The meeting of the michês
In Brazil machismo rules and male prostitutes rarely dare
admit they are gay. But the michês – or hustlers – of Rio are
starting to come out of the shadows, reports Paulo Longo.

‘What are you doing here?’ The question has a threatening tone. The policeman’s body language is unfriendly. The usual response is ‘I’m waiting for a friend’, or ‘I’m just taking a walk’. Under no circumstances must the boy reveal the true purpose of the ‘walk’. He must not say: ‘I’m here to make money’ or simply ‘I’m selling my body’. He presses his lips together and the officer walks away.

To be a hustler, or michê, on the streets of Brazil is to belong to the fringe, and quite often to be part of the cycle of drug abuse as well. So the question: ‘What are you doing here?’ is really another, more complex question altogether. It is: ‘Why are you here?’ There are some who would insist that to be a prostitute means that you are poor; you are first and foremost a victim. And if you are a male prostitute, then you are not only poor but you are also homosexual. The stigma sticks.

Our experience has shown that poverty cannot be used as the only justification for prostitution. In our day-to-day work at Programa ‘Pegação’ – a slang word meaning ‘seducing’ or ‘catching someone for sex’ – most of the boys approach us first as potential clients. As time goes by, and the relationship gains more intimacy, we hear things like ‘With you I would have sex for free, ’cause I like you a lot’. The mask falls away. This mask is what the client usually wants: a young boy, seemingly macho. Never ask a male sex worker if he is gay. The reaction might be more than you bargained for. In our culture, to be accused of homosexuality is an insult: ‘Me, gay? What are you thinking of? I’m a man, I just come here to fuck some queers for money.’

In a society where the macho figure is seen as the cornerstone of masculinity, anyone who is not macho is rejected. So the hustler feels he has to be seen as macho, paid to fulfil the wishes of the ‘almost-female’. Hustlers adopt false names which act like registered labels to help sell the product, which is the macho state.

Off the street, things are different. We have a proverb in Brazil: ‘Within four walls, anything goes’. Protected by the secrecy of a room and the anonymity of the partners, the macho mask can fall. It is difficult to be gay. But it is not difficult to have gay practices in bed. The concepts of ‘active’ and ‘passive’ are much more important than how the individual defines himself. That’s why the hustler will approach the client saying: ‘I don’t get fucked, I just fuck’. And the boys can use their lack of money as an alibi for an extremely repressed homosexuality: ‘I don’t like men; I just do it for the cash’. Neither party has to reveal what goes on ‘within four walls’.

This statement doesn’t hold up in the face of the offer to have sex with the educators of Programa Pegação for free. Most of the boys we encounter in street sex work will begin by telling us that they hate what they do. Many pejorative terms are used to define the clients: veado sujo (dirty queer); engolidor de cobra (snake-swallower); chupador de pica (cock-sucker). Some michês, researchers and educators define prostitution as a vice, to which hustlers are said to be addicted. People become addicted to something that brings pleasure. And the attempted seduction of Pegação educators by the michês shows that money is a secondary rather than a primary objective.

There must be some pleasure amid the danger. Hustlers face violence from police and from clients. Many boys bear the scars of such violence on their bodies. Michês in Rio de Janeiro have developed a strategy to protect themselves from such violence. They use public telephones. In Rio, not all telephones can receive incoming calls. But there are some in certain areas which are used by taxi-drivers. So when a michê goes with a client, he will arrange for colleagues to stay by one of these phones. If they don’t call in half an hour, then the other michês will search for them, first in the agreed place and then throughout the hotels of Copacabana and downtown Rio. They make this arrangement within earshot of the client. And so far it has worked. The boys have only failed to call twice, and that was due to an out-of-order telephone!

Little by little, male prostitution is coming out of the shadows. This may not improve the way that it is viewed by others, but it does reflect an internal change. Until now, in the few academic papers, in the press and even in social debates, male sex work is not even up there with female sex work as ‘the oldest profession’. Putas (female prostitutes) are recognized, sometimes even being given the title of ‘public utility professionals’. But the combination of homosexuality and prostitution is often too much for many Brazilians to contemplate. Even within the gay community, where most of the michês’ clients come from, they find female prostitution more acceptable than male. Many would rather deny themselves sex than pay for it. And it is common to hear gay men tell the hustler with whom they have just had sex: ‘If you had sex with me you must be gay as well...’ This generates a tension within the relationship, because the client exposes what the boy does not want to hear.

People involved in health care say that hustlers are hard to reach, and use this as an excuse to deny them health services and legal aid. At Pegação we believe that michês are hard to reach because they are difficult to pin down as an homogeneous group. Unlike putas, they do not dress in a particular way for work. They do not fit into a particular category and are quite likely to earn money in other ways as well. They might be office-boys. They might be street kids. Or they might work in the informal economy as peanut vendors or shoeshiners.

Michês working on the streets in Rio are generally very young, between 11 and 23 years old. One of Pegação’s objectives in our work with the michês is to prevent the spread of HIV. In order to do this, we have to persuade them to want to protect themselves. We work constantly on their self-esteem. When Pegação first started in 1989 most of the michês were not interested in AIDS. The official prevention campaigns usually stressed the message ‘AIDS kills’, so when we came to talk about it, we usually heard: ‘Don’t talk to me about AIDS, OK? I already know that AIDS kills. So what? Other things also kill. Police kill, hunger kills, other diseases also kill... Even parents kill their children...’

It was clear that death wasn’t a theme to provoke an impact. In addition, the boys were not used to people offering them anything related to their health and well-being. And there was another problem. AIDS used to be seen as a gay disease. As most of the boys did not consider themselves to be gay, they didn’t see it as their problem.

It was clear that our project needed to consider other health issues, since even basic hygiene depends on self-respect. Pegação’s work is based on regular personal contact with the hustlers; a group of educators goes to different areas of the town known for prostitution and discusses a range of issues. Life histories are debated on the streets. The regularity of such contact builds up the relationship and opens up more intimate discussion. It also reinforces positive messages about health.

The project also realized that it needed to advocate the rights of michês, from the right to have their health seen to, to very simple issues like asserting their rights to be served in a bar. The bar managers are having to learn that they can’t discriminate against people as long as they pay.

But it was not until a year ago that the first meeting of michês in Rio took place. It was also one of the first in the whole of Latin America. Together in a bar, after a picnic on the beach, we discussed the subjects which really interested us. Topic after topic came up that we would never normally have raised. We discussed desire and pleasure. It was all right to say if you liked men. This has led to new ‘romances’ among some of the boys who came to the meeting. They are now beginning to be able to combine their desires with their needs. It is less of a problem for many of them to recognize that they are working when they sell their bodies. They know that they are selling pleasure, which is nice. Some of the boys are planning a proper organization with regular meetings. Sooner or later, when someone approaches them with the question ‘What are you doing here?’, it will be easier to answer ‘I am working’.

Paulo Henrique Longo is a psychologist and the co-ordinator of Programa Pegação, a project started in 1989 for HIV/AIDS prevention among male sex workers in Rio.

The traveller I started working on the street when I was 17 and attending university. My parents lived in the country so I had to get a place of my own. With university hours as they were, I found it hard to get an ‘ordinary’ job. Prostitution was a job where I could decide when I wanted to work. I’ve never really looked on it as a career, merely a means to an end. Isn’t most work like that for most people? I’ve done many jobs throughout my life: amusement park attendant, health educator, secretary. Prostitution has always been there to fill those economic gaps: in between jobs, when overheads are more than one income can support, when I’m travelling. Travelling is when prostitution is particularly useful. I have been to several places in Europe and North America and worked to pay my way. It’s difficult to make a lot of money from this because you don’t know the scene. You can usually make enough to live on or complement your travel budget. You meet interesting people and get to see a certain, real side of life in the place you are visiting. It’s ironic to me that the United Nations has had special resolutions against mobile prostitutes to ‘protect’ us from exploitation. Would I be less exploited if I had stayed in a boring job in my home town and never travelled? I don’t think so. Prostitution has also given me a chance to explore another part of my sexuality and to give opportunities for others to do the same. Anonymous sex is different to sex with emotional ties. It’s not a question of one being better or worse. They are just different. Anonymous sex, paid or unpaid, is about yourself and about sex. That’s why it’s such a good opportunity for exploration of your own sexuality. Prostitution definitely hasn’t affected my ability to be in a loving, monogamous relationship. I have met some of my dearest and closest friends through the industry. There have been both good and bad times. I’ve most disliked working when I have been in the more controlled environments of brothels or escort agencies. It’s the complete lack of industrial rights that I resent. Street work has always been my preference, or working independently from bars and clubs. I think it has been important for me to be in control of how, when and where I work. Activism has been a big part of my life, special interest being taken, for obvious reasons, in the sex workers’ rights movement. The futile attempts by governments to eradicate or control the industry anger me, especially at the times when I’ve paid taxes from my ‘immoral’ earnings. Being forced to move on when police decide to ‘clean up’ a street-working area just means a lot of hard work re-establishing a new beat. So it feels good to fight back against that. Prostitutes’ rights activism is both fun (great colleagues) and useful personally because it gives meaning to working. In fact when I think about it the times I have found working most difficult were when I have been away from a political prostitutes’ organization. Brad Smith is now living in London.