As I opened the passenger door, I saw some movement in the car next to mine.  I turned to look at a man in his mid thirties, sitting behind the wheel of an older model pick-up truck. It was too dark to look into his eyes, too dark to see whether he was embarrassed or even mildly panicked. Parts of the truck’s interior was bathed in the orange fluorescence of a nearby streetlight, providing sufficient light to make out a silhouetted head that was jerking up and down like a hairy piston.

With his penis still grasped firmly, she looked up. It was a face that I had seen before amongst the hookers of my neighbourhood.

Last week my now fellow columnist was attempting to find some humour in this nightly ritual. While I agree that a satirist has every liberty to skewer any segment of society, Mr. Streicher should be reminded that the greats in his field use their wit to expose society’s failings instead of amusing their reader at the expense of the less fortunate. Let him re-read Swift in order to hone his craft.

Thus, he should have included the teenager who slinks into the shadow of the former union building on Isleville Street, seemingly hiding from the horrors that will await her later in the night. He should have mentioned the john driving around in endless circles, distracted enough by the merchandise on show that he almost runs over a family crossing the street.

Or maybe he would find more humour in the nightly screaming matches between the prostitutes and their pathetic pimps, who patrol their territory on stolen bicycles, scurrying away at the slightest sign of trouble. Later, when the coast is clear, they will return to assert some discipline. A random beating will keep the flock in line.

Then there are the consumers, the vultures with wheels. The reader is likely acquainted with one or two of them already. There is the father in a minivan, the son who looks for a quickie just before work, the brother driving his shiny new pick-up, the boss cruising in his new BMW. Some attempt to duck when spotted, others shout out instructions to their favourites,  before their vehicle swallows them for the next few minutes or hours.

In the decade that I have lived in the North End of this city, I have seen this miserable dance repeat itself ad nauseum. At first, like any good citizen, I called the police, naively believing that the circle could somehow be broken. It could not.

Invariably the police showed up a few minutes after the women had jumped into a waiting car. On the odd occasion that they actually caught one in the act of soliciting, she would disappear into the back of a cruiser, only to reappear a few days later.

Not that police presence has no effect at all. Sustained pressure has, in the past, shifted the activities elsewhere, sometime for a few days, weeks or even months. Eventually, however, the women return, looking as tired and hunted as before.

To describe them as victims would be too simplistic, for the word implies a sense of randomness. It is more honest to see them as cogs in a complex, and ancient evolutionary directive.  Until technology has reached a stage at which simulated intercourse or blowjobs are indistinguishable from the real thing, sex will remain a commodity supplied by society’s weakest members.

It would be foolish to await a world in which all humans have grown so wise so as to forgo their instincts and restrain their urges for reasons of compassion. Equally foolish would be to believe that we can enforce abstinence using current laws and enforcement practices. We need a new approach in this province, one that will quickly and decisively help those that can no longer help themselves. For this,  politicians with a strong moral fibre are required, willing to sacrifice their political life if need be.

First off, prostitution needs to be pushed out into the open where it can be monitored and regulated by state authorities. In other words, somewhere in Halifax a red light district will have to be set up where the sex-trade workers of all stripes can practice their trade in safety.

I am under no illusion that all of the women who work the streets will be able to find employment in a traditional brothel environment. Quite frankly, many of them would be considered too unsightly to attract higher paying customers. Chances are that they would continue to service the cheapskates, much as they are doing now.

To combat this, draconian new measures would have to be introduced. For example, anyone found soliciting a prostitute outside of the official red light district would have his vehicle confiscated on the spot. A heavy fine would also be added. Similar measures are already in place to regulate fishing in this province. It would, therefore, not require a legislative quantum leap to adapt the laws in order to combat prostitution.

Any funds raised though confiscation and fines would not go into general revenue. Instead, they would be used to set up a network of safe houses for street prostitutes. These homes would be in secret and isolated spots throughout the province, well out of reach of the pimps as well as the nationwide crime networks for whom they front.

Some form of asylum is an absolute necessary starting point for any prostitute that has even the slightest desire to escape the streets. They would provide a place where former prostitutes who are addicted to drugs could safely detoxify. These places would, furthermore, provide realistic skills training as well as the needed psychological support, both being minimum requirements for any attempted reintegration into society.

Finally, punishment for living on the avails of prostitution needs to be toughened up. In virtually any way that one cares to measure criminality, pimps are the dregs of our society.  They are the modern reincarnation of the slave owners, who trade on the physical and psychological health of fellow human beings for monetary gain. Their crime is not one of passion. Instead, it is a cold and systematically planned assault on the most vulnerable members of our community. For their victim’s safety, it is imperative to remove them from our midst. While re-education and eventual rehabilitation are options, this should not be seen as a priority.  Instead, a minimum sentence of twenty years without the chance of parole should be invoked as a meaningful deterrent.

While stricter penalties for pimps might be on the books now that the Conservatives hold power in Ottawa, it is highly doubtful that any of the above measures will be taken up by local politicians. Simply put, this province has a long tradition of unimaginative and ineffective leadership. Similar accusations can be levelled at recent municipal governments. In that, they largely reflect the population as a whole, whose attitude toward all matters sexual is still infused with a healthy dose of nineteenth century Puritanism. Thus, any attempts to radically change Halifax’s approach to handling the prostitution problem would likely be political suicide for anyone who attempted it.

Should nothing change, however, we Haligonians will have failed the weakest amongst us. If, through apathy and lack of political will, the unacceptable status quo is maintained, we will remain silent accomplices to the most brutal exploitation perpetrated in our midst. And the next time a dead prostitute is found on the outskirts of our city, or a child is run over by inattentive john, part of the guilt will have to be shared by each and every one of us.