Papatoetoe street corners are becoming the worksite for young prostitutes. Herald Picture/ Bastiaan Beentjes

 

Sex trade casts dark shadow over an Auckland suburb

 

13.02.2000

 

By TONY WALL

A teenage transsexual in a tight black dress struts to the kerb of a Papatoetoe street corner, wiggles her hips and yells, "Hey - come here," to a passing car.

The late-model sportscar crawls slowly by under the dull glow of a street light, its driver considering the proposal. He thinks better of it and roars off.

The prostitute shrugs and returns to her large group of street-worker friends, some who look as though they belong in the fifth form.

The procedure is repeated over and over on this Thursday night in the heart of the Papatoetoe shopping centre opposite Hunters Plaza - a spot that is fast gaining an unwanted reputation as a red-light zone.

Police, spurred by a mountain of complaints from businesspeople and residents, have gone undercover in an attempt to beat the growing crime epidemic.

The Herald was invited along on their first covert operation.

The plan, says Senior Sergeant David Simpson of Otahuhu, is to observe a "pick-up" from a hidden surveillance post, trail the car into an alley or carpark and literally catch the customer with his pants down.

This way both the client and prostitute can be charged with offensive behaviour - a more satisfactory outcome than charging the street worker with soliciting, which carries a paltry $200 fine and is difficult to prove.

But it soon becomes apparent that this will be no easy operation, as a game of cat and mouse develops between the officers and their quarry.

The pick-ups happen so quickly that by the time the hidden officer radios his colleagues, who are waiting in squad cars a couple of blocks away, the target car has disappeared into a rabbit warren of alleys and carparks.

Senior Sergeant Simpson says the problem began about three years ago when young "trannies" (transsexuals) started congregating at Hunters Corner selling sex.

In the past year, the trickle has become a flood, with girls, some as young as 14, joining the scene.

Crimes such as burglaries, car thefts, disorder offences and robbery have soared.

Police also fear for the safety of the working girls; they have "anecdotal evidence" that at least one has been raped by a client.

Locals are up in arms because of the noise the sex workers create and the condoms and trash they leave behind. The problem shot to boiling point last year when a resident chased and attacked a group of girls with a piece of wood.

Senior Sergeant Simpson says typical customers are young businessmen in the 25 to 35 age group, driving "flash" cars. He claims that "prominent local businessmen" have been at it.

He says the workers, mainly Maori and Pacific Islanders, can earn up to $400 on a good night.

He has put 11 staff on this late-night operation and is acutely aware that this pulls resources away from other areas.

At about 11 pm, the girls materialise out of the night and gather on a corner. Several men hang about nearby - police say this is a sinister development, suggesting "pimps" are beginning to control the trade.

After midnight officers finally trail a pick-up, only to move in before the customer has taken his pants down. He giggles nervously as he explains he was only giving the young transsexual a lift home.

The officers check the handbag of the transsexual, Tia, but find nothing more sinister than condoms and female hormone pills.

She says she is saving up to have a sex-change operation, which costs $7500 in Sydney. Without evidence for an arrest, she is taken home.

Police close the operation about 1 am and move on to Otahuhu town centre, where up to 30 girls are known to ply their trade.

They find a girl, just 15 years old, standing with a group of transsexual and female sex workers. They are apparently teaching her the tricks of the trade.

The girl has been drinking all night and is confident and cocky with her friends. In the police car she breaks down in tears.

The girl says she has an appointment at an STD clinic the following day. She is about to be sent to a Social Welfare home. Police return her to her father, who lives in a caravan park.

At the end of the night, with no arrests, police know the operation has been a failure.

Senior Sergeant Simpson says it was only ever going to be a "Band-Aid" approach anyway.

"We're only attacking the surface; we need to get underneath and look at the environmental and social causes."

He knows that no matter how lateral police are in their strategies to combat the problem, it will never go away entirely.

"It's the oldest profession in the world, after all."