They might be tawdry, and sometimes tacky, but who doesn’t love a tale of triumph over tragedy (a “tot” to hacks)? From childhood sweethearts ripped asunder only to reunite in later life, to the paralysed athlete who learns to excel in wheelchair sport, the tear-jerking tot is a tabloid staple. But it’s unusual to read such a story in a trade magazine, particularly when the “happy ending” involves the protagonist entering the sex industry.

The latest issue of British Association of Social Workers’ magazine (BASW) features a tot with a twist. Across three pages, a young woman, who I’ll refer to as M, tells her story of triumphing over significant adversity to qualify as a social worker, before giving it up to become an adult entertainer on the website OnlyFans. The message is that performing naked for strangers’ money online is not exploitative nor damaging, but rather that it can be a therapeutic, healing experience.

The article, written by deputy editor Shahid Naqvi, opens by reminding readers the social workers’ code of ethics demands “respect for people’s right to make their own choices”. Heading off any suggestion that M might be a victim, she is quoted as saying “I feel completely in control of my body”. Yet a few paragraphs down the predictable details drip out — as with most women in the adult entertainment industry, M had a troubled childhood. She discloses being sexually assaulted at 12, put into care and spending time in a young offenders’ institution. Any hint that such traumatic experiences might have left her vulnerable would of course be *trigger warning* stigmatizing.

The path between sexual abuse as a child and entering the sex industry as an adult is well trodden. Studies consistently show about three quarters of women in prostitution have been abused as girls and as many as a third were in local authority care. The same pattern is observable in the smaller group of men in the sex industry.

Robert was sexually abused as a boy, and as a young adult he was drawn into prostitution. He recalls that “being groomed can seem very empowering” because the child is the focus of adult attention. He adds “giving the victim a false sense of agency is part of the groomer’s toolkit”.

“It may set you into a way of thinking that sex is transactional, it removes the link between sex and love…. You become scared of seeing sex in the context of a loving relationship. It doesn’t make sense in that context. Again, this might not happen for everyone, but child sexual abuse and prostitution without doubt has contributed to this being the case for me.”

Reading Naqvi’s piece Robert reflects: “It’s interesting that the person at the centre of this article talks about pornography giving them a sense of power over men. But they [the male punters] are the ones who are gaining ephemeral and fleeting gratification, and the performer is losing something permanent.”

…behind the magic words “agency” and “empowerment” lurks a bitter reality

It should not take grisly “lived experience” such as Robert’s to illustrate the point that behind the magic words “agency” and “empowerment” lurks a bitter reality. Just as it’s easier to pretend women lie about male violence, it is ethically and socially cheaper to rebrand so-called “sex work” as a choice. And disturbingly, this seems to be part of a trend spanning academia and practice on the ground where behaviours like BDSM are increasingly being touted as a way for rape survivors to overcome trauma. 

The group EBSWA (Evidence-Based Social Work Alliance) is clear that “People who are used in the sex trade are exploited, disempowered and objectified.” A spokesperson tells me: “BASW has breached all professional and ethical standards in publishing this promotion of the sex trade without criticism.” To date, BASW has not responded to a request for comment. 

Questioning the choices of adults gives many people the moral “ick”. And it takes arrogance (guilty) and an unfashionable sense of morality to confidently tell a grown woman “no, what you are doing will hurt you more, and it will contribute to hurting others.” But this is not just about M’s story. It is about the creep of a new narrative that presents commercial sexual exploitation as a positive step in recovering from abuse and how BASW has colluded in this.

Previously, social workers were criticised for overlooking the pimps at school gates and around the care homes across England. Abusers were labelled boyfriends, the girls were understood to be exercising their agency. Judgment was reserved for those who dared to question whether the girls were equipped to consent. This approach was, and remains, easier than facing the true horror of the problem. But today, abusive men no longer need to wait outside for their prey. The pimp has been internalized as simply an expression of sexuality.

A porn-fed generation now struggles to understand mutuality and the emotional bond that sex can create. The result is not only the rebranding of abusive acts as love tokens, but also in the isolation felt by the men conditioned by pornography to see sex as an exercise in domination. It is in the entitlement of punters who believe that they can buy a sexual act.

M spoke in her piece about helping the men who pay her while they masturbate over her image on a screen. Apparently using “social work skills” she claims to be “creating a community where all the guys look after each other”. The observation that mental health might be improved by forming three dimensional, non-transactional relationships hangs quietly in the space after the paragraph.

There is a place for judgment and stigma, and that place is not on people like M or Robert. It rests on the men who pay for a simulacrum of sex. The weight should also be felt by the social workers and indeed journalists who enable them. Over recent years there’s been a flurry of questionable stories about women making money on Only Fans, but these “heartwarming” tales are not ethically neutral, and it doesn’t take an expert in trauma to recognise that.

There is no triumph in M’s story. Perhaps the last words should be offered to Robert, who warns:

A time may come when your sexuality becomes something very precious to you, rather than a means to an end. And having given it away for money, you’ve said to yourself that it’s a commodity rather than a gift to share with someone you love and trust. That’s not to say that having sold it, you can’t give it again in a healthy way in the future. But shame, guilt, self-hatred…these are the emotions you’ll likely have to deal with. Or not. You can’t really tell.