Neither “saints” nor “prostitutes”

Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol. 23, No. 1, pp. 73–87, 2000 Copyright © 2000 Elsevier Science Ltd Printed in the USA. All rights reserved 0277-5395/00/$–see front matter

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NEITHER “SAINTS” NOR “PROSTITUTES”: SEXUAL DISCOURSE IN THE FILIPINA DOMESTIC WORKER COMMUNITY IN HONG KONG Kimberly A. Chang School of Social Science, Hampshire College, Amherst, MA 01002 USA

Julian McAllister Groves Division of Social Science, Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, Clear Water Bay, Kowloon, Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, PRC

Synopsis — Sexuality is a locus of control not only between men and women, but across racial, class, and national divides. Discourse about sexuality is important because it is a commentary on these relations of power and the broader institutional arrangements that permit them. We examine sexual discourse among a particularly disempowered group of women—Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong. We look at how international development and migration policies, the conditions of domestic work, and Hong Kong popular culture have conspired to identify Filipina domestic workers with the sex industry. In response, the women construct an “ethic of service” within their own communities which challenges the public discourse on the Filipina as “prostitute.” Some women, however, see a contradiction within this response. They brazenly talk about sex, flaunt their sexuality, and mock other members in their allfemale, church-based organizations by calling them “saints.” This debate about prostitution and sainthood, we argue, is a commentary on unequal power relations between Filipinas and the broader community in which the women’s moral identity and economic livelihood is tied to their sexuality. © 2000 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.

Since the mid-1970s, a steadily increasing number of Filipina women have left their homeland for work overseas. Eviota (1992) reported that by the mid-1980s, nearly half of all overseas contract workers from the Philippines were women, with the majority employed as domestic workers, nannies, and chambermaids in Europe, the Middle East, and, increasingly, Asia. These women have gone abroad to improve their socioeconomic status and that of their families. Many are the sole supporters of landless parents and/or unemployed husbands, as well as children. Large proportions are college-educated women who are unable to find work at home in the professions for which they

trained. Thus, they turn to domestic work abroad, for which they can make as much as six times what they earned as professionals in the Philippines (Eviota, 1992). Because of its geographic proximity and high wages, Hong Kong has been one of the most popular destinations for migrant workers from the Philippines. The majority of these migrants are women who are employed as domestic workers for local or expatriate employers. A study by the Asia-Pacific Mission for Migrant Filipinos (1991) reported that between 1975 and 1991, the number of Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong jumped from a mere 1,000 to nearly 66,000. It has been estimated that new arrivals are increasing at a rate of 80 per day (Retschlag, 1993), bringing the Filipina population to 140,000 and making them the largest non-Chinese community in Hong Kong (Hong Kong Immigration Department, 1999).

This research was supported by a Hong Kong Research Grants Council Earmarked Research Grant. We are grateful to all of the Filipina women who warmly welcomed us to participate in their groups and who spoke candidly with us about their lives in Hong Kong.

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Many of these women have improved their economic situation by coming to Hong Kong. The migration, however, has been accompanied by reports of abuse, violence, and sexual harassment against domestic workers (French, 1986). As the Filipina community has grown and become more visible, their presence has created a public debate in the local community about migrants, mothering, and morality, which has generated hostility against the women (Constable, 1996; Jaschok, 1993). Local residents and businesses complain about Filipinas congregating in public spaces on their day off, accusing the women of loitering, littering, gambling, street hawking, and other illicit activities. The government has raised public concern about foreign workers who violate immigration and labor laws to engage in illegal work. Employers have formed associations to protect themselves against domestic workers whom they consider as undisciplined and unreliable. Such debates often take place publicly, as in newspaper editorials, where Filipina domestic workers are accused of breaching contracts, neglecting children, seducing husbands, and even moonlighting as prostitutes. Paradoxically, the very women whose job it is to care for the children and families of Hong Kong are portrayed as a moral threat to the community (Quizon, 1998). At the heart of these debates about Filipina domestic workers is the women’s sexuality. Complaints about their occupation of public space, neglect of duties, or illegal activities are framed as a moral condemnation of this allfemale community who, it is implied, are offering more than domestic services in exchange for money. Filipinas are held as “morally suspect” (Constable, 1996) by many local residents and employers, who presume that the women have an ulterior motive in going abroad: “to find a man and obtain financial security” (p. 466). The media is full of such allusions to the women’s sexuality and its economic significance, from suggestive newspaper headlines such as, “Maids Too Much of a Distraction for Employers” (Hong Kong Standard, 1997) to more sensationalist captions such as “Maid turned to prostitution” (South China Morning Post, 1983). This image of the Filipina as “prostitute” pervades public discourse in Hong Kong, casting domestic workers into the morally dubious category of laborers associated with the sex industry. Filipina

domestics are thus judged and held accountable, not for the “intimate labor” (Chang & Ling, 2000) which they provide for the families of Hong Kong, but as women who leave their own families to sell their services abroad for economic gain. Sexuality has, in other contexts, been shown to be particularly problematic for women (Kitzinger, 1995; Stombler, 1994). Feminists have long argued that sexuality is a locus of control that men hold over women (MacKinnon, 1989; Millett, 1970). According to this view, men’s sexual domination of women is essential to the creation and maintenance of gender inequality. The sexual objectification of women—defining and judging them according to male standards of sexuality—is one way in which such control is exerted. Women are caught in a double bind: expected to make themselves sexually available to men, yet labeled as “sluts” or “whores” if they do. The “virgin/whore” dichotomy is a classic example of this. Such stigmatizing labels serve to control women, whose sexual reputation and moral identity depend on their conformity to these contradictory standards. Sexuality is thus intimately linked with power. While some women use male standards of sexuality to evaluate themselves, as when they use the term “slut” or “slag” against each other (Stombler, 1994), others may be aware of the contradictions which these standards pose. Some women, for instance, view Madonna, as a celebration of women’s independence from the sexual “double standard” because they see her as being in control of her sexuality. Madonna is able to express her sexuality, while at the same time exercising her power by dressing, acting, and treating men exactly as she pleases (Kitzinger, 1995). The fact that these women admire Madonna and do not consider her a “slut” indicates that they are cognizant of the importance of being both sexual and powerful. Their admiration for Madonna, and admonishment of women who give in to men’s sexual demands, represents a missing discourse not just on women’s sexuality, but on unequal power relations (Kitzinger, 1995). As a form of power and control, discourse about sexuality has been shown to operate not only in relations between men and women, but across racial, class, and national divides. The “virgin/whore” dichotomy, for example, is

Neither “Saints” Nor “Prostitutes”

more problematic for some groups of women than others, such as Latina women in the United States (Espin, 1984). Public discourse about Blacks in the United States, both during slavery and presently, has portrayed both women and men as sexually uncontrollable (Collins, 1990). Similarly, colonial rhetoric about the sexuality of “native” men and women in English, French, and Dutch colonies in Africa and Asia often depicted them as a “sexual danger” (Stoler, 1997). In all these examples, sexual discourse operates in the contexts of a wider set of relations of power, where labels of promiscuity or perversion serve to reinforce racial, class, or national divides. Sexuality—as a discourse defined and deployed by dominant groups—thus becomes a marker of moral identity and a means of social control (Foucault, 1990). In Hong Kong, more so than any other group of women, it is the Filipina as domestic worker whose sexuality is subject to social commentary and control. This control takes the form of a discourse on the Filipina as “prostitute.” In this article, we trace the historical and sociological forces that conspire to label Filipina domestics as providers of sexual service. Whereas others have examined this sexual discourse on Filipina women in the context of recent changes in the political economy of Hong Kong (Constable, 1997), we also demonstrate how it is institutionalized in international development and migration policies on a global scale. In response, Filipina domestics, like many women, are faced with negotiating sexual reputation and moral identity on which their physical and material well-being depends. We examine how this discourse on Filipina sexuality enters into the Filipina community, where the women try to define themselves through the construction of a religio-nationalistic-gendered identity that is expressed not only through dress (Constable, 1997), but also their organizations, activities, and relationships. We show how some Filipina women identify a contradiction within this response through a debate about “saints” and “prostitutes.” We thus put sexual discourse about Filipina domestic workers into its proper social and historical context. The data we provide for this study is based on extensive fieldwork conducted while we were living in Hong Kong. Between 1992 and 1995, we spent as much time as we could with

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domestic workers on their days off, usually Sundays and public holidays. We participated in their organized activities and informal gatherings, observed group interactions, conducted individual interviews, and listened to the women talk about their lives in Hong Kong. We focused our fieldwork on a Filipina church choir that sings in several Catholic masses throughout Hong Kong, and a church-run shelter for domestic workers whose contracts have been terminated, or who have for various reasons quit their jobs. Through these organizations, we were able to attend the women’s social gatherings, including parties, barbecues, dance and beauty contests. In addition to participant-observation and interviews, we collected articles pertaining to Filipinas in the media—both the local Hong Kong press and overseas Filipino publications, such as Tinig Filipino. While the former is revealing of how Filipina domestic workers are viewed by various segments of the Hong Kong population, the latter gives voice to the problems and perspectives of the women themselves. Since the completion of our fieldwork, we have continued to conduct research on issues related to migrant women and domestic work in Hong Kong (see Chang & Ling, 2000; Groves, 1997). Our subsequent research coincided with Hong Kong’s long-anticipated return of sovereignty to China on July 1, 1997. In spite of prophecies and predictions, the “handover” (as it came to be called) has had little direct impact on migrant workers. Of greater social and political significance was the Asian economic recession that surfaced that same year, bringing with it a rising tide of unemployment and accompanying animosity toward foreign workers. We will return to these recent events as they bear on the Filipina community in Hong Kong in the postscript at the end of this article. SERVICE AT HOME AND ABROAD: FILIPINA WOMEN IN A GLOBAL ECONOMY Over the course of our fieldwork, we became aware that Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong are subject to a debilitating stereotype as providers of not only domestic, but sexual service (i.e., the Filipina as “prostitute”).1 What are the historical origins of this discourse? What sociocultural factors produce it? And

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how is it perpetuated in the local context of Hong Kong? The image of the sexually subservient Filipina is rooted in a long history of colonialism, sexism, and poverty in the Philippines, where “sex tourism” has been an unwritten development strategy for the debt-ridden Philippines government. During the over 40 years of American occupation, a thriving sex industry sprang up around U.S. military bases in the Philippines, offering poverty-stricken women the chance to earn meager wages as “entertainers,” “comfort women,” and “hospitality girls” (see Sturdevant & Stoltzfus, 1992). While such euphemisms deceived few, they did much to promote the image of the Filipina woman as a pleasing and compliant provider of “services”—sexual and otherwise. In her study of the sex tourism industry in Asia, Enloe (1989) argues that the Marcos government “used the reputed beauty and generosity of Filipina women as ‘natural resources’ to compete in the international tourism market” (p. 38). Similarly, Eviota’s (1992) study of the sexual division of labor in the Philippines calls attention to the ways in which the Ministry of Tourism has made use of Filipina women “as come-ons in brochures and posters” (p. 138). These analyses reveal how the world-renowned “hospitality” of Filipina women has been constructed and exploited by the Philippines government as a major source of foreign currency. With the overthrow of the Marcos regime, the Aquino government made an effort to clean up this “service economy” as part of a larger campaign to restore national dignity. Yet as Enloe (1989) points out, such efforts failed to eradicate sex tourism because they ignored the ways in which that industry is embedded in a globalizing economy in which Filipina women have few viable economic alternatives, while wealthy Western and, increasingly, Asian businessmen have the economic power to purchase and trade women as sexual commodities. Feminist criticisms of the current Ramos government’s economic development policy, Philippines 2000, point to government efforts to woo foreign investors with attractive deals—which often include women— at the expense of social and economic deterioration within the country (Eviota, 1992). Thus, even with the closure of U.S. military bases, “bikini bars” have remained a central feature of the tourist and business landscape in the

Philippines. Furthermore, with the growth of the bride trade and the continued exportation of female labor, this discourse on Filipina “service” is now gaining currency abroad. As part of an increasingly export-oriented development strategy, the Philippines government has continued to market their female nationals as global service providers and to cash in on this “vital export commodity” (Rosca, 1995, p. 524). Although the vast majority of migrant Filipinas are engaged in legal domestic work, the association with prostitution lingers, in part because of international labor migration policies which encourage the buying and selling of women as commodities. Indeed, the “maid trade” takes place in a kind of global marketplace where poorer countries sell the services of their women for cash to wealthier nations (see Heyzer & Wee, 1994). While receiving countries stand to benefit from the cheap cost of imported labor, sending countries such as the Philippines depend on the remittances of migrant workers as a major source of foreign exchange. In 1992, for example, the services of Filipina women abroad earned the Philippines government approximately 12% of its gross national product (“Migrant’s Manna,” 1991). Governments of sending countries also contribute indirectly to the commodification of their female nationals through inadequate regulation of private recruitment agencies. The latter play a critical role in the marketing of female domestic workers overseas, using such commodified terms as “specially picked,” “unlimited free replacements,” and “why pay more when you can pay less” (Heyzer & Wee, 1994, p. 55). While the Philippines government has been active in regulating those aspects of overseas contract work which have cash value for them (e.g., departure tax, forced remittance), it has proven incapable of monitoring the work itself. As unskilled labor performed by migrant women in the private confines of the home, domestic work in most receiving countries goes largely unregulated. For example, in Hong Kong (one of the few receiving countries to have any form of labor legislation for foreign domestic workers), the law requires domestic workers to engage in full-time, live-in work for one employer, yet fails to specify the terms and conditions of their “service”—thereby placing the women in a position of indentured servitude to their employers which is vulnera-

Neither “Saints” Nor “Prostitutes”

ble to sexual exploitation. Working in the intimacy of the home, domestic workers perform services which involve highly personal and idiosyncratic forms of care. This care tends to centre around the physical needs of the body, such as preparing food, washing soiled clothing and undergarments, and cleaning the private spaces (e.g., bedrooms, bathrooms) of their employers’ homes. Given the personalistic nature of domestic service, and the absence of clear work boundaries, it is not surprising to hear reports of sexual harassment and abuse (French, 1986). Indeed, in our own research, we heard of several cases in which male employers made sexual advances to domestic workers (e.g., grabbing them, asking for a massage, strutting naked around the house) or propositioned them in return for higher wages or more favorable contracts. Yet such cases often go unreported because of a balance of power which clearly favors employers over domestics; while the former may hire and fire as they please, the latter are under pressure to fulfil their contracts (however ill-defined they may be) lest they be deported back to the Philippines in debt. As low-wage service work, domestic work and prostitution are sometimes more directly linked through pseudo-employment agencies that recruit young women under the guise of domestic service, only to put them to work as prostitutes or “entertainers” in brothels or bars (Eviota, 1992). Other women are “drafted” into prostitution (Eviota, 1992, p. 135) in cases where domestic contracts are prematurely terminated and/or crippling debts are owed to recruitment agencies in the Philippines. In both cases, the global trade in Filipina domestic workers becomes entangled with the international sex trade and trafficking of women, blurring the lines between domestic and sexual service. As noted above, the governments of both the Philippines and receiving countries, particularly in Asia where the sex trade is most rampant, have been complicit in promoting such forms of sexual exploitation, with their failure to monitor recruitment agencies or enact legislation to protect (rather than limit) the rights of migrant workers. While the image of the Filipina as “prostitute” may be rooted in historical links between domestic and sexual service, it takes a heightened form in Hong Kong where the public debate about Filipina domestic workers has been

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framed largely in terms of the women’s sexual reputation and moral virtue. This moral controversy is generated, in part, by the unique cultural meanings attached to female servants in Chinese societies. Indeed, as Heyzer (1994) reminds us in her comparative study of domestic workers throughout Asia, whether one is treated as a family member, an employee, or a slave depends on “how domestic work is culturally conceived” (p. xxviii). Constable (1996) suggests that one reason why Filipina domestic workers are seen as “morally suspect” by Hong Kong Chinese is because of romantic comparisons with traditional Chinese amahs known as sohei (sworn spinsters), who were noted for their vows of chastity and selfless devotion to their employers’ families. When compared with these “superior servants” (Gaw, 1991), Filipinas appear promiscuous and calculating. Filipinas may also invite comparisons with another kind of traditional Chinese servant, the mui tsai (little sister)—young girls who were sold as bonded labor to wealthy Hong Kong households, where they worked as virtual slaves and, not infrequently, as concubines (see Jaschok, 1988). While the mui tsai system was legally abolished in the 1950s, the personalistic nature of domestic work as it is currently practiced in Hong Kong reproduces a kind of master-servant bond. Indeed, the local Cantonese term for Filipina domestic worker is the derogatory bun mui (Filipina girl), casting them as the modern-day equivalent of the mui tsai. The term bun mui also carries strong racial overtones, suggesting that the moral debate about Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong may be partly constructed along racial lines. Indeed, the discourse on the Filipina as “prostitute” is usually constructed in relation to Western men, harking back to the days of sex tourism in the Philippines. This image persists in Hong Kong today, which is still marketed as one of Asia’s ports of “entertainment” for foreign enlisted—and, increasingly, business—men. One Hong Kong writer, for example, devoted a whole chapter in his book, The Great Hong Kong Sex Novel, to the sexual escapades of Filipina domestic workers as seen through the eyes of two Western businessmen. Entitled “Filipina Mon Amour,” this chapter depicts Filipina women in overtly sexualized and racialized terms, referring to them as “little brown Eskimos” (Adams, 1993, p. 73) who

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perform sex with great “tropical ardor” (p. 83). Such racial images are perpetuated in public debates among employers such as this one, who complained in a newspaper editorial that his maid entertained foreign men in his house while he was away and frequented bars in the red-light district of Hong Kong: The main reason why Chinese employers do not like their maid staying away overnight is because they know all too well how it is being spent! Just drop by any Wanchai bar and you will see Filipinas walking off arm in arm with sailors. Many of them don’t even bother to get into the bars but wait outside to be picked up. (Lau, 1985, p. 22)

As this quotation suggests, and as we learned firsthand in our study (see endnote 1), the mere association with a foreign man is enough to incur for a Filipina woman the label of “prostitute.” For Filipinas in Hong Kong—all estranged from their families and many of whom are single, separated or widowed—moral identity may also be defined against the backdrop of their relative social and economic independence from men. On their day off, when many Filipina domestics dress up and go out seeking refuge from their employers’ homes, they form a highly visible and almost entirely female community. Raymond (1986) suggests that allfemale communities such as these are often perceived as “loose” or promiscuous simply by virtue of their disassociation from men. Indeed, as mentioned above, many of the criticisms of domestic workers have focused on their presumed lack of commitment to not only their employers’ families, but also their own families in the Philippines. As Constable (1996, 1997) argues convincingly, Filipinas are constructed as a moral threat to the local community largely because of their status as “unattached” women who, it is further presumed, need to be regulated and controlled. Efforts to control “unattached” Filipina women are certainly evident in Hong Kong, where employers impose strict rules and regulations on the behavior of domestic workers. Many employers try to regulate when their maids may go out (e.g., setting curfews), where they may go (e.g., forbidding them to go to Wanchai), and even what they may wear (e.g., prohibiting sexually provocative clothing).

One employer, a colleague at the university, believing that women from “tropical climates” tend to be more promiscuous, forced her maid to undergo a medical exam to ensure that she would not carry sexually transmitted diseases into the home. The image of the Filipina as sexually promiscuous—and therefore in need of restraint—pervades not only public discourse, but conversations and interactions within the Filipina community itself. Filipino overseas publications, such as Tinig Filipino, repeatedly warn of the vulnerability of migrant women to fall prey, if not to prostitution, then at least to being construed as prostitutes. In the context of being away from their families, as well as their new-found economic freedom, Filipinas are urged to “take control of the situation” by adopting appropriate behaviors and appearances, as this article in Tinig Filipino suggests: In this territory, Hong Kong, an ultra-modern and fast-changing society, there is likelihood that we women cannot count on ourselves to act emotionally, socially, and morally normal, since our immediate family hardly sees us and we are so confident that because we work hard and earn money, we deserve to be happy in any way that pleases us. Most of us appear to be controlled by our situation instead of us controlling the situation. Unfortunately many of us present ourselves in the wrong way. . . . Let’s examine ourselves and ask this question: “What image do I really want to present?” The way we are treated in this territory depends mainly on the way we present ourselves—the way we look, the way we speak and, most of all, the way we behave. If we look deserving, chances are we will be treated as such. But if we appear defensive, that means we invite attacks. Much as when we appear cheap, we attract buyers. (Perez, 1994, p. 10)

Filipina women are thus actively involved in negotiating their sexual reputation and moral identity. As we describe below, they do so by constructing an “ethic of service” within their own groups that challenges the public discourse on Filipina sexuality. Through their “service” to community, God, family and

Neither “Saints” Nor “Prostitutes”

country, the women evoke a romantic version of a chaste and religious culture that they associate with life in the Philippines. SERVICE REDEFINED Service to community One way in which Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong resist the label of “prostitute” is by cloaking themselves in the identities provided by various all-female groups. These groups, the women hope, will protect their members’ reputations through “rules of service,” which they strictly enforce. At the shelter, for example, a long list of house rules is written on a large board and posted in the main living area. Other rules are unstated, but members are aware of them just the same. While some of these rules center around the more mundane aspects of being a member of the group (such as membership fees), many are concerned with distinguishing between “good” and “bad” places, activities, and relationships for Filipinas in Hong Kong, especially on their day off. Rules about where the women can go, what they can do, and with whom they can associate all encourage participation in the group and attempt to ward off illicit encounters with men. When the rules are broken—for example, when the president of the shelter had an affair with her male employer—members feel that the group loses its power to protect them. In this case, rumors soon began to circulate that the shelter had become a “house of prostitutes.” One of the most important group rules is regular attendance at weekly Sunday gatherings. This rule encourages members’ presence and participation at the choir or shelter, as well as discourages them from going to other places in Hong Kong that the women designate to be off-limits. Particularly problematic are places in which the women see themselves as “cheapened.” Many women, for instance, contrast the relative safety and respectability of the choir or shelter with the disrepute of their former hangout in the Central district of Hong Kong, a place to be avoided by “respectable maids.” Even worse than Central, however, are places where sailors and other foreign men spend time—namely, at the docks and in discos. For example, when a choir member’s cousin, a sailor from the Philippines, arrived by boat in

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Hong Kong, she was instructed by the choir leader not to go down to the docks to meet him for fear of being mistaken for a prostitute. Similarly, many women mention that while they enjoy disco dancing, they go only rarely lest they be perceived as “cheapy-cheapy”—a term the women frequently use to suggest promiscuity. Like rules about place, rules about activity attempt to ensure that members do not involve themselves in illicit affairs that might damage their reputation. The heavy demands that the groups make upon members’ time and energy try to achieve this. Members of the shelter, for example, are expected to regularly attend and actively participate in the governance and care of the shelter itself (e.g., attending monthly meetings, electing officers, sharing household duties), as well as take part in more public forms of service to the church (e.g., choir, bible study, prayer meetings) and the larger Filipina community (e.g., song and dance performances to raise money to support various causes in the Philippines). While many complain about being physically exhausted, they look forward to and welcome these highly organized and incessant activities, saying “if you really join in by heart, your one whole day off is not even enough.” In contrast to those Filipinas in Central who have “no place to go” and “nothing to do,” shelter members say that participation gives them a sense of moral purpose. Underlying the rules about both place and activity are implicit rules regarding Filipinas’ relationships with men. The women consider both the choir and shelter to be safe precisely because they are all-female. At the shelter, rules forbid women from bringing their boyfriends inside or receiving their calls on the house phone. An unwritten rule permits members to date men, but only “as long as you become discreet about your affair, you know, and as long as you don’t bring embarrassment to this group.” Another rule posted on the bulletin board lays down a house curfew that effectively prevents shelter members from spending late nights with men. This curfew is not only strictly enforced—“You come back by 11 or you don’t come back at all!”—it is also willingly embraced by many members, who told us that they would rather sleep in the yard than knock at the door after hours. These rules are not viewed by most members as unreasonable—“I don’t feel any bad feeling toward them because that’s the rules, I need to

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follow the rules”—but as fundamental to maintaining the moral integrity of the group. It is in the context of devotion to all-female groups that many women express a tolerance— otherwise unacceptable in a Catholic community—for lesbianism. While some women were openly lesbian in the Philippines, we heard stories of women who became “tomboys” only after coming to Hong Kong. Lesbianism is not wholly condoned, but is considered a “safe” alternative to potentially degrading relationships with men. One woman described how she would dress like a tomboy—wearing men’s trousers and shoes— so that she “will not look cheap.” Others emphasize how tomboys are desirable because they are “willing to serve” and “protect” Filipinas. As one woman put it: “Any friend can protect you, but the protection of a tomboy is different.” At the shelter, a tomboy later replaced the former president who had an affair with her male employer. Indeed, many tomboys hold positions of power and responsibility within the Filipina community, where their image as “strong” and “faithful” women challenges the view of Filipinas as sexually submissive or promiscuous. Service to church and God Both the choir and the shelter were founded by and remain closely affiliated with the Catholic Church. The women embrace this affiliation as a means to construct a more positive moral identity. Although most were brought up as Catholics, many told us that they rarely attended church in the Philippines. In the context of being in Hong Kong, the church seems to offer the women something more than religion. One woman noted that Filipinas who affiliate with the church are generally “nice girls” who can be “trusted.” Another described how she brought her fiancé to the shelter (in spite of the rule prohibiting men!) in order to show him that not all Filipinas are “easy” and that “there are some who are good, straight, proper girls.” Still another described how her parents feared that she might become a prostitute in Hong Kong, yet took solace knowing that she was a member of a group presided over by priests and sisters. The women rely particularly on the clergy to infuse the group with a clean and wholesome identity. At the shelter, for example, the sister is known to prefer traditional Filipino dances to raunchier disco dancing, and singing

church hymns over popular Karaoki songs. Indeed, the women express concern when religious leaders fail to maintain the shelter’s clean moral identity, as in the case when the head priest continued to give Holy Communion to the Filipina who was having an affair with her employer. Her presence became such a threat to the sanctity of the group that some members eventually dropped out. The women also gain a more positive sense of identity through their active service to God. At both groups we studied, the women are an integral part of the church service—standing at the pulpit and reading from the gospel, helping with the offertory and other ceremonies, and making religious banners to hang in the church. Although the parish is composed of many Westerners and Chinese, it is primarily the Filipinas who assist religious leaders with the service. They draw upon their faith to define themselves as servants of the Lord rather than the physical world of men. Articles in Tinig Filipino speak directly to this. One writer, after telling of her failed marriage, warns the women of “loving too much” and urges them to embrace God rather than men: Instead of wasting our energies on our partner, let’s learn to use them in creating a rich and fulfilling existence for ourselves while improving our relationship with God. (Layosa, 1994a, p. 8)

In another issue, the editor imagines a “love letter” written by God to Filipina overseas contract workers, who are described as the “Chosen People to be workers of the world” (Layosa, 1994b, p. 6). In this letter, God urges Filipina domestics to embrace their work as servants, bringing to it their “true Christian values, your resilient, cheerful, persevering and helpful qualities” and “humble ways.” Filipinas are reminded of their “special mission” to serve and are urged to “give your service willingly, doing it for the Lord, rather than men.” In this way, the notion of service is cleansed of its sexual undertones and becomes an almost sacred activity, giving the women a sense of moral identity and purpose. Service to family and country The women also combat the image of promiscuity through the standard accounts they

Neither “Saints” Nor “Prostitutes”

give for coming to Hong Kong, which they also infuse with religious language. For example, the women frequently use the term “sacrifice” to describe what they have given up for the economic betterment of their families and country. Yet as the women themselves are aware, the very economics of this arrangement—in which poor women sell their services overseas for money—evokes the image of the “prostitute.” Thus, as one woman urges in an editorial in Tinig Filipino: “it is up to us to prove to the world that even if we come from a poor nation, we do not easily fall prey to men’s advances for money or for relationships!” (Dumaquita, 1994, p. 5). To “prove” their moral virtue, the women embrace their identities as wives, mothers, and daughters of migrant families. We heard several stories, for example, of domestic workers invoking their marital or family status to ward off sexual advances from male employers. These women stress that they are “not available” because they have to “sacrifice for the family first.” Posters on the walls at the shelter remind the women of their primary roles as economic providers for their families back home. Articles in Tinig Filipino repeatedly warn of the numerous temptations in Hong Kong: the temptation to engage in illegal part-time work, to borrow money from “loan sharks,” to spend money on oneself rather than sending remittances back home, or to get involved with extramarital or other illicit affairs with men—and the potentially devastating consequences for one’s marriage and family. These articles often hold up traditional family values as a means of resisting such temptations. For example, one article emphasizes various kinds of “patience,” including “patience with desire,” that is, to “work for the fulfillment of certain goals or desires, such as buying a house and lot, saving money, marrying, etc.” (Loria, 1994, p. 25)—as a way of serving one’s family rather than oneself. Some women even speak of lesbianism as a way to show their devotion to their families. Tomboys are seen to offer a “safe outlet” for women: a means of enjoying the romance and intimacy of a relationship while at the same time preserving marital vows. Most importantly, a relationship with a tomboy will not disrupt family life since there is no possibility of bearing children, as an article in Tinig Filipino describes: They’re gorgeous, faithful, sympathetic, etc. These are words from women who are too

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afraid of flushing their fetus in the toilet: “With a lesbian, I’m safe.” (Eronico, 1994, p. 10)

Many women we interviewed agreed, saying that they understand the attraction that tomboys hold for married women: “they miss their husbands, that’s why they have an outlet with a tomboy, that’s why they commit themselves to this type of relationship, they’re just trying not to hurt the name of the husband.” The women thus construct lesbianism as a form of fidelity rather than promiscuity. The women also challenge their “unattached” image by bringing their attachments with them or constructing new attachments with their employers’ families. Many articles in Tinig Filipino, for example, praise the women for serving not only their own families, but their employers’ families and, more broadly, the families of a constructed global community. The women couch this service in moralistic and religious terms also. For example, one woman at the shelter remarked: “I am not only here to earn money, I am here used by God as an instrument to show special light to my employers.” Similarly, in the hypothetical letter from God published in Tinig Filipino, God commissions Filipina maids to take up the task of moral educators: Into thy hands, I command the little children of your employers . . . Guide and nurture them well in the absence of their parents, just like you guided your children or your brothers and sisters when you were still in the Philippines, so that they will not grow naked from truths of life. (Layosa, 1994b, p. 6)

The affair of the former shelter president with her employer was, thus, condemned because it was an extramarital affair that broke up a family and violated the moral mandate of Filipina domestic workers to devote themselves to caring for their employers’ families. As one member of the shelter, Lida,2 observed: In a way, it’s your own family almost . . . and the wife has been very good to her, and the children have been going to the church just because of her, because she used to take them. They saw that she’s good and taking good care of them. So why break a family? It doesn’t seem good.

Hence, “bachelor” employers—single, usually Western, men—are particularly problematic

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for the women, since they have no families. In an effort to sanctify this relationship, one woman who worked for a bachelor repeatedly made reference to his parents as “his family,” although they did not live with him. Other women told us that they avoid prolonged conversations or eye contact with their bachelor employers, lest they “get the wrong idea.” When it comes to moral identity, simply being Filipina is as much a problem for the women as being unattached. Thus, some women define themselves in terms of a more positive sense of national identity. Articles in Tinig Filipino, for example, repeatedly remind the women of their role as “economic heroes” of the Philippines: Through your good works in those places where you are temporarily working, you will become instruments in the economic improvement or progress of your “sick” nation through the dollars you send back home. In the future, through your perseverance and hard work, your children and your children’s children will be the ones to benefit from your nation’s progress. (Layosa, 1994b, p. 6) With this very inspiring title “hero,” I could walk straight with my head up high in the busy streets of the hot city of Manila. It is indeed very flattering. Whew! I’m a hero. In my little peaceful town of Sanchez, Mia, I’m being admired, respected and being envied by a few people. Yes, because gradually I’m improving my life and most of all, I’m a dollar earner—much more than other people in higher ranks. (Estabillo, 1994, p. 10)

These quotations portray the women as active participants in the economic destiny of the Philippines, as opposed to sexual commodities. Service, in this sense, takes on a strong national identity. In the letter from God, for instance, the editor urges the women not only to educate their employers’ children, but to “Filipinize” them: . . . so that they not only become materially wealthy citizens of the future, but also spiritually. Infuse in them the optimism and humor you exude so that when they encounter similar travails in the future, they already posses your moral, spiritual, and emotional strength. (Layosa, 1994b, p. 6)

Indeed, traditional aspects of Filipino culture appear resilient within the women’s communities, where they take great pride in traditional songs and dances, languages, cooking, and customs, which they contrast with more promiscuous Western lifestyles. BETWEEN PROSTITUTION AND SAINTHOOD Some women recognize a contradiction within the ethic of service, which they express in terms of “saints” or “old maids.” They are aware that if they fail to live up to the moral standards of the group, they will be labeled as loose, promiscuous women; yet if they were to rigidly adhere to the rules, they would be forced to live an ascetic life like the church leaders or the original members who had never broken the rules. As one woman at the shelter, Sara, put it: I feel like the shelter is safe . . . but some people also say that if you stay here you will become an old maid. Because if you really stay there, no men around, you just participate some activities, something like that, so you don’t need to step outside, you don’t have social activities.

Just as the shelter had once been condemned as a “house of prostitutes,” these women worry that it had also earned the derisive title of “house of old maids.” Recognizing the impossibility of their choices (“I’m no saint, you have to be naughty sometimes”), some women choose to loosen or even break their ties with the group. It was these women—many of whom are single or separated from their husbands—who alerted us to the controlling nature of the groups, evident in conflicts between the groups’ leaders and their members. Leaders— typically older women who have been in Hong Kong for several years—wield moral authority within the group. They censor members’ relationships with men, warn them against engaging in illegal part-time work or borrowing from loan sharks, and encourage them to actively participate in group and church activities. They also stop the women from shouting and gossiping in public, make sure that they keep the choir room and shelter clean, and scold choir members for missing practice or not

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wearing their uniforms. As members pointed out to us, there can be penalties for breaking the rules, including fines, ostracism, or even expulsion from the group. Leaders thus judge their members according to the standards by which they themselves, as Filipina domestics, are judged in Hong Kong—by their sexuality. They punish their fellow members when they fail to be chaste, devoted servants of God, family, and country. The women admit to being caught up in controlling each other’s behavior. They interpret seemingly innocuous acts as evidence to accuse their peers of having affairs: failing to attend Sunday meetings; showing up late to choir; not being able to eat or sleep; wearing fancy clothing, jewelry, or matching lipstick and shoes; or frequent trips back and forth to the Philippines (suggesting that one is sleeping with one’s employer). Such acts become the focus of pernicious joking and gossip within the groups, where the private lives of individual members are exposed to public scrutiny and ridicule. As a former shelter member, Josie, put it: There’s alot of back bite, you know, I mean the bad remarks and saying that, you know, for me, they at first think “oh, she goes to discos, she’s a bad woman,” because that’s what they think: they say if you go to discos, you’re a loose person. There’s alot of intrigue. She’s saying that she’s, you know, running around with men, jumping from one bed to another. She and the other girls were saying those things.

Such gossip has consequences for the women’s economic livelihood and family in the Philippines. For instance, one of our informant’s (Mina) friends took “stolen photographs” of her and our male researcher talking informally during a picnic, and threatened to send them home to her family as evidence that she was prostituting herself to foreign men. Similarly, one of her friends, who worked for a relative of her employer, mentioned to those relatives that “Mina has a boyfriend”—something that could have jeopardized her employment, since some employers prohibit their maids from having boyfriends. The women’s attempts to resist the label of “prostitute” thus exacts a power struggle for

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the moral high ground, with gossip as a means of portraying oneself as a chaste and devoted member by foisting the label onto others. “Everyone wants to be higher than the other,” as one woman explained. “Even if they have to trample one another, they don’t mind as long as they become popular. They say, ‘Oh, I’m the President, I’m the saint.’” Yet it is not out of choice that leaders put themselves in such precarious positions of authority. As one leader explained, if her members are seen alone with foreign men, the church leaders and other benefactors of the group would tell her “you’re not looking after your members”— meaning that she is not protecting them from situations in which the women might be morally compromised. The leaders are thus both responding to and reproducing the moral pressures placed upon the women. As with the women’s concerns about prostitution, the problem of “sainthood” can be understood in terms of their situation in Hong Kong as migrant Filipinas. For many of the women, particularly the younger ones, this is their first experience as independent wageearners. In spite of the hardships of domestic work, they enjoy their newfound economic power. These women want to travel, to be independent, to decide for themselves how to spend their time and money. They enjoy going to discos and can afford to frequent some of the more up-market shops and restaurants in Hong Kong. Some express a desire to find male companionship and even joke about male employers whom they find attractive. In contrast to the standard tale of “sacrifice” given by most domestics, some of these women confided in us they have come to Hong Kong to escape abusive or negligent husbands in a country where divorce is not an option. Such comments are typically made by women who have been in Hong Kong for longer periods and who have chosen to escape from the indentured servitude of full-time domestic work to engage in the lucrative, though illegal, business of part-time work. In stark contrast to full-time domestics, part-timers essentially run their own businesses and their own lives: contracting out their services, choosing their employers, setting their own hours and wages at up to four times more than standard full-time contracts, and renting their own apartments outside their employers’ homes. They enjoy almost peer-like relations

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with some employers and identify and socialize more with Western expatriates engaged in temporary, informal labor in Hong Kong than with the full-time domestic workers. Within their own groups, these women are known as “trouble-makers” and “warfreaks” because of their outspokenness—“things we don’t like, we just tell them straight”—and their irreverent attitude toward their employers, the government, and even the clergy. They ridicule their fellow compatriots who blindly obey the orders of the priest (“he knows who he can tell to sit!”) and employ sarcastic humor in defiance of the nuns’ efforts to get them to engage in more spiritual activities. They tell “green jokes,” which mock the sexuality—and thus the power—of the priests as well as errant husbands or boyfriends. Indeed, these women express their sexuality in overt and provocative ways. When playing the game of bingo, for example, they brazenly use sexual innuendo when calling out numbers: number one represents an erect penis, number 66, two pregnant women, number two, kerida—a mistress. They stage beauty contests and talent shows with sexually explicit themes. At one such contest, a woman danced erotically and lipsynched to Madonna. In another show, two women took revenge on a man (played by a tomboy) who had cheated on both of them, getting one of them pregnant. In cynically caricaturing the church-based groups as “saints,” these more independent women are expressing a conflict not just with the leaders, but with the way in which their position in Hong Kong as migrant Filipina women has defined them by their sexuality and thereby limited their choices. These women knowingly use the categories of “saint” and “prostitute” to try to carve out an identity for themselves that is both sexual and self-determined. With their provocative talk, they flaunt the rules imposed on them by their community, their employers and the Hong Kong public. They thus attempt to go beyond the socially imposed dichotomy of prostitution and sainthood. CONCLUSION Sexuality is a locus of power not only between men and women, but across racial, class, and national divides. Discourse on sexuality is important because it is a commentary on these

relations of power and the broader institutional arrangements that permit them. This article examines sexual discourse among a particularly disempowered group of women— Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong. We look at the ways in which international development and migration policies, the personalistic nature of domestic work, and the insertion of Filipinas into the culture of Hong Kong have shaped these women’s concerns about sexuality. Sexual discourse may be of concern to women in different contexts. The “virgin/ whore” dichotomy, for example, is more problematic for some groups of women than others. In Hong Kong, it is the Filipina as domestic worker whose sexuality is subject to social commentary and control. These women experience this as a tension between the extremes of prostitution and sainthood. Whereas for some women this conflict may be tied to specific peer groups or relationships with men (see Stombler, 1994), for Filipinas it is institutionalized in development and migration policies and practices on a global scale. Such practices serve to control Filipina women by defining and judging them not according to the work they perform, but in terms of their sexuality. The costs of violating sexual standards may also be higher for Filipina domestics in Hong Kong than for other groups of women. The climate of concern about Filipinas in Hong Kong is such that it is considered reasonable to fire or refuse to employ a domestic worker for mere suspicion of having sexual relations. When a Filipina is seen with a Western man, onlookers immediately assume that the relationship can only be one of money, and hence a form of prostitution. The contradictory expectations of female sexuality thus take on greater economic and moral significance among Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong than they do elsewhere. One would expect that as women experience greater economic independence from men, they would have more freedom over matters of sexuality. This may be true for women elsewhere, even in the Philippines. But, with the exception of the part-timers, Filipina domestic workers in Hong Kong experience the reverse. In response to the label of “prostitute,” the women construct a culture that defines them in a morally pure way—as servants of their community, church, family, and coun-

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try. Although drawing on what the women might consider Filipino values, this culture does not necessarily reflect life as it is in the Philippines, but a romantically reconstructed rendition of it that fits more with the expectations of their employers and the Hong Kong public than those of the women themselves. The debate about “saints” and “prostitutes” within the Filipina community metaphorically expresses these inequities. Some of the women, particularly those engaged in independent part-time work, are aware that the ways in which they can express their sexuality are limited, and that sexuality has come to define their work, their relationships, and their very identity. As such, their discussion of sainthood and prostitution is a commentary on unequal power relations between Filipinas and the broader community in Hong Kong, including the immigration department, their employers, and even the church. Like some women’s admiration for Madonna, who is both sexual and powerful, the part-timers’ cynicism about becoming “saints,” and their brazen talk about sexuality and use of sexual innuendo in general, may be an attempt to solidify a missing discourse about power at a moment when these relatively educated and independent women feel that it has been denied to them.

POSTSCRIPT: 1997 AND BEYOND On July 1, 1997, China resumed sovereignty of Hong Kong from the British government, whose 99-year lease on the territory had expired. In the years preceding Hong Kong’s return to China, British and Chinese officials negotiated a treatise in which Hong Kong would maintain its current economic system and political autonomy from the Chinese Mainland for at least 50 years. China, however, would be responsible for Hong Kong’s national defense and foreign affairs. The impact of the “handover” on Filipina domestic workers in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) has been minimal. While, prior to 1997, many Filipinas expressed concern to us over how this might affect their work and status in Hong Kong, there has thus far been no official change in government or immigration policy with respect to the importation of foreign domestic workers (Wong, personal communication, 1999). At 140,000, Filipinas remain the largest

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non-Chinese population in Hong Kong, where expatriate as well as increasing numbers of local Chinese residents continue to rely on them for childcare and housework (Hong Kong Immigration Department, 1999). And while Hong Kong’s reunification with China may have caused some Filipina women to revisit their decision whether to continue working abroad or return home (Constable, 1999), it has done little to alter the situation of domestic workers in the territory as described in this article. Indeed, the debates rage on over the women’s occupation of public space and engagement in illegal work and other supposed illicit activities. The paradox remains that these women whose responsibility it is to care for the families of Hong Kong continue to be treated as a moral threat to the community. Of greater significance in the lives of domestic workers in the HKSAR has been the economic recession that began in Thailand in 1997 and quickly spread throughout the South Asia region. As unemployment rates have risen in Hong Kong, so too has local antipathy toward foreign and migrant workers. Organizations representing lower and middle income employers, for example, have been pressuring the Hong Kong government to cut domestic workers’ minimum wage by up to 30%. In the end, it was in fact cut by 5% (Hong Kong Government, Education and Manpower Bureau, 1999). This again has sparked debates in the newspapers about the fair treatment of domestic workers and their moral worth in Hong Kong. Most recently, public attention has centered on an immigration policy ominously codenamed “Operation Hoover” (see Schloss, 1999) which seeks to clean up vice in Hong Kong by preventing the entry of “undesirable persons” into the territory. As part of this policy, young women from Third World countries, many of whom work as domestic workers, are being systematically stopped, questioned, and searched by airport customs officials “on suspicion of prostitution.” The presence of Operation Hoover suggests that racial and national stereotypes about the sexuality of poor migrant women as we describe in this article are even more pervasive in post-1997 Hong Kong. Fueled by the Asian economic crisis, such stereotypes have become more deeply entrenched in immigration and labor laws that surreptitiously use sexuality as a form of discursive control.

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ENDNOTES 1. This was not a view we started with, but one that emerged from our fieldwork in the choir and shelter, where concerns about sexuality pervaded the women’s conversations and interactions with each other and with us. It arose, in particular, in response to one of us, a male, who was eventually evicted from the group because of the threat that his presence posed to the moral identity of the women. A reflexive account of this fieldwork experience as it shaped our analysis is described in a second article, “Romancing Resistance and Resisting Romance: Ethnography and the Construction of Power in the Filipina Domestic Worker Community in Hong Kong (Groves & Chang, 1999). 2. All names of choir and shelter members are pseudonyms.

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