At the end of July, right on the day we had the last plenary session before the holidays, I went to the area around Miraflores street in search of some of the women who practice prostitution in the area and who, according to what I read in a newspaper, asked to be heard by someone who could help them before the imminent demolition of the buildings where they make a living (by the way, thanks to the author of the report and those who do good journalism).
I recognize that for me it was not an easy step, I felt some shame in invading their space, and I feared - although I would have understood perfectly - that they would look at me with reluctance and rejection. One feels a certain shame of knowing oneself to be a privileged class in the face of those who are in the deepest thresholds of poverty and social exclusion.
They spend many hours a day exposed there, whether it is cold, windy, rainy or hot, as was the case that day, protecting themselves with umbrellas, which act as parasols, from a blazing sun. And I, a deputy, arrived all fresh from Parliament, a few meters from those streets, but another world, with our air conditioning and all our luxuries. How can they not have every right in the world to look at us badly?
My stomach shrank, tremendous desire to keep walking discreetly and pass by, I could not help feeling guilty of so much inequality, so much injustice, of how badly we distribute our resources in a land as rich as the Canary Islands where there should not be a single person in social exclusion.
I have spent almost three years passing through that street and thinking about these women, what their lives will be like, what they will feel, what they will think, to what extent they chose it, if they have other alternatives, if they feel good or are waiting for someone or 'someones' to worry a little about them and put in place measures that allow them to change that destiny.
In those seconds that I was in doubt between leaving or staying, the concept of 'matria' came to my mind, that 'Canarian Matria' to which we aspire, which welcomes and cares for all its people, which would never leave anyone out, without a roof, without a meal, without a decent job.
I breathe and take the step, I go to one of them, an older lady, with a very sad face, who is sitting in one of the few shadows that the buildings give at that time, I greet her and ask if any of the two girls who spoke to the press are there, a few days ago, about the demolition of the buildings, she tells me yes, that one of them is there, Camila 'La Brasileira'.
In a few minutes Camila appears, we try to find a shadow to talk quietly, but it is midday at the end of July and the sun is burning, I suggest we better go sit on a quiet terrace and have something cool. We start talking, she confesses that she feels self-conscious, that she is not used to talking to "normal people". I am too, we live in parallel worlds that, even being so close to each other, it is strange and difficult for them to come together.
She begins to tell things about her life, from her childhood in a favela of extreme poverty and misery, and how at the age of 12, even without having her period, she is forced to prostitute herself for the first time.
Her story, tremendous, has been published in part in some media and soon we will be able to know it in depth through a book that she is writing and that an NGO is helping her to translate.
"They treat us like garbage, although not all are the same, some come very angry with their wives and unload their anger on us"
"They do with us what they don't dare to do with them. Some are so disgusting that they make you want to vomit, they smell bad, as if they had never showered, if you insinuate it they get angry and treat you worse, when they leave, with a queasy stomach, sometimes you vomit everything you had eaten"
"Mental illnesses, we all end up like this, for months I was also bulimic, I also have lapses in which I forget everything and I don't know how to get back to my house."
She wants to tell everything, the mafia that captured her to bring her to Spain and how she must work for many years to regain her freedom (16,000 ?), the relationship between prostitution and drugs, the abuse of pimps, abusive whoremongers, the nests of snakes that are generated around, the humiliations, the vexations, the abuses of power of those who have money against those who need it.
She tells me that among her companions there are older women, sick, obese with difficulty walking and over 65 years old. "Don't you think they should be retired?" She asks me.
"I'm nervous, I'm not used to talking to "normal people" like you, who are rich, rich people in my country don't sit on a bar terrace to talk to a poor person, I live in my world, with women who are like me, the rest of the time I live isolated, I take care of my daughter so that she doesn't lack anything. I live in the south, my daughter doesn't know anything about my life or what I work at."
I try to reassure her, her story has deeply impacted me and I think she notices it, after more than an hour of conversation there is some chemistry between the two of us that helps us, even if only for a few moments, to break the abyss that separates us. She looks me in the eye and says:
"Now you can tell people that you do know a real prostitute. Are you going to help me?"
Of course, I tell her, in everything we can.
On behalf of my group, Podemos, we promised to put all the means at our disposal to help both "Camila" and all the women who, together with her, are in the same situation, in the search for alternatives that allow them to get out of that condition of extreme vulnerability and open access to a minimum decent life.
In this first plenary session in September we asked the Minister of the Presidency, Justice and Equality, about the measures that his Ministry has planned to help these women who are forced to practice prostitution in the buildings of Miraflores Street, about to be demolished.
And because of all the debate raised these days with the legalization of the OTRAS union and about prostitution, they ask me about my position. My heart is abolitionist, I wish to live in a world where no woman has to sell her body out of necessity, where no man feels legitimized to satisfy his desire by buying sex with money, and no woman, for money, is forced to offer sex that she does not want.
I wish to live in a society where sex is something free for women and men, and is based on mutual, reciprocal and empathetic desire between people who feel in equal conditions, who want to enjoy and enjoy each other. I wish sex to be a universal good, for all, free, free and if possible of quality.
That is my wish, but while the reality is another we cannot look the other way, we will have to do something in the face of situations of extreme inequality and violence with which we find ourselves, in the face of women who are being crushed and systematically violated the most basic rights, in the face of these women who ask us for help that we cannot, nor do we want to deny.
And that's what we're doing, the first thing is to put in place public policies that protect and guarantee minimum decent exits. For this, words are not enough, we must put on the table resources of all kinds, because this is a problem that is not solved alone, nor by stigmatizing women who prostitute themselves, nor by sending them to scrub stairs.
These women have families to support and cannot wait any longer, and no matter how much certain sectors insist, there are not enough stairs to help get out of so much misery or serve to calm our consciences.
By María del Río, President of the Podemos Parliamentary Group of the Canary Islands
Secretary of Equality, Feminism and LGTBI of Podemos Canarias
