When Listening Becomes a Threat |
The warning came one day through a calm conversation. I was facilitating restorative justice sessions in Cali, Colombia, working with young men shaped by gang structures that defined loyalty, protection, and survival. We met in a modest building in a neighborhood where people learned early how to read the street. Inside, we sat in a circle on old plastic chairs. For many of them, it was the first time they had been in a room where no one demanded allegiance and no one carried a weapon. We moved slowly, and we listened. Silence had room to breathe, and stories surfaced that had never found a place to land.
Over time, the sessions found their rhythm. The young men arrived guarded, some with their arms crossed; others leaned back, watching the room to see if it felt safe. Initially, they discussed routines and surface-level conflicts. As the weeks passed, voices softened, and pauses grew longer. Stories reached further back. They spoke about brothers who never came home, parents who disappeared, and nights spent awake listening for danger. No one rushed them or corrected them. The room held their words, accompanied by listening and the sound of salsa drifting in from the street.
One afternoon, after a session ended, I stepped outside into the heat of Cali after saying goodbye to the boys. The sun pressed against my skin, and the street moved with its usual noise and urgency. As I adjusted my bag and glanced at my phone, a man approached me with steady steps and an even voice. His presence shifted the space around us. Conversations softened. People moved aside without being asked. I knew who he was before he spoke when I noticed the gun resting at his side.
“You need to leave,” he said.........