‘The government used to give licenses to these brothels,”
says Kara. “They were well regulated.” That’s not to
say that everything was rosy. Then like now, a woman
in difficult economic conditions might resort to prostitution to feed
herself or her family. But, says Kara, at least the trade was monitored
then. Women who worked in these brothels were required to undergo
regular examinations, public health standards were maintained and,
if a woman did want to get out, the vibrant economy of the time provided
more alternatives.
Like anyone else, a prostitute working in pre-war Lebanon would
likely find life easier than one trying to survive today. Al-Mutanaba
street was destroyed during the war. There are no legal brothels open
today, even though operating one is technically still legal for those
with a license. This has pushed the profession into the murky
world of criminals, according to Kara. Desperate women, many
homeless and some in their early teens, become easy prey for the
pimps that prowl some of the city’s more seedy areas. They offer a
place to sleep, food to eat, but little in the way of money. Many of
these women soon find themselves trapped.
Farial ended up on the street at the age of 11 after her father died and
her brother went to prison. “I was walking down the street one day
when I met a women named Suha. She introduced me to other prostitutes
and that’s how I got into this profession,” she says. “I was just
a child. I didn’t know anything.” Farial started hooking off and on and
by the age of 13 she was pregnant. Today, at 19, she has been to prison
more than once and has two children, a third is on its way. Now married,
Farial has left her old profession. She is living with relatives
because neither she nor her husband can afford a place of their own.
Hilana has a similar story. Abandoned by her mother, she found herself
on the street at a young age. There she met her husband and was
married at 14, became pregnant and had a son. But the marriage failed.
Relatives refused to take her in. Her grandfather finally accepted to
watch her son, but she had to find her own place. Hilana started hooking
in bars to support herself and her child. “The bars were very dirty.
There were Sri Lankans, Syrians, Egyptians working there and you
couldn’t say no to a customer. If you said no, the owner would kick you
out,” she says. At 32, she continues to work as a prostitute. She has been
a bit more successful than most in the business and counts among her
past clients a former minister and a senior member of a religious political
party. “Society has generally rejected these girls,” says Kara.
There’s little in the way of statistics on prostitution in Lebanon and
the moral protection bureau of the security forces refused to speak to
EXECUTIVE. But, says Kara, “the number of women resorting to prostitution
is increasing in parallel with the economic crisis.” The vast
majority of them come from the poorest segments of society, she adds.
Most are illiterate. Very few possess the skills necessary to find a decent
job and support themselves. The case of Rita, who is in her 40s, is typical.
She rents a small flat for $175 a month and has children to feed.
She earns around $70 a month cleaning houses. “Where do I get the
rest?” she asks. “I stand on street comers waiting to be picked up.” Some
women do find a way out, either by landing a decent job or returning
to their families. But the numbers are few.
For those who do work the streets, the increase in competition over
the last few years, both from locals and foreigners, has driven down
prices. Hilana says that five years ago she could earn $400 to $500 a
night, but now earns less than half that amount. At the same time, prostitutes
risk arrest and abuse by clients, pimps and even the police.
Occasionally, the security forces will raid a bar, massage parlor or
brothel. The prostitutes are arrested but, they say, never their clients.
Kara feels that the situation would be better if the business was
regulated as it was before the war. “We hope that the law [allowing the
licensing of brothels] is reapplied because now there are hundreds
of brothels and they are all illegal,” she says. Proper regulations, she
adds, would at least control the spread of venereal diseases and reduce
the exploitation the women working in such establishments.
Ironically, the police do regulate the super nightclubs, most of
which bring women from Eastern Europe or other Arab countries to
work as cabaret dancers or barmaids. In order to obtain work permits,
the women must undergo regular gynecological checkups. ‘The government
knows that these are not just places to sit down and have a
drink,” says Kara. “It claims to provide controls, but these women have
permission to work in a bar, not as prostitutes.” Rarniz Geagea, manager
of the White Horse Super Nightclub in Maameltein, feels the health
regulations are justified. He says: “I recognize the girls as dancers. But
that doesn’t mean they don’t go out with some guy after the show.”
Regulating prostitution may help improve the situation. But
only education, a stable social environment and greater gender
equality is likely to curb the flow of women into the world’s oldest
profession. A healthy economy would not hurt either.
By Robert Tuttle
A reason for hope
In English, its name translates into House of Hope. Dar Al Amal has
been helping women in prostitution since the early 1970s. “If someone
is a prostitute and comfortable, we are not here to say change.
We want to provide an alternative for women who were pushed into
prostitution and want to leave the profession,” says Hoda Kara.
Between 45 and 50 women a year seek the organization’s help. Dar
Al Amal provides counseling and training in such skills as sewing or
making handicrafts. Kara says that the organization helps women as
much as possible but cannot provide shelter. The limited financing
from donors is not yet sufficient to fund a shelter. The organizationcan be reached at 01/483-508.
