A Reflection on the Red Sand Project

I used to sit with women whose voices had been stolen by years of being diminished. I was a domestic violence advocate. Not a savior. Not a fixer. Just someone who walked beside them in the quiet hours when leaving still felt like betrayal.

There were intake forms and court dates and shelter calls, but what lingered were the moments I can’t fully describe. Personal, and only half of those moments were mine. Not all of the story belongs to me but I carry the memory of every conversation. The hush between tears. The way they looked up and asked, “Can you help me?”

I remember asking, “Do they ever break their own things when they’re angry?”

I already knew the answer. No, they didn’t. It was all part of the power and control.

As I walked each client through the cycle—love bombing, tension building, eggshells, explosive outbursts—I watched them come to a quiet realization: this wasn’t uncontrolled outbursts and none of it was their fault. It was a tactic.

I saw women walk into crowded courtrooms to face their fears and walk out ready to begin again. Did they go back? Yes, sometimes. Did I stop helping when they needed me again and again? No. I helped them until they left for good.

It typically takes someone leaving seven times before they are able to entirely break free. I held the line for a year and a half before realizing this calling asked more of me than I had to give. Hundreds of clients, their children, their futures were offered a new direction because advocacy existed.

Although I’m no longer serving as an advocate, I still pour red sand into cracks on the last week of July. I still witness what others overlook. Not with pity, but with devotion. Once you’ve walked with someone through domestic violence, you begin to notice things that might otherwise go unseen. That is what the Red Sand Project is about.

Created by artist Molly Gochman in 2014, the Red Sand Project is a participatory art movement that raises awareness of human trafficking. Monroe STOPe has been actively participating in this project since 2018.

Participants pour red sand into sidewalk cracks, symbolizing those who have “fallen through the cracks” of our systems, our communities, our consciousness. Imagine each grain of sand being a person.

A human being.

Since its launch, the project has reached all 50 states and over 70 countries, with more than one million participants. The sand is natural, non-toxic, and dyed red with organic pigment. It’s a visual interruption, a way to say: We see you. We remember. We will not walk past.

Human trafficking is not a distant horror. It exists within miles, even minutes from our own homes. It hides behind coercion and false promises, targeting the vulnerable. In Tennessee alone, hundreds of trafficking cases are reported each year, many involving minors. And still, so many stories go unseen.

Approximately 49.6 million people are currently trapped in modern slavery worldwide, including 12 million children. Child victims make up 38% of detected cases, with a 31% increase since 2019.

Those are daunting statistics. Imagine if every grain of sand represents a human being. Awareness counts when it comes to this crisis. One campaign may not change a whole lot. But it’s a start. I believe in accompaniment, not rescue, not spectacle, but presence. I believe that we are all walking each other home. I believe we all deserve to be safe and sovereign beings, not controlled or manipulated by anyone or anything. I believe that art can interrupt silence. That red sand can speak when words fail.

This work is rooted in my heart as an advocate. Once you’ve been there, you see things in a different light. It becomes a personal need, to witness and to shed light. I pour sand into cracks because I still believe in the power of noticing, of naming, of kneeling, of

being a witness.

Let us be the ones who notice.

Who name.

Who kneel.

Who speak for the unheard and the unseen.

We can do it in countless ways.

Today, I’m pouring sand.