Speech by Alia Azariah, Survivor Leader, on pornography law reform

Alia Azariah is a Survivor Leader, Director of Aftercare at Safe House in the US, and an Obama Foundation USA Leader.

On Tuesday 25 November 2025, Alia gave the following speech about her experience of exploitation by the pornography trade to members of the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Commercial Sexual Exploitation, which UK Feminista provides the Secretariat for.

Alia spoke in support of an amendment tabled by Baroness Bertin, and previously by Jess Asato MP, to the Crime and Policing Bill which would force pornography websites to verify that everyone featured on their site is an adult and gave permission for the content to be published – and to enable everyone featured in pornography to withdraw their consent to its continued publication at any time.

UK Feminista strongly backs these proposals – which are vital to combatting exploitation and abuse perpetrated in the pornography trade. Alia’s powerful words speak to the heart of why this legislation is needed.

Speech by Alia Azariah

Thank you for inviting me to speak again. It is meaningful to sit in a space like this and to know that the experiences many of us carried in silence for so long are now part of the conversation. When I was twenty and signed my first contract trying to escape violence and poverty, I never imagined that any part of my story would ever be heard, let alone contribute to policy or protect anyone else. I was not thinking about the future or the systems behind the industry. I was trying to keep myself alive, care for my child, and reach for anything that felt safer than the situation I was in. I entered the industry believing it might offer stability and protection when I had none, and believing the promises that were made to me because I needed them to be true.

I signed that first contract at my manager’s kitchen table. I wasn’t weighing risks or making an informed decision because I did not know there was anything to weigh. I had never signed a legal document before. I did not understand the language. And I did not understand that a signature could be used to override my safety. I trusted the people in front of me because they were promising safety, and I had no other source of it.

The reality of what I had signed became clear very quickly. At my first shoot, I knew I was unsafe and tried to leave. I had been told that was possible, that it was even encouraged, but what I was met with was the contract, not concern. Not care. It was the contract that was used to keep me there. And while I did not have the language for it then, I understand now that this was not an individual misunderstanding. It was how the industry was designed to function.

I want to acknowledge honestly that experiences in this industry vary. Even in my own life, there were times when I was unquestionably forced to be there by someone who had control over me. There were other times when I was there because of circumstance, because I had no options, no safety net, no realistic way to survive outside of it. And there were moments when I believed I was choosing it, that it was my most empowered choice, only to understand later how much that choice had been shaped by trauma, instability, and the absence of alternatives. The truth is rarely one thing. It is layered and complicated, and those layers follow people long after the cameras are gone.

Other performers have lived their own combinations of these realities. Some entered under the coercion of another person, some because they were trying to survive circumstances like addiction or abuse that left them little choice, and some because they believed the opportunity really did align with what they wanted at the time. What many people did not have, regardless of how they entered, was full information or a clear understanding of how permanent and far reaching these recordings would become. The paths in often look different, but what many of us share is the long shadow those recordings cast. A single decision made under pressure, fear, survival, or hope can follow a person for years in ways they could never have imagined at the time.

This is why the amendments being discussed today matter. They recognize that people should not be treated as the least important part of the industry that profits from their images. They acknowledge that age should be verified, not assumed. They acknowledge that permission should be real and informed, not shaped by trauma or survival. And they acknowledge that a person must have the right to say they no longer want their image to remain online.

What appears on these platforms is not neutral content. It is a record of real human circumstances. It may reflect moments marked by fear, pressure, instability, or desperation. Allowing someone to withdraw consent is not extreme. It is a basic recognition of their humanity and the possibility of change.

In my day-to-day advocacy, I almost never talk about my experience in pornography. My work mostly focuses on trafficking overall, on juvenile justice issues, and on helping survivors rebuild their lives. This part of my experience is something I usually keep separate because the victimization does not feel finished. The wound is still open in some ways, and the vulnerability of having those recordings exist never fully goes away. But each time the APPG has asked me to speak, I have made the choice to share it. I do so because your work treats this issue with seriousness and integrity and because the decisions you make here have the potential to protect people who rarely have anyone speaking for them.

The United Kingdom has the opportunity to set a standard that could offer the kind of protection many of us never had. Currently, most of my life is dedicated to advocating for others, for protections and policies that matter deeply but no longer apply directly to my own circumstances. Today is unusual because this is one of the few moments when the decisions you make would actually touch my own life, even now, all these years later. It would mean a great deal to know that my consent is something a government is ready to honour. Because for much of my life, my choices were often dismissed or overshadowed by systems that prioritized profit and convenience over my wellbeing. To know that there is at least one place where my decision to say no, even post-production, would be respected and that the most difficult moments of my past would no longer be publicly accessible would offer a sense of dignity that has been absent not just for me but for us. These protections would give people the ability to make decisions that reflect who they have become, not who they had to be in order to survive.

As you consider these amendments, I ask that you keep in mind the full humanity of the people behind the content. People who were escaping violence. People who were trying to provide for their children. People who believed promises of safety. People who consented in a moment that did not reflect the stability or freedom they deserved or desired. People who now want the ability to move forward without being tied forever to a chapter they have already fought hard to leave.

Thank you for engaging with this issue with the seriousness it deserves.