Redefining the Frontlines: How Young Women are Crafting a New Blueprint for Global Stability
Peace is rarely the result of a single signature on a high-stakes treaty. By its very nature, the work of building a stable society is a slow, meticulous, and often grueling process, unfolding under the weight of systemic stress and chronic underfunding. It is an everyday labor that transcends political cycles, often requiring the dedication of multiple generations to see a single seed of reconciliation take root. Because this journey is so long, the inclusion of young people is not merely a matter of diversity—it is a requirement for survival. For peace to be sustainable, the next generation must be equipped not just to follow, but to lead.
In the modern landscape of global conflict, three specific pillars have emerged as essential for lasting stability: participation, dialogue, and safety. Through the stories of three young women—Olla Alsakkaf in Yemen, Elene Gureshidze in Georgia, and Nil Bailarín in Colombia—we see a new model of peacebuilding that prioritizes local wisdom, digital connectivity, and the protection of the most vulnerable.
1. The Power of Presence: Why Participation is Non-Negotiable
For Olla Alsakkaf, a 30-year-old economist and activist, the pursuit of peace was never a theoretical choice; it was a necessity born of survival. Growing up amidst the devastating civil war in Yemen, the frontlines were not distant news reports—they were her neighborhood. “The war was in my city,” she recalls. “I was so close to the conflict parties, so close to the victims.” This proximity fueled her transition into local conflict mediation and climate advocacy, where she founded the Peace Environment for Development to bridge the gap between environmental policy and grassroots action.
Yemen’s crisis is multifaceted, compounded by a collapsing economy and an escalating climate emergency. Yet, despite being the most affected by these intersecting crises, women and young people are frequently shut out of the rooms where their futures are decided. From local mediation committees to high-level international climate summits, the barriers are both physical and systemic.
In Yemen, the lack of basic infrastructure—reliable electricity and stable internet—acts as a modern form of disenfranchisement. Alsakkaf vividly remembers a pivotal moment in 2020. She had been invited to address the United Nations Security Council virtually to discuss the challenges facing Yemeni youth. It was a rare platform for a young woman from a conflict zone. However, in the middle of her testimony, her internet connection failed. Her voice was silenced by the very lack of resources she was trying to highlight.
Beyond infrastructure, social taboos often prevent critical issues like period poverty, domestic violence, and the gendered impact of climate change from reaching the public sphere. Those who dare to break the silence frequently face a barrage of online abuse or the threat of state-sanctioned arrest. Meanwhile, the environmental crisis acts as a “threat multiplier.” In water-scarce regions, the burden of resource collection falls heavily on women and girls, making them the first to feel the friction of resource-driven conflict.
Alsakkaf argues that the world must stop viewing women and youth as passive victims and start seeing them as essential partners. “In contexts like Yemen, women take on a lot of responsibilities in the home; they understand the impacts and consequences of the little details,” she explains. “And young people are using technology in better ways, gaining trust and achieving a lot of things faster.” Her pride stems not just from her own resilience, but from the growth of those she mentors. “I’m a fighter. I’m able to get a lot of my rights. I’m defending a lot of women. I’m stronger than I have been ever. But the impact I see in the people I work with, how they’re also changing and developing, that’s what I’m most proud of.”
2. Breaking the Silence: Dialogue as a Tool for Trust
In the frozen conflicts of the post-Soviet space and the divided Mediterranean, the barriers to peace are often psychological. For 22-year-old Elene Gureshidze, a participant in the UN Women “SheLeads” programme, the path to reconciliation began with a simple piece of street art in North Nicosia, Cyprus. The graffiti read: “My ancestors have self-harmed for generations.”
For Gureshidze, who hails from Georgia—a country with its own history of territorial displacement and conflict—the message was a revelation. It suggested a roadmap for healing: acknowledge the self-inflicted wounds of war, accept responsibility, and create a space where the next generation can speak without the weight of their ancestors’ animosity.
The challenge, however, is getting people into the same room. During a UN Women workshop designed to bring young women from conflict-divided communities together, the initial atmosphere was thick with tension. Historical grievances and polarized narratives stood between the participants. “We didn’t really have anything in common other than the ability to speak English and the willingness to build peace,” Gureshidze notes.
Recognizing that traditional political debate often reinforces divisions, Gureshidze turned to an unconventional diplomatic tool: play. An athlete herself, she organized a padel match, carefully mixing the teams so that no one was playing solely alongside people from their own “side.” The transformation was nearly instantaneous. The shared physical exertion and the lighthearted nature of the game broke the ice, leading to laughter and a sense of shared humanity.
This “playful competition” created the psychological safety necessary for the difficult conversations that followed. The women eventually moved on to discussing displacement, prejudice, and the possibility of a shared future. “It was so interesting to talk with them. We disagreed—like we completely disagreed—but even the disagreements were very valuable information for me,” she says.
Gureshidze’s takeaway is a vital lesson for modern diplomacy: the objective of dialogue is not immediate consensus, but the establishment of trust. By listening to understand rather than to react, and by engaging in collaborative projects—like a board game she is co-designing to dismantle stereotypes—young peacebuilders are transforming “the other” into a peer. As she puts it: “Leadership doesn’t come from others. It comes from yourself.”
3. The Foundation of Safety: Protecting the Protectors
In some parts of the world, leadership is not just difficult; it is life-threatening. This is the reality for Nil Bailarín, a 29-year-old leader from the Indigenous territories of Antioquia, Colombia. In a region where the aftershocks of decades of civil war still manifest as kidnappings and assassinations, being a social leader requires immense courage. For those who identify as trans women—or “people of cuerpos y espíritus diversos” (diverse bodies and spirits)—the risks are even higher.
Bailarín’s journey into activism was sparked by a childhood memory of injustice. She witnessed the forced erasure of identity when Indigenous trans girls in her community were pressured to cut their hair and hide who they were. “That injustice, and also seeing domestic violence in the community, pushed me to say: No more violence against women, no more violence against diverse people. That became my mission and still is,” she says.
In 2022, Bailarín made history by becoming Colombia’s first trans Indigenous governor. Today, she works as an advisor on Indigenous governance, collaborating with the Indigenous Organization of Antioquia and UN Women’s *ProDefensoras* programme. Supported by Norway, this initiative has provided protection and resources to over 6,000 women human rights defenders in Colombia since 2020.
For Bailarín, safety is not an abstract concept; it is built through tangible community improvements. She has championed projects to bring internet access to remote areas so that students can study without the danger of walking hours into town. she has also helped establish an ecotourism association to provide local women with economic independence, reducing their vulnerability to exploitation.
“We don’t want to be made famous after we are dead,” Bailarín says, highlighting the precariousness of activists in Colombia. “We want to be heard before.” Her work is a testament to the idea that peace is inextricably linked to the preservation of culture and the protection of diversity. “For me, peacebuilding means unity—resistance, justice, respect, connection to territory, and pride in our culture. The key is… showing young people that they have the right and duty to be someone, to dream of a future.”
A New Generation of Architects
The stories of Olla, Elene, and Nil demonstrate that young women are not just participants in peacebuilding—they are its most innovative architects. They are willing to take risks that traditional power structures avoid, utilizing everything from digital technology and sports to Indigenous governance and climate action.
As the international community looks toward the future, the message from these leaders is clear: lasting peace requires a seat at the table for youth, a commitment to honest dialogue, and a guarantee of safety for those on the frontlines. UN Women is currently preparing the second phase of its Young Women Peacebuilders Initiative to ensure these voices continue to be amplified. For the world to find its way out of the cycle of violence, it must listen to the women who are already building the bridges.
