Prevent Sexual and Gender Violence in Colombia

He sits slightly withdrawn from the circle of tired teenage bodies, slowly sliding down the orange plastic chairs. Wisps of faint beard, limbs growing in all directions, and voices cracking mid-sentence. The hood of his black hoodie is pulled low over his forehead. He leans back in his chair, hands buried deep in his pockets, one foot resting on the chair next to him. Tattoos cover his finger joints, letters or numbers, secret codes meant only for those who know. He’s skinny, his limbs too long, as if he hasn’t quite finished growing. He must be 14 or 15. But his dark eyes look old and tired. He looks like someone in pain.

“What do you dream of, and what’s standing in the way of you getting there?” asks the male psychologist in Converse and with a messy bun, standing in the middle of the circle.

A girl with flushed cheeks and clasped hands in her lap looks frightened when the teacher passes her a Post-it note and a pen. Her friend beside her immediately starts scribbling. Two boys talk over each other.

“I’m gonna be a professional footballer,” one of them laughs, making a hand gesture and giving his mate next to him a playful smack on the shoulder.

“¡Escúchenme! Atención por favor,” says the psychologist, asking them once again to write their dream on the blue Post-it.

There’s a faint smell of sweat and cheap deodorant in the air. The room, its windows facing a fenced garden topped with barbed wire, feels heavy and close - as if the air itself is trying to hold on to all the hormones, dreams, hopes, and traumas that fill the space. 

“Nurse,” one girl almost whispers when it’s her turn. Another wants to start his own business. One dreams of learning English and traveling to England or Australia. One stares down at the floor and says he doesn’t know. The psychologist nods, says that’s okay, and moves on. What does he even dream of?

The fifteen young people sitting here, ages 14 to 18, have all been in the grip of some of Colombia’s most brutal gangs and armed groups. Many have survived street life, cartel wars, and armed clashes. For them, simply dreaming about a future isn’t a given. It’s a privilege. The boy in the hoodie slowly shakes his head when it’s his turn, without saying a word. The Post-it and pen lie untouched next to him. His mouth is pressed into a hard line, his jaw tense. His gaze is dark, and the others in the circle  quickly look away.

There’s something both frightening and heartbreaking about him. He has walked into this room carrying experiences no child should have to bear. His future is uncertain. He doesn’t look like someone who believes he even has one.

But it starts here. Maybe one day he will open his mouth. Push back the hood. Dare to believe that he has a future - when he hears his peers, who carry the same scars, share their dreams and hopes.

Colombia is facing a child recruitment crisis. In just five years, the numbers have skyrocketed, with more children being pulled into armed groups and criminal networks.

On the outskirts of Bogotá, the boy in the hoodie, one of many victims, is receiving support alongside his peers through Children Change Colombia and foundation CRAN’s three-year project, which empowers former underage victims of Colombia’s armed conflict, cartels, and gangs. Many struggles with deep trauma, distrust of adults, shame, marginalization, and a lack of opportunities. The project is supported by LACT.

Colombia remains one of the most unequal countries in the world, and children bear the brunt of that inequality. According to the OECD, it takes 11 generations to escape poverty here.

Hello Friends, 

World Refugee Day is celebrated on June 20th, and we want to take the chance to honour the strength, resilience, and courage of the millions of Venezuelans who’ve made Colombia their home—and we celebrate the vital role you play in supporting them. Colombia is now home to nearly 3 million Venezuelan refugees and migrants, the largest such population globally.

Since their arrival, these families have faced terrifying vulnerability. Children who journey alone are at risk of child labour, trafficking, and recruitment by criminal gangs. Women like María, forced into dangerous work to survive—earning just $12 per encounter—have found renewed dignity thanks to psychosocial support, legal empowerment, and community networks. 

On this Refugee Week, we celebrate what we’ve built together:

• A safe haven in Bogotá’s Santa Fe neighborhood—supportingover 400 migrant women and children.

• Creative healing spaces where children like Ana, 13, has rebuilt hope through art and peer connection.

• Community leadership: María now mentors others, rebuilt her family’s wellbeing, and launched a small business.

• System-level change: Collaborating with YMCA/ACJ to strengthen care pathways and protect survivors of gender-based violence.

Your support empowers every one of these triumphs. When we fill hearts and minds with skills, hope, and community, we block the paths of exploitation—and light the path to self-worth and healing. Our community-based, trauma-informed work is more necessary than ever because when we invest in belonging, we pre-empt isolation, exploitation, and violence.

Your generosity on this Refugee Week—and every day—plants the seeds of safety, healing, and unity.

With deep gratitude,

Children Change Colombia

Links:

• Learn more about the specifics of the project
• Child Exploitation of Venezuelan Children