The Justice Ministry’s initiative to host a forum on the sex industry has provoked a flurry of public opinions. That’s no surprise. It’s a big industry, and there are lots of interests involved. The whole issue of sex work brings together the personal sphere of sex and the public sphere of work.

There are (at least) two different debates going on. And they have very different concerns, and very different visions of what might be changed.

The first debate is about personal behaviour. The protagonists believe that legal changes can play some part in the way men and women relate together. (Sex work of course involves men as well as women, but this debate is about the large female part.) The supply of female bodies to meet male demand is the ultimate display of male domination over women. This domination is built into law and social attitudes. That’s true just about all over the world, but especially marked in Thailand. In traditional law, women were the property of men. The legacy of this tradition still lingers in the legal codes, and the broad social acceptance for the regular male purchase of women’s bodies. The women involved in sex work are not only exploited themselves, but they end up exploiting women in general.

Such views come in many varieties. Some appeal to Buddhism. Some appeal to natural law or humanism. Some take a stand on the equal gender rights written into the 1997 Constitution. Their common idea is that sex work is right at the heart of the inequality between male and female. Hence anything which reduces the size of the sex industry, and undermines the social acceptance of the male purchase of women, would be both a real and symbolic contribution towards the struggle for greater equality.

Such aspirations may be logical and sincere. The problem is practicality.

The legislature that has to pass any new law is a male preserve. The proposal last year to allow women to control their own names provoked many ostensibly sensible male MPs into arguing this would bring about the downfall of the Thai family and Thai society. Any proposal to control what men are allowed to do with female bodies might provoke the same MPs to argue this would throw the cosmos off its axis.

Besides, ever since the election of this Senate and Assembly in 2000–1, there has been string of scandals which show that rights over women are still one of the privileges of power. Legislators have helped out with tuition fees in return for services; offered the chance to see luxury hotel suites; and allegedly abused and discarded wives.

The second debate looks at sex work as an industry. It tries to strip out the inevitably personal concerns about sex, and apply the cool logic of economics. Sex work exists because there is supply and demand. The role of government is creating the laws and institutions under which the different parties in the industry operate – buyers, sellers, and those peddling protection. Changes in law will affect their various rights and privileges, and perhaps change how the profits of the industry are distributed.

Part of the industry is clearly criminal. Some sex workers are recruited by force or trickery, forced to work under constraint, and paid pitifully. Many of these are under-age. The 1996 legislation on sex work for the first time identified and targeted this segment of the sex industry for special treatment. Failures are probably more about implementation than legal provision.

Another part is casual. Many treat sex work as an occasional source of supplementary income. Some freelance, using the streets, the Internet, or the entertainment industry as their trade channel. Some believe this segment is growing, and are concerned about that. But dealing with this has the same problems as casual and deliberately pirate business.

The real issue is about the institutionalised, semi-legitimate segment of bars, brothels, massage parlours, karaoke, and restaurants – because this is the big segment. The laws (as they are used in practice) are wonderfully muddled. In effect, they recognise that such places exist and require them to register in a specific way. But then the law pretends that it doesn’t really know what goes on in these places (because it is technically illegal). Similarly, the workers in these establishments are not treated as criminals, yet the work they do is technically illegal. This confusion creates the space for the police and gangsters to offer a secondary level of regulation, in return for which they can charge fees.

Changing this delicately muddled legal framework can have significant consequences, and hence a lot of lobbying is going on. Owners of establishments argue that they play a role in institutionalising the trade. They keep it off the streets. They provide some important protection for the workers. They offer some health controls. It is better for government to license them to regulate the trade, rather than getting involved directly (e.g., by registration of sex workers). But the legal muddle means that they have to pay high rates of informal tax, collected in both cash and kind, often involving threats and harassment.

The sex workers argue that the muddled legal position subjects them to several disabilities. They cannot claim the same rights as employees in other industries. They cannot bargain for better terms and conditions. Much of their potential income is seized by their employers and by the police. They run terrible personal risks which could be reduced.

These two groups want a clearer legal position that reflects the realities of the sex industry. In practice, government does not have the will or the power to end patriarchy and female exploitation. But it might be able to reduce suffering and gangsterism. Those who oppose rationalisation of the sex industry – on however principled grounds – must recognise that they risk being on the side of the gangsters and the police.