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Rain is coming down hard outside. “I remember a lot of heavy rain last year, too,“ one of them says.
“Yeah,“ the second one says, “and I remember a lot of heavy screaming.“
They all bust up at that.
“Seriously, I had no intention of doing anything,“ the second guy goes on. “I swear to God. But when those two girls grabbed me and said, ‘We’re drinking tonight,’ man, that was it. That was it .“
A fourth gringo shows up, then a fifth, a sixth. Same pattern every time: flight report, bitch about the rain, recap last year’s highlights, always with dramatic emphasis on the last syllable or three.
“I know this massage parlor, anything you want. An-nee-thing .“
“I had this girl, a hundred thousand colones“—200 bucks, give or take—“and I had her for the whole night. The whole night .“
It goes on like this until the last two guys show up. They’ve got American girls with them, one a wife, one a girlfriend. Now the boys are talking about…rain forests and rafting. And dinner. They’re going to the restaurant at the Hotel Del Rey, where the food’s pretty good.
One guy looks spooked.
“Nah, don’t worry,“ his buddy tells him. “They don’t bother you in the restaurant.“
“Yeah,“ another guy says. “They just stand outside and watch you. And wait.“
The academic debate over whether prostitution is a good idea is pretty simple in its extremes. On one side are the abolitionists—some feminist and religious groups and, since 2003, the U.S. government. They believe that selling sex is always wrong, inherently demeaning, a fundamental violation of basic human rights. Whether they’re philosophically correct is irrelevant to the actual world. The global sex industry, ancient and entrenched, employs/exploits/enslaves (the verb you choose is a function of your politics and the circumstances of individual prostitutes) tens of millions of women and girls, and generates hundreds of billions of dollars annually. Abolishing it, purging the planet of every escort and bar girl and streetwalker, and prosecuting or shaming every john into submission is no more feasible than eliminating agriculture or the auto industry.
On the other side are libertarians, a tiny minority of prostitutes who prefer to be called “sex workers,“ and, one would suppose, a good percentage of the men who pay for sex. They believe that consenting adults should be free to do whatever they damn well please, though probably the pragmatists among them will concede that the business should be regulated to ensure everyone’s health and safety.
That argument is worse than irrelevant: It’s just silly, a utopian notion bordering on idiotic.
Sure, there are a handful of brothels that enforce strict rules on condoms for the men and health checks for the women. But those are a minuscule proportion of the business, the vast majority of which is carried out in dirty hotels and strip clubs, in cars and on street corners, and almost entirely cash transactions between strangers who prefer anonymity—the very definition of unsafe and unregulated. In poor countries with thriving sex industries, enforcing any semblance of order would be impossible. Even if police corruption and criminal gangs magically vanished, places like Thailand or the Philippines have neither the manpower nor the financial incentive to monitor hundreds of thousands of prostitutes and johns. Even developed countries who attempt some form of regulation and encourage prostitutes to register have had dismal results. In the Netherlands, for instance, fewer than one in ten of an estimated 25,000 prostitutes have chosen to be officially licensed. Believing that will change, that it can change, is naive. Most prostitutes—the ones controlled by pimps or traffickers, the minors, the illegal immigrants—aren’t in any position to ask for government help, and the ones who are usually don’t want an official record of a profession they hope will be temporary. For all the blather about empowering sex workers, few women want prostitution on their résumés.
Moreover, legalizing it in any particular place—in other words, eliminating the risk of arrest and diminishing the immediate social stigma (at least for the men) —almost always increases demand, which in turn requires an increased supply. And since there are never enough local women clamoring to be prostitutes, especially in developed nations, they have to be imported. In the early 1990s, for example, an estimated 75 percent of Germany’s prostitutes had been shipped in from South America (a demographic that, since the fall of the Soviet Union, has been largely replaced by women from places like Russia, Romania, and the Ukraine). Common sense, as well as government statistics and a 2005 U.S. State Department report, suggests that at least some of those women were trafficked (that is, lured with the promise of legitimate jobs or simply forced) into the country by outlaw pimps—one of the problems legalization is theoretically meant to solve. What Paraguayan peasant—even if she truly wants to be a whore in Europe—has the money and the connections to get there and go into business for herself?

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