Maria’s hands, roughened by years of hardship, clutch a worn photograph of her children back in Romania. She left them seeking a better life, a future she hoped to build through tireless work on the streets of Enfield. For seven years, she navigated the city, a silent struggle for survival echoing in every step.
But a shadow fell over her fragile existence with the arrival of ‘Operation Pisces’ in June 2024. Intended to combat organized crime, the Metropolitan Police initiative inadvertently pushed vulnerable women like Maria into even greater danger. The well-lit streets and familiar car parks, once offering a semblance of safety, became too risky, forcing her into desolate parks and darkened corners.
“Things got so much worse,” Maria whispers, her voice laced with fear. “Police are everywhere, shouting, threatening arrest. We retreat to quiet places… places where no one can hear you.” The intended crackdown on crime had, for her and many others, become a desperate fight for personal safety.
Chief Inspector Rob Gibbs defends the operation, framing it as a crucial phase in a broader Home Office strategy to dismantle drug networks and gang violence plaguing Enfield. He acknowledges the area’s challenges and the large number of exploited women, emphasizing the goal of breaking a destructive cycle.
However, Niki Adams of the English Collective of Prostitutes paints a starkly different picture. She describes Operation Pisces as a direct “police crackdown against street sex workers,” a targeted assault on a long-established community. The impact, she insists, will be felt for years to come.
The first calls for help began flooding in to Niki’s organization in January 2025 – desperate pleas from women facing relentless police patrols and the threat of Antisocial Behaviour Orders. Though the Metropolitan Police deny issuing such orders, the effect was the same: dispersal into isolation, a desperate scramble to earn enough to survive.
Dr. Binta Sultan, a clinical researcher working with sex workers in Enfield, recalls a stark shift in the relationship with law enforcement. Previously, she says, police had fostered trust through collaboration and a trauma-informed approach, recognizing these women as victims in need of support. That trust evaporated with Operation Pisces.
“Women started telling us about aggressive and rude interactions with police, about arrests,” Dr. Sultan explains. “We also saw a drop in women using outreach services, afraid of being identified or having their children taken away.” The very support systems designed to protect them were now perceived as threats.
The consequences have been devastating. Niki describes women feeling “hunted, persecuted, and fearful,” many of whom are survivors of horrific violence. The threat of arrest, the shame of a criminal record – these are burdens that can shatter lives, barring access to jobs, housing, and even custody of their children.
For migrant women like Maria, the increased vulnerability is particularly acute. Forced into more dangerous situations, they now fear not only clients but also the police. “We aren’t dangerous people,” she pleads. “We are just women trying to survive and support our families. We need safety, not punishment.”
Sarah, a mother of two, echoes this sentiment. Losing her job led her to street work, a choice driven by desperation to provide for her children. Before Operation Pisces, she felt a degree of safety knowing the local police. Now, she’s forced to rush encounters, increasing her risk of violence.
“Being treated aggressively by the police just causes more stress and fear,” Sarah says, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “We’re not the problem. We are just trying to get by.”
Dr. Sultan recounts raising her concerns with the police, only to be met with dismissal. She was told, simply, “that’s not what we do.” Despite assurances of a trauma-informed approach and a denial of criminalizing sex work, the reality on the ground tells a different story.
While Chief Inspector Gibbs acknowledges 21 arrests of sex workers during the 18-month operation, he insists they weren’t for loitering or soliciting. He points to a decrease in crime and antisocial behaviour as a success, admitting the increased invisibility of sex workers was an “unintended consequence.”
Niki vehemently rejects this framing. “It has been horrifying to hear the police boast about how they have cleaned up an area when it is women’s safety, health and wellbeing which has suffered as a result.”
Dr. Sultan warns against replicating this model elsewhere, fearing the widespread devastation it could unleash. Operation Pisces, she argues, has been wrongly presented as a best practice in policing sex work.
The legal landscape surrounding prostitution is complex. While selling sex privately is not illegal in the UK, many related activities – kerb crawling, operating a brothel, pimping – are criminalized. This creates a precarious existence for those involved.
Niki advocates for full decriminalization, arguing it would allow sex workers to operate safely indoors, together, and with greater agency. She points to the successful emergency support provided in Ipswich following the murders of five sex workers in 2006 – a model of care and compassion that could be replicated in Enfield.
Chief Inspector Gibbs acknowledges a shift in recent months, noting that more sex workers are now approaching police for help, seeking a way out. He insists his team is focused on support and safeguarding, recognizing that criminalization is not the answer.
Ultimately, the English Collective of Prostitutes is calling for the repeal of loitering and soliciting laws, and the abolition of cautions for prostitution. They believe that prioritizing women’s safety, health, and survival is the only path towards truly safer streets.
