Child and Youth Sexual Transaction Prevention Act of 1995 defines “sexual transaction” as “sexual intercourse or obscene act [sic] for a
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consideration.” Finally, (abolitionist) academics have similar definitions: “For the purposes of this paper, prostitution is defined as exchange of personal interaction of a sexual nature for payment. This personal interaction may range from flirting, dancing, and drinking to sexual intercourse” (Hwang and Bedford 2003: 202).
So, then, are we all considered sex workers at some point or another? Interesting question.
However, defining a sex worker as a commodified body object is not the main point in itself, but rather it is the question of who (or what) controls this commodity—this body—“In fact nothing is more material, physical, corporal than the exercise of power” (Foucault 1981: 57-58).
To trace this question reveals the important power dynamics underneath the surface of all representations of the sex worker—He who has the gold makes the rules. Herein lay the roots of one side of the false dichotomy surrounding sex workers—that they are morally reprehensible.
Nietzsche pointed out the power dynamic when he traced back genealogical origins of morality, saying that good is etymologically equivalent to noble, and bad to common (Nietzsche 1996: 14-15) (in German, of course—the case for similar power dynamics existing in Taiwan will be made throughout the thesis through the influence of Western law, common concepts of hygiene, etc.).
He also asserted that good is associated with the conquering race, bad with the native (Ibid: 15-17), and along with this idea that “the wealthy” and “the owners” are the meaning of arya, and that to the Greeks, the truth is the powerful (Ibid: 15). Most importantly, he linked the very concept of guilt to economy: “For example, have the previous exponents of the genealogy of morals had even the slightest inkling that the central moral concept of ‘guilt’ [Schuld] originated from the very material concept of ‘debt’ [Shulden]? Or that punishment as a form of repayment has developed in complete independence from any presupposition about free will or the lack of it?” (Ibid: 44).
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Indeed, the idea that this commodity (the sex worker, intentionally dehumanized here with my apologies to illustrate the point) has been at the center of a wide variety of social power struggles should not be surprising, and is evident in virtually any film with a prostitute character.
A Time of Freedom: The Sex Worker as Literal Commodity Object
Three Times (最好的時光) is a 2005 movie directed by Hou Hsiao-hsien (侯孝賢) and written by Chu Tien-wen (朱天文). May (Shu Qi) fulfills the portrayal of commodity power dynamics in her role as a courtesan who serves Chen (Chang Chen) in the second segment of the film: A Time of Freedom. Before this title is revealed, however, it is contextualized as ironic—
none of the characters are free. The opening scene shows a man, heavily framed by sliding doors with wooden panels on glass, forming a parallel grid that gives the visual impression of a cage or a prison cell. Little light shines through the doors in the background which repeat these parallel lines, and the interior is therefore darkened and the colors muted. When he lights the small flame, however, the lighting increases subtly, becoming warmer and more colorful. May is shown, again with the grid of window panels behind her and her own disembodied voice singing the song which will repeat throughout the segment. The voice gives the impression a wailing
mourner. In this scene she pours hot water for Chen when he appears, adding reason to the heavy, cage-like framing and the anguished song—her position is total subservience. The two speak in inter-titles—they are not given a voice of their own, further signifying the powerlessness of every person who (tries to) speak in the segment. Only after these elements are introduced does the title of the segment fade onto screen over the image of a desk set next to yet another window, this time a small, dim opening with the parallel, horizontal and vertical lines crossing over a layer of fogged glass, beyond which is only another layer of the same glass. The objects on the
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desk further repeat these lines and heavily frame a potted plant with a small cluster of white flowers at the top, and the plant in turn frames the title, which in Chinese is “Freedom Dream.”
Here the flowers, struggling to reach higher out of their pot, can represent the situation of May, the courtesan dreaming of freedom, looking out of her dimly lit cage through the foggy and obscured glass only to see the bars of the second layer.
She plays the lyre for customers, and her job is for her carefully practiced song to be heard. When she plays, she is not given the power of being an active performer or an artist. She appears in the foreground, blurred by the focal point of the camera, which is symbolically focused on the men drinking tea around a table. She is separated from the men by a physical space, which is a signification of the metaphorical space between the courtesan and the world of men. Even the courtesan sitting at the table with the men is separated by look. She is looking downward, never at the men, with her hands folded in her lap, and clearly her job is to look only at the tea cups and refill them when they are empty. Except Chen, the men do not look at either woman, do not take in May’s performance actively as an audience does at a concert, but rather continue their conversation making her part of the atmosphere. Chen himself only looks at May with a sideways glance, his body never facing her, as if he is dividing a small part of his attention from the world of men to be interested in her. The song she is playing is not her own; it is a song she has been taught to play, and it is the sound of tradition—she is, again, not the artist of this song or the author of anything, but a socially positioned piece of entertainment being acted upon but never acting. With analysis, her position is clear, but the power dynamics of her position are conveyed when she takes on the metaphor of another power dynamic—that of the island of Taiwan.
In this segment, Chen is an activist visiting both Japan and China. This takes place in
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1911 during the revolution to overthrow the Qing dynasty, but at the time Taiwan was under the rule of the Japanese empire. By making China a strong republic (by ousting the Qing dynasty) it was hoped that it would fight back against colonizers like Japan. The Society to Restore China’s Prosperity had a secret oath among all of its members (one of which was of course Sun Yat-Sen):
“Expel the barbarians [that is, the Manchus], revive China, and establish a republic” (Rhoads 1975: 39-40 brackets in text). However, China and Japan were not looking at Taiwan during this situation, the same way the men, the holders of power in that social dynamic of the tea house, do not look at May. The physical space that separates them is analogous to the physical seas that separate Taiwan from the rest of Asia, in a position that never allows Taiwan to act, but only to be acted upon. This all happens in the background of May’s situation, outside of the heavy frames of the dimly-lit windows. She, as a courtesan, also has a master. Taiwan’s is Japan, and hers is the madame of her brothel. While Taiwan is trying to turn to China for freedom from Japan, May is trying to turn to Chen for freedom from her brothel.
She subtly reveals her desires to Chen when she asks about the health of his son while she is braiding his hair. The implied subtext is that she wishes to be part of Chen’s family, but he is already married. It is significant that she is braiding his hair during this scene, because it is both a gesture that she cares about him intimately and a further representation of her role. She is positioned behind him, unseen by him, serving him in a domestic task. This is the role of the concubine she wishes to be (and since he is married she could only hope to be his concubine)—
“Both wives and concubines were brought into the household as sexual partners and producers of heirs, but wives were expected to manage domestic tasks, while concubines were themselves managed” (Watson and Ebrey 1991: 241). Thus caring about his son and braiding his hair are meant as gestures that she is willing to fulfill this subservient role. This would not be a problem,
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for it is also revealed that A-mei, a fellow courtesan, is going to be sold as a concubine because she is pregnant by Mr. Su. The conflict is revealed through the negotiations over A-mei. May says her madame wants three hundred liang for the girl, but the Su family is only willing to give two hundred. The scenes where this negotiation happens remind that, “The language of gifts and reciprocity was used for wives; the idiom of the marketplace was used for concubines and maids”
(Watson and Ebrey 1991: 239). A-mei is being traded from a courtesan to a concubine—she is at this point literally a commodity object. This is even more defined when A-mei’s replacement comes to the tea house to be trained. The young girl appears to be with her father, who is
probably selling her, and she is a depressingly young ten years old. The madame looks her over, feels her chest, her arms, and her behind, and says, “She has good bone structure. But she is a little skinny.” This signifies once again both the commodification as body object of Taiwan’s women at this time—the madame is examining her as if she is evaluating the quality of a product—and emphasizes the fact that the courtesans are there to be looked at (a theme that continues all-throughout the film).
Daughter selling was common in Taiwan much more recently than 1911, especially to become wives, to “lead in” the birth of a son, or to become sex workers (see Wolf 1972: Chapter 11, “Girls Who Marry Their Brothers”), but other women could be bought (as seen above) and sold as well:
The literature suggests that a man could "sell" both his wife and his concubines (see, e.g., McGough 1976:126-27; J. Watson 1980b:231-32; for earlier periods see Ebrey 1986:11, 12). For example, he could pawn his wife or give her away in payment of a debt (for examples see Hershatter and Ocko in this volume). […] It is ironic indeed that wives and concubines may have been more vulnerable to pawning and resale than indentured servants. (Watson and Ebrey 1991:
242)
In an attempt to show that he is a good person, but at the same time demonstrating the irony that he has to do so according to the power constructions surrounding the commodity of women, Chen offers to pay the difference for A-mei to be bought, prompting May to say, “In
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your articles, you always criticize the taking of concubines.” Chen replies that he does disapprove of the practice, but in A-mei’s case he feels compelled to help. So while the Qing regime needs to be changed or else China will be too weak and inactive to take Taiwan back from Japan, Chen’s ideas also need to be changed before May can become his concubine. The only difference is that Chen’s problem with taking May as a concubine is noble on his part (unrealistically for a man at his time, but it is a filmic imagination) while the Qing is seen as an inept ruler. In the context of the film, Hou may be foreshadowing (or “post-shadowing,” because the 1966 segment of the film comes before this one) the undesirable coming of the police state of the KMT after Japanese rule. However, forgetting that, taken only in historical context, without looking to the future (which is probably unrealistic considering this portion of the film is entirely positioned to give context to the other two) rejoining China under the Qing is a power dynamic analogous to joining Chen’s household as a concubine.
May adds more context to this power dynamic metaphor in a conversation with A-mei.
She begins by saying, “Mr. Su is honorable, his father is also very understanding. You are lucky.”
Her next words reveal that in reality A-mei is only lucky because it could be worse. She says,
“You will be married tomorrow, your life will change. You will have to rise early to serve your in-laws. Always defer to the first wife. Be humble and never behave willfully.” This is the true power dynamic which happened in Taiwanese households. The reason A-mei’s future father-in-law being understanding is “lucky” is because it means he may treat her less severely if she does not fulfill her role. During this exchange, A-mei appears to be on the verge of tears, and May’s face mirrors her in sorrowful sympathy. Both of them, as women, understand the cultural signifiers that come along with the word “marriage.” She is stepping out from under the rule of the brothel’s madame and into the rule of her in-laws’ household.
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As if to call attention to the metaphor to the Taiwan situation, Chen visits May again and says, “Mr. Liang says China will not be ready to help us free ourselves from Japan for another three decades.” And in regards to her own freedom, May says that Madame is seeking a new girl to replace her, and has asked her to stay longer. Now the allegory is complete. Sexual freedom does not exist for her, and even her highest hope, to be a concubine, is pointed out to be a bleak role by her own words. For obvious reasons such as language difference, the continuing rule of the Qing emperor, and the mainlanders’ idea that the Taiwanese were part of the Japanese Empire and therefore could not be fully trusted (as seen, for example, in several places in Wu Zhuo-liu’s Orphan of Asia), reunification was not a great alternative to Japan’s rule. However, like Taiwan under Japan, May cannot choose the alternative. She is forced to wait indefinitely until her madame lets her go.
Clearly, May, as commodity and as sex worker, articulates one possible role of the prostitute. Taken alone, this segment could be misconstrued as a statement against prostitution because it is male violence against women. However, it is important to remember that it is one historical moment, placed in-between two other filmic imaginings of times that come after. What this demonstrates is both that the past of the sex worker influences the future (for all women, as will be shown later and therefore this film cannot be seen as a perpetuation of symbolic male violence against women by victimizing a prostitute) and that when power dynamics change, the entire situation and form of the sex worker changes as well. This is the significance of pointing out that it is not as important that a sex worker is a commodity, but who controls—has power over—that commodity. In this situation it is the madame, serving the male clients.
Clearly, May, as commodity and as sex worker, articulates one possible role of the prostitute. Taken alone, this segment could be misconstrued as a statement against prostitution because it is male violence against women. However, it is important to remember that it is one historical moment, placed in-between two other filmic imaginings of times that come after. What this demonstrates is both that the past of the sex worker influences the future (for all women, as will be shown later and therefore this film cannot be seen as a perpetuation of symbolic male violence against women by victimizing a prostitute) and that when power dynamics change, the entire situation and form of the sex worker changes as well. This is the significance of pointing out that it is not as important that a sex worker is a commodity, but who controls—has power over—that commodity. In this situation it is the madame, serving the male clients.