Because we don’t get to choose who to love
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” we asked.
“Outside” she responded, without blinking.
“Is there no room at the shelter?”
“Yeah, there probably is … but I don’t wanna go, there’s too many rules at that place.”
As volunteers for a street worker outreach program, we offered her water, condoms, lip balm, nail polish, and chocolate. As we did this, I wondered, “What does love look like in this situation?”
I shuddered at the thought of the tricks she was about to turn and the small, hard square of pavement where she would lay her weary body later that night. But there was nothing we could do except wish her a good night as warmly as possible and continue on our route, hoping she would be there safe and sound the next time we did our rounds.
It’s hard to know how to respond, when someone who you see as exploited rejects help that you believe could restore her. It’s the dilemma of trying to follow Jesus’ teaching to care for the downtrodden, when the downtrodden don’t actually want you to intervene.
This dilemma got painfully political in Canada last week, as the Conservatives released Bill C-36, the legislation they propose should govern Canada’s sex industry. Many people criticize the bill for criminalizing most aspects of the sex industry, except for a vague allowance for selling sex in places that people under 18 cannot “reasonably be expected to be.” The bill has elicited an eruption of opinions from Canadians as to whether it is inspired, misguided, or downright unconstitutional.
Many opposers of the bill say that it imposes a status of “victimhood” on anyone who is selling sex, by assuming that the solution to the dangers of the sex trade is for everyone to leave the industry and for the “perpetrators” (those who buy sex or profit from its sale) to be prosecuted. It also leaves the door wide open for those selling sex to be criminalized, depending on how it is interpreted by law enforcement. (Check out #C36 on Twitter to see more of the debate.)
The church has been involved in the discussion even before the old laws were struck down, often from the perspective of preventing sex trafficking. Christian groups have engaged in everything from political lobbying to court intervention to petition campaigns in order to encourage lawmakers to consider how they can help prevent exploitation of the vulnerable.
Though much of this activism has been loving and brave, there is a distinction I’m afraid the church hasn’t made clearly enough — an omission that is in danger of alienating many who are working on this issue from a non-faith perspective.
I’m talking about the distinction between sex trafficking and sex work. As with the woman I met who decided to sell sex and sleep on the street that night rather than use any of the shelters or recovery programs that were available to her, not all those in the sex industry are there because they are being held against their will. As many sex-worker activists have made clear, some see selling sex as a legitimate profession. Accordingly, they believe it should be regulated rather than criminalized, and they resent efforts and rhetoric that treat them as victims who need to be rescued.
To make a blunt generalization, sex-worker activists in Canada have not felt loved by Christians throughout the discussions on this issue, and they have been unreserved in expressing their frustrations with the church to the media. As the church, it is hard to know how to respond in love to these critiques, while maintaining our commitment to fighting for those who are legitimately trafficked.
I don’t have the answer, but I would like to remind us of our starting point. We have two commands upon which to calibrate ourselves: love God and love our neighbour. Causes such as anti-trafficking are tools with which we love our neighbour, rather than ends in and of themselves. “Love your neighbour” means that we don’t get to choose who we love — we are called to love everyone with whom we interact.
This means trafficking victims, but this also means those who are reluctant to leave the sex industry. It means those who campaign for political positions with which we might not agree. It also means traffickers, johns, and pimps.
We must find ways to love even when people do not fit the typical mold of “victim” with which it is so easy to empathize. We may not understand them, we may not know how to interact with them, but one place to start is to listen.
Listening to someone means recognizing her as a human, as your neighbour, as an imprint of God’s image. Though someone’s foundational principles might be different than my own, what she has to say is valuable — simply because she is valuable. In other words, I don’t have to agree with everything someone says for her to be worth listening to. By listening, we communicate that we recognize the complexity of the issue, that we are not trying to be moralistic.
We have a God who listens: He hears us without dismissing us, simply because He loves us. Likewise, listening can be a form of love between us and our neighbours, even if it is not easy. As Jesus showed us, love is difficult and costly — which means that we need to fight to listen to those whose views are not to our liking, fight to understand them simply because they are our neighbours and that’s what love does.
When we love people where they are at, instead of where we think they should be, echoes of Christ’s love resound — perhaps they will prick their ears and listen in return.
Flickr photo (CC) by Rob Stanley.
