Aid cuts drive Rohingya children toward exploitation in Bangladeshi camps

Aid cuts this year have collapsed schooling and protection for Rohingya children in refugee camps along Bangladesh’s border, leaving hundreds vulnerable to marriage, exploitation and trafficking. In camps housing about 1.2 million Rohingya refugees from Myanmar, the sudden withdrawal of foreign aid has unraveled a fragile safety net built over years of humanitarian response. The effects are clearest among the youngest residents: education centers shuttered, child protection programs downsized and families rushing to replace lost income through desperate means.

The impact is personal and brutal. Hasina, a Rohingya girl who fled Myanmar with her mother and sisters after the military killed her father in 2017, saw the school that once safeguarded her from predators close in June when funding disappeared. The woman AP reporters are withholding for safety reasons says the school’s closure marked the end of her childhood. “If the school hadn’t closed,” Hasina says, “I wouldn’t be trapped in this life.” The loss of schooling left hundreds of girls under 18 vulnerable to early marriage as households struggled to survive in a camp where aid supplies, healthcare and protection services have been trimmed.

The U.S. decision in January to dismantle the U.S. Agency for International Development, coupled with funding reductions from other donors, shuttered thousands of schools and crippled child-protection programs in the Rohingya response, according to AP interviews with 37 people connected to camps in Cox’s Bazar and surrounding areas. UNICEF data underline the scale of the deterioration: from January through mid-November, reported abductions and kidnappings jumped more than fourfold from the previous year to 560 cases, while armed groups’ recruitment and use of children for training and support roles rose eightfold to 817 children.

What has followed is a cascade of losses in education, nutrition, health care and psychosocial support. UNICEF’s funding losses, including a 27 percent reduction in funding, forced the agency to downscale its education programs and shutter nearly 2,800 schools. The number of children not in learning spaces has grown as a result, and schools that did reopen were often the only safe space for many children in a heat- and humidity-filled landscape of bamboo and tarpaulin shelters.

The human cost is visible in Hasina’s world and in the days, weeks and months of other families. The Rohingya Women Association for Education and Development reports that with schools closed, hundreds of underage girls — some as young as 14 — were married off. In addition to child marriage, girls as young as 12 have faced trafficking or forced prostitution, as families struggle to protect themselves from hunger and poverty. “After the school closures, they had no space to play,” says Showkutara, executive director of the network, who uses one name. “There are some groups who are targeting the children.”

The closures also disrupted other protective structures. Skills development programs and health, nutrition and sanitation services have been reduced or halted, contributing to indicators of malnutrition and disease in camps with crowded, unsanitary conditions. UNICEF has warned that reported violence against children in these camps is likely an undercount, given the scale of shelter closures and the disruption of community protection systems.

The U.N. and aid groups say the consequences extend beyond immediate harm to long-term prospects. Save the Children and other agencies have struggled to meet funding targets for 2026, leaving tens of thousands of children at risk of losing access to education next year. Golam Mostofa, Save the Children’s area director for Cox’s Bazar, notes that 20,000 children who attend its learning centers could lose access to schooling in January if funds do not materialize. The overall Rohingya emergency response is only about half funded for 2025, agencies say, and the outlook for 2026 remains precarious.

The most wrenching stories come from children who have found themselves forced into labor or at risk of trafficking as a result of the education gaps and earnings shortfalls in families. In one corner of the camp, 10-year-old Mohammed Arfan wakes before dawn to haul a 15-kilogram cooler of snacks to a roadside stall, earning roughly $1.60 to $2.50 a day. The substitute living has him missing the classroom, and his family worries about his safety as he spends 10 hours each day on the streets amid heat, traffic and litter. In another section, 13-year-old Rahamot Ullah wades through a stagnant drainage ditch to collect discarded plastic, spending hours to earn a few taka—enough, if lucky, to cover a private tutoring fee that has become increasingly out of reach as funding declines.

AP spoke with Noor Zia, a former head teacher of 21 early-learning centers who now watches as schools remain closed or operate only sporadically. Her students, many of whom were born in the camps and have never seen Myanmar, still ask when their classrooms will reopen. The sorrow is compounded by the deprivation of health care and sanitation services that protect children from disease in a camp environment marked by scabies and other illnesses. The World Food Program says its food rations can be sustained only through March, given funding gaps that strain the ability of aid organizations to deliver nutrition and essential services to families already stretched thin.

The situation has driven some families to take dangerous routes for a chance at a better life. Refugee camps in Bangladesh have limited the ability of Rohingya to seek work outside the camps; many rely on aid to survive. The U.N.’s refugee agency reports that nearly a third of the 1,340 Rohingya who attempted to flee by boat this year have died or gone missing en route. For families like Noor Kaida’s, a 17-year-old who was married off after her school closed, the dream of becoming a doctor has been replaced by fear and loss. She says traffickers who promised a better life in Malaysia took her peers, some of whom were killed or disappeared, underscoring the lethal risks that can follow when education is not a shield against exploitation.

The stories are reinforced by data from UNICEF and the U.N. It is clear that the aid cuts, and the broader shift away from a robust Rohingya protection system, have left a generation of children more exposed to violence, exploitation and life-altering choices under pressure. UNICEF’s Patrick Halton, a child protection manager, cautions that the numbers likely undercount the true scale of harm: with funding constrained, learning centers and multipurpose spaces were downscaled, and children were left with fewer constructive activities that could keep them from getting drawn into risky situations.

Beyond the humanitarian consequences in Bangladesh, analysts warn that the ripple effects extend to Myanmar’s border region and to global health and security. A Lancet study published in June warned that U.S. funding cuts could lead to more than 14 million deaths worldwide by 2030, including more than 4.5 million children under five, if aid agencies lose substantial support. While the study’s scope is global, the Rohingya case illustrates how fragile protection systems can unravel quickly when funding tightens, and how quickly the most vulnerable can bear the brunt.

The U.S. government has defended its approach, stating that it provided more than $168 million to the Rohingya response since the start of the current term, though U.N. financial trackers show a slightly different tally for 2025. The State Department argued that the U.N. system’s numbers do not always reflect the latest contributions and highlighted what it characterized as “burden sharing” and efficiency gains that drew funding from a broader coalition of donors—11 countries that increased their aid by more than 10 percent year over year, contributing about $72 million. The department did not provide additional evidence tying those increases to specific policy shifts around Rohingya funding.

The AP’s reporting found that even as UNICEF managed to repurpose a portion of its remaining funding, many education centers run by other aid groups remained closed. The prospect of further cuts in the coming year has galvanized worry among families, teachers and aid workers who fear the loss of a generation’s education and protection. Showkutara, the Rohingya Women Association for Education and Development leader, emphasizes that the harm extends beyond the immediate years: once an education opportunity is lost, it is difficult to reclaim, especially when the options for alternative schooling or vocational training are limited and inconsistent.

In the face of adversity, some children have found ways to hold onto faded dreams. Mohammed, a 10-year-old who left school to work in a roadside distribution point after his teacher announced the funding had ended, still clings to the idea that education could restore his future. His father, Mohib Ullah, reflects on the painful moment his son left with traffickers’ promises echoing in his mind. The family’s search for a private tutor or alternative schooling has proven out of reach for most refugees, given the shrinking resources available in the camps.

At a time when aid organizations warn that 2026 could bring even deeper funding gaps, the Rohingya response—already the largest humanitarian operation in the region—faces a stark reality: without reliable, sustained funding, the safety and education of a generation of children are at stake. The international community now confronts a choice about whether to re-prioritize protection and education in refugee settings, or watch a fragile stability unravel under fiscal pressure.

The Rohingya children’s stories are not unique to Bangladesh. They illustrate a broader pattern in which funding cuts undermine protection services, enable trafficking networks to recruit and exploit the vulnerable, and leave families with few viable alternatives. As the world observes, the question remains whether donor nations will reverse course, restore essential services, and ensure that schools—and the protection they provide—are accessible to all Rohingya children who remain in camps and those who may be forced to try to build a life elsewhere. Until then, the cycle of loss and risk continues, with the most fragile residents paying the highest price.