The streetwalkers of Whitechapel have been badly let down

More than a hundred years after Jack the Ripper, we're still fighting the same battles on prostitution.

Earlier this year the East London-based charity Toynbee Hall made an uncharacteristic approach to the media. It felt moved to tell newspapers that it had witnessed an increase in the number of arrests and new bail conditions imposed on women arrested for street prostitution. 

It’s hardly a charity that sticks its head above the parapet at the best of times, but then this wasn’t a slight rise - arrests in the first two and a half months (48) exceeded arrest levels for the whole of 2011 (44).

It suggested a whole new strategy in terms of policing the problem. The unspoken assumption – one the media deduced – was that this was a bid to get the streetwalkers out of the Olympic boroughs in time for July. One feels they might not quite square with Danny Boyle’s vision of England, Green and Pleasant LandTM.

The charity could monitor the number of arrests because of the referrals it received to its Safe Exit programme. Laura is one of the women who has been sent to it. Her full story is told in this video:

At a young age, Laura was encouraged to take drugs by a crack addict. She helped him scam other men, offering sex, taking the money and running away, with him stepping in to ward them off. But after a while he stopped showing up. He spent all the money on drugs, which they’d share, and he began to beat her up. She remembers standing outside King’s Cross station with a black eye, and a policeman looking at her. She wished he’d do anything – even arrest her – just to get her away from her pimp. He walked away.

The punters approached her in their cars, some of them playing with themselves. They were often, in her words, “Fat, and smelly and gross”. Some were simply lonely and wanted to talk; others were crazy – one man kept her in his flat and threatened her with a knife. Aged 19, she ended up in prison. Once she was out she slipped into the same routine. By this time she was taking heroin (she feels that 99% of girls who walk the streets are doing it to feed their drug habits).

She served another year in prison, and knew her life was going down the pan. The police offered her a choice between court and Toynbee Hall’s Safe Exit programme. She was given a flat and began to feel better about herself. She’s taking Methadone, and has a doctor nearby who supports her. Things have improved in the last five years. She still falls back on the drugs from time to time, and to fund it she goes back into prostitution. Her son doesn’t know about all this – she tells him and her mother she’s got a bar job. If she could have anything it would simply be a quiet life.

The question of how to deal with a case like this is complex: if you have an opinion, it’s not likely to be supported by statistical data, because useful studies are thin on the ground. But one thing that most people in the know are unanimous about is the fact that you can’t police this problem away, and if you want to help women like Laura it’s unlikely to happen when they’re in the criminal justice system.

Back in the New Labour glory years, much of the chat was in support of punitive measures and the likes of Denis MacShane and various radical feminists regularly bellyached about trafficking without a shred of decent empirical data. It was all a bit shouty and down with this sort of thing. Let’s arrest the prostitutes! No, let’s arrest the johns! No, let’s shut down the brothels! No, let’s put them all on compulsory drugs treatment programmes! No, let’s send Brooke Magnanti a turd in the post!

But even back then, the Poppy Project (one of the noisiest collectives) spoke out against the use of ASBOs on streetwalkers, on the grounds that the last thing you want these women doing is disappearing even further under the radar. Laura’s point about drugs is germane – most of the women who walk the streets are there because brothels and massage parlours refuse to take them.

But this doesn’t mean the police don’t have a role to play. Street prostitution doesn’t just impact on the women involved in the trade. Near Toynbee Hall is the Flower and Dean estate: a small, red brick maze of dark alleys and cul-de-sacs. The main road nearby, Commercial Street, is a busy thoroughfare that runs between the City of London and pubs and clubs of Brick Lane: it’s an informal red light district for streetwalkers.

The residents of Flower and Dean, many of them devout Muslims, have suffered a significant impact on their quality of life due to prostitutes using it as a location to have sex with their clients. It’s not nice to have your kids playing around used condoms and needles, and there’s been threatening behaviour from the sex workers towards female residents.

There’s a horrific irony to the fact that desperate women are plying the most dangerous of trades here. In 1888, two streetwalkers who lived on the road from which the estate takes its name were murdered. Their killer was never caught, but his name – Jack the Ripper – was never forgotten.

The charity has helped a group of mothers on the estate take charge of the situation. It put on workshops which taught them about the wider social issues that cause the problem, and how they could deal with it. Marcus Duran, the programme coordinator, says: “The women were in the dark about the law, and about what the police could do to help, despite the fact that believe it or not, the local station backs onto the estate. We helped them work with the police, lobbying for bail restrictions that would stop the estate being used, and demanding different patrols – it shocked me to discover the activity often started around 9pm.”

All of this made the lives of those on the estate better, but at the same time there was an acceptance that this simply shifted the problem on. And so alongside the Safe Exit programme, the women have pledged to involve themselves in a long-term, cross borough strategy, offering their expertise based on dealing with the problem on their doorstep.

There were plenty of well-meaning initiatives around the area in the Ripper’s time. It’s hard to believe many of the same battles are being fought over 100 years later.

 

A teenage prostitute waits for customers. Photograph: Getty Images

Alan White's work has appeared in the Observer, Times, Private Eye, The National and the TLS. As John Heale, he is the author of One Blood: Inside Britain's Gang Culture.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war