A Season of Solidarity: When systems abandon us, we take care of each other.

Alex Andrews
Oct 17
2 min read

We Take Care of Us

When systems fail us - and they often do - it’s community that saves us. Before there were grants or corporate sponsorships, there were friends passing envelopes under cell doors, commissary money pooled together, or a ride to a court date given without question. That’s the heart of mutual aid: a belief that we are all we’ve got, and that solidarity, not charity, keeps our people alive.

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SWOP Behind Bars didn’t grow out of a foundation’s strategic plan. It grew out of letters from prison, late-night hotline calls, and the collective recognition that no one else was coming to save us. Mutual aid is what happens when sex workers, survivors, and allies take care of each other - directly, without judgment, bureaucracy, or conditions attached.

Philanthropy Has Rules. Solidarity Has Heart.

Traditional philanthropy loves a success story - preferably one that ends in “rescue” and a photo op. But for criminalized people, those systems often come with strings attached: surveillance, forced programs, religious conversion, or exclusion for anyone who doesn’t fit the “perfect victim” mold. That’s not care - that’s control.

Sex-worker-led giving looks different. It doesn’t demand perfection or purity; it starts with trust. We know that survival looks different for everyone, and that sometimes the most radical act of care is believing someone deserves help, even when they’ve been told they don’t.

Where the Money Goes (and Why It Matters)

Every dollar that comes into SWOP Behind Bars moves quickly - and intentionally. Commissary deposits mean dignity. A reentry kit means someone can leave jail with clean clothes, a phone charger, and hope. A few gallons of gas mean a volunteer can drive someone home after release. A mentor means someone behind bars can access resources and peers, not punishment.

Mutual aid doesn’t trickle down - it flows sideways, directly from one community member to another. That’s how we’ve built trust in places where trust was broken. It’s why sex-worker-led organizations have survived even as larger nonprofits with million-dollar budgets have collapsed. We don’t wait for permission to care.

Why We Give

We give because we’ve been there.We give because we remember what it felt like to need help and have no one to call.We give because every act of care is an act of resistance against systems built to isolate us.

This November, we’re launching our Season of Solidarity - a month-long fundraising and storytelling series that celebrates the power of mutual aid and the people who make it possible. Every contribution, no matter how small, helps keep our hotline open, our mentors connected, and our community cared for.