Exploring Silence, Secrecy, and Coded Language: Ethnographic Encounters with Cisgender Women and Trans Women Involved in Sex Work in Kolkata, India

Abstract

Gender-neutral terms such as “sex work” and “sex worker” have gained prominence in academic, activist, and policy discourses. Unlike terms such as ‘prostitutes’ and ‘prostitution,’ these terms serve to reduce stigma and emphasize the labor involved in sex work. However, numerous studies suggest that these terms carry different meanings across cultural contexts, and their impact is experienced differently by various sub-groups of sex workers. Although originally coined by American activist Carol Leigh to unify sex workers across genders and sectors, these terms are, in some settings—including Kolkata, India—met with silence, coded language, or secrecy, particularly among transient sex workers, including cisgender and transgender women. As researchers with two decades of ethnographic research with 46 cisgender and 37 transgender women engaged in sex work in Kolkata and Eastern India, the authors argue that such silence and non-verbal forms of communication should not be interpreted merely as ignorance or disengagement but rather as strategic/willful acts of agency or resistance. These practices enable sex workers situated in different contexts to navigate unequal power dynamics within NGOs, manage respectability, mitigate structural violence, and foster communal identity. By examining how diverse groups of sex workers employ silence and secrecy, this study contributes to a more nuanced and empathetic understanding of the complexities surrounding the former’s lives and their agency. The study results indicate that it is essential for scholars, advocates and activists to employ strengths-based, context-specific language and research practices to be able to hear the stories of subaltern groups like commercial sex workers. It is also suggested that training of service providers and helping professionals focus on accepting and honoring the language people use to identify themselves in varied spaces and contexts.

1. Introduction

In India and globally, sex work remains a deeply stigmatized and criminalized occupation (Benoit et al. 2018) despite growing recognition of the term sex work—defined as the consensual “exchange of sexual services for money, goods, or reward, either regularly or occasionally” (Network of Sex Work Projects n.d., p. 4). This term has gained traction among academics and activists for framing sex work as labor rather than a moral or cultural issue (McMillan et al. 2018, p. 1518). However, its acceptance remains contested within diverse sex worker communities. As former sex worker and writer Gira Grant (2014) notes, “sex work is a political identity, one that has not fully replaced the earlier identifications imposed on them” (p. 20). Stigmatizing and dehumanizing terms like ‘prostitution’ are still in use by fundamentalist feminists and abolitionist groups, who view all sex work as ‘commercial sexual exploitation’ and patriarchal violence against women (Network of Sex Work Projects n.d., p. 14) even though cisgender men and trans women are involved in sex work. These ideological tensions are not merely semantic—they shape the lived realities of a diverse group of sex workers, comprising cisgender women, men, and transgender individuals, particularly in contexts like Kolkata, India, which has a long history of the sex worker’s rights movement under the slogan, sex work is work.

In India, stigma against sex workers is embedded in institutional structures, including legal frameworks, such as The Immoral Traffic (Prevention) Act (ITPA), 1956. This law criminalizes various activities related to sex work, such as soliciting, pimping, running brothels, and living off the earnings of the sex workers—without distinguishing between forced and voluntary sexual exchange. It is widely used by law enforcement authorities to carry out random raids and rescue operations in the region (Dasgupta 2019). Although a 2022 Supreme Court ruling ordered the police to treat sex workers with respect and dignity, arrests under other laws of “obscene acts” and “public nuisance” persist (Shravishtha 2022).

For many sex workers in Kolkata—especially those operating outside brothel systems—identifying publicly as a “sex worker” can lead to police violence, arrest, and social ostracism, threatening their family izzat (honor)—a culturally significant concept of honor and social standing in Indian society (Sinha 2015). As a result, many adopt strategies of silence, secrecy, and coded language to navigate these multiple, interrelated risks. These communicative practices are not signs of shame or deception but rather deliberate, strategic responses to structural stigma and police surveillance. For instance, Priti, a 39-year-old cisgender woman, explains,

My parents are alive. Nobody knows all this [sex work]. I hide this and do it. They think I am doing some work and managing to survive. You cannot tell people all this and live. I do not want to lose izzat. If you undertake this work, problems such as police arrests or social boycotts may arise. To do this work, you have to work through many obstacles.

(Priti, 39-year-old cisgender woman)

Similarly, Bharthi, a 48-year-old transgender woman, describes:

We are transgenders. People anyway struggle with that term [transgender], and if I say I am a ‘sex worker,’ then we get doubly stigmatized… So, in our community, we refer to people who engage in sex work as khajrawali to avoid facing the stigma of sex work.

(Bharthi, 48-year-old transgender woman)

Bharthi’s narrative offers critical insight into how trans women sex workers use coded language as a strategic response to layered stigma. By referring to sex work as khajrawali—which literally translates to entertainer or dancer—trans women avoid the compounded stigma associated with both their gender identity and their occupation. This practice exemplifies how coded language enables individuals with intersecting marginalized identities to navigate social spaces without disclosing all aspects of their identity at once. While existing literature has explored how sex workers manage sex work stigma in diverse sex work settings (Weitzer 2011), limited attention has been paid to understanding how non-sex worker researchers interpret silences, secrecy, and coded language encountered in their research with sex workers in the Indian context. This paper explores how sex workers in Kolkata—particularly those at the intersections of gender marginality and sex work—strategically employ silence, secrecy, and coded language to navigate respect and dignity in different contexts, resist unequal structures embedded within NGO spaces, and mitigate structural violence. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork and in-depth interviews, we analyze how these communicative practices operate across different sub-groups of sex workers. In doing so, we contribute to a growing body of literature that rethinks silence not as disempowerment but as a powerful, multifaceted form of agency. Our findings have significant implications for social work scholars, practitioners, and policymakers dedicated to promoting the rights, safety, and well-being of marginalized communities.

2. Sex Work in Kolkata, India

The rights-oriented, community-based organization, Durbar Mahila Samanwaya Committee (DMSC), representing over 65,000 sex workers in Kolkata, India, introduced the Bengali equivalent terms “joun kaaj” (sex work) and “joun karmi” (sex worker) into its publication, The Sex Worker’s Manifesto, in 1997. Despite DMSC’s advocacy for sex workers’ rights in the region, sex workers in Kolkata continue to face disproportionate exposure to violence and human rights violations from both state and non-state actors (Deering et al. 2014; Javalkar et al. 2019). While DMSC’s identity-based politics have helped reduce HIV infection rates in brothels (Cornish 2016), most sex workers in the region operate clandestinely from public venues—such as parks, hotels, restaurants, and movie theatres—or via mobile phones and the internet (Kotiswaran 2011; Shah 2014). State-sponsored NGOs (non-governmental organizations) like Sanlaap, an organization fighting sex trafficking in the region, and the Indian Ministry of Women and Child Development continue to conflate trafficking with sex work. Furthermore, since most of the non-profit organizations are dependent on foreign funds to carry out HIV prevention work reaching out to sex workers in India, commercial sex work, as Bernstein (2019) notes, has increasingly become defined by global human rights agencies through the lens of sex trafficking or else in terms of its “close cultural correlate, ‘modern slavery’” (p. 29).

Sex work and sex trafficking are two interrelated complex phenomena, but the distinction between sex work and sex trafficking is not well-defined globally. Even though there is emerging evidence in the sex work literature critiquing the oppression paradigm lens in sex work research (Weitzer 2011), the dominant societal narrative guiding all anti-trafficking policies and programs in India and globally is that all forms of sex work are forced/coerced or trafficked. Popular and official narratives around the politics of commercial sex work tend to ignore and silence the discourse around sex workers’ labor rights and decriminalization of sex work. Anti-prostitution/anti-trafficking scholars in the West have interpreted the silences of sex workers residing in the Global South as monolithic by inferring they are passive victims, lacking agency, and in urgent need of rescue and rehabilitation (Chatterjee and Parpart 2019). Brennan (2004) noted that commercial sex workers in the Global South often play an active role in their trades by performatively and strategically trying to transform transactional sex into relationships that offer them a way out of poverty. Studies, however, have shown how problematic terms like ‘trafficking/prostitution’ can be when it comes to helping women affected by these issues. “As a result, transient cisgender and trans women sex workers are disproportionately exposed to violence and human rights violations” (Deering et al. 2014; Javalkar et al. 2019), which includes clients, intimate partners, family members, and friends.

Unlike brothel-based sex workers, transient sex workers are highly mobile, do not have a fixed location or hours of work, and often live with their families. They embody multiple, fluid identities (e.g., mother, daughter, wife, son), and their motivations for entering sex work vary widely across social, political, and economic contexts (Asthana and Oostvogels 1996; Pardasani 2005; Azhar et al. 2020). Thus, focusing on a single aspect of identity risks rendering multiply marginalized sex worker communities vulnerable to “intersectional invisibility” (Purdie-Vaughns and Eibach 2008). For example, transgender women, often referred to locally as hijras, face compounded discrimination due to transphobia, homophobia, and whorephobia. Public perceptions that frame them as “sodomites, kidnappers, and castrators” (Lakkimsetti 2020, p. 20) further intensify their vulnerability. Additionally, familial obligations and the need to maintain social ties, complicate identity disclosure for both cisgender and transgender sex workers (Dasgupta 2022, 2023).

3. Silence in Sex Work Research: Dominant Narrative vs. Local Realities

In the Global North, silence is typically understood as “a negative force that inhibits speech, undermines agency, and disempowers silenced subjects” (Chatterjee and Parpart 2019). Audre Lorde’s “Your Silence Will Not Protect You” and Rebecca Solnit’s “Silence is Broken” frame silence as a source of oppression, with Solnit arguing, “Silence is what allows people to suffer without recourse, what allows hypocrisies and lies to grow and flourish, crimes to go unpunished” (Solnit 2017, p. 18). While this interpretation has been influential in powering movements like #MeToo, it often permeates sex work research in ways that oversimplify the complexities surrounding the silences performed by sex workers. For instance, scholars in the West frequently portray the silences of sex workers in the Global South as passive victims, lacking agency, and in urgent need of rescue and rehabilitation (Chatterjee and Parpart 2019).

Silence, defined by Dasgupta (2014) as a “refusal to engage or refusal to speak,” is crucial to understanding the agency versus coercion debate in sex work research. Dasgupta (2014), based on her ethnographic research in Sonagachi, argues that anti-trafficking discourse frames subaltern women as subjects of imperial power. She contends that for those already living within a continuum of deprivation, silence and the refusal to engage in harmful language may represent a final attempt to cling to their human agency (pp. 5–16). Through the example of Sapna, a new entrant to the brothel, Dasgupta demonstrates how the contrasting terms “stree” (wife) and “beshya” (prostitute) serve as constant reminders of stigma while simultaneously creating space for resistance through silence. Brennan (2004), for example, notes that sex workers in the Global South frequently play active roles in their trades, strategically transforming transactional sex into relationships that can provide pathways out of poverty. Furthermore, Chatterjee and Parpart (2019) identify three forms of silence within their research on elite sex workers and the digital sexual wellness industry in India: institutionalized silence (as a governance strategy), individual silence (as resistance), and marketed silence (as branding).

An example of institutionalized silence can be found in DMSC’s published socio-political document, The Sex Worker Manifesto, where the terms “sex worker” and “sex work” are frequently invoked in general terms without explicitly addressing gender identity or intersecting marginalizations—such as those experienced by trans women sex workers. Their unique lived experiences and reasons/motivations for entry into sex work are not articulated in the document; instead, the manifesto largely frames sex work through the lens of cisgender women’s labor and social positioning. For example, it states,

Women take up prostitution for the same reason as they may take up any other livelihood option available to them. Our stories are not fundamentally different from the laborer from Bihar who pulls a rickshaw in Calcutta or the worker from Calcutta who works part-time in a factory in Bombay. Some of us get sold into the industry. After being bonded to the madam who has bought us for some years, we gain a degree of independence within the sex industry. A whole of us[sic] end up in the sex trade after going through many experiences in life—often unwillingly, without understanding all the implications of being a prostitute fully.

(DMSC 1997, p. 6)

This framing illustrates how institutionalized silence can give rise to individual silences among sex workers, particularly when organizations fail to account for intersecting identities and how these shape the lived experiences of individuals with multiple subordinate group identities (e.g., HIV-positive women sex workers and HIV-positive trans women sex workers). In Bharthi’s narrative (mentioned above) her decision to use the term “khajrawali” instead of “sex worker” reflects what Decena (2011) describes as “tacit positioning”-a strategic, often unspoken negotiation of identity that allows individuals with non-conforming sexual and gender identities to waver between secrecy and silence. Yet, these communicative practices often get misinterpreted as indicators of disempowerment or lack of voice by Western scholars (Chatterjee and Parpart 2019), except for a few postcolonial feminist scholars.

Kamala Visweswaran (1994), in her book Fictions of Feminist Ethnography, has argued silence to be a form of agency, challenging the conventional notion of agency, which is often reduced to speech alone. Instead, her perspective on silence suggests that silence may be a deliberate, contextually grounded, calculated strategy for navigating oppressive power structures. Similarly, Shah (2014) notes in her ethnographic study of street-based sex workers in Mumbai that silences and euphemisms performed by the sex workers at the construction sites are “necessarily rich, laden with innuendo, and coded for those who can hear” (p. 110). For this reason, Agustín (2005) has emphasized that to avoid encountering “sad stories, omissions, and outright lies” from sex workers, non-sex worker researchers must spend considerable time building rapport and trust with sex workers to be able to decipher these cultural codes of communication in diverse sex work settings. Building on these insights, this paper sheds light on how sex workers in Kolkata actively use silence and coded language as tools of resistance, protection, and identity negotiation.

4. Researcher’s Background and Data Sources

As South Asian scholars with native roots in Kolkata, India, we have conducted extensive ethnographic research on the interrelatedness of sex work, violence prevention, human trafficking, and HIV prevention among diverse groups of sex workers. For this paper, the first author draws data from her field-based ethnographic research (December 2009–July 2010) conducted with 46 cisgender female sex workers in Kolkata, India. Using “cultural biography” (Frank 2000), an anthropological method combining participant observation with life history interviews, the first author conducted the research in two stages. In the first stage (1–4 months), 46 short-life interviews were conducted, and in the second stage (5–7 months), three life history interviews were conducted. The participants were selected using the maximum-variation sampling approach (Miles and Huberman 1994) in both stages of the research to capture the diverse perspectives and experiences of varied sub-groups of sex workers, including caste-class privileged women as well as poor, illiterate women, and young and older women in sex work. Field notes were maintained throughout the data collection process, and participants were selected using a repeated interview methodology (Wax and Shapiro 1956) to reduce social-desirability bias in their responses. This study focused on women operating from non-brothel-based settings. However, the interviews with women revealed that they might use the brothel-based spaces while working as contractual workers but would go back to living with their respective families at the end of the day. The field-based observations of the authors suggest that brothel- and non-brothel-based sex work are not mutually exclusive categories, as women move freely between these different spaces of work as per their needs and life situations. The socio-demographic characteristics of the participants and the ethical and safety issues experienced during the data collection process have been published elsewhere (Sinha 2015, 2017), and women’s narratives were analyzed using the question of when the terms ‘sex work’ and ‘sex worker’ were openly acknowledged, and the moments when silences were maintained and their rationale for doing so were further explored.

The second author draws data from a larger study, wherein she conducted semi-structured interviews with 38 transgender sex workers in the following areas: Sonagachi, a red-light district located in Kolkata; Garbhanga, a red-light area located in Sheoraphuli, a town in the Hooghly district of West Bengal; and the red-light district of Kalna, a town in the Bardhaman district of West Bengal. The interviewees were initially recruited through DMSC, and then through snowball sampling. The interviewer had a basic guideline for questioning, but conversations were not limited to answering questions; they also allowed for open-ended discussions. Each interview took between 45 min and 1 h. The interviewees were encouraged to articulate their reflections and express their opinions on issues within and outside the realm of interview questions. The names given by the interviewees are their used names and not their legal names; they had adopted these names as part of their new gender presentation—while the rest used pseudonyms. Participation in the study was completely voluntary, and no compensation was paid to the interviewees. Informed consent was obtained from each of the participants. The researcher intended to maintain a reflexive-empiricist stance, as evident in postmodern interviewing. The interview transcripts were translated into English, transcribed, and analyzed. The transcripts amounted to 134 pages of translated text, and 27 pages of field notes were also recorded. The transcripts of the interviews were remarkably different from each other and were reflective of the personalities of the interviewees. A grounded theory approach was used to code the transcripts. The transcripts were examined using open coding and axial coding. The themes and concepts that emerged from the data helped to develop an understanding of the emerging discourses.

Both authors obtained prior permission from the DMSC’s central governing committee before commencing any research work and interviews, as well as Institutional Review Board (IRB) approval from their respective institutions in the United States. To maintain the confidentiality of the participants, none of the actual names have been used in the paper.

5. Findings

• Silence as a strategy to resist the unequal power structures embedded within NGOs

Ethnographic studies indicate that anti-trafficking NGOs often conflate trafficking with ‘prostitution’—a term employed by these organizations to influence laws and policy frameworks that may not accurately reflect the realities faced by sex workers (Ramachandran 2023). This tendency leads to what Woensdregt (2024) describes as the ‘tokenistic involvement’ of sex workers, where they are consulted for their opinions but are not meaningfully included in the decision-making process or granted the autonomy to represent themselves. The experiences of Saraswati and Srishti, both of whom have significant experience as peer educators in an HIV prevention organization reaching out to brothel- and non-brothel-based cisgender women sex workers, exemplify how individual silence can be a strategy to resist organizations’ attempts to portray them merely as what Gira Grant (2014) calls ‘mute icons’ or as ‘service instruments.’

“Just because we work here, that does not mean I have to narrate my stories to everyone that comes to this project.”

(Saraswati, 35 years)

I do not like the way they [NGOs] keep showcasing us in front of anyone [researchers, project evaluators appointed by funders] who comes to the project. They can provide general information, but why should they escort these people and introduce us to them as ‘sex workers? I do not like their practice. You cannot trust these other people, and there is no way to control what they will do with the information. You tell me?

(Shrishti, 28 years)

Similarly, Sunil’s narratives highlight the complexities and challenges single-identity politics raise for NGOs advocating for the rights of the sex worker communities. For instance, Sunil, a 35-year-old trans woman, feels unwelcome within the NGO spaces mainly because there is no space for ongoing dialog and advocacy of their healthcare needs of sex-reassignment surgery, hormonal therapies, and constructs of gender and sexuality within the sex worker’s movement.

The sex workers’ union is a great organization; they do a lot of good work, But I do not think we are always welcome there. It is for women, and women run it; it is not meant for us

(Sunil, 35 years, trans woman)

While Sunil’s quote shows how NGOs can inadvertently maintain power hierarchies through their discursive practices, the following excerpts from Sanju show that even though transgender women would like to align with the collective sex workers’ rights movement, not having a dedicated platform and space within the NGOs spaces, particularly the freedom to represent their issues and concerns, makes them choose to refrain from participating,

For us, the transgender sex workers, a separate platform is needed. That is where our collective problems can be discussed. The union is for women; they discuss their problems there. Only we can speak for ourselves; nobody else can.

(Sanju, 28 years, transgender)

The collected narratives highlight the complexity surrounding the lived experiences of distinct groups of sex workers, as they are shaped by overlapping systems of discrimination, including sexism, transphobia, homophobia, and whorephobia. The propensity to essentialize the sex worker identity—as being cisgender female and brothel-based—means advocacy organizations remain unsuccessful in meeting the needs of individuals in the trade, especially of those who are transient and/or transgender. In order to represent the diversity of sex workers’ interests and voices, organizations working with these populations need to engage in processes like ongoing dialog, consultation, confidentiality of the participants, and informed consent, as these are integral to building trust and rapport with historically marginalized and stigmatized communities. For instance, DMSC’s use of identity-based politics mandates sex workers to self-identify and register with the organization as “joun karmis” to avail of their services (e.g., child day care, residential homes, cooperative banks, health clinics) and supportive networks. Such service provision serves as an effective strategy for organizing women residing in the brothels. However, the use of identity-based politics poses significant personal challenges for transient cisgender and transgender women sex workers residing outside the perimeters of red-light districts.

2.

Silence as a strategy to navigate respectability and identity in different contexts

The narratives of both cisgender and transgender women sex workers presented here illustrate how silence is used to strategically navigate respectability and identity across diverse social and professional contexts. For instance, Naina and Madhuri, employed as peer educators with NGOs, in their narratives, highlight the social risks involved in transgressing dominant gender norms around sexuality in Indian society. Since these norms require women to be shy, passive, and reticent about their sexual needs and desires, even when employed in HIV prevention programs, women have to be mindful of how they are perceived. Field observations conducted by the first author in diverse solicitation sites revealed that peer educators deliberately identified themselves using alternative terms such as ‘health worker’ or ‘field worker’ in their solicitation sites. This strategic self-presentation served to protect them from the pervasive whore stigma in Indian society, allowing them to maintain a degree of respectability while navigating both their professional roles and broader societal expectations. For instance, Naina, a cisgender woman sex worker, demonstrates agency in the way she conducts her work, as well as in how she manages social perception and safety for herself and the other women she interacts with in the field. By intentionally hiding condoms during peer outreach work of the NGO, she navigates the stigma associated with sex work and the visible markers (e.g., carrying condoms) that might identify her as a sex worker. This act reflects a strategic negotiation of respectability—one that allows her to protect herself from judgment or exclusion while still doing her work. Similarly, Madhuri’s narratives show how sex workers choose their sex work settings strategically, often to balance visibility and discretion in order to maintain respect and legitimacy in different social settings.

We have to be very careful when reaching out to the women in the field. We never take our condom bags. We have to hide our stuff [condoms] when interacting with women.

(Naina, 45 years)

Didi, I do not work here. I stay in lodges, hotels, and resorts. If I work (referring to sex work) here (referring to her assigned field by the organization), then I cannot reach out to these other women.

(Madhuri, 35 years)

In a similar vein, for trans women sex workers, fluidity in gender presentation and the reclassification of transactional sex as ‘relationships’ serve as tools to manage intersecting stigmas and maintain social legitimacy. Non-disclosure and gender fluidity both function as strategies to mitigate multi-layered oppression. As evident from Suku’s narrative, transgender individuals, regardless of whether they are engaged in sex work or not, were subjected to daily microaggressions from their family, friends, or neighbors for engaging in non-normative sexual or gender behaviors. For instance, the narrative below shows that they were ridiculed for cross-dressing and faced constant family pressure to marry against their will. As a result, the sex worker identity poses an additional layer of barrier in navigating respect and status in society for trans woman.

I consider myself a woman. I like dressing up. People in my neighborhood often make fun of me. They [neighbors] do not know [about sex work] what I do for a living. My family also does not know, but they might suspect.

(Suku, 41 years, transgender)

Transgender women sex workers face intersectional stigma and marginalization that further shape their daily survival strategies. Thus, they are less likely to disclose their involvement in transactional sex and are ambiguous and fluid about their gender identities. Transgender sex workers continue to remain non-prototypical members of sex workers’ groups with a perpetual “othering” of their identities and experiences. They are consigned to a position of social invisibility and silence.

3.

Silence as a strategy to mitigate structural violence:

Structural violence is a term coined by Farmer (2009) to refer to political, social, and economic forces that conspire to promote the suffering of marginalized groups. For instance, Reema’s narrative below illustrates how silence is employed as a strategic tool for navigating the intersecting issues of caste, gender, and criminalization. By concealing the true reason for her arrest and attributing it to a minor offense, she is able to protect her social ties with her family and izzat in society.

I got arrested once and had to spend three nights in jail. I lied to my parents. I said to them [parents] that I got arrested for traveling without a ticket on the train. The police use their discretion to levy petty or big cases against us. We are Bengali’ sarkars’ (indicating her upper caste). So, we have to keep our prestige and social standing.

(Reema, 40 years)

Additionally, her reference to being a “Sarkar,” an upper-caste Bengali surname, highlights how caste privilege imposes additional expectations of respectability. In this context, silence is not merely a means of avoiding stigma but a way of managing the contradictions between her caste identity and her stigmatized occupation. As Chakravarti (1993) argues, “Brahminical patriarchy” is an intersecting system of caste and gender hierarchies used to control women’s sexuality and social roles. Similarly, Swarna, who is employed as a peer educator in a harm reduction NGO, shares that being seen with condom boxes, which she must carry to the peer outreach sites, can get her neighbors gossiping about her, which can get her in trouble.

I sometimes hide the condoms in my blouse or carry them in my palm with my mobile so that no one knows I am giving anything to them; otherwise, the neighbors would want to know why I came and what I handed over to the women.”

(Swarna, 40 years)

While such discreet exchanges observed in the field can be attributed as signs of disempowerment by non-sex work researchers, it is evident from Swarna’s narrative that being discreet is necessary in contexts that can result in arrests.

For transgender women sex workers, the stakes are even higher. Despite the enactment of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, the law offers limited protection against sexual violence—especially when the perpetrators are family members or acquaintances. As a result, when faced with familial violence, as in the case of Bharthi and Sunny’s narratives below, silence is used to navigate the additional complexities of transgender identity and sex worker occupation.

At my hostel, I was forced to have sex with five older boys. All of them claimed to be straight, and they said they were teaching me a lesson.”

(Biswajit, 32 years, transgender)

First, it was my older brother at home, then it was his friend. They both raped me and threatened me not to divulge it [rape] to anybody.”

(Sunny, 35 years, transgender)

These narratives illustrate how silence becomes a necessary response to structural violence, where legal protections are inadequate, and familial spaces become sites of harm rather than safety.

Unlike cisgender women who often work in demarcated red-light districts, many transgender sex workers operate in mobile, less visible spaces. This mobility, while limiting access to health and support services, also allows them to avoid the permanent stigma associated with brothel residency. By remaining transient and ambiguous about their work, they mitigate the compounded stigmatization they face as transgender individuals engaged in sex work. Together, these narratives demonstrate that silence—whether through concealment, non-disclosure, or spatial mobility—is a critical strategy for mitigating structural violence. It enables sex workers to navigate hostile environments, protect their dignity, and maintain essential social relationships in the face of systemic oppression.

4.

Silence and coded language maintaining ‘strategic invisibility’ to occupy mainstream spaces

The first author’s ethnographic observations of cisgender women in diverse sex work settings reveal a pattern of strategic invisibility—a deliberate effort to avoid explicit references to sex work in public spaces. Terms like “sex work,” “condoms,” and “HIV/AIDS” were rarely used openly. Instead, women employed euphemisms and metaphors to describe their activities and the tools of their trade, thereby mitigating stigma and rendering their profession more socially acceptable. This re-articulation included substituting common terms with coded or team language. For instance, instead of explicitly stating they were sex workers, women often said, “I do this,” and referred to using condoms as “I use it.” Anatomical terms were also masked: the penis was referred to as kela (banana) or langcha (a cylindrical Bengali sweet), while condoms were called maal (thing), jama (clothing), or tupi (cap). These codes enabled discreet communication in public spaces without alerting outsiders. A common phrase the author heard was, “Did you bring the maal/jama/tupi I asked for last time?”—used when meeting peer educators at solicitation sites. Notably, to refer to joun kaaj (sex work), they preferred euphemisms such as dhanda (business) or kaaj or kaam (work), and days when business was slow and they were experiencing difficulty getting a client, would be described as “dry days.” These linguistic choices were not incidental; they reflected a conscious effort to remain invisible to dominant social scrutiny.

Similarly, transgender women used metaphoric English terms such as “ladyboy,” “shemale’, “versatile tops,” and “versatile bottoms” to refer to their services to escape social scrutiny. The men who engaged in insertive sex were called “tops,” and the men performing receptive sex were called “bottoms.” Reframing roles through the use of euphemisms and coded language is actively used as a strategy in the trade to be able to avoid being excluded from mainstream spaces, which often becomes a reality for trans women who acknowledge their sex worker identity. Coded language, metaphors, and euphemisms can foster in-group knowledge while also protecting community boundaries among sex workers.

6. Discussion

The findings of our study demonstrate that silence, secrecy, or the use of coded language by sex workers hold different meanings in various contexts. Therefore, it is critical for non-sex worker researchers studying sex work, especially in cultures different than their own, that they spend considerable time building rapport and trust with their participants to be able to gain access to the “hidden transcripts”—a term used by Scott (1990, p. 4) to “characterize discourse that takes place “off stage” beyond the direct observation of power holders.” In our study, we were able to discern the silences. We coded the language employed by our participants through repeated field-based ethnographic research and the use of reflexivity in the field.

Our findings suggest that when NGOs impose fixed occupational identities, such as labeling individuals solely as “sex workers,” they risk overlooking the complexity of the lived experiences of individuals with multiple subordinate group identities. For many participants, sex work was not a primary identity but an occasional livelihood strategy during times of financial hardship. Additionally, sex workers can be trafficked or coerced by clients or police through threats of violence or arrest—realities that are often obscured when sex workers are treated as a monolithic group. Some may wish to exit sex work when presented with alternative employment that offers a living wage or when facing medical complications such as an HIV/AIDS diagnosis. These diverse experiences challenge the assumption that “sex worker” is an inclusive identity category. As Ghosh (2008) argues in her critique of the Sex Workers’ Manifesto, diverse groups of sex workers must be empowered to address the caste, class, and gender hierarchies that shape their working conditions and relationships with clients and intermediaries. Imposing a singular identity—especially by NGOs or policymakers—can erase these complexities and limit individuals’ ability to advocate for their needs. Instead, sex workers should have the autonomy to define their own identities as these identities shift across contexts and over time. The implications for institutions—particularly NGOs serving sex workers, trafficking survivors, or victims of violence—are to adopt more flexible, intersectional approaches that recognize the diversity of experiences and identities within sex work.

Strategic invisibility, as used by Ham and Gerard (2014), refers to the deliberate use of silence or coded language by sex workers to navigate power imbalances and stigma. In our study, we found that both cisgender women and transgender women showed ‘strategic invisibility’ in using coded language and euphemisms in carrying out their peer outreach work in the fields to avoid facing risks such as stigma, police arrests, or surveillance from their neighbors. Gira Grant (2014) argues that coded language and euphemisms should not be viewed as deceptive “any more than the discretion and boundaries a therapist or priest may maintain” (p. 30). A Hong Kong-based study of sex workers found that most sex workers concealed their occupation from others and managed the whore stigma “through closeting, and maneuvering between a stigmatized working persona (the whore) and a public self of good woman/wife/mother” (Kong 2006, p. 423). Similarly, few other studies have discussed “selective disclosure” and the use of “alternate personas” as strategies to manage sex work stigma (Daniel et al. 2023). In our study, both cisgender and transgender women employed strategic invisibility and coded language in their peer outreach work to avoid risks such as police harassment, neighborhood surveillance, and social stigma.

This finding has important implications for rights-based organizations like DMSC and other global sex worker organizations in building an intersectional solidarity movement that recognizes people’s identities, such as transgender, age, marital status, class, caste, and sexual orientation. In line with other studies, which show that ‘sex worker’ is one among many different identities for people, the single identity politics used by organizations or policymakers has limited impact and outreach among the sex worker community.

As scholars studying sex work for several years, we found that silence among the interviewed sex workers was not a passive act of resistance or rebellion; in fact, it served as the foundation for the formation of a shared communal identity. As Ferguson (2003, pp. 13–14) argues, “silence’s primary object is group unity; the unarticulated yet contiguous experience of silence itself forms the community.” This perspective highlights how silence can not only foster community building but also pose strong resistance to dominant narratives. He further argues that silence functions “as a negotiation of the disparate and the common, but like any true negotiation, it takes more than one path and more than one meaning” (Ferguson 2003, p. 15). In our study, Ferguson’s notion of silence as a form of community building was evident in the participants’ use of euphemisms and coded language. These strategies not only cultivated a sense of belonging but also enabled them to access mainstream spaces. For instance, even though sex workers remain invisible to the broader society, this invisibility allows them to earn an income, foster connections with other groups, and reduce feelings of isolation. The findings from the current paper show that a complex relationship between silence and agency can be generated by centering ideas in dialogues around systems of oppression among subaltern groups like commercial sex workers—who challenge prevalent cultural norms and the parameters of dominant sexual ideology—especially when rhetorical realities and lived experiences lack parity. Silence can subvert prevailing ideologies around sex work and humanize lived experiences rather than erase the marginalized knowers and subaltern knowledge.

The findings of the paper also reveal that terms such as “sex work” and “sex workers” are interpreted differently in different contexts and carry different levels of stigma and consequences in various settings for other sub-groups of sex workers. However, very little awareness exists within well-intentioned NGOs about the impact of these commonly used terminologies on individuals. The terms do not seem to convey an inclusive understanding of sex workers’ identities, thus perpetuating a gendered understanding of sex work as being a women’s occupation only. The motivations for engaging in sex work, which vary among cisgender women and transgender sex workers, are also not conveyed. Scholars like Outshoorn (2005) have called out neutral labor-related terminology such as “sex work” to argue how such terms minimize the disproportionate victimization and exploitation of economic and other vulnerabilities experienced by many of those who sell sex (Farley 2004, 2005; Dempsey et al. 2011; Raymond 2004). Our narratives indicate that both cisgender sex workers and transgender people engage in sex work for different reasons. Such reasons are neither entirely oppressive nor empowering. The cisgender and transgender sex workers would like the freedom to self-identify in any way they want, not necessarily as a ‘sex worker’. Being labeled as a sex worker renders them feeling reduced to ‘sex objects’ and not as whole beings performing important social roles such as fathers, mothers, wives, and husbands, and playing the dual role of nurturer and provider to their family.

7. Conclusions and Implications

The findings of this study have implications for the sex worker movements in Kolkata and globally. Since these movements make use of single identity-based politics to build awareness among sex workers about their rights, they end up misrepresenting, marginalizing, and disempowering the experiences of people they purport to serve in the mainstream discourses surrounding violence against women (e.g., cisgender and transgender women’s rights to health and safety go unaddressed). For instance, by essentializing the sex worker identity, advocacy organizations have remained unsuccessful in connecting with other advocacy groups that are centered on addressing issues of poverty, economic exploitation, and higher living wages for women in India. This discordance limits the potential for intersectional solidarity and structural change.

A few limitations of the study are that both the authors focused on sex workers in Eastern India, and cisgender male sex workers were not part of their research. Consequently, the findings cannot be generalized to sex workers globally or in geographical contexts where sex work is legalized or accepted or has diverse gender entities as members.

Our study throws light on how critical the lens of intersectionality is in order to create an inclusive and safe space for different groups of sex workers to be represented. Our findings show how “institutionalized silence” is maintained around transgender sex workers’ rights and other forms of sex work perpetuates exclusionary practices within NGOs, policy institutions, and even academic discourse, which can compel individuals to remain silent about their diverse experiences. While such silence may serve as a protective strategy in the short term, it can have long-term consequences, including erasure from policy agendas and limited access to support systems. There is a need for collaborative efforts centering the needs and lived experiences of diverse groups of sex workers through partnerships of representative groups of the latter with the NGOs. For that, our study shows that non-sex worker scholars and institutional actors need to make use of a holistic concept of agency, which would enable them to view silences encountered in the field neither as a pre-determined concept nor as a monolith. Silence can enable people to make choices that sometimes limit and oppress them, while at other times or within different contexts, the silence of individuals can challenge norms and precipitate their empowerment. Hence, it is essential for researchers, advocates and activists to employ strengths-based, context-specific language and research practices in order to hear the stories of subaltern groups like commercial sex workers. It is suggested that training of service providers and helping professionals focus on accepting and honoring the language people use to identify themselves in different spaces.