For more than two decades, December 17 has stood as a beacon of remembrance and resistance - the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers.

December 17 is a day of remembrance - but it has always been more than mourning.

If we want to end violence against sex workers, we need to start following the money.

The Power of Creation in the Face of Erasure Art has always been one of the fiercest weapons of survival for sex workers. When our histories are erased, art rewrites them. When the world refuses to see us, art makes us visible. When grief threatens to swallow us whole, art transforms it into something we can hold, share, and use to fight back. On December 17, as we remember those taken by violence, we also honor the beauty and power that emerge from within our communities - t

For many sex workers, “family” is not a word that brings comfort. Too often, biological families, faith communities, and social institutions turn their backs on us. Some reject us for the work we do, others for our gender, sexuality, or survival choices. What’s left behind is a painful truth: sometimes, the people who were supposed to love us unconditionally are the first to abandon us.

In every conversation about sex work - whether it’s policy, research, or “rescue” - one question should guide us: who is speaking, and who is missing?

For most people, safety means calling 911, trusting social services, or turning to institutions for protection. For sex workers, those options often don’t exist - or worse, they make things more dangerous.

Too often, when sex workers make the news, it’s because of tragedy. The headlines focus on loss, sensationalize violence, and erase the person behind the story.

What happens when sex workers seek justice? Too often, the system betrays them. Reports are dismissed before evidence is even reviewed. Investigations stall without explanation. Prosecutions - if they happen at all - are token gestures that rarely result in accountability. Courts treat sex workers as unreliable witnesses or, worse, as criminals. When families of murdered sex workers plead for justice, they encounter indifference, closed doors, and coded language about “lifest

If you’ve ever heard Rehab’s name in church, it almost always comes with a label:  “Rehab the prostitute.”  Out of all the things she did, all the roles she played, the one word attached to her forever is her occupation.

As we move toward December 17 - the 22nd Annual International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers - we remember those we’ve lost and honor the fight that continues.

Say the name Bathsheba, and most people picture a beautiful woman bathing on a rooftop, luring poor King David into sin. She’s been cast for centuries as the biblical seductress - the woman who tempted a man after God’s own heart.

Let’s be honest - love ain’t always what we see online. It’s not matching outfits, perfect smiles, or those “couple goals” reels that make everything look flawless.

Let’s talk about hunger.

What if the power to end violence wasn’t locked inside a politician’s office or a police budget - but sitting right in your hands?

A government shutdown happens when Congress fails to pass a spending bill to fund federal operations. When that money freezes, so do the programs it supports - including SNAP and WIC. This shutdown began on October 1, 2025, after Congress couldn’t agree on a budget. For people like me, that means one thing: No benefits. No safety net. No food.

When you give to SWOP Behind Bars, you’re not just donating — you’re investing in someone’s comeback story. You’re helping people move from surviving to thriving: from waiting on a bunk in county jail to stability, from a DOC number to a driver’s license, from isolation to connection.

Ever wonder where your donation actually goes? This week, we pull back the curtain on what “funding justice” really looks like—from commissary deposits to reentry kits—and how every dollar fuels freedom, not surveillance.

Community-led services and support for incarcerated women being released from prison are grounded in one radical belief: that those closest to the problem are closest to the solution. Rather than imposing top-down programs that often miss the mark, grassroots organizations across the country—many founded and led by formerly incarcerated women—offer holistic, peer-based support that centers dignity, autonomy, and lived experience.