A space to lay down the words behind the images. From Asia to Africa to the Americas, the portraits are made, stories are recorded and lives are represented through photography.
On the morning of November 21st of 2009 we arrived at a tiny group of houses just a small distance from the main road. We set off looking to photograph the Banjara Community and thought we'd find the children playing nearby. The good people of Humana People to People India guided me to this area and helped me even though this was outside of our pre-arranged schedule.
Instead of finding the children near the homes, we saw a small bus taking the children to school. On this day it so happened that they went into the nearby town for classes, instead of working on the streets. I was of course happy to see this, even though my intent was to photograph them. We talked to the only adult in our presence for a little bit until he felt comfortable enough with our intentions.
A group of perhaps six children came along and sat on a thin strip for their portraits. The sun by this time had reached an uncomfortable angle and we did our best to get the children to laugh, the best way to get the eyes to relax in the sunlight. We photographed for less than thirty minutes and then set out to find a couple of government schools in which to work.
The Banjara Community has affected me deeply since my first visit to Rajasthan almost seven years ago. Their independence from the local communities is clearly visible even for a visitor such as myself. They keep to themselves and seem content doing so. At a local bus stop they chat amongst themselves, laughing wonderfully and presenting themselves much less formally than the others sitting around the tea shop.
Their children are incredibly beautiful, and wear the most gorgeous outfits. The patterns range from floral to space age, always abstract and colorful. The skirts are tightly pleated while the shirts fit so tightly against their small torsos. I will return year after year to photograph them, and hopefully build a larger portfolio than the one presently in my possession.
Her portrait was made after a meeting amongst the women of the village in coordination with Humana People to People India. All of the women arrived after their morning chores, discussed topics ranging from the micro-loan program to the education of their girls.
In this small village exist various programs supported by the aforementioned foundation, and there is a sense of excitement perfectly palpable through their gestures, their smiles. One can sense the excitement through the latter on the face of this incredibly strong woman.
The spot of meeting was just behind her, on the carpet laid out by the owner of the home, also the teacher for the local school sponsored by Humana People to People India. In this home I have had lunch and dinner, as well as countless cups of tea. While they held the meeting I filmed the exchange, and the teacher's son walked around with my small camera and snapped images of the women. He was great, and the women finally had one from their community photographing them, even though they found it confusing in terms of their reactions.
Should they be timid as they were with me, should they be comfortable with one of their own children snapping images? It was fun to watch altogether, from the expressions on the women's faces to those of the young boy. What was most remarkable was the care with which he held the camera, and the attention he paid to the leveling of the image, to the composition. He was so gentle, and had an incredible sense of purpose when moving from one woman to another.
In this village a school is reopening once again in 2013, in this very courtyard actually. I look forward to a fresh cup of tea next year and dozens of smiling faces. For more information regarding this project, you may feel free to contact me through the following links.
She remains a mystery to me, here with her new family and six years ago as a new face in my work from a collaboration with Humana People to People India. In her first portraits the smile is missing, and in her later portraits the smile is ever-present. Since her days in the Girls Bridge School of Humana People to People India, she has married and gone on to a life with her new family.
Is she holding her own child or is she smiling at my curiosity while holding someone else's child? Are they both laughing at my lack of knowledge, albeit in a sweet manner? I of course am clueless especially in light of my missing translator, and play along while making pictures for them. It seems the most natural thing for me to do.
She attended the school for perhaps three years until it was forced to close. She at least learned to read and to write, and to see one of her own friends become a teacher. She has seen another way and will perhaps pass this onto her children. Such is the power of education, it can be transferred from one generation to another without limitations, with little need for books or a classroom. Once it is introduced into a population, the possibilities are endless.
We are hoping to help fund the school in her village once again, and look to you for support. All ten schools may be funded for less than one year's enrollment in a private university in the States. While this is a considerable amount here and elsewhere, four hundred girls will be introduced to learning in a classroom for this amount in Rajasthan.
For more of my work, please visit the newly designed website below, courtesy of Patrick Luu.
During the last few days I decide to visit the families and share my thoughts regarding our work. Along with the discussion, photographs from the previous visits are shared as well.
During one such visit, we experience one family living in a new place. At first sight it seems to me that this is their place of work. The apartment is little more than a single, small room. When we enter the bed is to the right and the tiny kitchen is to the left, with a small aisle separating the bed from the cabinet hosting the stereo and television.
There is barely enough room for us to stand, let alone sit. We spend time with Barbarita and her mother, as well as the owner of the home who is also being attended to by our friends.
The man is an elderly man, quite friendly and open to our visit. He is missing one leg and lives alone without a family, therefore needing the assistance provided by our dearest friends. We share the photographs from the previous year and decide to make an appointment to return and make new portraits for Barbarita. We bid farewell for the time being and head out to the next family.
Once outside I ask my friend Eldo a question: 'Do they get paid well for this work?'
Hearing this, Eldo is surprised at my lack of understanding and proceeds to educate me on their situation. As it turns out, Barbarita and her mother are working for the possibility of inheriting the tiny apartment. The elderly man, lacking a family, is able to include them in his will and pass on the rights to his home in exchange for their assistance during his final years. They receive nothing in terms of payment during his lifetime. It is the promise of a future home for which they labor.
'A lesson a day' they say. On this day, it is perhaps a volume.
On my next visit to her home, I am greeted by her mother, sister and brother-in-law. Without a translator we have a conversation regarding our collaboration. A few years earlier Barbarita's mother decided that her daughter's photographs can be made but only for my personal portfolio. She was content with this and decided against the publication of the portraits and the sale of the prints.
During the second visit, Barbarita's mother seems a bit anxious and nervous at the same time. She is trying to tell me something but is having a hard time telling me so. My understanding of Spanish is acceptable but nuances cannot be understood. With the help of her son-in-law, we achieve clarity. Her mother explains to me their plight at this time, the hardships they are facing and the difficulty in even obtaining the smallest of items for her daughter. Things that can be taken for granted back home are nearly impossible to purchase for her.
With this in mind, and with the portraits we have made over five years, she asks me to present her daughter's work in order to educate the world about their life and also to perhaps help in any way possible through the sale of the portraits.
Should the readers of this entry be interested in helping in any way possible, perhaps through a purchase of her print, then I would be more than glad to have such a conversation.
In the end, the purpose of the work is as her mother desires, nothing else.
Like many women in her widowed situation, she has been left to defend for herself and for her children. Instead of being looked after by her community, she belongs to the majority receiving nothing from the State and lacking a pension.
In many instances, life after the death of the husband is a life waiting for death itself. So many women are married when quite young to men much older than them. As a result, the death of their husbands leaves them as young women with children and without a security net. The stories are endless, the humiliation eternal.
Depending on position and caste, some of these women are forced to shave their heads, others refrain from wearing jewelry or from presenting their beauty to the world. They are to remain invisible for the rest of their lives, almost as a means to relieve Society from its conscience. With over 40,000,000 widows in existence, this leaves a void difficult to ignore.
One can see them on the streets, going about their day trying to form a life for themselves and their children. While the news portrays advances in their State's well-being, they tend to the homes of others for just enough to eat and little else. This is a most difficult existence and one made even more extreme by the social norms of the day.
Some will say that India has changed, that such practices have disappeared. It is my place only to describe the images created by me, the lives of the people represented within. For them, little has improved in their lives. The humiliation of presenting themselves in front of complete strangers for a sack full of rice is glaringly apparent. While making their portraits serves to support the foundation helping them, the difficulty in the portraiture could never be avoided.
Here are women that are in this position, standing in front of a stranger to have their picture made. I am a witness to their humiliation and yet another source of humiliation. It is the rape victim being forced to make pictures of her bruises, both external and internal.
The photograph in the end will hopefully tell her story without taking anything away from her.
Here she stands, an Arab girl beyond her years. Her name is Maryam.
Earlier in the week, her portrait is made as she presents herself in between chores. As she is the oldest girl of the family remaining at home, with her older sisters in the fields picking vegetables, all the duties are her responsibility.
She washes clothes, she cleans the home, she collects water, she helps her mother with the cooking, she serves the family, she takes care of her little sisters and she manages the home in the absence of her mother.
My photography in this collection of tents began before her birth.
Her two older sisters were also photographed by me. One is married now with her own children and one is soon to be married; both have reached an age that excludes the possibility of photography.
On this day, she decides to have some fun. She collects a pair of sunglasses and a wonderful piece of fabric. She uses a pin to hold the piece in place and stands for her portrait. She is the oldest of the girls being photographed and shows it. She stands proud, unmoved by the men watching. She is an example for the younger girls watching, balancing the fine line between independence and tradition.
In this moment, she is free of all chains, she is beyond all walls.
After the photography, we find ourselves alone, walking back to her home about fifty meters away. She is walking to my right with a continuous smile. I look at her and say: 'you are my sister, you are my daughter.'
Without a single second of hesitation, Maryam responds: 'you are my father, you are my uncle, you are my brother.'
If there is one moment in my photography that can be selected as my inspiration, this is it.
Sometimes we ask a girl to close her eyes, sometimes to move her hands.
She does both and holds still for a few minutes while chaos ensues around her. The folks in this small cluster of homes are just waking up, getting ready for their day. The surrounding areas are already awake, tending to their crops and livestock.
This community is different; they are known as the Kanjar Community. Presently, they prepare their girls to become either prostitutes or women that tend to the home, the former of which have more esteem and prestige while the latter take care of the home, cook and clean, wash and sweep.
This young girl is a daughter of this community. Her future is decided by others.
For the time being, she is a student and attends a school on this roof sponsored by Nirvanavan Foundation. She learns to read and to write, aspires perhaps to be different. Time will tell.
As she holds her hands up, the sun beams upon her face, beads of sweat form on her face. We walk to her and blot her face dry in between exposures. She and her friends giggle but she remains unbelievably still, maintaining her composure throughout. With her eyes closed, she is able to defy the sun, perhaps even her community.
Hopefully in the future she can do so with her eyes open.
At first, she is photographed in the clothes she is wearing. As we make more photographs, she and the others change into their traditional blouses and dresses. All the girls at this home photograph easily, with her leading the way. Once one shows the others how, the photography flows.
She is a natural.
After a bit, the man of the house signals us to stop, a common practice with this community. Just as the excitement builds, or perhaps because of such, our work comes to an end. Time and time again, it seems to me that when girls perceive an opportunity, men decide to remove it from their view.
This perhaps is the single most frustrating part of my work since it deals almost exclusively with girls and women. The opposition of men and boys is unrelenting, in every single street, neighborhood or town. They always seem to be there, always pretend to be concerned, always do so without gaining an informed perspective, always.
Admittedly, the last sentence above is made without having a complete, informed perspective myself. I am a stranger to them, a man with expensive equipment, walking around with guides, making pictures of their children, more specifically their girls. For me to truly understand, much would need to change in my life, much would have needed to change before my birth.
I make these statements based on certain limitations, certain preconditions.
Can it be otherwise?
Perhaps in the future, my perceptions will change and a fuller understanding of this friction will unveil itself. Until then, my patience will be tested every single time a man comes into a scene and voices his 'concern' regarding the work, even when that man is from another town and is a stranger himself to the girls in front of me.
We spend the morning of my last day in Banganga, Rajasthan. This is a tradition that dates back to my first year in India.
The teacher from Humana People to People India and her sister look after me as a brother, serving two cups of tea rather than one and two servings of breakfast rather than one on this and every day. They do so even though they have very little, they do so with smiles reflecting the love they have for our collaboration, a love that is mirrored within me.
We arrive early this morning and it is very cold, forcing us to sit around a small fire for warmth. This small fire is cooking the meal for the buffalo nearby. According to the girls, each buffalo eats five kilograms of food per day, food that is cooked for them by the family with much care.
The sun begins to rise and, instead of walking over to the usual place, we decide to photograph at the teacher's home to show fairness. She smiles broadly and arranges the benches that will be used as backdrops. As it gets warmer, the girls of this school begin to arrive. The sun rises more and so does the temperature. We set up and begin with the photography.
In the middle of the session, two events occur, the result of the first is shown above. While making a portrait of his daughter, the father from the second home calls me to come over in an excited voice. He wants me to photograph a young boy who happens to be located about sixty feet or so up a tree.
We run closer to the tree and make the pictures, with this young boy pausing in the middle of his work to pose for us. It is a wonder that he can do so, for he is without shoes and using only a rope to keep himself from falling. I am told that this is his work, that this is how he supports his family, by going to different homes and asking to trim their trees.
This reminds me of a friend's words earlier this evening. Alyssa wrote these words in response to seeing earlier entries and has allowed me to include them here with all due respect to all parties described. She writes:
'If only each American could live a day in their shoes, away from the luxuries and technology that we are able to enjoy everyday... More of us would appreciate the simple things that we have an abundance of, yet they lack.'
This is the first time that my eyes have ever witnessed someone else doing any of the work in either one of these two homes. Every single time we have visited, the men were guaranteed to be working the fields and the women were guaranteed to be working around the home. We have never visited either one of these homes to see anyone sitting down, never. This is in spite of the fact that these two families have a sizable amount of land and even perhaps the humble means to bring someone to help with the land. I have a deep respect for the families, for their children.
We walk back to the photography and notice that one girl is missing even though we stopped by her parents' home the evening before to ask for their permission. We decide to send for her and she arrives for her portrait, a little sad that she almost missed her portrait. Regardless, her friends make the effort to help her smile and she does so ever so brilliantly. At times my lack of language in this land provides me with so many questions. I hope that the portrait when processed in four weeks time will answer my curiosity.
This day is spent without a translator. All seems clearer somehow.
We arrive at the school and all the children are ready within fifteen minutes. The good people of Nirvanavan Foundation arrange them by gender and height, making it a little easier for the photography.
As always for this school, the sky is cloudy this morning. For some reason, this happens every time we visit. We decide to wait a few minutes, making some informal portraits. Then the sun decides to appear in between clouds and we make portraits, resting when the sun hides again.
The pink wall is still pink, like the most perfect backdrop. In color, it provides a most pleasant backdrop. In black and white, the value of the wall is high enough to provide a washed out background.
Against this background she stands, a student of the school and a member of the Kanjar Community, a community that trades in the world of commercial sex. Their women are sold by the men to local customers as well as faraway nationals. Their woman work locally and also work in the brothels of the larger Indian cities.
As a matter of fact, while her portrait is being made, the women below are making themselves ready for the day's customers. Of course, while we are present those customers are few and far in between.
Nirvanavan Foundation has a successful school in this village, on the roof of this building. It's small but effective, with a teacher that cares.
Can a school change this community? Many of the local villagers will say it's useless.
Then again, these are the same local villagers that treat them as below any caste yet use them for their sexual needs. It seems prudent to think otherwise and hope that education is the first step.
Her portrait as well as the portraits of others like her are for sale through my website, with the proceeds benefiting the school.
Does she only have one choice? Does her community need to turn her into a prostitute?
When you look at her, can you see someone other than a child of a prostitute?
Will the men in this village find work other than selling their girls to foreign nationals?
Will she be sent to the Gulf States to serve the needs of strangers, with 'house servant' written on her papers?
Will she then be sent back to Rajasthan, pregnant and without the support of the father?
Does she really have one purpose in life? Maybe two?
Do her people remember a past when they used to live another life, when their woman danced on ropes and their men played instruments, when people used to cheer and her people earned a living by entertaining common folks and royalty in such a way?
She stands tall amongst prostitutes, she is our hope for the future, one without the need for such, one that separates us from such a world of hopelessness, of such oppression.
In this small collection of homes, some of the girls have been released from a future of prostitution for the time being. They attend government schools and have displayed promise over the past four years. Unlike the other villages of prostitution, some of the families in Pipli seem to have adopted a different life.
Time will tell. As these girls turn sixteen, our hope is that the pressure to join the older women in the flesh trade is limited, giving way to a different path. This is made even more difficult in light of the fact that the esteem of the sex workers is higher than that of the housewives, the latter given the responsibilities of cleaning, cooking and so forth for all of the members of the family, including the women forced to work as prostitutes.
While surely nobody will argue that the life of a sex worker is desirable, to some of these girls, seeing the sex workers walking around dressed beautifully, gaining the attention of strangers, has an effect on their youthful eyes, especially when they see their aunts or mothers toiling away making bread or cleaning excrement, both human and animal.
We cannot assume to place ourselves in their sandals. We can only hope that those sandals are at least given a choice, a real choice.
The man and woman above are from Pipli, where the majority of men and women are pimps and prostitutes respectively. Leaving their identities and work descriptions a mystery, let us hope that they are wonderful examples for their youth, in charge of families that have chosen otherwise for their children.
To learn more about this important work, one may visit the following websites, where the prints are also for sale to benefit the various foundations.
Just when I think that all of the faces have shown themselves to me on my third visit to this most beautiful of villages, she walks through the field to us. She is a new student, knows of my work and exudes pure happiness.
Three years ago an experience in this village endeared me to its inhabitants. On my very last day, I heard the camera make a funny noise. I looked it over and realized that the shutter in the lens was broken. My stomach sank.
Did that mean the shutter snapped on that day or that it was broken the entire time in India? Did that mean that 10,000 negatives were all exposed incorrectly?
My stomach sank. I used my second camera to finish the pictures but everyone saw it all over my face, the pain of the unknown. I then told the guide that we would be coming back to the village in the morning, staying overnight. He thought that I was mad because my flight was the very next day. We would have to drive without rest to get back to the capital in time to reach the airport, still needing to pack.
I thought that at least I would have one morning of photography to make up for twenty days of blank negatives.
We did go back and shoot the next morning, I did not sleep for one second the night before. We drove five hours back, flew twenty four hours to the States, slept overnight and then drove to the camera store with three rolls of film, one from the very first day, one from day 14 and one from the very last day.
They were all perfect.
My stomach finally rose.
After all of the negatives were processed, only one roll was half blank, at the exact moment the camera made that noise.
On this day however, all the negatives are exposed beautifully, the camera functions without trouble and we allow this young girl her day in the sun indeed.
They attend school in a most remote village. The government school is a distance from their homes and their families' incomes make attending a traditional school difficult.
We arrive during their classes and hand out images from the previous year. We tell them about our desire to make more portraits today and the excitement builds even though they are still in class. In the meantime, while we wait, we decide to walk through the neighboring village in search of more faces, more stories.
We invite as many to be photographed alongside the girls from the school. However, in addition to a few shy girls that come along bravely, a few boys also come along and begin to cause trouble. It becomes evident that the photography will be most difficult with their harassment and we find a place on top of the school that will allow us a sense of peace, away from the heckling.
We set up the equipment and the girls line up for their portraits. There are perhaps about four dozen girls and they stay after school for their picture to be made. We send news of the photography to the nearby village to inform the rest of the parents in order to put them at ease. The girls are just lovely, switching articles of clothing while waiting for their turn.
These are girls that cannot afford traditional schools, some are orphans and live here, some have parents that have given the foundation permission to provide housing for their children. The following year we return only to find the children away on a field trip. Even though this saddens me very much due to the fact that the principal was misinformed about our visit, the changes evident with respect to the school brings me much happiness.
The buildings have been painted beautifully. The interiors have all been renovated, with an impressive computer room, a refined cafeteria and classrooms designed for the comfort of the students. The changes are due to the fact that a new foundation has received ownership of the school. The pride on the principal's face is clear and a sign of progress for the children. We leave him behind with the promise of returning this year.
I very much hope that these girls will be there this year.
We arrive in the middle of the day to photograph this school and have another to visit later in the afternoon. The teacher is missing and the children are therefore unaware of our desire to photograph them. They are nonetheless excited and we move fast to find a place for their portraits.
It's the middle of the day and my typical arrangement is impossible. We stand in the path and look around, realizing that the house behind us has a wonderful courtyard. We are given permission and find a small chair for the children to rest upon. For the very first time, a reflector is used to direct the light of the sun onto the subjects.
It works beautifully and we make wonderful images, all the children enjoying the experience as witnessed by their smiles. The older women also want their portraits made, with their smaller children as well.
This session changes my view of photography in India and will provide me with a wider window of time on the next visit. Arriving early and photographing later in the afternoon will certainly continue. However, my hope now is that the foundations will allow me to photograph during the middle of the day while they have their lunch and get some rest.
I hope that their respect for the guest will be secondary to their hunger and need to rest.
We stand on the roof of a three story building in the middle of New Delhi called 'Happy Home.' It is a place where children from various backgrounds live, boys and girls. Some are partial orphans whose single parent cannot support their schooling orliving. Some are total orphans from the violence this world has brought upon them in the name of religion.
We stand on the roof as the sun is setting. There is just enough to light her face in this image, after which it sets behind the taller building next to us.
After this portrait, she returned to her family and has since left 'Happy Home.' The children of this wonderful place have welcomed me back three more times since this portrait. We have made many photographs, had countless dinners and have even visited an amusement park and some tourist areas, renting a bus and hearing them sing songs along the way. They are my family away from home.
So here we are sitting in a medical clinic in Old Delhi. The man next to me asks of my purpose. My answer is reflexive, having answered this question countless times just this past week and on many previous visits to other countries.
He looks puzzled and asks once again, clearly sharing with me his desire to hear something different. I then ask him his thoughts on my photography. He tells me that the photographs can be sold and money can then be sent back to the people.
To make his point, we walk outside, one block down and then down an alley into an open air market. We pass a man laying to the right of the alley covered with debris and flies. We see children walking around with nothing on their feet, covered with dirt. We see a mass of people sitting next to their produce baking in the sun.
We stop and he tells me to pick a few faces to photograph. To tell you the truth, I am a bit shocked. The scene is chaotic and in the middle of the chaos he wants me to put my tripod down and pick some faces. Regardless, I select a few faces and they are asked to be photographed, including the older woman above. Her husband is blind and they both agree to be photographed.
We spent about thirty minutes doing so and everyone cooperates graciously. It happens that all of these folks know this man and his foundation, the very foundation that runs the free medical clinic one block away. The give us their portraits because they know that the medical clinic is there for them, regardless of their inability to pay for any services. He is a good man and his foundation a blessing for them.
We walk back into the clinic and my answer has been hit by a revolution. The next time someone asks my purpose, they will hear something different.
All of these images are for sale on my website and will benefit the people involved.
She is asked to be photographed before her classes begin. A few minutes ago, she was seated on the roof of her school reciting with the rest of the children Hindu prayers. Along with a few friends, they step to my little area and we make their portraits.
Her name is Rekha.
My chance to photograph her came as a result of my friend's insistence that we do something. We were waiting for the rest of the team to arrive at the offices of Humana People to People India in Virat Nagar. We noted that a private school rested above the office and we ventured upstairs to watch. The principal welcomed us nicely and we talked for a few minutes before he gave us his permission to photograph about six girls, Rekha was one of them.
The following two years we visited the school and missed her. The first year, she was missing from the school due to her family's inability to afford the humble school fees. The second year, she was enrolled in a school just a few minutes away, with the teachers offering to take us to her.
This time around, I will seek her out, I will take the time to find her family and to make her portrait once again.
This is the view from the roof of the school. The children who attend classes belong to families that live and work below. They belong to a caste that washes clothing for a living, live near the water and use the water as their work space.
The good people of the school invited me over from last year to photograph their students. Along with two other guests, they show me a respect that can never be returned. We watch the students line up for a session, listen to the speakers and then watch the students as they begin their lessons.
For the photography, we arrange to photograph each class, one by one, with the girls being photographed first.
The following year, I return to New Delhi only to learn that the school is perhaps closed. There is a bit of mystery and perhaps misunderstanding. It is connected to another foundation that has helped me immensely during my time in India and during one of my days with them, we decide to visit the area in spite of the possible closing.
We decide to walk down this path, to the homes of the people. As we walk, there is a feeling that some of the children recognize me from last year. They look and smile. Many of their expressions turn from that of wonder to that of recognition. At first the walk is lonely and then it is just wonderful. One of the students remembers me, my name and guides us to his home where we are welcomed, given chairs to sit down upon and an audience to accept the photographs from last year. It is a bit chaotic but just beautiful.
After we finish handing out the photographs, we decide to take a different path out of this area. As we do so, many familiar faces come out of the homes, out of the alleys to greet us. One face that has been on my mind is still missing. All of a sudden, a young boy invites us into his home. We oblige and are greeted by that exact face my mind had been seeking from last year. She is out of her uniform, tending to the family's goat. She smiles, remains silent and continues with her work.
I have always wondered how it would feel to be in their small shoes, what it would mean to see a stranger's face one year after that stranger's visit. I suppose that I will never know that feeling for certain and will just settle for that tender smile and that beautiful silence.
I will visit her this year, visit this area and photograph along the banks of the river.
'Even though I have worked in this field for some years now, I am still deeply moved by their stories and the thought that it is possible for these things to happen in today's world. Your photos are such a wonderful way to show these girls and women with their dignity despite the difficulties they had and have to face in their lives. By seeing these photos it once again becomes stunningly clear to me that what nowadays sometimes so easily is labeled as "entertainment industry" is nothing more than a continuing threat to the full realisation of woman's rights and the dignity of the women involved in this trade.'
