In the capital city of Quito, Ecuador, sunlight falls across vibrant buildings colored by history. Teams of street cleaners pass brothels from where women gaze out of open doors and windows. To many of these women, these alleys represent legacy and opportunity passed down across generations where sex work is legal, if controversial.
The origins of Ecuador‘s legalized sex trade emerged in the early 20th century as informal bars and brothels sprung up in Quito and surrounding towns to serve migrant workers and expanding urban populations. By the 1960‘s, authorities sought to respond to exploited people increasingly visible on streets. In 1971, Ecuador passed Decree 1529 establishing tolerance zones and regulations requiring sex workers to hold health cards following medical examinations, a model that persists today.
The Sex Workers Association and the Laws that Bind
Ecuador‘s National Sex Workers Association formed in 1982, registering as a national trade union consolidating over 6,000 sex workers across 22 provinces under a representative body helping facilitate access to healthcare, education, protection and justice.
"By supporting self-organization of sex workers, we‘ve seen significant improvements," remarked health activist Michelle Sanchez from Quito‘s Municipality. "Access to HIV treatment has expanded from 65 to 95% for female sex workers in regulated zones between 2008 to 2022, helping many women detect illnesses earlier."
Under Article 528, Ecuador’s laws also prohibits trafficking, sexual exploitation, or forcing anyone into sex work against their will, legally regarding victims as ‘not liable for punishment’. Yet many like Diana, 36, operate independently in a grey area, under economic pressures but outside direct criminal exploitation. "As single mothers we have to provide, and this work helps us do that," she explains.
Diana runs a laundry in morning hours, while engaging in sex work from a small rented room to support her four children ages 5-15 struggling as an unemployed single parent. She earns between $10-30 per day, doubling her income from laundry work.
"I know everyone looks badly at people in this life," she says. "But my children’s father left, and families need options to keep going.”
Regulating a Controversial Trade
Governments worldwide grapple with regulating sex work spanning voluntary transactions, gray zones and known abuse. Complete criminalization as under the US model cuts off protections and exacerbates exploitation, while full decriminalization as seen in parts of Australia and Europe worries some. Ecuador walks a middle line.
“We don’t seek to punish voluntary sex workers, rather protect them within regulated areas under health monitoring,” says Daniel Ponton, legal advisor to Ecuador’s Ministry of Health. "But this work carries inherent risks and our approach remains controversial.”
Even legal recognition proves no magic shield against discrimination, violence or disease for Ecuador’s sex workers. Yet regulation allows collecting data to assist agencies in supporting vulnerable groups.
A landmark study across four Latin American countries in 2021 interviewed 860 sex workers, finding:
- 63% faced violence from clients
- 49% experienced police violence or arrest
- 45% lacked health insurance
"Stigma and danger remain ever-present,” Ponton affirms. “But bringing an invisible profession into light provides pathways we can now work to improve.”
Inside a Pleasure Hotel
Hotel Paraiso offers budget room rentals starting from $3.50 an hour, complete with a disposable kit including condoms, lubricant and towels. It‘s design caters efficiency for high customer turnover. The reception asks no questions, and sex workers operate freely.
"We don‘t discriminate against anyone here, the rooms are used as needed," explains manager Luis Toledo, who inherited the property from his father after starting work as a janitor 30 years prior. "My family came from little, we try to give opportunity."
The hotel also directly employs sex workers offering their services on-site, who view the venue as a safe environment away from risks on the street. However problems of abuse, health risks and stigma permeate everywhere.
"People think we don’t suffer, that we don’t have feelings or go through hard times," confesses Juanita, 39, an on-site sex worker helping to provide for her young son. Despite judgments, she values her work‘s flexibility and income helping fund her son’s education.
"My goal is to open my own beauty salon soon,” she adds. “My son thinks I work in this hotel’s spa."
Generations in the Shadows
63 year old Carmela Velasquez, has worked for over 35 years from the same tall corner brothel in central Quito, outlasting generations of fellow sex workers. For many like Diana and Carmela, the difficult work enables family bonds paradoxically built through secrecy, as children are provided for but sheltered from the grim realities in their mothers‘ occupation weighed down by taboo.
"I rent a small room downtown and leave home saying I‘m going to sell things at the market. No one knows the truth," Carmela admits. She managed to raise seven children through secondary school driving her to continue into older age, while keeping her profession completely hidden. Without welfare support, her family depends on her income fully, while remaining unaware.
"If my children knew, they would feel bad about having money from people disrespecting their mother,” she reasons. “And I don’t want them living with that. But a mother will do anything needed for her children.”
Changing Minds, Changing Lives
Commercial sex splits public opinion across Ecuadorian society. Conservative groups push continuing for full criminalization, while activists demand more protections under full decriminalization models. Yet government policy seeks balance in improving health and rights protections, while limiting the scale of an industry known globally to enable exploitation.
"The law cannot quickly fix these issues permeating society’s layers, nor reverse decades of discrimination,” remarked Daniel Ponton from Ecuador’s Health Ministry. "Yet we forge ahead, working with those seeking better lives."
Inside Hotel Paraiso, Juanita prepares herself for a middle-aged client seeking 15 minutes of fantasy, attention and affirmation. She applies lipstick while making playful small talk rehearsed through years of pleasing strangers. After, she will rest before returning tomorrow.
Outside Juanita still dreams of her beauty salon; of funding her son’s university aspiration and of finally gaining acceptance – as people walk hurriedly past avoiding eye contact with Quito‘s ancient guild.
“I hope to start classes next year,” she says. “My friend got out from this work through studying…there’s always a way.”