For me, it’s easy to not judge the women who work in the bars. Once you learn their stories it’s hard to blame them for doing what they do. They’re supporting their children, sending their siblings to school, and taking care of their parents’ medical expenses. Loving them where they’re at isn’t an issue because they’re normal people. But not judging and even loving the men who buy them, that’s so hard for me and at times feels impossible.
Last night a group of us were hanging out at one of the bars we’ve been visiting. We played games and laughed with the girls who have so quickly become our friends. The bar was relatively empty. As it got later in to the night, however, we watched as more men started stopping in and our friends left the games because they had customers to attend to. For the last week, we have watched this pattern. The night begins slow and we have plenty of time to laugh and build relationships. But eventually men show up and our friends have work to do so we watch from afar as they get down to business.
The bar we’ve been spending time in isn’t on the main road in the Red-Light District so it’s pretty lowkey. In our time there, I had yet to see one of my friends in the process of selling herself. That was until last night. I watched as my friend, Jessica*, approached a customer. Jessica is around my age, super bubbly and fun, and carries such joy within her that you can’t help but smile around her. She’s only worked in the bars for two months. Yet as she began talking to this man, a man old enough to be her father or grandfather, he didn’t ask her name. He didn’t ask about her day or her family. In fact, he didn’t ask her anything. He grabbed her butt, pulled her close, and eyed her as if she were a literal piece of meat.
I sat at a table a few feet away trying not to lose my cool. How could I stand by and allow someone to grope and objectify someone I have come to love? In that moment, there was absolutely no love in my heart for that man. Quite the opposite, actually.
Immediately, I had the desire to go and ask, “Excuse me sir, do you have a daughter? How about a sister or wife? You weren’t hatched from an egg, so you must have a mother. What if this girl was one of them? How would it make you feel to see that?”
Anger. Disgust. Outrage. That’s what filled every nook and cranny of my body. But in that moment, I realized something: that’s exactly what the enemy wanted me to feel.
You see, I am no different than the man in the bar. While I’ve never bought anyone or sexually exploited them, I’ve committed a never-ending list of other sins. I’ve been filled with malice (reread the last paragraph if you need evidence). I’ve judged others. I’ve been jealous and coveted what wasn’t mine. I’ve experienced lust. I’ve been overcome with greed. I’ve been selfish. I’ve disrespected my parents.
The bottom line is each and every person is broken. Each and every person struggles with sin. The Bible says, “For the wages of sin is death” in Romans 6:23. Paul isn’t talking about only certain sins. He’s talking about all sins. But the verse doesn’t stop there. It continues by saying, “but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
The gift of eternal life? For the man buying my friend? Is this even real? Romans 3:23 says, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” All. That means everyone. That means you, me, our pastors, our neighbors, our friends, and our enemies.
“But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Romans 5:20-21
Time and time again the Bible reminds us of God’s grace, His willingness to listen, and His desire to save and know us. We’re called to extend that same grace He so freely extended to us. I think it’s about time I started doing that, especially when I feel like I shouldn’t. As I walk on to Bangla later this afternoon, my focus won’t only be on the women who need freedom but on the men who need grace.
All the love from Thailand,
Katie Mere
*The name of my friend has been changed to protect her identity.
