This articlefirst appeared on Mother Jones. It has been republished with the publications permission.Paris Alexander hadbeen in a destructive relationship for over a decade, learning to tolerate the intolerable even as the abuse progressedfirst mental and emotional torment, then physical and sexual torture. Like many survivors, Alexander, who is nonbinary, stayed in the relationship hoping that it would improve. We stick it out, they said, because we think that theyre going to change and come to their senses.Then, one day in September 2020, Alexanders male partner beat them up and dragged them outside their Providence, Rhode Island, home by their hair. Wandering their neighborhood, covered in blood and desperate to flee, Alexander felt haunted by the years of forced isolation: I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, they recall. A Google search on their phone led them toSojourner House, which runs the states only shelter specifically for LGBTQ victims of intimate partner violence. Almost miraculously, there was some space. Finally, Alexander had caught a break. Related Suit over gender dysphoria could dismantle new disability rules Texas and its GOP allies are utilizing LGBTQ issues as a wedge, civil rights advocates warn. Never Miss a Beat Subscribe to our newsletter to stay ahead of the latest LGBTQ+ political news and insights. Subscribe to our Newsletter today At the shelter, known as RISE, Alexander focused on taking baby steps toward independence. They got a library card. They started individual therapy. They joined a weekly virtual LGBTQ support group, where they heard terms like nonbinary, gender-queer, and gender fluid for the first time. Back then, Alexander identified as a transgender woman and felt pressured to look female as much as possible. The support group taught them, You dont have to be [male or female]you can just simply be who you are, and thats okay.RISE isone of three sheltersoperated by Sojourner House, named for the 19th-century slave-turned-abolitionistSojourner Truth, who was also an ardent advocate for womens rights. Since itsfoundingin 1976,the organization has served more than 60,000 people1,800 last year alone. A small but critical part ofthis past years $7.4 million budget comes from the federalCrime Victims Fund, a pot of money created by the 1984 Victims of Crime Act, also known as VOCA. Across the country, VOCA helps pay for the hotlines survivors call in crisis, the shelters they flee to, and the advocates who accompany them to court and help them heal.VOCA-supported programs helped almost 8 million people in fiscal year 20222023, funding nearly 3 million shelter beds and 2.3 million crisis-hotline calls, according tothe Department of Justice. Those services have become more critical since the pandemic, as rates of intimate partner violence have soared, a housing crisis has made it even harder for survivors to flee, andthe overturning ofRoe v. Wadehas given abusersanother way to threaten pregnant survivors. But even as the need is growing, VOCA funding has been plummetingand Congress has failed to act on what many advocates say may be the best hope for a legislative fix. The current funding crisis is rooted in changes in DOJ policy that date back years. The Crime Victims Fund gets most of its money from financial penalties levied in corporate criminal cases, according to the department. Those fees and fines have been falling as federal prosecutors havepursuedmore deferred and non-prosecution agreements, which allow defendantsmore time to pay up or avoid charges entirely if they cooperate with the government. As a result, deposits into the potshrankfrom a high of $6.6 billion in 2017 to $1.39 billion in fiscal year 2023. (Because of congressional caps, the actual amount of moneydisbursedis even lower.) These declines have trickled down to state agencieswhich receive VOCA funds based on their states population sizeand then to eligible programs. Rhode Island, which has one of the smallest populations, has seen a 54 percent drop in VOCA funds since 2017, to $2.9 million in the last fiscal year.California, the most populous state, went from receiving $218.9 million in VOCA funds in 2017 to $87 million over the same period.Most states, including California, have managed to come up with some funding to offset the federal cuts, but the money is mostly temporarylasting a year or two max. Fourteen states, including Rhode Island, did not appropriate any money in their most recent budgets to offset the VOCA cuts, I found in my reporting. This past spring, Rhode Island lawmakers proposed $2 million in supplemental funding, but the bill died in committee.Ive spent four months trying to understand how these extreme VOCA cuts are affecting domestic violence programs across the United States, doing more than two dozen interviews and tracking down budget data from every state. The picture that has emerged is deeply troubling: Lifesaving services for survivors are struggling to stay afloat, and experts fear what might happen if a long-term funding solution isnt found. Law enforcement groups are equally worried.Without Congressional action, victim service providers will be forced to cut critical services, and many will be forced to close,more than 700 prosecutorswrote in an open letter to lawmakers in February. Millions of victims, including abused children and battered women, will be left without access to safety, justice and healing. But with the November elections looming, Congress attention has been focused elsewhere.TheVOCA Fix Act,which President Biden signed into law in 2021,diverted revenue from deferred and non-prosecution agreements to the Crime Victims Fundbut this turned out to beinadequate. This term, Sen. Dick Durbin (D-Ill.) and Sen. Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska) have proposed a bill tosupplement VOCA with fundscollected through the False Claims Act, whichpenalizesdefrauding of the government. The legislation has attracted 170 bipartisan co-sponsors in the House butlanguishedin the Senate Judiciary Committee, which Durbin chairs. A spokesperson for Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.), the committees highest-ranking Republican, did not respond to questions about whether the bill willget a hearing. Congress has also punted onBidens proposal for a $7.3 billion infusion into the Crime Victims Fund for next year. (The White House did not respond to repeated requests for comment.)Victims of crime, and specifically, victims of domestic and sexual violence, just are not priorities.Vanessa Volz, Sojourner Houses president and CEOAt a virtual event this week commemorating the 40th anniversary of VOCA, the mood was less than celebratory. Im hearing about programs shutting down, positions being cut, victim services being impacted, ClairePonder Selib, executive director of the National Organization for Victim Advocacy, told more than 250 attendees. To Vanessa Volz, Sojourner Houses president and CEO, the funding crisis illuminates a harsh reality: Victims of crime, and specifically, victims of domestic and sexual violence, just are not priorities.Shutterstock | Shutterstock Domestic violence hotlineslike theone that led Paris Alexander to Sojourner House are among the most critical services that VOCA funds. Because hotlines are the point of entry to a support system that can mean the difference between life and death, slashed budgets can be especially disastrous. Rhode Islands statewide24/7 helplinehas historically relied almost entirely on VOCA fundingabout $118,000 last year, less than half what it received in 2019. More cuts would likely hit the helplines overnight shifts hardest. For people who are abused in the dead of night, or who have a small window to seek help while their abusers are sleeping or working, thiscould be catastrophic.The Rhode Island helpline routinely gets calls from people in Massachusetts and Connecticut who cant access services in their own areaseven though both of those states, unlike Rhode Island, have appropriated supplemental funds to offset VOCA cuts. Connecticuts additional money came from the pandemic-era American Rescue Plan Act, which disappears at the end of this year. Without a new infusion of money, the statewide domestic violence hotline,Safe Connectwhich is 100 percent funded by VOCAwill have to drastically cut services, lay off advocates, or even shut down, says Meghan Scanlon, president and CEO of the Connecticut Coalition Against Domestic Violence, which staffs the hotline. The reality is, as much as we are advocates who dont want to say no, at some point, were gonna have to, she laments. And that doesnt feel great. Some of the greatest effects are likely to be felt in programs that serve transgender clients and undocumented immigrants, such as Sojourner Houses RISE shelter and THEIA Project, which supportsvictims of human trafficking. Hot-button politics around LGBTQ+ and immigrant clienteles make such programs especially difficult to fundraise for, Volz says.Yet as Alexanders story shows, immigrantsurvivors areparticularly vulnerable to abusefrom partners who exploit their status as another form of control. Despite their strong New England accent that makes them sound as if they had been born and raised in Boston, Alexander originally hails from So Miguel, a lush island in the Azores archipelago of Portugal. When they were 5 years old, they arrived in New Bedford, Massachusetts, with their parentsbut without documentation. Their mother secured US citizenship when Alexander was a teenagera process thatautomaticallymade them a citizen, too. But after getting kicked out of the house at 16, and no parental contact over the years, Alexander lacked both identification and proof of their citizenship status. I became like a ghost, they recall. In their 20s, they told me, essentially undocumented, they dropped out of cosmetology school and the regular labor force and drifted into sex work.Sojourner House didnt just get Alexander out of an abusive relationship. Its VOCA-funded team ofimmigration advocateshelped Alexander secure identification, represented them in immigration proceedings, and prepped them for their citizenship testa process that took over a year; in March 2022, Alexander was officially sworn in as a US citizen. Were really at risk of not being able to continue providing these services at the same level, Volz notes. In some places, cuts affecting VOCA-funded legal advocacy services have already been devastating. Judge Shelley Santry, a family court judge in Louisville, Kentucky, used to have advocates in her courtroom every Tuesday, the day she hears domestic violence cases involving people seeking emergency protective orders against their abusers. The advocatesemployed by the statewideCenter for Women and Familieswould bring survivors into a private room after their hearing and explain a new set of risks: Once the order is entered, its really the most dangerous time, Santry told me. The perpetrator is losing that control, and thats when the lethality red flags are elevated. Recently in Hardin County, 60 miles from Louisville, a man fatally shothis ex-girlfriend and her mothernear the courthouse where they had a hearing about an emergency protective order against him. (He alsokilled himself.)In Santrys courtroom, the advocates would help survivors come up with practical strategies to safeguard themselves and their families: keep gas in their cars, charge up their phones, pack emergency bags in case they had to flee. Their in-person presence was essential, says Elizabeth Martin, the centers president and CEO: If you arent where people are, theyre not necessarily going to reach out to you.But over time, the number of advocates in Santrys courtroom dwindled, and since August 2021, theyve been completely gone. With VOCA funding for the center plummeting more than 60 percent since 2019, to just over $437,000 last year, Martin was forced to cut her domestic violence staff in half and remove advocates from courtrooms. Now, a court staffer hands out pamphlets and business cards to survivors bearing the centers name, website, and phone number. Martin only sends an advocate if a survivor asks for one. They dont know what they dont know, Martin says. The contact, that personal touch, that involvement has been watered down significantly.Lawmakers need to understand this isnt a personal problem, this isnt afamilyproblemthis isallof our problems, and weve got to work to eradicate it.Elizabeth Martin, president and CEO of Kentuckys Center for Women and FamiliesDomestic violence groups were grateful when Kentucky legislators allocated $7.1 million in their latest budget to offset VOCA cuts, but say the one-time grant isnt enough. Without advocates to provide support, the consequence may be death, Santry says. In 2020, Kentucky ranked 10th in the nation for domestic violence homicides,according to the Violence Policy Center, with men murdering 46 women across the state. Lawmakers need to understand this isnt apersonalproblem, Martin says, this isnt afamilyproblemthis isallof our problems, and weve got to work to eradicate it.Shutterstock An older black woman mournfully looks out her window | Shutterstock California is anotherstate where advocates say lawmakers havent done enough to address a steep decline in VOCA fundsdown 60 percent since fiscal year 2017. Now domestic violence organizations there are facing a new crisis as they grapple with the repercussions of this summersdecisioninGrants Pass v. Johnson, in which the Supreme Courts conservative supermajority essentially greenlit thecriminalization of homelessness.After a months-long advocacy campaign thatdrew the support of actress Angelina Jolie, Gov. Gavin Newsoms office scrounged up $103 million inJune to supplement the $87 million in federal VOCA funds. That one-year reprieve helped to avert what couldhave beena catastrophe for VOCA-funded organizations. But then in July, Newsomorderedstate agencies toclear out homeless encampmentsfollowing theGrants Passruling. Advocateswarnedthat the decision could be devastating for survivors of intimate partner violence, whostruggle to accessshelter and housing nationwideand especially in California, which has thelargestpopulation of unhoused people in the United States. The reality before [Newsoms] executive order was that there were not enough DV-specific shelter beds, and just in general, theres not enough emergency shelter beds, says Jennifer Willover, housing policy analyst at the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence. Since Newsoms mandate, Willover adds, domestic violence programs across the state have reported increased calls to their hotlines requesting shelter. In some parts of the state, advocates report that they are spending more time visiting encampments and informing unhoused people of domestic violence-specific services they offer, Willover says. (Newsoms Office of Emergency Services did not respond to requests for comment.)Experts see the situation there as a harbinger of whats to come nationwide: As the National Network to End Domestic Violence and other advocacy groupssaidafter theGrants Passruling, Gender-based violence is a cause and consequence of homelessness, and this ruling will further trap people who are homeless, including survivors, in cycles of poverty and housing insecurity.In areportabout homelessness in the state published in January by researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, nearly one-fifth of cisgender women surveyed said they had experienced intimate partner violence in the six months prior to homelessness, and 40 percent said violence was a reason for leaving their last housing. Many were homeless because of the far-reaching effects of domestic abuse: living in isolation from family and friends and unable to work, their financial resources controlled by their abusers, resulted in intractable poor credit and records of eviction. Theres a lack of awareness, still, of the fact that there is that intersection of domestic violence and homelessness, says Leticia Campos, chief programs officer at theMarjaree Mason Center, which serves victims of domestic violence in Fresno County, where thepopulationtops 1 million and thepoverty rate iswell over the national average.Courtesy Marjaree Mason Marjaree Masons drop-in center in Fresno, California, provides counseling and legal advocacy services to survivors in need. | Courtesy Marjaree Mason Marjaree Masonestablished in 1979 andnamed aftera 36-year-old woman murdered by her ex-boyfriend, a sheriffs deputy with the countyoffers a case study of the problems facing VOCA-funded organizations in California postGrants Pass. Fresno County has thehighestnumber of calls to law enforcement for domestic violence per capita in California, and Marjaree Mason is the countys only 24/7 domestic violence shelter and service provider. The Fresno City Councilallocated$300,000 earlier this year to help the organization fend off the impacts of the years-long decline in VOCA funds, but staff members say they still struggle to meet the needs of survivors.In June, I visited the VOCA-funded emergency shelter, which can accommodate 140 people. The rooms have bunk beds with colorful, patterned bedspreads, and televisions mounted on the walls, and outside theres a playground shaded by palm trees. But even before the Supreme Court ruling, getting a bed there wasnt easy. Empty beds are often filled within hours, Campos says; when I visited, the shelter had been at capacity for three weeks. Survivors who are turned away often have no choice but to return to their abusers. A spokesperson told me that last year, 80 percent of the organizations clients had no income of their own, and of the ones who did, two-thirds made under $15,000. After Newsom issued his executive order, the Fresno County Board of Supervisors unanimously approved anordinancemaking unlawful camping a misdemeanor punishable by a $500 fine and up to six months in jail. The city of Fresnopassed a banthat waseven more aggressive: a $1,000 fine and a year behind bars, which took effect in late September. The mayor hassaidthat arrests will be limited to habitual offenders and that people will first be offered supportive services, though its unclear whether those include referrals for domestic violence treatment.Staff at Marjaree Mason saw an impact withindays of Newsoms executive order, when the sheriffs office dropped off an unhoused woman and two children at the drop-in center in the middle of the night after clearing an encampment, according to Joseph Hickman, the centers interim crisis response manager. It was very eye-opening to see that it happened that quickly, Hickman says. It definitely kind of lit a fire under us.Courtesy Marjaree Mason At Marjaree Masons emergency shelter, families get their own room. Free beds tend to fill up within hours. | Courtesy Marjaree MasonThe problem, as Campos says, is this: What should we do when were at capacity? Where should we send victims of domestic violence? Laura Moreno, program manager at the Fresno County Department of Social Services, says those questions point to a broader, county-wide issue. We dont have enough shelter beds,period, for the number of people we have on the streets, she told me. A federally mandated one-day census in Fresno and neighboring Madera counties in January 2023foundnearly 4,500 unhoused people, up 7 percent from the year before. A county spokesperson said outreach teams provide homeless people with relevant resources, including information about Marjaree Masons services.Helping survivors find assistance elsewhere when the shelter is full is a task left to Diana Hernandez, a former 911 dispatcher who joined Marjaree Masons staff in September 2021. In her previous job, she told me, she hated having to hang up on callers who were clearly in need but not in the throes of an emergency. Now, as a client navigator, she can talk to survivors who call the hotline for as long as they want, providing them with emotional support and resources. But she cant always give them what they need most, which is usually a bed.While we were chatting in her cubicle in June, she received a hotline call from a woman who said shed been physically assaulted by her boyfriend. She had been living in a car, and needed a safe place to stay. Marjaree Masons shelter was full, so Hernandez offered to call homeless shelters in the area to see if they had room. But she also cautioned that those shelters wouldnt offer advocacy support and legal services specifically for domestic violence victims. Nor would their locations be confidential, like domestic violence shelters are. Add to that, most likely they would require residents to leave during the day; Marjaree Mason lets them stay.Hernandez gave the woman phone numbers for other local organizations that could provide services, and suggested that she change her passwords on her email and social media accounts, make sure her phones location-sharing feature was turned off, and call back on the hotline at any time if she wanted to talk. In such instances, I try to exhaust my resources, Hernandez told me after the call ended, so I know I did everything I could.Shutterstock | Shutterstock After seven monthsat RISE, Sojourner Houses LGBTQ shelter, Paris Alexander might have ended up like so many other survivors of intimate partner violence: homeless and back on the street. But because Alexander had been a victim of sex trafficking, they were eligible for assistance through another Sojourner House program offeringtransitional housing for survivors of human trafficking. The program paid the rent and utilities on a third-floor apartment where Alexander lived while they were sorting through their citizenship problems and unable to work. Without a Social Security number, they couldnt apply for food stamps or government assistance. Every few weeks, Alexander recalls, a Sojourner House advocate showed up with some foodbread, peanut butter, canned beans. And that was pretty much what I had to live off of. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Sojourner House (@sojournerri)Alexander finally secured their citizenship in March 2022 and was able to begin searching for permanent housing. Once more, Sojourner House provided vital support. Robin Greene, an advocate who had once been unhoused, also works with trafficking survivors through the organizations THEIA Project, which includes a VOCA-funded shelter. Greene helped Alexander find an apartment and even convinced the landlord to renovate the space by replacing the floors and covering up cracks and holes in the walls.For Greene, ensuring her clients live in comfort is key to helping them stay on the road to recovery. Greene recalls spending time in homeless shelters that were gross, vermin-ridden, humiliating, and degrading. At the shelter for trafficking victims, she painted the walls and floors with pops of green, yellow, and purple and adorned the office space with house plants. She mows the front lawn herself. I want it to looknotlike a shelter, she told me when I visited. I want it to look like a home.Two years after Alexander moved in, their apartmentthe same one that Greene helped securehas become their sanctuary, where they live with their two cats, Bast and Isis. They painted the walls yellow, green, and blue; hung up their own artwork; and put some of the house plants Greene brought to life in front of the bay windows in their living room, a daily reminder of someone who helped transform their life.According to Greene, Alexander represents the epitome of what Sojourner House and domestic violence organizations like it can do, if they have the vision, the peopleand the funding to support survivors. Paris was determined to just sit in their little apartment and never come out with their cats, Greene told me, but not now. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Sojourner House (@sojournerri)Today, Alexander volunteers with Sojourner House and spreads word of its services within the community. They also volunteer with a trans youthmentorship program, through which they meet weekly with a younger trans mentee, and they host eventsincluding a recent makeup workshop, drawing on their cosmetology backgroundfor trans and nonbinary young people.In November, theyll host a virtual Friendsgiving hangoutmeant to be a safe and loving space during Thanksgiving, they said, adding, the holidays can be a tough time of the year for queer folks.Alexander knows firsthand the negative thoughts that can run rampant through survivors minds: We feel like were not worthy. We feel like no one cares. We feel like no one understands. You dont trust that theres genuine empathy out there. Empathy, though, tends to be abundant among people who support survivors of domestic violence; whats in short supply is cash. This is partly why Alexander was eager to tell their story: They want lawmakers to know that VOCA funds have the power and the ability to save lives.I wouldnt be here today, they told me, if it werent for the Sojourner House program.If you or someone you care about is experiencing or at risk of domestic violence, contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline by texting start to 88788 or calling 800-799-SAFE (7233) or going tothehotline.org.The Department of Health and Human Services has also compiled alist of organizationsby state.This article was produced with the support of the USC AnnenbergCenter for Health Journalisms 2024 Domestic Violence Impact Reporting Fund.Subscribe to theLGBTQ Nation newsletterand be the first to know about the latest headlines shaping LGBTQ+ communities worldwide.