Page 109 - Chinese Woman Living and Working
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96 ELAINE JEFFREYS
            only demonstrated that ‘sex  sellers’ do not  form an homogeneous group of ‘wage-
            labourers’, they have also done much to draw attention to the varied nature of what, in
            the absence of any agreed terminology, might be loosely called ‘sex-sector consumers’
            and ‘sex-sector capitalists’.

                                       Conclusion

            The ongoing  struggle of China’s governmental authorities to turn the  commercial
            hospitality and service industry into a standardised and regulated sector of the economy calls
            into question  the recent  feminist insistence that the international community  should
            oblige national governments to legally recognise ‘the sex sector’ and hence ‘sex workers’.
            While not disputing the validity of concerns about prostitutes’ rights, a consideration of
            the Chinese case suggests that such concerns are not only underpinned by liberal
            conceptions of  the  sexual-political subject, they also  presume  that the organisation  of
            modern societies is to all  extents and purposes identical.  To  put the matter bluntly,
            arguments concerning the perceived benefits that will accrue to sex workers, flowing from
            a legal recognition  of  ‘the  sex sector’,  effectively  assume that all  nations  possess an
            established commercial business sector, with equitable and enforceable labour laws, into
            which the ‘prostitute-as-(rightful) worker’ can somehow be slotted.
              An examination of the Chinese case further questions the tendency of pro-sex work
            activists to homogenise all female sellers of sex as ‘sex workers’ and to treat male buyers
            of sex as ‘private consumers’. Given the controversy that currently surrounds the first
            two tiers of China’s ‘prostitution hierarchy’ (namely, the practices of ‘keeping a second
            wife’ and ‘hiring a short-term mistress’), the act of legally recognising prostitution, if such
            an option were socially acceptable and politically feasible in the PRC, would oblige the
            Chinese  government to determine  which particular forms of  ‘selling  sex’ could be
            legitimately defined as ‘work’ and which could not. Likewise, the tendency of the pro-sex
            work lobby to elide the male side of demand, on the grounds that male buyers of sex are
            individual citizens  participating in an unremarkable, ‘private’ transaction, is  seriously
            challenged in the context of China by the demonstrated link between the demand for
            prostitution and the expropriation of public funds.
              An examination of the Chinese case thus brings into focus the constant reliance of pro-
            sex work activists upon a meta-discourse bounded by Western liberal conceptions of ‘the
            individual’, ‘the state’, ‘the law’, and ultimately ‘the UN’, in order to resolve a series of
            historically and  culturally  specific problems with  moral dimensions.  For all  of  the
            aforementioned reasons, we need to resist the popular association of the concept of ‘sex
            work’ with theoretical and political ‘correctness’. Even more importantly, we have to
            question the recent tendency of metropolitan commentators to mobilise the concept of
            ‘sex work’ as a means to demonstrate the assumed (as in ‘already known’) inadequacy of
            the PRC’s response to prostitution. Exponents of this approach claim all the kudos that
            accrues to those who speak with moral indignity against the Chinese government, and on
            behalf  of the ‘downtrodden, subaltern prostitute subject’, without the  accompanying
            ethical  burden  of investigating whether the strategy they  want adopted can be
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