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When she was 10, Aishah Shahidah Simmons told her parents her step-grandfather sexually abused her.

鈥淭hey didn鈥檛 remove me from the situation because my grandparents provided the 鈥榮afe nuclear home鈥� while they were out transforming the world,鈥� she says. Simmons鈥� parents were activists. Her father was a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War. Her mother was beaten and jailed for registering Black people to vote during the Jim Crow era. But despite their involvement in radical movements, her parents did not protect her, Simmons says. 鈥淚 always think it鈥檚 important to name that, particularly in activist circles,鈥� she adds. 鈥淚t鈥檚 important to do the external work, but in the words of my teacher , 鈥業f your house ain鈥檛 in order, you鈥檙e not in order. It鈥檚 easier to be out there than in here.鈥欌��

Simmons has since dedicated her life to examining the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, and sexual violence as a cultural worker. Her 2006 film, , shone a light on intraracial rape in the Black community. 鈥淏lack people are under siege,鈥� she says. 鈥淭o speak about the violence against [Black] women, you were viewed as a traitor.鈥� Her work has since expanded to amplify the experiences of Black LGBTQ survivors, and today she advocates for survivor-centered healing, non-carceral community accountability, and using intersectionality when uprooting abuse from our society. 鈥淭his entire hemisphere was founded on rape, genocide, and enslavement,鈥� she says. 

In the United States, a person is . . have experienced sexual violence in their lifetime. And are the populations most likely to be victimized. But despite these statistics, Simmons rejects the idea that abuse is inevitable. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 believe that we are born rapists,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 believe that we鈥檙e born settlers. I don鈥檛 believe that we鈥檙e born misogynist [or] capitalist. We鈥檙e taught it. It鈥檚 indoctrinated.鈥�

More than five years after was brought into the mainstream, abuse still has deep roots in many of our , , and . While the hashtag became increasingly associated with encouraging survivors鈥攑articularly in Hollywood鈥攖o tell their truths, society has yet to truly center them. 鈥淲hile I do believe that the truth has the power to set us free, it also has caused a lot of harm for the survivors coming forward,鈥� says Simmons. 鈥淚鈥檓 still navigating that legacy of not being believed, of being told, 鈥楢re you sure you鈥檙e not dreaming? Are you sure this really happened?鈥� Or 鈥榃hat were you doing there?鈥欌��

As interpersonal violence becomes more widely discussed, survivors like Simmons, community organizers, and social workers are reshaping how to address it. Through anti-carceral approaches in schools, queer-inclusive standards of survivor care, and holistic community responses rooted in anti-oppression, they are embracing the possibility of freeing our communities from violence鈥攁nd putting survivors鈥� needs first.

Surviving the Institution

When Drew Davis experienced sexual violence and sexual harassment in college, they began the school鈥檚 Title IX protocol seeking resources and support. Instead, the process became an exhausting period of having to self-advocate for their basic needs. 鈥淭he violence and harm caused by the institution that I attended really was so much worse than what had originally happened,鈥� they say.

, the civil rights law protecting those in federally funded education programs from sex-based discrimination, is widely recognized for helping address gender-based violence in schools. But the narrowed the definition of 鈥渟exual harassment鈥� and limited the types of sexual misconduct universities were required to investigate. These updated guidelines of sexual violence than survivors themselves. 

Though new regulations under President Joe Biden鈥檚 administration include , Davis says it is not enough to rely on Title IX to end gender-based violence in schools: 鈥淭he institution bears such a large responsibility for the harm and the trauma that is being enacted on, through, and against students on a daily basis.鈥�

Enter , a survivor-led project by Advocates for Youth that provides education, training, organizing, and direct support to students seeking more understanding about Title IX. As an organizer for Know Your IX, Davis helps build and advocate for community-based support systems that 鈥渋nsulate students from institutional violence.鈥� In 2021, the project released a report that showed who reported violence to their schools experienced a 鈥渟ubstantial disruption鈥� to their education, including leaves of absence, transferring, or dropping out altogether.

But Davis says organizers are developing the knowledge and resources to change those numbers. This includes challenging an institutional culture that conflates self-advocacy with empowerment. 鈥淚nstitutions, and folks who are higher up in administration, really value this idea that self-advocacy is a good thing, and that students should be able to be independent and do it themselves,鈥� Davis says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 that whole American 鈥榩ull yourself up by the bootstraps鈥� vibe and belief that [are] really violent. And I think that鈥檚 what is keeping these systems where they are.鈥�

To counter this, Know Your IX advocates for and empowers survivors to receive support that is responsive to their individual needs and experiences, including having confidential advocates at schools 鈥渨ho have the ability and institutional authority to navigate and move the institution to support a survivor however they need.鈥� 

Those needs may not always be obvious, and for some survivors, their needs might require nixing the punitive, carceral methods schools often use to address violence. One confidential campus advocate drove more than an hour to buy wish paper from a craft store so that a survivor could burn it as part of their healing process. 鈥淭hat is abolition. It catered to the individual鈥檚 needs and their healing in such a specific way that I could never have anticipated,鈥� Davis says. 鈥淏eing responsive 鈥� that鈥檚 the key.鈥�

Know Your IX not only addresses sexual violence on college campuses; the organization also works with students in K鈥�12 schools. Davis is creating a workbook that will help middle and high school students better understand Know Your IX鈥檚 abolitionist approach. 鈥淸K鈥�12 students] don鈥檛 live [at school] in the same way that you do on a college campus,鈥� Davis says. 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 have access to the press like a lot of college students do鈥� or 鈥渇unding to do organizing.鈥�

As a result, K鈥�12 survivors are invisibilized. 鈥淓very single person needs to challenge that and needs to start thinking about how they can value young people and value children in a way that really holds them, and is just like, 鈥榊eah, you are a full human, too,鈥欌�� Davis says. 鈥淭here is something so profound about when young people see something that is wrong鈥攁nd name it as wrong鈥攖hat is such an excellent moral register for us.鈥� 

Revolutionizing Queer Survivor Care

While are now protected from gender-based violence at the federal level, lawmakers continue to dehumanize queer communities. More than 500 anti-LGBTQ bills have been introduced, defeated, or are advancing in states across the country. 鈥淎 lot of trans folks are literally afraid to go outside of their house鈥攆or work, for school, for help, for anything,鈥� says michael munson, co-founder and executive director of , a nonprofit organization that empowers violence-focused service providers and crisis-intervention groups to offer culturally responsive, trauma-informed care for trans and nonbinary survivors. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not just the legislation,鈥� he says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the culture that we鈥檙e living in.鈥�

Since 2009, FORGE has received federal funding to concentrate on the sexual and domestic violence that trans and nonbinary people experience, as well as stalking and hate crimes. It originally began as a general peer-to-peer support group for transmasculine individuals, then pivoted after munson noticed that at least half of group-meeting attendees were survivors. In 2004, focused on trans survivors of sexual assault. Now it offers training and technical assistance to medical providers, coalitions, and organizations, and direct support to survivors. 

Trans and nonbinary survivors are often failed by organizations stuck in a gender binary. 鈥淪ome of the barriers that we see are just total denial of care,鈥� munson says. 鈥淧eople literally get turned away at the door if they seek help.鈥� Or, survivors may not seek care out of fear of discrimination. 鈥淭hey might be asked for an ID that doesn鈥檛 match how they appear,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey might be trying to seek shelter and people say, 鈥極h, well, we only shelter [non-trans] women and men.鈥欌�� 

But FORGE is disentangling trans-exclusive care and forming partnerships with other organizations to normalize inclusion wherever a survivor may seek support. One partnership with the helps train nurses across the country to provide proper care to trans survivors. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 helping people see beyond the binary, because they鈥檙e literally going to be able to see real-life trans people鈥� in their curriculum. It can encourage a nurse to allow a trans patient to self-swab when collecting evidence after an assault, which 鈥渆mpowers the agency of that person,鈥� munson says. 鈥淚 view that as the standard of care, which is different [from] the cultural response.鈥� 

To munson, survivor-centered care is culturally responsive care. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 think it can be care if it鈥檚 not culturally responsive,鈥� he says. 鈥淎ll of those words go together. And if they aren鈥檛 all there, it鈥檚 going to be a disservice to survivors.鈥�

Queer folks are also meeting the needs of their local survivor communities through community-based organizing and service work. In Boston, (TNLR) works to end partner abuse in LGBTQ, kink, and polyamorous communities. 鈥淔olks can live at the intersections of these communities,鈥� says Cristina Dones, TNLR鈥檚 director of outreach, education, and organizing programs. 鈥淔or folks who practice kink, there鈥檚 this idea that 鈥� if there鈥檚 abuse involved, that鈥檚 because you wanted it. There鈥檚 this stigma that polyamorous communities are promiscuous.鈥�

Dones first joined TNLR around 2011. She worked for the organization鈥檚 , responded to prison mail, and conducted outreach at events throughout Massachusetts. She credits TNLR, a survivor-led organization, with helping her to process how normalized domestic violence was in her childhood home. 鈥淚 actually didn鈥檛 even realize it was abuse until I took [TNLR]鈥檚 training,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hen I realized it was happening in some of my relationships as well.鈥�

Other services TNLR provides include 鈥攁 30-day emergency shelter program for survivors and their families鈥攁nd a transitional housing program, which provides up to two years of rental assistance. TNLR also offers telephone-based for LGBTQ survivors of partner abuse, as well as specifically BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) LGBTQ survivors; educational for survivors and service providers; and . It does not require that a survivor want to leave an abusive partner to receive services.

teaches domestic violence service providers how to 鈥渄istinguish between who the survivor is and who the abuser is,鈥� Dones says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 about one person trying to maintain power and control, and one person trying to reclaim control over their own life.鈥� , TNLR links partner abuse to the 鈥渓arger violent culture which condones and rewards interpersonal, institutional, and imperialist abuse of power.鈥� 

鈥淎buse, in all of its forms, is informed by oppression,鈥� says Dones. 鈥淭he tactics behind each to maintain power and control are the same. If we understand that, then we can change our approach to center the survivor.鈥� 

The (AVP) is another anti-oppression organization using education, organizing, counseling, and advocacy to empower LGBTQ and HIV-impacted survivors of all kinds of violence. It offers a free , , and , and is the coordinator for the . 

鈥淸AVP] really puts up-front into public consciousness 鈥� that violence does not exist in a silo,鈥� says Aditi Bhattacharya, AVP鈥檚 deputy director of client services. 鈥淭he biggest challenges right now continue, unfortunately but not surprisingly, to be the same challenges as 40 [to] 45 years ago鈥攚hich are people鈥檚 reproductive rights, people鈥檚 rights to exist in the identities that they want, people鈥檚 rights to express their identity, their orientation, their truth, and their reality early on鈥攁nd feel supported by their schools, by their families, by their churches.鈥� 

As a whole, the organization鈥檚 teams work together to develop a holistic approach to violence. 鈥淲e figure out among each other how we can actually balance what a collaborative community response within AVP looks like.鈥� This often means recognizing and adapting to a survivor鈥檚 experience with both interpersonal and systemic violence. 鈥淥ur legal team has had clients that they have held for more than 10 years,鈥� Bhattacharya says. One client was an immigrant whose needs 鈥渢raversed the spectrum.鈥� 鈥淭here was immigration-related support, systems-related support 鈥� there were benefits-related issues connected to housing, connected to violence,鈥� she says. 鈥淭his entire arc of this human being鈥檚 experience as an immigrant coming in with all of their identities and experiencing the Venn diagram of violences 鈥� is one example of how we鈥檝e been doing this work.鈥�

Reimagining Accountability

In addition to helping survivors navigate systems, AVP holds a support group for people who identify as being at risk of causing harm鈥攁 preventative measure that isn鈥檛 rooted in criminal justice. 鈥淐riminal justice kind of colonizes the movement of people who鈥檝e experienced violence having the right, and the share of voice, to determine what healing would look like for them,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he country at large is slowly but surely recognizing that there needs to be a true reexamination of how systems have been allowed to exist and dictate the terms of healing.鈥� 

Policing and prisons have been repeatedly exposed for their perpetuation of systematic, anti-Black violence. But they also carry an unpayable debt for the ways in which they reproduce abuse. More than are sexually abused each year in the U.S. Abolitionists have strengthened calls to end incarceration because of it. Still, it can be challenging for some to imagine alternatives to addressing sexual violence. 

Though Simmons was raised in a radical household, she once believed incarceration to be the solution for rape. 鈥淭hat whole journey of making the [NO! documentary] helped me to see that no prison is going to stop rape,鈥� she says. But the onus of figuring out what to do with those who cause harm shouldn鈥檛 be on survivors. Rather, 鈥淗ow do we, as a community, hold the harm-doers accountable?鈥� Simmons asks. Part of this, she says, is encouraging people to think about the spent on policing and prisons. 鈥淚f we siphoned off a fraction of that money and put it into counseling, healing鈥攆or clearly the survivors but also for the harm-doers鈥攖hat, for me, is what survivor-centered accountability can look like.鈥� Another part is giving survivors the space to use their personal experiences as the foundation for how we think about accountability.

In 2019, Simmons published , an anthology from AK Press featuring the works of 40 Black diasporic survivors, ranging in sexuality and gender, tasked to 鈥渆nvision how we can disrupt and end this epidemic without relying on the criminal justice system.鈥� The project was born out of her own work holding her parents accountable for their lack of response to her step-grandfather鈥檚 abuse. 鈥淲e learn in the family to keep things quiet 鈥� to protect the family,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the first institution. Then it just ripples out to the school, to the church, the mosque, or synagogue, to the entertainer 鈥� the politician.鈥� To Simmons, accountability requires that we not only focus on one individual as responsible. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like plucking a leaf off a tree. We have to focus on the community [and] the structures that allow it to happen.鈥� 

鈥淲e really need to be [doing] a lot of cross-movement organizing,鈥� Davis says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the only way that we鈥檙e going to get anything done鈥攊f it鈥檚 happening everywhere.鈥� 

While survivors like Simmons and Davis make way for decarceration, Bhattacharya emphasizes the need for organizations like AVP. 鈥淚n the movement in anti-violence, especially community-based programs that work with multiple marginalized communities like LGBTQIA+ people, we do need more resources that seek to have these conversations 鈥� on our terms, informed by us,鈥� she says. 鈥淣ot dictated by mainstream systems.鈥� 

This shift will determine whether collective healing and liberation can happen. 鈥淚t remains to be seen, because it also means that it turns the current, existing economy of anti-violence work right on its head,鈥� she says. In the meantime, centering survivors brings us one step closer.