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By Jason Lim
"If you want coffee," my fellow traveler warned me with a twinkle in his eyes, "don't go into a coffee shop." This was my first day in Amsterdam, and I was now armed with the first bit of wisdom in navigating the gorgeous city that looked like NYC's SoHo and Italy's Venice spread out all across the whole metropolis. In Amsterdam, don't go to a coffee shop if you want coffee.
Apparently, coffee houses in Amsterdam refer to places where they sell recreational drugs. According to the skipper of a canal tour boat that I rode in, selling recreational drugs is still illegal, so the stores would nominally sell "coffee" but give away a small package of drugs along with your cup of coffee. Stores eventually did away with the coffee, but the name stuck.
This warning reminded me of the time I first visited Korea as an adult and was warned not to go to a barbershop with the traditional red, white and blue twirling pole if I wanted a haircut. "So, you're telling me not to go to a barbershop if I want a haircut?" I remember asking. "Yup," my wise friend nodded mischievously, "Unless you want more than a haircut." Maybe coffee and sex go together naturally.
Like many tourists, the first place that our group visited was De Wallen, the famous red-light district of Amsterdam. Unlike the red-light districts of many cities around the world ― certainly the ones in Korea ― the one in Amsterdam was completely and seamlessly integrated into the fabric of the city itself. There was no embarrassed surreptitiousness to its location or presentation. The shops, fronted by narrow rectangular windows adorned with red lights, showed off the product without shame; the women either stood or sat on a stool behind the windows, looking more like a voluptuous caricature of human desire rather than actual, living people. As one of my colleagues pointed out, "they remind me of Jessica in 'Who framed Roger Rabbit.'" I couldn't agree more. It's like walking through a Western adult manga in real life.
I felt disturbed and sad. But I didn't know why.
In matters of culture and society, I consider myself fairly libertarian. Unless you are harming someone else or infringing on their constitutional rights, then you can do anything you want. There are some constraints, of course, but all in all, we should lean towards trusting individuals to make their own choices and living with the rewards or consequences of those choices.
Armed with that sensibility, I thought that I would welcome the sight of a red-light district where the women could choose to openly sell sex and not be shamed or ostracized for their choice. After all, De Wallen couldn't be more different than the traditional red-light districts of Korea where single-story row houses hidden in alleyways behind train stations formed shantytowns of shame for both women and johns alike, characterized by furtive shadows of cars with tinted windows and quick smatterings of whispered negotiations and disappearing bodies into the red-light doors that looked like butcher shops.
Amsterdam's red-light district is an exercise of their agency as individuals, right? It's also legal and openly accepted in their society. So, why did the sight of the women dressed in provocative clothing showing off their bodies elicit a complex reaction of distaste and embarrassment on my part? What was it inside me that reacted to this sight in such a way? Was it the fact of prostitution itself, or that it was openly practiced in the middle of the city without any stigma attached? Would I have felt better if Amsterdam's red-light district was as shamed and underground as those in other parts of the world?
I mean, sex is not exactly a private and guilty affair anymore. We are talking about a world in which MindGeek, the parent company of Pornhub.com, was just sold to a Canadian private equity named Ethical Capital Partners. You can't make this up. Also, "Money Shot: The Pornhub Story," a documentary about this very same site, was recently featured on Netflix. Hester Prynne and her letter would actually be a reality TV star in today's world, raking in millions for her affair.
So, where does my unease come from? What are the subconscious assumptions that make up my underlying value system that is reacting to the sight of strangers who are choosing to sell their bodies for money? Is it something learned, even though I am not a Christian? Is it more instinctual than that, more primal? More disturbingly, I also find myself giving a hint of disapproval and condescension at these women for choosing to do what they are doing, a moral judgment that is visibly raising its head via my reactions. So, I find myself morally judging strangers for exercising their freedom to do as they wish for reasons that I can't logically articulate to myself. Maybe that is the most disturbing thing of all.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture
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