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.

As we come to the eve of December 17, this day of remembrance, we hold space not only for grief but also for vision.

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

Solidarity is not abstract - it’s something you practice.

When we talk about ending violence against sex workers, one of the most powerful tools we have isn’t another round of policing or another set of restrictive laws - it’s decriminalization.

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?

Sex workers do more than survive - they resist. Every act of joy, every community project, every gathering beneath the red umbrella is an act of defiance against erasure.

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

Stigma is a shadow that follows sex workers everywhere—often more destructive than the law itself.

For many people, laws are supposed to protect. For sex workers, laws often do the opposite. Criminalization - whether full, partial, or through the so-called “Nordic model” - creates conditions that make violence more likely, not less.

Violence against sex workers doesn’t just happen in a vacuum. It is created and sustained by the systems around us - criminalization, stigma, and neglect.

December 17 is recognized worldwide as the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers—a day of remembrance, resistance, and solidarity.

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.

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.