Voices,Stories of Violence and Hope in Colombia - 2009

HOW MUCH LONGER I want to give voice to some names of those who were taken by the war who left a void in our land and a moaning deep inside us

And a cry which echoes in the mountains demanding justice, however late for wounds which will only heal long after this war ends

And when will it happen? If they keep taking our children No longer will they work the land Or adorn our streets But will instead play with machine guns

Enough already of investing in war while hunger marches on Each day I ask myself how much longer but no one can give me an answer Ana Ligia Higinio L贸pez

voIces

Stories of Violence and Hope in Colombia

PROJECT DIRECTOR Laura Kullenberg PROJECT COORDINATOR María Clara Ucrós EDITORIAL COMMITEE Laura Kullenberg María Clara Ucrós Jairo Arboleda Andrés Barragán Andrés Morán Juan David Martínez ART DIRECTOR Juan David Martínez Dilian Querubín PHOTOGRAPHS Helkin René Díaz Kalixto Villegas RESEARCH Bárbara Morales María Clara Ucrós

EDITING Laura Samper Andrés Barragán Bárbara Morales Leonardo Realpe Raúl Martínez Juan Diego Mikán Carolina Builes Andrés Morán PRODUCED BY .PUNTOAPARTE EDITORES www.puntoaparte.com.co

ISBN 978-958-98712-7-0 First edition 2009 © 2009 www.bancomundial.org/co © 2009 Puntoaparte Ltda.

All rights reserved.

E

n todo el mundo, la brutalidad de la guerra endurece los corazones y silencia las voces de la humanidad; su crueldad acaba con los sueños, marchita las almas y le roba al joven y al anciano por igual el don de la esperanza y la imaginación.

Colombia lleva más de 50 años de conflicto y persiste en el camino difícil y complejo de reconstruirse y pasar de la guerra a la paz, del temor a la reconciliación.

Durante este tiempo, la vida de millones de colombianos ha sido desgarrada por la tragedia y el vacío. Un gran número de familias ha sido obligado a abandonar sus hogares y a llorar a sus seres queridos; a vivir en condiciones precarias en lugares desconocidos, donde a su vez, están marcados por el oprobio, la discriminación y la inseguridad.

Cuando lo mejor que el alma humana puede ofrecer se ve opacado por la sombra de la violencia, la vida de los afectados se vuelve invisible y silenciosa; sus voces quedan ahogadas por el frío abrazo del anonimato, del dolor y del miedo.

El Banco Mundial ha estado trabajando de numerosas maneras con estas comunidades desde hace años para ayudar a construir los fundamentos de la paz en Colombia. El Banco publica esta recopilación de crónicas y fotografías, con la convicción de que estas vidas invisibles deben hacerse visibles y sus voces silenciadas deben ser escuchadas. Éstas son historias de personas que han encarado lo extraordinario.

Son testimonios de gente que ha hecho frente a lo inesperado: se han cruzado con la crueldad de esta problemática social, cada uno de diferentes maneras. El dolor que ellos han padecido se nos revela en sus palabras auténticas, al igual que en su persistencia, su creatividad y su coraje, indispensables para seguir adelante con sus vidas. Éstas son narraciones de hombres y mujeres, madres e hijos, de viudas abandonadas, de poetas y cantantes, de maestros, de campesinos, de trabajadores y de líderes comunales. Incluyen las voces de desplazados, soldados heridos en combate, desmovilizados –guerrilleros y paramilitares– y de todos aquellos atrapados en el fuego cruzado. Al-

gunos se identificaron plenamente; otros prefirieron conservarse en el anonimato; pero todos hablaron abiertamente y con la convicción de que es importante compartir sus experiencias con el mundo, de que es relevante que todos los colombianos conozcan el dolor del pasado y del presente para atreverse a imaginar un futuro mejor.

Para ninguno de los protagonistas de esta publicación fue fácil narrar sus experiencias más íntimas y para algunos fue una auténtica catarsis. Ninguno se libró del doloroso y lacerante proceso de recordar, pero todos demostraron un coraje infinito al compartir estos eventos. A todos se les preguntó si había una canción o un poema particular que les consoló o inspiró en tan difíciles trances. Hemos incluido fragmentos de éstos al inicio de cada historia.

El lector se conmoverá inevitablemente no sólo ante la dureza de los relatos, sino también ante los actos de sacrificio, dignidad y transformación que implican. Es un hecho indiscutible que el espíritu humano no se extingue con facilidad, y que aun en los momentos más sombríos los haces de luz que iluminan el alma no se dejan apagar, y la dignidad y la fuerza no se destruyen tan fácilmente.

Esperamos que la publicación de estos relatos, al igual que muchos otros esfuerzos, haga una pequeña pero significante contribución a los ciudadanos de este país en su búsqueda por la paz; que ayude a reconocer y perdonar las fallas humanas y a crear nuevos recuerdos que cimenten un proceso de transformación. Estas vivencias, como otras tantas, no deben permanecer escondidas en rincones oscuros, sino que como la luz, deben brillar intensamente para motivar, sanar e inspirar a la humanidad.

Esta publicación no hubiera sido posible sin el apoyo de la Comisión Nacional de Reparación, la Alta Consejería Presidencial para la Reintegración, Acción Social y la Corporación Prodepaz y, sobre todo, sin la generosidad de las personas que nos abrieron sus corazones, que nos dejaron entrar en sus vidas, en su intimidad, en sus hogares. Gracias a todas aquellas voces que hicieron posible este proyecto.

Axel van Trotsenburg Director, Colombia y México Banco Mundial

T

hroughout the world, the brutality of war and conflict hardens hearts and silences voices. Its cruelty extinguishes dreams, shrinks souls, and steals from young and old alike the gift of hope and imagination.

Colombia has suffered more than a half century of conflict and continues on the difficult and complex journey of reconstruction and transformation from war to peace, from fear to reconciliation.

Since then, the lives of millions of Colombians have been torn apart by tragedy and loss as families have been forced to leave their homes, mourn their loved ones, and live precarious lives in new cities and towns--lives punctuated by stigma, discrimination, and insecurity.

When the best of human nature is eclipsed by the dark shadow of violence, those touched by it often become invisible, their lives silhouetted and unspoken, their voices strangled in the cold grip of anonymity, grief, and fear.

The World Bank has been working with such communities for many years, in myriad ways, to help build the foundations for peace in Colombia. It is publishing this collection of personal narratives and photographs in the conviction that these invisible lives should be made visible and their silent voices heard.

These are the stories of ordinary people who have confronted the extraordinary: their paths crossed by the cruelty of conflict and social upheaval in diverse and deeply personal ways. In their own words they unveil both the stark suffering they have endured but also their resilience, creativity, and courage in coping and moving forward.

These are stories of men and women, of mothers and children, and widows left behind, of poets and singers, of teachers, farmers, laborers and community leaders. Included are voices of the displaced, of wounded soldiers, of demobilized guerillas and paramilitaries, and those caught in the crossfire. Some chose to reveal their identities, others did not. But all told their stories

openly with a belief that it was important to share their experiences with the wider world, that it was important for all Colombians to acknowledge the past and address the present in order to start imagining a better future.

For many telling their stories was painful, for some cathartic.

But for none of them was the process of recovering memory free from emotion. All were asked if there were any songs or poems that had comforted or inspired them in difficult times, and we have included fragments of these at the beginning of each story.

The reader will inevitably be touched by the harsh dramas the authors have experienced but also by the many attendant acts of sacrifice, dignity and transformation they imply. Their stories are testimony to the fact that the human spirit is not so easily extinguished, and that even in the darkest shadows linger points of light, illuminating the soul’s resilience, and a dignity and strength that are not so easily broken.

Hopefully, recounting these stories—together with the efforts of others—will make a small but important contribution to supporting the citizens of this country in their quest to secure peace, to recognize and reconcile, to acknowledge human failures and create new memories in the process of transformation.

It is our hope that these stories, and the millions like them, are not hidden away in dark corners but like light itself, brought forth to illuminate, to motivate, to heal and to inspire moral imagination.

This book would not have been possible without the help of the Comisión Nacional de Reparación y Reconciliación, Alta Consejería Presidencial para la Reintegración, Acción Social and Corporación Prodepaz, but above all if not for the generosity of the people featured here, who opened their hearts, allowed us to enter their lives and their homes and had the courage to share with us their most intimate memories and life histories. Our gratitude to all of these voices who made this project possible.

Axel van Trotsenburg Country Director, Colombia and Mexico World Bank

TESTIMONIES places of origin 8

3 2

12 4

17

6 1

7

14

10

18

13

9

16 5 11

15

CONTENTS 1

Ana LIgia - San Francisco...............................8

2 3

Gloria - Cartagena......................................14 Camilo - Barranquilla..................................18

4

Diego - Medellín..........................................22

5

Carlos - Colón Génova................................28

6

Gloria - San Luis.........................................34

7

María - Silvania...........................................40

8

José Alfredo - Guajira.............................46

9 10 11

Analbina - Vista Hermosa............................54 Pablo - Rioblanco........................................56 Margarita - Solano..................................58

12

Alix - Bucaramanga........................................60

13

Edisson - Campoalegre.................................66

14

Virginia - Bogotá......................................72

15

Modesto - Puerto Nariño............................78

16 17

María Luisa - Bolívar................................84 Marcela - Arauca......................................84

18

Alfredo - Cauca........................................90

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voces, Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

spring reborn Survivors, there are still reasons to go on living, there are still dawns and new awakenings, blood lingers in our hearts, so they might go on beating, and everywhere there is a reason to struggle on.

Roses still bloom among the thorns, Wheat still grows amid the weeds, And I keep dreaming of reaching the summit.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

–Ana Ligia Higinio López.

9

M

Ana Ligia López* and I’m originally from the village of Aquitania, near the town of San Francisco. I have four children, I help victims of the conflict and I am a poet.

I’ve been living in Marinilla for two years now, ever since being forced by the war to leave my hometown. I’d been working there for twenty years and didn’t want to leave. In fact I was displaced twice: first between 2003 and 2004 when people left Aquitania and seven other villages during a mass displacement, and then again on June 20th 2004 when I had to leave for good. I’d been working in a hospital near my hometown in San Francisco, and I had to go back and forth constantly. I was studying mental health back then and was one of the only people tending to the psychosocial needs of conflict victims.

That day, June 20th, I was summoned by the Mayor’s Office and the hospital. I didn’t know why. They said it was something about my job.

That seemed strange because eight days earlier I had been told my contract had been terminated. I didn’t want to go out. Not long before a

voces,

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

y name is

10

neighbor and another man had been killed by a bomb or a landmine nearby. The whole area had seen a lot of conflict, because the guerrillas, the paramilitaries and the army were fighting one another.

Since they never told me why they wanted to see me, I refused to go unless I could take my children with me, because once in early 2004 I had left them in the town and the guerrillas had taken over. I almost couldn’t get my kids out of there. There was a roadblock, thirty-three kilometers from Aquitania. I didn’t know if it was the army or the paramilitaries, only that they wouldn’t let me through.

No one was allowed in or out. I had to travel by motorcycle, by truck, and by mule to get to my children.

This time, when I told them I wasn't going, they told me that it was an order from John Jairo. That was the name of the coordinator of the Basic Healthcare Plan. I don’t know how I managed, but I packed three changes of clothes for each of my children and prepared for a two-week trip. When I arrived, the hospital administrator and the mayor were waiting for me. They told me *. Life and Mental Health Promoter, Provisame.

them. My bosses knew, but the people didn’t. They spoke of their sorrows and I listened, trying to be strong. I didn’t allow myself to feel down.

I lost my job six months later, because I refused to drop the lawsuit. I was unemployed and displaced. I felt that I had lost half my life. It was wonderful when I was able to return to Aquitania. It’s important to go back to your territory, and even more so when you’re going through changes.

In 2006, I began to work with victims in San Francisco, especially with the women. My heart went out to them when I heard their stories.

After suffering for such a long time, I finally understood that God had sent me there because he really needed me. The process I went through in San Francisco was a beautiful one and it helped me grow as a person.

Today I live in Marinilla. I'm out of work at the moment, even though we all took a public health course last year in order to keep our jobs. They told us that if we didn’t do the course, we’d be out. So we made the effort and took it, but we’re still waiting for them to call.

Luckily one of my daughters gradu-

Carlos Arturo Bravo

they wanted my help in the hospital.

I was actually suing them at the time because they had fired me when I was eight months pregnant. What they wanted was for me to drop the lawsuit; if I did so, I could keep working in San Francisco. I refused because I had never liked it there. My house and everything else was in Aquitania. That was when the mayor told me that I couldn’t go back because someone had told him I had been threatened.

The conversation upset me immensely. I became ill. When I got to the place where we were staying, I slept for a few hours and when I woke up I couldn’t get back to sleep.

My jaw was swollen from the stress and they had to pull out my wisdom teeth. I kept them as a memento.

After that, they let me work in San Francisco on a six-month contract, just when entire settlements of people displaced by the violence were arriving. My job was to work with these people. I had to count them for the census, visit them and work with them. I tended to displaced people when I myself was a displaced person, but I didn’t feel I had the right to tell

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Stories of violence and hope in colombia

voices 12

ated as a nurse and is working at the clinic. She’s helping out with the groceries and the bills.

I write poetry and I’ve already finished one book. I’m writing the story of my people. Although I lost many texts in the 2003 displacement, I’m still writing poetry. There’s one poem I wrote called ‘My Magdalena River’, which is inspired by the victims.

While I was in the peace program that took me to Tierra Alta and the south of Bolivar, I had the chance to camp near the town of San Pablo.

The victims there told me how they saw dead bodies floating down the river. I imagined many of those bodies were our dead.

The poem begins like this, “When I was just a little girl, I admired you / sitting on the hill I contemplated your waters while enjoying the cool morning / and, in my dream, I imagined you, thinking one fine day I would enjoy you/ floating in your liberated and lissome waters”. I want the river to be free of dead bodies once again; I want my poetry to liberate them. My poetry, the poetry of my people.

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Carlos Arturo Bravo

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voces, Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

Violence oppresses my hope, but I know that the Lord hears my praise.

Someday we’ll awake from this nightmare that makes us feel such pain, and we’ll cry in joy with our heads held high.

–Experience. My people. Cultural Center of Buenaventura.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

FROM PARADISE TO THE CITY

15

M

y name is

Gloria* and I’m

from Cartagena, although I lived in Guaitarilla since I was a little girl. I have three daughters and today I live in Cali because I was displaced from Nariño in February 1998. The father of my children was murdered back then.

I was living in a village with my two oldest daughters–one was four and the other fifteen–when the paramilitaries arrived and told us we had twenty-four hours to get out. People were running all over the place, I had to make my way through with my children. We left our house, our chickens and our pigs; everything was left behind. Lost. It was very sad. I held on to God and Psalm 91. I don’t even remember the moment I managed to escape the gunfire.

I fled towards the mountains with my two daughters, (my third daughter still hadn't been born). We found shelter in a little ranch house up in the mountains, whose roof was falling apart. The house was empty but there was hot chocolate

voces INVISIBLES

simmering over a fire. We were just about

16

to have some when several paramilitaries came in and asked what I was doing there.

I thought they were going to kill us, and we hadn’t even done anything wrong. I had to make up a lie, so I told them I worked *. Names and places have been altered upon the request of the narrators.

deal. I learned how to cook food from

in. They seemed to believe me, but all of a

Cali. It’s so strange, I never thought I’d

sudden they returned. I thought to myself,

have to do something like this. In my

"Oh my God, they really are going to kill

homeland we have fish, coconut rice

me now”. One of them lifted my youngest

and yucca. Here in Cali you can't get the

daughter up onto his shoulders, the other

same things I did at home: there it was

took my oldest by the hand, and they led us

simply sow, reap and eat.

to a village full of people.They got a hold of

Now I am trying to get a housing

five small boats and told us they would get

subsidy. With the displaced person card

the families out of there.There were a lot of

that the Red Cross gave me, I can get

families. It was very sad.We left for Popayán

treated in several hospitals. My oldest

and three days later we went to Buga.

daughter didn’t want to study anymore

The Red Cross helped me a lot. I left

and she got a job. Now she’s married and

my daughters with an aunt and moved to

has kids. The other one, who’s already in

Cali. When I arrived, I had to sleep on the

the ninth grade, wants me to help her

floor for eight days. It was so cold that I

get a place in the SENA1, because she

cried all the time. A woman got me a job as

wants to help me out.

an intern, so I managed to send my daugh-

My third daughter is actually my

ters money every month. Finally I got fed

granddaughter, my oldest daughter’s

up and asked for permission to find my

daughter. I told her I wanted a little girl,

children and take them back to Cali.

and asked her to have one and give it to

I found a job, and we managed to sur-

me. So she did and when the baby was

vive on the income. At that time, people

six months old she gave her to me. I

discriminated a lot against black people

went to the Family Welfare Institute and

and they would shut the door in my

asked for custody and everything. My

face when I told them I was displaced.

dream is to be able to have my whole

I moved to Siloé and kept doing tempo-

family living at home. I'd also like to

rary jobs. They really liked me there and

have a grocery shop or a restaurant. I

would give me blankets, clothes, little

want to continue working and pushing

things. I’ve had to move around a great

ahead in Cali and see what happens.

1. The Colombian National Learning Service.

Gloria

there and that the lady of the house wasn’t

17

M

Camilo*. I’m a young Afro-Colombian who left his homeland due to threats by paramilitaries and FARC1 guerrillas. I was born in Barranquilla, but when I was two we moved to Quibdó because my father died and my mother was left alone to care for me and my four brothers. There was a lot of armed conflict in the area.

I joined the Afro-Colombian Pastoral group and devoted myself to spreading its social message through dance, sports, music and things like that. But, being young men, we were targets of forced recruitment by the paramilitaries, the FARC and the military. My mother also worked with Afro-Colombian women and she was threatened too, so she had to keep a low profile.

In 2005, I graduated from high school, but since only one or two out of ten Afro-Colombians ever get accepted into university, I got stuck. I started working in a collective public transport service as an assistant. We covered a dangerous route; there were a number of armed actors in the area.

Almost all of Quibdó was divided.

voces INVISIBLES

y name is

18

*. Names and places have been altered upon the request of the narrators.

1. Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia.

me too, because they thought I had been an accomplice in the shooting.

Eventually I had no option but to return to my house in Quibdó because I couldn’t get a job. People began to gossip and I had to learn to live with that. I explained I had nothing to do with the shooting and people left me alone for a while.

Then the paramilitaries started mass recruitment, and they sent me an ultimatum: if I didn’t enlist, it was goodbye. They would kill me. I contacted a man who helped me get out of there. I moved to Pasto in September 2007 but started receiving threatening phone calls from the paramilitaries, so I had to cut myself off from the world.

I thank God and the people he put in my path, because they really gave me a hand. Without them I wouldn’t be telling this story. The PCN, the Black Communities Process, took my case to the Ministry of Internal Affairs and they gave me money to relocate. The bad thing about the city is that no matter where I am people look at me strangely and try to avoid me.

I’ve done some construction work and I have friends that have

Camilo

In April 2006, a massacre took place and the paramilitaries killed six young guys. Then some time later, in August, several paramilitaries were killed in a disco and from then on everything was just a time bomb. The next day some guys from the FARC got on our bus, looking like the American dream, and when the bus got to the corner where the paramilitaries had been buried, a gun fight broke out. The bus driver cried because he didn’t know what to do. They made us climb up a hill and lie on the ground. Four people died and about forty were injured.

The FARC guys left and then the next odyssey began. We had to leave the bus and escape.

I was left with such psychosocial trauma that I couldn’t bear to have a person standing behind me. I felt as if my heart was going to come out of my mouth. I moved to Medellín where I lasted two months. The paramilitaries started to look for me because they thought I belonged to the FARC and the FARC started to look for me because they thought I was going to talk; and the police were looking for

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Stories of violence and hope in colombia

voices 20

helped me a lot. Through the PCN, we started to build a social support structure for displaced Afrodescendant people. I want to study anthropology, but I also want to be a bilingual professional, because of a life-goal I have. I'd like to return to Quibdó because I feel I left my entire life back there. Only my body is in Pasto, freezing due to the low temperature and the way many people treat me.

I’m keen to continue my work with black communities. In fact, I’d like to set up a language foundation that would also serve to strengthen Afro-Colombian traditions. The basis for moving forward is to demand, promote and protect the rights of Afro-Colombian communities. All of these things give me strength and made me grow up quickly because, when you face such urgent problems, there is no time to think of having fun. My friends tease me because I act like I’m old already, and not like a young man. But you have to pull strength from everywhere possible, from your fingernails to the last strand of your hair.

21

Carlos Arturo Bravo

voces,

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

SINGING TO LIFE

22

I’m going to tell you the story of that soldier warrior who was injured in combat by guerrilla groups.

It was ten o’clock at night when a peasant arrived, “Hey, mister commander, the enemy has come inside…”

–Diego Fernando Castrillón

23

Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

Diego Fernando Castrillón. I’m 24 years old, married, and my wife is pregnant. After I joined the army in 2003, I was caught in an ambush by the FARC and was shot seven times with a rifle. That incident left me quadriplegic. In spite of that, I now can walk with the help of crutches and I just made a pop music album.

I was born in Medellín and lived there until I was six. After that, my family decided to move to Pereira, where my parents now live. The rest of the family is in Armenia and Manizales, in the Old Caldas region.

My mother and father had my three brothers and me, and separated later.

Then my father had another four kids, and my mom had a little girl, making a total of nine brothers and sisters. Before I enlisted in the army, I helped my father with the cattle, the coffee and the bananas on the farm.

I had mixed feelings about going into the army. I thought it would be cool to fly a helicopter and all that, but at the same time it seemed like a very hard life. It ended up being a question of chance. On a Saturday in August 2003, a week before I turned 18, an

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

y name is

24

army truck drove by and took me. I sat for some exams and was recruited. I did nine months of military service and was transferred to the Expro, in Tolemaida, a place where they professionalize soldiers. I worked as a professional soldier at the High Mountain Battalion No. 5 in Quindío for 13 months.

On January 19th 2005, at seven o’clock in the morning, twelve of us soldiers and a lieutenant went out on patrol and got caught in a FARC ambush. I was shot seven times and had multiple injuries in my spine. I had spinal lesions on vertebrae L3, L4 and L5, and I was forced to stay in the military hospital for a year and a half. I was quadriplegic for eleven months of that time. I could only move my head and my eyes to look around.The rest of my body was completely paralyzed.

The doctors' diagnosis was terrible.

They said I would never be able to walk again, but I didn’t believe them. I underwent 15 operations. In the last one, I had 12 screws placed in my spine, just so I would be able to sit in a wheelchair, not to walk. But I kept telling them, “I'm going to walk”. I didn’t believe them. “I can’t believe I’m not going to

And I did. They strapped me into the wheelchair with belts and I remained like that for ten months. After that, I started using a walker, and then I went on to use crutches. I dreamed that the next time I saw my mother I would walk. I put all my heart and soul into it and I succeeded. The doctors couldn’t believe it. It was a miracle.

Before I joined the army, when I helped my father on the farm, I liked music a lot. I would sing songs by Darío Gómez and wonder what it would be like to be up on stage, singing songs that I had written myself.

So, during the ten months I spent in the wheelchair, I composed several pieces. Now I have 30 songs registered in Sayco and Acinpro1.

1.The Society of Colombian Artists and Composers and the Colombian Association of Performers and Producers respectively.

Diego Fernando Castrillón

walk once I'm well”, I said. They'd reply, “We can’t tell you that you’ll walk again, because that would get your hopes up. Your spine has been smashed to pieces.We have just deflected two rifle bullets”. But I would answer, “I don’t care, I will walk again”.

That last operation took 14 hours. I was in bed for two months, completely covered by a cast. That was quite something. After those two months, I started having physical therapy from 9:00 am to 11:30 am. After that, I would have lunch and take a nap, and at 4 pm or 5 pm I would continue the therapy by myself, on my own initiative. All I did was make my legs and arms strong. I have to do it”, I’d say to myself. “I have to do it, I have to walk again”.

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In 2007, I had the opportunity to record 12 songs with the help of Darío, Jhonny Rivera and others who supported my dream. I also have my own video. After releasing the songs I started to promote them on the army radio station and a few other stations in the Coffee Zone, Caldas and Norte del Valle. When it was time to elect mayors and senators and all that, the candidates would hire me.When they organized their festivals I would get up on stage and sing for them. If the things that happened to me hadn’t happened, I don’t think I would have recorded the CD, or even started singing, or anything.Thanks to my voice I went to the Senate and had lunch with actors and actresses. I mean, I never thought that would be possible!

My disability hasn’t been a problem for me. Thank God my feet move, not completely, but enough to climb stairs and walk without help. In Bogota, I have had to do a little of everything and I’ve gotten by, although at first I couldn’t get used to the cold weather. In Pereira I could just wear shorts and a T-shirt.

I can’t do that here, because I would freeze. Also people are very distrustful here. When I get close, they think I’m going to rob them or, when I ask for di-

rections, they send me somewhere else.

The good thing about the city is that there are more opportunities to work and study. I want to start with music, but I also want to study something like business administration.

The pension for disability took me by surprise. I was able to buy my mother a little house with the compensation. I also approached the Colombia Foundation for the Wounded for two reasons.The first was because I wanted to stay in Bogota, because I can get a job here and the medical treatments are close by.The other is because we’re rehearsing a video. When I finish, I’m hoping to find myself an apartment.

The Foundation has helped me a lot.

It’s excellent not just for soldiers from the army, but also for those from the navy, the marines and the police. If any of them arrive here at the hospital, and they don’t have a place to stay, they are sent to the Foundation where they get help finding a job. They charge eight thousand pesos2 a day and give you breakfast, lunch, dinner, services and a bed, which is really cheap.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen everywhere in the country. People don’t appreciate what soldiers do. Even

though the current government puts a lot of emphasis on the army and all that, Colombians don’t really appreciate our efforts. Peace isn’t easy to achieve, nothing is. The problem, in my opinion, is that war is a business. If there are paramilitaries, guerrillas and drug traffickers, the war will never end. That’s why Plan Colombia exists, to supply money for arms and helicopters and everything the army needs. Things could calm down, but I don’t think they will end that easily.

It was the war that brought me to where I am today. The accident changed many things inside me and in my life. I used to be very rude, and now I like to help people. If someone asks me for a favor, I do it with all my heart. What happened to me gave me a second chance to live, because nobody survives seven rifle shots. God must have something very special in store for me. I think my story is a living example, because I’ve always been very brave. Problems exist and they have solutions, it’s just a question of facing them and not letting them beat you. I want to continue playing music like Darío Gómez’s and singing, singing to life with heart and soul.

2. Approximately 3,8 USD.

27

Carlos Arturo Bravo

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

THE ACCIDENT TAUGHT ME ALL THIS

voces,

Why did she leave, why did she die?

She´s gone up to the sky, I must be good To be with my love.

28

–Alci Acosta

29

Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

Carlos Arturo Bravo and I was born in Colón Génova, Nariño. I lived in El Guayabo, with my dad and five brothers. We dedicated ourselves to cultivating coffee, yucca, and beans. But on September 7th 2002, three days after turning fourteen, my life changed.

It was three in the afternoon and I went to play soccer with a friend.

He came over to invite me and then I went over to his house. “Wait”, he said, “I’ll be right back. I’ll go get the ball from the coffee farm”. I waited and waited. About fifteen minutes later, I felt an explosion and, all of sudden, shrapnel was falling all over the place. It hit me full on and even lifted me in the air. y name is

30

I got up and walked home. I can’t remember what happened after that. A few weeks later, I woke up in the intensive care unit of a hospital. I felt I was going crazy, I didn’t know where I was and I didn’t have any skin. I kept asking what had happened to me, what was wrong with my stomach. Nobody wanted to tell me. The explosion had destroyed the main tissue in my stomach, two intestines, the sight in my right eye, and my hearing in both ears–the right one more than the left one. I also injured one side of my head, the bone in my forehead, and the whole of my right shoulder. I was told I had been in a coma for a month and a half. My family explained that it had been gre-

pital in Pasto to ask for my medical history and there they met a social worker who put them in contact with a woman that worked with a NGO

that helped victims of violence. That’s how my brother got in touch with the Colombian Campaign against Landmines in Pasto and started the process to get me transferred to Bogota to finish my medical treatment in 2006.

It’s been six years since the accident and I still have a way to go. I have to finish with the ear and the stomach, and then see where I go from there. It’s hard to do the work I used to do, because farming is very hard. It requires a lot of effort and, since we farm on hillsides, it’s very dangerous and slippery when it rains. It is difficult to carry a load on your shoulders when it’s raining. The accident has made everything harder for me. I wanted to work in construction and I now I won’t be able to. And I can’t do the things I used to do at home either. It’s hard to get a job, because people won’t hire you if you have a disability. “This is one of the victims”, they say, “and if something happens we’ll get the blame”.

The idea was to move to Bogota and reintegrate into the community, set up a business so I could help my mother, but I haven’t been able to yet.

1. Accion Social, the presidential social welfare agency.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

nade that had belonged to the FARC, a munition left behind which hadn’t exploded at the time. It had blown my friend to pieces.

My father and mother took it very hard. I had always helped both of them; I earned my keep in the house by helping with anything they needed, I did what I had to do. I had always been there, although some time before the accident I had gone away to work on coffee plantations in other areas. The first three years I underwent my medical treatment in Pasto. A year and a half later, I had to go back to get gauze put on, but my body didn’t accept it and it had to be removed. I spent nine months in therapy. After that, I refused to have another surgery in Pasto. I was going to have it done in Cali or in Bogota, even if I had to pay for it myself.

My brother and a woman lawyer had been doing the rounds for me at Social Action1. They went to the hos-

31

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voces INVISIBLES

subsidized ARP3 we did all the paperwork and ended up paying five hundred thousand pesos4 for all that time. The government didn’t pay a thing. But they’ve been helping me with my medical costs since 2005.

The administrative process to obtain compensation is extremely complex. They have to review the case, investigate if you were really the victim and how the accident happened.

They have to speak to witnesses, with the mayor, with the prosecution, and, if they decide you’re not a victim, they won’t pay you. The entire process takes ten years. I hope I get enough to study, to go to school and then to university, and also for my medical treatment and pension.

But there’s a problem with the victims in Colombia: we become invisible.

No one can see us. We are visible, but not to the media. And many victims don’t register as such because they’re

afraid of retaliation. Fortunately, in Bogota many people have supported me and helped with my situation. There are people who have lost both feet, both hands and their sight in both eyes.

It’s very difficult to reintegrate into the labor market. I think it’s fair that they get a pension, so they don’t have to worry about anything.

The accident made me start thinking about others. Now I want to travel out of the country to integrate into another society and work.

I would like to study medicine or law, and find ways to help others who have suffered the same kind of accident I have. I believe we should look for ways to stop the guerrillas from planting mines, because a lot of people step on them, including children. Mines don’t distinguish by age or in any way at all.

I miss my friend very much. We used to do everything together. We went fishing and spent all our free time together. Now I must try to help those that are worse off than I am and all that... and all that.

2. Approximately 10,400 USD. 3. Administrator of Professional Risks 4. Approximately 230 USD.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

At first the government didn’t support me. My first hospital bill after the accident came up to twenty-two million pesos2. Since I didn’t have a

33

A BRAVE WOMAN, DRIVING FORWARD

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

I will leave my home for you, I will leave my land and go far away from here.

I’ll cross the garden in tears and take your memories with me as I go far away from here.

voces,

–Nino Bravo.

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Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

Gloria*, I am

In the middle of November 2004, the

confronted them. They locked him up in

a housewife and I have three kids.

paracos appeared and claimed our farm.

the cellar and beat him violently but then

Thank God all of them are in school.

They went into my daughter’s room and

they told me the kids could stay. They

I studied to be a preschool assistant.

took things. They told my little girl, who

locked us all up in the farm that night,

At one time, I worked in a school in

was only nine years old, that they were

and wouldn’t let us out. They called the

the countryside and was in charge of

going to take her away. They told the

commander and he said; “The eleven-

all grades–from preschool to elev-

older one the same thing. They started

year-old boy will come with us now”.

enth grade. The people there were

brainwashing them, showing them guns,

Nonetheless, they let us see in the

very kind. I married and we bought

chains, silver, everything. One day, there

morning of the 25th. They didn’t let

a little farm in San Luis, not too far

was a shooting and the man that had

us pray the novena, or make Christmas

out of the way. I was there until I was

shown them all those things appeared

custard or anything, and at six o´clock

displaced in 2004.

dead in front of our house.

in the afternoon, everyone was locked

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

y name is

36

1

I think they displaced us to take our

That December was horrible because,

up. On the 26th, they called and told me

land, because I'd been in San Luis for

apart from having the paracos inside our

that, from that point on, all the children

nine years and the guerrillas had never

house, we got the chickenpox. On the

would go with them. I told them that

come to stay. When they came to the

24th, they told me they were going to

they could keep the farm, and everything

farm, I would take my suitcase and leave

take my children.They said, “Listen, lady,

in it, but not my kids. I told them they

the door open behind me. We knew that

don’t go looking for problems”. My hus-

would have to kill me first. We fled and

they were the ones in charge.

band had been drinking that day and he

they wouldn’t let us take anything but a *. Names and places have been altered upon the request of the narrators.

1. Slang term for paramilitaries.

A few months later, there was a health bri-

the children, but my husband didn’t. They

gade in San Luis and I volunteered because

made him get off the bus we were travel-

my children were staying with my mother,

ing on. When we were nearing the city, I

and so I could leave without any prob-

was told that I would have to pay six hun-

lem. I arrived in the jungle and went to

dred million pesos or I would never see

an indigenous community. While working

my husband again. I talked to his family

there, I met a man that had been living in

and we agreed on the payment. I told the

the community for a few months. He had a

paramilitaries that I didn’t have that kind

long beard and was very hairy. His jaw was

of money, so they said I could pay less.

twisted. I froze when he took off his shirt.

2

Six months later, I received a phone call

He had many scars, like rashes. I gave him a

telling me to come pick my husband up at

pen so he could sign a letter certifying we

the entrance of the city. There were about

had assisted him and realized he was my

three or four women and fifteen men there,

husband. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been

all waiting for their relatives to be handed

able to recognize him.

over on a bridge over the River Cauca. I

The problem was that he didn’t re-

gave them 20 million pesos and told them

member me, he couldn’t remember any-

I would give them 40 million more when

thing. He had a severe mental block from a

my husband crossed the bridge.

blow he’d received down by the river. He

3

But I couldn’t see them crossing,

also had cancer and was very sick. But he

and then it started to rain very hard.

decided to come back home with me and

That was when I saw the gray van

the children after a very long and hard pe-

holding the hostages who were being

riod of therapy. He cried and complained a

swapped, and I saw how they started

lot. Sometimes he would wake up and ask,

shooting all of them and throwing them

“Who are you?”, and a little while later he

into the river. I cried and cried. At

would say, “Mommy, I feel a little strange”,

about nine o’clock, a small bus picked

and he would faint. He died a year later.

me up. The truth is that I don’t know

That was a year ago.

what I did with those 40 million pesos.

I think I threw them away.

After that I did a little of everything. I worked at the market, in a fruit store and 2. Approximately 285,000 USD. 3. Approximately 9,500 USD.

Gloria

first-aid kit. I managed to get away with

37

cleaning houses. I also managed an association for displaced people. I was getting by, and I got a lot of support. It was hard, because I was in charge of the association together with another woman. I had to quit because of my husband’s illness. I had no choice but to take the reigns of the household and leave the issue behind. The association used to have assemblies every month or so, and we would charge a thousand pesos for upkeep and five thousand for affiliation4. We organized a farming project divided into five categories: greenhouse tomatoes, livestock, pigs, aromatic herbs and solid waste management.

I have been away from that for a long time, but I sometimes send the children. I don’t really do it for the money. It’s just that those of us involved like farming a lot, and we identify with it–the cows, the chickens, the calves and

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

so on. My children are studying and they only

38

have Sundays off, when they like to mountainbike, so they don’t go as much as I would like.

Now I have a job cooking for a family that runs a rehabilitation center for drug addicts; so I’m set up for the moment. This makes my children happy. One of them wants to enlist in the military service. We’re looking into that. With God’s help, we’ve managed to survive.When I think of the past I get sad, but I don’t bear any grudges. I have been a very brave woman.

4. Approximately 0.5O USD and 2.50 USD respectively.

39

Carlos Arturo Bravo

A REAL EXPERIENCE I’m experiencing moments that I can’t explain.

Beautiful moments that are already eternal like the verb to love.

voces,

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

–Camilo Sesto

40

41

Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

María Velanand I’m 35 years old. I was born

thing in the refrigerator. They would

in Bogota. A few years ago, I was left

them. You couldn’t do anything about

in charge of a farm in Silvania, Cun-

it. All we could do was stay quiet. They

dinamarca, in the district of Loma

didn’t care about anything or anybody.

Alta. The farm belonged to a seventy-

They’re extremely cold-blooded. But

year-old man who lived in Bogota. My

on that day, the guerrillas came out

seven children and I would pick coffee

of nowhere and told us we had fifteen

beans and take care of the animals. In

minutes to leave the house.

y name is

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

dia

42

take everything that was of any use to

those days, I would sit with my chil-

I was worried about my thirteen-

dren while I cooked with firewood and

year-old daughter; afraid they would

listened to songs by Nino Bravo. I was

do something bad to her and recruit the

very comfortable because life in the

other children. I couldn’t think straight

country is so much more peaceful than

and forgot to take our clothes, money

life in the city. Or so I thought.

or anything. All that mattered were the

I had been at the farm for three years

lives of my children. They cried and I

and I would see guerrillas around, but

didn’t know what to do, so I got on the

when they came and took things they

first bus that stopped and asked the bus

never said anything. They would show

driver to get us out of there. The driv-

up all the time and would eat every-

er started the motor and, some hours

was on December 7th 2004.

We arrived at a square and started walking through the neighborhood of La Esperanza until we found a park with some paths, a few little houses and some small tables. There was a kiosk and we spent the night there. On the next day, a woman asked me where I was from. She told me I should file a report and testify, because then we would be able to get help. Thank God she let us sleep at her house too.

Three days later, she took us to La Esperanza II, where all the other displaced people were. They gave us eight mats, eight mosquito nets and even gave me enough money to pay rent for three months. At first I thought about food all the time: we would go

to the market, collect whatever we could find and we'd knock on door after door, although I was the only one who would beg, my children wouldn’t.

People would give us things, even if it was just a sugar loaf. One day we got two bushels of tangerines and oranges in the market, because they fell off the truck as the workers were unloading.

We would ask for permission, saying: “May I, Mister?”, and the man would answer, “Go ahead, take it”. When the truck with bananas came, they’d cut off all the bruised parts and throw them out, and the displaced people would form lines to get what they could.

Some people were left out because there wasn’t enough for everybody.

cause a lot of them didn’t believe we had

In general, fellow displaced people

they had been through since the day we

were kind to us, but others weren’t, be-

really been displaced from our homes.

One day, I was begging at a market and a woman gave me a raw chicken wing and she said, “Take this, after all, displaced people here eat better than we do”.

When we were wandering the streets, we saw some pretty ugly situations. Entire families smoking marijuana, getting violent. One of my children said, “something smells awful”, and I answered, “I know honey, but try not to smell it.That’s marijuana”. I would warn them never to fall into drugs. I told them we were humble people, but not bad people. My children were my reason to struggle on, my reason to search for a way out. I never let them beg, I didn’t have the heart. What were displaced was more than enough.

María Velandia

later, we arrived at Bucaramanga. That

43

After that, the Red Cross helped us and

That was how my husband found out

I was able to rent a little house. That was

where we were, and he set out for Bu-

when I became friends with a girl in the

caramanga to find us. That’s what he did.

neighborhood who was from the eastern

Luckily I was reunited with him soon

plains. She suggested we sell eggs and

after. When I first saw him, it was as if

sugarloaf to make some money. I would

we connected all over again. One of his

sell five eggs and five sugarloaves for a

aunts lent us a little money and helped

thousand pesos.We could get by on that.

us get a better house. After a while, and

I also made friends with a streetwalk-

after struggling for a long time, we man-

er. I asked her what I could do to get food, and she invited me to come with her to

I spent the first month and a half in the

Santa Marta, where ships from the Phil-

capital out of work. My mother-in-law,

ippines docked. She said they paid good

who has been like a mother to me, send-

money. I asked her if she used condoms

ing us a little money and food in Bucara-

and she said it would depend on what the

manga, got me a few odd jobs cleaning in

man wanted. They would pay between

different places.Thanks to that, I was able

two hundred thousand and five hundred

to go to Soacha and rent an apartment. I

thousand pesos . It was good money, but

had a plot of land in Bosa from my first

I couldn’t do it because of my children. I

marriage and I had no choice but to sell it

offered to take care of her baby, though,

to pay the rent.Then I found out the New

while she went to Santa Marta.

Life Foundation needed someone to do

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

1

44

aged to go back to Bogota.

All I wanted during that time was to

the cleaning. I’ve been working there for

return to my family, to my husband who

three years. I have a home and my seven

worked in Bogota and to my mother.The

babies are with me; I have everything.

trauma had been so severe that I couldn’t

I read books at the Foundation and

remember anyone’s telephone number,

compare them to the life I was forced to

but every time I got a coin or two I’d try

live over there. It was very hard. Some-

to dial. It took me ten months to be able

times I get sad, especially when I hear

to talk to my mother. I couldn’t believe

a song by Nino Bravo; but then I think

it. I could hardly cope with my feelings

about it and I feel joy, because it was, af-

when I heard my dear mother again.

ter all, an defining experience.

1. Approximately 95 USD and 235 USD respectively.

45

Carlos Arturo Bravo

DIALOGUE is A WAY OUT Superficial things change, profound things change too, your way of thinking changes, as all things in this world do.

voces,

Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

–Mercedes Sosa

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47

Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

y name is José Alfredo Mejía

voces INVISIBLES

and I’m 33 years old. I was born in Aruba, but my whole family is from La Guajira. My mother is from Fonseca, La Guajira, and my father from Uribia. I’m my mother's only child, but my father has several other children. I also have cousins who are like sisters to me, because their dad raised me.

Twelve years ago, I joined the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC). Its 100-percent rightwing political discourse captivated me. It actually motivated me to fight against the atrocities committed by the guerrillas in this country. It was necessary to create a counterbalance,

48

and that was what the self-defense groups were. That’d been my view since I was in school and I stood by it until I was in my fourth semester of Psychology at the Manuela Beltrán University. That was when I made up my mind. I acted more out of political than military motivations, serving with the North Block in areas along the Atlantic Coast, like Corral Viejo, Montería, Córdoba and Cesar.

My family only found out I belonged to the self-defense forces when I demobilized on March 8th 2006, in Chimila, Cesar, under commander Jorge 40. It came out in the newspaper and everyone was very surprised. We had such a good re-

thousand men demobilized, although there were places in which drug traffickers and criminals made use of our right-wing discourse to get their way.

The AUC was financed by drug trafficking, but it didn’t subscribe to it.

The first reason we had for demobilizing was Álvaro Uribe Vélez’s government. He established the Democratic Security Policy which we agreed with. The second reason was that we had realized nothing was going to be solved through violence.

All we had done was counterbalance the guerrilla’s power in certain regions of Colombia. That’s why we decided to work for peace. What interests me now are political projects. I am a profoundly Catholic per-

son and am also profoundly against subversion, but now from a different point of view. Not a military point of view: it’s not about killing people that don’t think like you or about countering them with violence. I now have a clear and better-rooted political perspective.

At the moment, I’m working at the Mayor’s Office in Bogota, with a team called Peace in Colombia. Most of my colleagues are ex-guerrillas.

There is one guy that belonged to the FARC, another one to the ELN1, another one to the EPL2 and someone from M-193, and we’re all working together for peace on a local level in the city. We tend to the demobilized population, whether they are from 1. National Liberation Army.

2. Popular Liberation Army.

3. The April 19th Movement.

José Alfredo Mejía

lationship with the community that people were against our demobilization. They were afraid the national government wouldn’t offer them security. We actually insisted that the government, the army and the police visit the places we had freed of subversives. In some regions we saw the benefits of liberating people and we gained acceptance from them.

The day of the demobilization was very hard because I felt vulnerable. On top of it all, one of the commanders in charge of the military side –Antonio–had ordered to have me killed because I hadn’t obeyed one of his commands. Thanks to the support of the other commanders and Jorge 40, nothing came of it. About five

49

50

voces INVISIBLES

José Alfredo Mejía

the left or the right, and we don’t only look after them, but also their families. We try to help them join the labor force and to study, and we try to integrate them into the community. I’ve learned a great deal from the conflict, from the victims, from the people who were my enemies, from myself. I even learned how to turn on a computer and use it. What I’m trying to say is that I now know a lot of things that I didn’t know before.

I’m also going to go back to the Military University to resume my studies in political science. I work during the day, so I’ll have to study during the night. I want to dedicate myself to politics and bring peace through dialogue. I’ve become closer to my family and, above all, I have learned a lot about myself as a person. Not every aspect of the war is bad. I think most of the experiences I’ve gone through are positive. I know how to take care of myself now, I know how to work, I know how to defend myself, I know how to speak, how to conduct myself. Speaking is much better than carrying a gun. Dialogue is, in fact, our way out.

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voces, Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

“WE HAVE COME TO TAKE YOUR CHILDREN”

It´s very sad to be away from the land where one was raised but it is even sadder yet if you’re without friends and loved ones.

Fate made us leave them behind, but the soul won't let go.

–Los Tigres del Norte *These testimonies were the result of a group interview with beneficiaries of the Families in Action Program and the Together Network.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

I want with all my heart to go back to my beloved homeland.

God will give me what I need, So I may die with those I love.

53

M

Analbina and I come from Vista Hermosa, Meta. I used to live with my three kids in Soacha, but a man told us there was work in Meta and we moved. I found a job cooking for construction workers, until the guerrillas arrived one day and told me they were going to take my children. They said they would pick them up at six in the afternoon.

A little while later, my two children came home for lunch, but I didn’t say anything to them or to my bosses.

When they were about to leave, I asked them to stay home with me, but they said they couldn’t because the work was too good that day. Then they left. I remained silent. They went to work and never returned; the guerrillas had taken them. The next day I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find them. Four, five days and nothing. I had already resigned myself to what happened. I went on living

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

y name is

54

on the farm, until some guerrillas showed up and told me I had to leave or they would kill me and take away my youngest child.

So I went back to Soacha and searched for a telephone number where I could locate my children.

Then one day I got a letter from them saying that I should resign myself, that I should continue my life without them. About a month later, my son called me on my cell phone; I don’t know how he got the number. He asked me to come see him and gave me instructions. The first thing I asked was where his brother was. That’s when he told me the truth. He said his brother had been killed in the gunfire between guerrillas and the army. That was in 2007.

After that, four months passed without me hearing from my son, until he called me back in September and asked me to come visit him

in December. Before saying goodbye, he told me he loved me. He told me to take care of myself and of his little brother. In November I was on a bridge near San Mateo and my phone rang, around ten o’clock in the morning. It was some lady saying that my son had been killed on November 7th; she asked me to go to claim his body.

It was terrible. I had to ask the guerrillas for permission to let me dig up my boy. When I got there, the gravedigger handed me a shovel and I had to pull my son out of there.

He looked like a puppy, lying there inside some black bags. I fainted and everything. Then I had to take him all the way to a funeral parlor in Soacha. That was very sad. He’s buried in El Charquito. I’m still looking for my oldest son’s body. Whenever I hear on the news they’ve found mass graves, I call… but nothing.

Still nothing.

55

Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

Pablo and I was displaced from RĂ­o Blanco, Tolima, in the year 2000. I had two grandchildren, and the armed groups wanted to enlist them. They managed to injure one of my grandchildren near our farm, so we had to go into hiding.

Later on, my grandchildren, another relative and I walked all the way to Soacha. Fifteen days later, our relative went back and we never heard from him again. Thank the Lord we haven’t done so badly since.

My wife and I live with our grandson, his wife and our great grandchildren. We have a tamale factory and we already got a housing subsidy and bought a little house.

The tamales are enough to pay the bills. Praise the Lord we always have enough food.

voices

Stories of violence and hope in colombia

y name is

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Carlos Arturo Bravo

M

Margarita and I’m from Solano, Caquetá, the biggest municipality in Colombia. It was 1987, the time of the coca wars and the M-19. I lived there with all my family, until one day the army arrived in the area and the M-19 invaded our little farm to hold a so-called war council. They tied up my dad, my brother, all the neighbors, my nephew and my brother-in-law. My dad told them to take all the animals they wanted, but not to put us between the two sides. But the M-19 dug trenches right there in the middle of the farm. That’s where we stayed until they took my little brother. At that time they only recruited boys around twelve years of age.

I set out to look for my brother all over Caquetá. I was working for the government, but I asked for time off and left. I went up into the hills with a guide until I finally found the kid. Fourteen years old and his eyes bruised from shooting his rifle so much. A guerrilla friend told me he could get us out of there with his

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Stories of violence and hope in colombia

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commander’s help. They took us to their camp, because they were hiding from the army, and they told me to stay as I was an auxiliary nurse. After some time, we were able to escape to a place called Mateguadua. I was happy because I had gotten my little brother out of the M-19´s war.

Unfortunately, the day Pastrana took office in 1998, the FARC took my brother. I had to start looking for him all over again. One day the FARC called and asked for 35 million pesos1 to return him. When I went to pay, some guerrillas told me they had already killed him to steal his money and other things he had with him, because he sold jewelry and music videos and he owned a boat motor. Another man said that wasn’t true. He said a commander had ordered him to put my brother’s things away, but he told us he wasn’t dead.They are still investigating, searching for my brother. Three years ago I saw him on the news on a video showing a group of hostages.

In 2002 illegal groups murdered my husband; in 2003 they told me 1. Approximately 16,000 USD.

I had to leave that very day. They threatened me and tried to extort me, so I had to leave with my three little children. I worked in the health sector. I owned a drug store, a kind of medical center that I had to close down when I was forced to leave.

After that, I left for Puerto Salgar and, after that, to Puerto Boyacá. I worked in health stations in the provinces of Santander and Norte de Santander to pay for my children’s studies.

Then I had no choice but to move to Bogota because of the paramilitaries.

I left everything behind, everything. After all that’s happened, I’ve become very strong. I wear a little detail made of tortoise shell. I ask the Lord to bless me and I thank him for giving me the strength I have. Thanks to him I have all my children with me. After my husband’s death, the Solidarity Network gave me ten million pesos2 in humanitarian aid.That’s how I paid my for my son’s college.

He’s a non-commissioned officer in the army now. My daughter finished high school and is in the SENA3.

2. Approximately 4,730 USD. 3. The Colombian National Learning Service.

2. Approximately 710 USD.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

I also received one million five hundred pesos4 from the Social Action agency to help me begin generating my own income. I’m producing good quality sausage, filled with smoked and barbecued pork meat, like the kind that they export. I also make empanadas on demand.

I graduated from the SENA a year ago, after completing two semesters in basic modern cooking in culinary school. I also took health, hygiene and food management. On April 15th, I graduated from the Integrated Assistance Program for Income Generation run by Consolidar, the Credit Association. So here we are.

And from now on I’m looking forward to the future.

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YOU CAN ALWAYS DO MORE And I walk and never stop.

I wonder if it’s me or the road that never ends.

Carlos Arturo Bravo

–Pablus Gallinazus

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Alix María Salazar. I’m a teacher and I don’t mind saying that I’m 58 years old. After studying at a teacher training school in Santander, I moved to Bogota to look for work. In 1970, I started working at a school for underprivileged children and I joined the teacher’s union. In the seventies, people would talk about Marxism, they thought they could change the world, and they studied the revolutionary processes in other countries. There was also talk of armed groups, such as the ELN, the FARC and the EPL. As a teacher, I noticed the gap between all the talk and the things that we really needed to do to make a change.

I started work on the day of the electoral fraud. I had obtained my teaching position through an open competition,

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but when I went to take up the post they told me to fill out a questionnaire asking if I was conservative or liberal.

I told the man who gave me the questionnaire that I was neither, but he said that that was impossible. He said I had to be one or the other. I didn’t budge, so he asked me what party my father belonged to. I said he was conservative, and the man wrote that I was conservative on the questionnaire. That was terrible for me.

I come from a large family in which everything had to be discussed and agreed on; everyone had their own point of view and we all had to work together. That made me question things.

I suppose that was what led me to politics. I think that giving my opinion about how the country should be orga-

nized is in itself a political action. In this sense, my political path began with the labor union movement.

The left wing was present in the union, so was the right, but I didn’t get involved with any party or movement at that time. I was transferred from the school in which I was working to an industrial area, where I came into contact with construction workers.We thought they would lead the changes, but then I discovered that most of the working class couldn’t read or write.

I couldn’t imagine them leading any change under those conditions.

I realized that labor unions had their shortcomings, but I had gone into them with the hope of transforming reality. At that time, I worked with a group of communal land owners who

to meetings and to the plays we would perform.

In 1982, Operation North Zone had already been carried out and steps had been taken towards an amnesty, as many of those working with us had been detained. At that time elections were also being held in El Salvador and we decided to support the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front, the guerrilla forces in El Salvador. That’s why we planted a bomb in the El Salvadoran embassy in Bogota. I was caught in the act; there was a gunfight and I was hit. I lay on the ground in front of a house, without any ammunition.

The police arrived and one of them said, “this one is still breathing, give her another shot”. I closed my eyes

Carlos Arturo Bravo

had decided to join the M-19. When we were young, a lot of us were looking for something that would guarantee change, and we were convinced that any real change in this country could only come through armed struggle. But to make the leap to the highest level of revolutionary commitment, we knew we had to have the right training.

I continued working as a teacher and participating in the union in the “M”. My association with the union was mainly urban, the urban command. I worked to integrate more and more people into the unions, which contained many members of the M-19. I went to schools and talked to other teachers about political life outside classroom doors. I would hand out newsletters and invite them

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and said to myself, “this is the end of the line for me”, but suddenly a man wearing a lab coat and slippers–who it turned out was a doctor–appeared.

He lifted my blouse and examined my bullet wounds. He told the police I was losing a great deal of blood and that I had to be taken to a hospital immediately. He stayed with me and that’s why I’m still alive.

I got out of jail on December 1982 on account of the amnesty. I was there a little over 10 months. I was 32 and unemployed. It is very hard for us excombatants to get a job. I also felt that I had thrown away another part of my life, because I had sacrificed having children. So I took that up again as well as my political project.

Ten years after the demobilization, we organized an event of ex-combatants. I think we managed to show some of the things we can do. Several excombatants make handicrafts, others work in human rights organizations, in organizations to protect the environment, parents associations, etc.

Hearing their stories, I came to realize what a heavy burden it is to be a woman, with all the preconceptions that come with it. Political transformation

is very limited for us.Women are never forgiven for gaining access to spaces where we can speak our thoughts. We tend to sacrifice our own projects in order to strengthen men’s. Then when we want to express ourselves we are subjected to censorship and criticism that has no political rationale.

I am convinced that we need democratic forums and that the people need to make those spaces their own.

People have to defend their rights, they need to know what they are and exercise them. They have to take the country’s future into their own hands.

That has always been my goal and it hasn’t changed. I think that peace is a state of general well-being, with political rights, employment, food, health, education and clean air.

Now that I think of it, we started the war to make peace. War is an instrument, like strikes are, but if the strike continues, there comes a time when the company will go bankrupt.

You start a war, but if that war is going to end up destroying the nation, it loses its purpose as a means to achieve beneficial results for society.

If we continue like this, it will cost our country a great deal of pain and

it will distort what we continue to uphold with so much conviction.

How do I imagine myself in ten years? I think I’d like to be in Melgar, taking it easy in a hammock, reading a book. But I’d like to have a chance to work in politics. I have been a town councilor in Kennedy, Bogota, a candidate for the city council and a candidate for the House of Representatives.

My political project continues. Sometimes people complain that women are not elected, but if we don’t run how are we going to get elected?

What has been my source of inspiration? Throughout my life, during the hardest moments, I was always inspired by something Che [Guevara] said, “You can always do more”. It gives me strength to keep on loving, to give people everything I have, to remain standing, to live and to fight every day. Every night I ask myself, “What have I done for my country’s transformation today?”. I try not to think about the life and happiness we will have after the changes come about, because I think we have to live well today. We have to live well today.

We must be happy, there must be life and that’s how we must live.

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THE COOL PRODIGAL SON Believe you can do it, will yourself to do it shed your fears, cast them off paint your face the color of hope then look to the future with all your heart

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Relatos de violencia y esperanza en Colombia

–Diego Torres

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Edisson Medina. I was born in the municipality of Campoalegre, in Huila, and I’m 28 years old. My family consisted of my father, my mother and four boys. I was the youngest of the four. Unfortunately, my father died seven months ago, but we’ve all remained close. I consider myself to be the black sheep of the family because I belonged to the FARC. But I’m the person that also came back home after seven years.

The story began in 2001, when I finished the military service and planned to continue as a professional soldier for a year. Unfortunately, one day during a military operation, they ordered me to take a sixteen-year-old woman, dress her in uniform and kill

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her. I didn’t want to. I fled into the jungle immediately and hid there for several days. Then I ran until I arrived at Ibagué and made contact with some armed groups.

Many people thought they were paramilitary forces, that’s why I tried to contact them right away. But I started talking to them and after three days they told me they belonged to the FARC. I didn’t have a choice; I needed a way to escape. The first thing they did was change my identity. I got a new ID card, a different name and started out as a novice guerrilla. The first few nights I was wracked with doubts; what I actually wanted was to get pardoned by the army, but then I started meeting some very cool people in the FARC.

abortion every day. This created a lot of confusion for me. If these are the all FARC, how can they be so different from one region to another?

While I was a part of the guerrillas, I tried to organize several projects for the population, but then the army and a paramilitary group arrived. We had to retreat all the way to el Cañón de las Hermosas and attack from there, because we were under too much pressure. The townspeople didn’t know which side to take and ended up suffering the consequences of the war, as they always do.

I had moved to Meta to start my political project with the joint command.

The fronts were only existing for the sake of money, and we had put a stop to that. It was an order from Alfonso Cano.

The idea was to reinforce the concept of Marxism and communism in order to assume power in Colombia. I met guerrillas who didn’t even know why they were there; some of them were just relatives of other guerrillas. There were also a lot of women looking for a refuge from domestic violence, and other people were there just to seek personal vengeance. The relationship

Edisson Medina

The boss was a very young political commander–24 years old. I got my leftist political training from him and it was very cool. But, three years later, we had an argument about the organization and the direction it was taking, which in my opinion was very different to the ideals we had fought for in the beginning. About 80 percent of the FARC is military and most of them don’t have clear and specific objectives.

The FARC has turned into a place where young people who have committed crimes go in order to avoid being arrested and put in jail–an organization made up of offenders. My principal concern came from my own experience. I would ask, “How could you let me get this far up, knowing I belonged to the military?” The commander would answer, “Because we need the people”. That’s how an organization begins to break down.

I spent most of my life as a guerrilla in the south of Tolima, working with the population. But from there, I went to the FARC in Meta, and found they would extort people, take over towns, rape the women and practice

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with the community was nonexistent.

Luckily that’s when the demobilizations started. Seventy of us guerrillas demobilized in 2006. A lot of people realized that the organization wasn’t going anywhere and decide to quit. I was one of the first three to do so.

The collective demobilization allowed me to reach Bogota and receive the initial economic assistance necessary to begin a new and independent life.

Now I live with my partner.We were together for two years while we were in the guerrilla. Now, for security, we live with her three children in a neighborhood restricted to ex-combatants. The seventy of us who demobilized agreed to pursue an education and to be discreet, so in time we’d be able to participate as a collective political force in the country.We had to hold discussions and try to find ways of helping the population too. But things didn’t turn out as I had planned; I received three death threats and decided to devote myself solely to my education.

I had been studying hard for three months when the Tecnovo Project Foundation called us to take an IT training program. They gave us a business

course in planning. I liked the work a lot and started to make a little money.That motivated me even more. The woman who received us had worked with excombatants. We started a reconciliation process without even realizing it. It was very cool, because we worked with demobilized people from the AUC and the ELN; they treated us like human beings and not like ex-combatants. One day we decided to paint a park. When we got there people were happy to see us. We had a meeting and I understood what it felt like to have a dream come true. We had become a group who worked with the community, a group of people who had once been leaders of war had now become leaders for peace.

Before my father died, I got the chance to see him a few times while I was still a guerrilla. He was my best friend. I explained why I had changed my ideas and he understood, although my mother was mortified–she was worried that my older brother, who is a professional soldier, and I would meet someday and kill each other. Fortunately that didn’t happen. During the reconciliation, we talked about truth, justice, pacts and memory. We have to forgive

ourselves, but we mustn’t forget, so we don’t repeat the bad stuff. Assertive communication is one of the most important things; that, and a justice system that educates instead of punishing.

I want to go back to my hometown now and work in the municipality on a coexistence process that includes open areas, both physical and psychological, so there may be productivity, forgiveness and reconciliation. They gave my partner and me an internet café with 12 computers that we want to install in town. We also have the idea of setting up a call center there.

I’m leaving the Foundation, its door wide open, to the world outside. I feel full of hope, like in the song. The love I feel towards my mother and father has been my driving force; I know my father would be happy to see me with my head full of revolutionary ideas but my feet on the ground, doing good things.

Before he died he told my mother that the responsibility for the household should rest with only one person and it was decided that it would be me. I returned the prodigal son, and now I’m responsible for two families.That makes me very proud. It feels cool.

FROM GOD'S HAND In the evenings, summer evenings the fireflies glow splendidly The breeze in the river says “So long”, and I reply, “Farewell”

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–Jorge Villamil

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y name is Virginia*

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and my family and I are from Bogota. I have three children. One lives in the United States with his wife and children. My daughter lives in Chía, with her husband and her children, and I live here with Rodrigo, my other son. We’ve lived in this house in Bogota since 1979.

My husband was abducted by common criminals on December 1st 2000.

The people that kidnapped him were well known in the area; people we had helped a great deal. We know exactly who they were. My husband traveled a lot because we owned a farm and he managed it. He was a cattle farmer and he’d travel to the fields every week.

They kidnapped him on one of those

journeys, when he was leaving La Dorada, I suppose. That was where the whole ordeal started.

My husband was found dead on March 31st. The investigation lasted for three months. We even paid a ransom, but we found out later that by then they had already killed him. First they killed one of the guys who had set my husband up to be kidnapped and then they killed Alberto himself, my husband.

We had never been threatened or anything like that, but I had always been terribly scared. I used to tell him over and over again to change the days he would travel, to alter his routine, his hours, his schedule, everything. He did that, but on the whole he would still *. Names and places have been altered upon the request of the narrators.

and told them he was being held in the mountains.

After that, we didn’t know what to do, particularly because my son was doing his military service and was not in Bogota. He had to stay in Sinaí until his cycle finished in January. He did everything he could to get sent back home and arrived about two weeks before he was supposed to. The poor thing had to go through everything all by himself. Of course all his friends were very nice and supported him very much. I think it would have been even more terrible without them.

My other son wasn’t in Bogota either, because he lived in the United States. So all of a sudden, we were defenseless. I

Carlos Arturo Bravo

go back and forth. It was a big risk, but we used to think that kidnapping was something that happened to other people, not to us. I was hopeful. I was sure they were going to return him because he’d been abducted by common criminals and not by guerrillas.We did everything in our power to come up with the money. All my brothers helped out. We never thought they were going to kill him and not give him back to us.

When I found out he had been kidnapped, I was in Chía getting the children ready for their first communion in December. I kept on calling to find out what was going on.

My nephews called me later to tell me that Alberto himself had called

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had never been involved in anything bad. I didn’t know how to earn a peso to pay the electricity bills. I didn’t know anything about anything. I hadn’t known about those things because I hadn’t taken an interest. My husband had taken care of everything. All of a sudden I had to take on the world: my youngest son’s college tuition, supporting myself and my household. Everything.Tremendous problems. I managed to survive with God’s help. Without him and without my brothers´ help, I don’t know how

I would have managed. I don’t think I would have made it.

Apart from my brothers, I can also say that I have La Manuelita. It’s a home for the elderly I’ve always volunteered in.

I have kept busy helping people whose needs are greater than mine, and it's been the best medicine. My children are also wonderful, we have become very close helping each other get through this. The most important thing is to put your trust in God. That is very important for the people who have been kidnapped and

are being held in the mountains. I don't think kidnappers have a God or anything else for that matter.

I think these things happen in Colombia because people are too greedy.

They want too much money and they want it without having to work. The moment must come when people realize that they have to work for their money, not kidnap people. That’s when the kidnappings will stop. I believe that will happen and I trust that God will help us.

BLOOD TIES ARE THE THICKEST Run or I’ll catch you!

Run or I’ll grab you!

Watch me throw mud in your face.

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–Federico García Lorca

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Modesto Pacayá.

On the first day of work I realized my

I’m from Puerto Nariño in the Ama-

job would be to scrape the leaves off

zon. I am a Ticuna Indian. I have five

of the coca plants. I started to work

children and I’m married. I demobi-

but an hour later my hands were all

lized from the FARC.

bloody. I couldn’t take it. I tried wrap-

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I was working in Puerto Nariño

ping my hands in rags, but that didn’t

when a man invited me to work on his

help. Working with coca was clearly out

farm in the department of Meta. I was

of the question, so I got a job building

there for four years, but I got fed up with

houses. I built about six houses and then

the cattle-hustlers stealing my cows. I

bought one for myself.

moved to Villavicencio and worked as

I had never seen guerrillas until one

an assistant constructing houses and I

day some of them came up to me and

was doing well. One day a friend of the

asked for coffee and food. I offered them

man who owned the house I was staying

some chickens and gave them coffee.

in invited me to San José del Guaviare.

Fifteen days later a commander named

He told me it was for a job.They needed

Olimpo arrived and asked me my name.

some kind of a day labor, but he didn’t

He asked for my identification and wrote

really explain. I said OK, that I knew

my name down on a notebook. He of-

how to do a lot of things. I packed my

fered me a job, “it consists of taking two

family and we left for San José.

or three truckloads of food out of San

my family money in secret, because it

morning and I started thinking, “I’m

you return”. I accepted and did quite a

was against the rules. I missed my wife

going to take off ”.

few trips, until one day an order came

and children very much and started

When the lantern went off, I start-

from a commander I didn’t know. He

to feel awful. One day I got drunk in

ed to run. I figured I would be a good

said I had to take a military course. I told

town and was demoted, because that

distance away if I ran for half an hour.

him I didn’t want to become a guerrilla,

was against the rules.

I had to cross through places where

I operated with the Seventh Block

there were snakes and alligators. I risked

in Guaviare. When the tension calmed

my life. At six o’clock in the morning

I took the military course in six

in the area I asked Manuel Marulanda

I calmly bought a coffee. So as not to

months: theory, practice and then the

if I could visit my family. He told me

arouse suspicion, if I crossed anyone in

firing range. I did well and was pro-

to ask my commander, but he didn’t

my path, I would say I was just looking

moted to squadron commander. I was

give me permission. That’s when I de-

for a guerrilla who had got away.

happy when I completed the course, I

cided to demobilize. One day we were

I stopped at a store and asked a

had a position and was in charge of ten

passing through the village where I

neighbor to lend me a shirt to cover my

units in all. Two years later, they told

had lived and I asked the commander

rifle, so I could carry it around as if it

me I could visit my family, but just for

permission to visit my daughter, but

were a stick. I walked along the highway

a little while. That was painful because

he told me no one was going to get

and then went up to the mountains, so I

the visit only lasted three hours. That

permission that day. We kept on walk-

wouldn’t run into anyone. Then I saw a

was when I realized I would eventually

ing until at night we arrived to Caño

soldier and called out to him. He com-

have to leave the guerrilla. I had to send

Flauta. I had to be on guard duty until

municated with his superiors and sent

but he said that if I refused they would kill me. That was in 1999.

Modesto Pacayá

José del Guaviare. We’ll pay you when

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three units. “What’s up?”, they asked

we had never seen each other. She told

me, and I answered, “I’m a guerrilla, I

me that when she had left, a few months

want to demobilize. I’m turning myself

ago, there were only 60 units. She was

in. Here’s my rifle”. That was in 2007.

very ill when she decided to demobilize

They treated me very well; they

because she had suffered an abortion.

gave me medicine and settled me in

But the army treated her very well and

a hammock. On the fourth day, they

my wife picked her up and brought her

put me in a helicopter to San José. I

to Bogota. Now she is doing just fine.

told them I wanted to get my family

I started studying and I got my high

out of there. The army and the police

school degree, and then I got a grant from

helped me get my things out and all

the Office for Reintegration. The grant

that. I went to San José and from San

provides support if you already have a

José I left for Bogota.

project that will enable you to enter the

When I saw my family again, I was

labor market. So I applied and the grant

like a stranger to them. In Bogota my

came through easily because I already

wife told me she was late and she took

met the education requirements. In two

a pregnancy test. Our last baby girl was

months I got help to buy a mini-market,

on her way. I love her deeply. I think

my store. I started off with eight million

that we were able to reintegrate as a

pesos1 and I bought all the basics: the ma-

family thanks to the baby. It was be-

chinery, the freezer, the shelves, the dis-

cause of her that I found a way to re-

play cabinets. Everything you need to set

build my life with my family.

up a business. I’ve done well for myself.

Yet, although I was happy, I was also

I bought a refrigerator and an electronic

extremely concerned about my oldest

scale and we’re getting by. I keep it as

daughter. She had also joined the guerril-

well stocked as possible because it’s our

las. I had received a call from her one day

livelihood and we have to make enough

saying that she wanted to escape. In the

for transportation, school, food, rent and

end she demobilized too. We happened

all that. I named the store after my baby:

to be in the same front, three years pre-

Hillary Audrey. As I said, she was the key

viously, when there were 700 of us, but

to recovering my family life.

1. Approximately 3,800 USD.

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TWO WOMEN OF COURAGE Women, we always give you what you ask, If we don’t, it's because it doesn’t exist, and if it doesn’t exist we invent it for you, women.

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–Ricardo Arjona.

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and I’m from Bolivar, Cauca. In 1967 my mother died, I got pregnant and separated from my husband after an awful fight.

Back then, we had a farm called La Golondrina and I went there in desperation.

That’s where my first displacement happened, I was kicked out for having coca crops without even knowing that they were worth anything. Illegal forces took the whole of my farm and told me I had to leave.

I set off for Cali and my baby died there. I worked as a cleaning woman for two years, until I got fed up and left for Boyacá. I got a job cooking for a thousand workers in a stand they let me have. I would wake up at four in the morning every day and feed them fritters and coffee. One day I found a buried stash of emeralds, but my boss took it from me. Can you imagine what I would have done with all those emeralds? He gave me two hours to get out. I left for Bogota and went straight to Altos de Cazucá.

I was president of the neighborhood committee for ten years. Around that time the AUC arrived. The president of the town committee was also the leader of the AUC in Altos de Cazucá. They made me leave because I didn’t allow them to ‘vaccinate’1 local people. Now I live in Juan Rey and I am dedicated to

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y name is María Luisa Navia

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helping the displaced. I teach them what we know about handicrafts. Anyone who wants to learn, learns.

We are grouped in the National Association of Displaced Colombians, which has 1,320 members nationwide.We also work with the Mayor’s Office in San Cristóbal.

Sometimes they call me and say, “María, we have some cloth from the Red Cross”. I am a leader of the displaced and I encourage people to formally report what they are going through. Sometimes they’re afraid, but that’s what I’m here for: to show them it’s okay to report things, and to help them through the difficult process.

–Unlike María Luisa, I’m still too scared to leave the house. My name is Marcela* and I was displaced. I was taken away from Arauca twenty days ago because of guerrilla threats. About ten years ago, my twelve-year-old daughter left with the guerrillas and I thought I would never see her again. We lived in Tame, and the *. Names and places have been altered upon the request of the narrators.

1. Slang term for extort.

María Luisa Navia / Marcela

guerrillas were always going to the house to brainwash my children. One day I said, “We’re leaving. I can´t take this anymore”.

And we left for Arauca City, but it didn’t do us any good, because they showed up again. My daughter left the house on her birthday and she didn’t come back.

I looked for her everywhere, but nothing. A few months ago she contacted me; she sent me a little paper with a number. I was terrified, because that was very dangerous. I called and a man answered. I said, “Jenny?”, and he answered, “Hold on”. When I heard my little girl’s voice I broke into uncontrollable sobs; she kept saying, “Mommy, don’t cry”. I told her to call me whenever she wanted to come back. A mother is a mother. About a month later, she called and asked me to come get her. She contacted me from a cell phone she’d stolen from a store. We set out for her, my husband, his brother and I. We got our motorcycles ready and went out to look for her.

We arrived at a river and waited, but nothing happened. I felt my heart was coming out of my mouth. “What if the guerrillas arrive, or the army?”. But we were already there and we were going to rescue my daughter. We crossed the river on a raft; the army was on the other side.They asked us where we were headed, because strangers aren’t allowed to travel around the area. So I called my little girl on the phone and she said, “Tell them you’re going to the jungle, go down a long way and, when I hear your motorcycles, I’ll come out from behind some bushes”.

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When we got there I was shocked to see her in shorts and a bra and accompanied by a young man she had escaped with. They had put away their camouflage and buried their weapons in the riverbed. She said, “If the guerrillas are going to catch me, I’d prefer to kill myself first”. That night we stayed at a woman’s house in the area. I had some hair dye with me to change my daughter’s hair color, so they wouldn’t recognize her. We clowned her up all night so we could get her out of there.

On the next day I said, “We have to tell someone what happened”. When we arrived at Uribe we went into a restaurant for breakfast. A man from the army kept on staring at my girl.When we got up to leave, the man stopped us and said we couldn’t go.We told him the whole story and he convinced me to leave my daughter with him.

He said he was going to take care of her. I signed a paper that said I was leaving my daughter and her companion under their care.

They sent me to Arauca by helicopter. Two days later, the guerrillas went to my house and put a gun to my son’s head. They told him to turn in our daughter and 5 billion pesos2. That was when the threats began. I left for GAULA3, then I went to the District Attorney’s Office, and after that to the Rapid Reaction Unit (URI). In short, I went everywhere. If I hadn’t left Arauca, I would already be dead. Today my daughter is being treated as a demobilized fighter and they’ve helped her a great deal.

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–As a leader of the displaced, I’ve done everything in my power for Marcela and her family to leave the country. Thank God I’m alive and well and, as the saying goes, with my faith in God. I work and I will continue working to teach people how we should work, how we should overcome our difficulties to find peace.

–It’s true. I am very grateful. María Luisa has been like an angel. And I consider myself blessed by God’s help. I don’t harbor resentment against the guerrillas.

–I tell my children they have to study to get ahead. I studied up to the fifth grade and then learned a lot about leadership. I have 75 diplomas from all the things I’ve learned.

That’s why I’m a good leader and a good mother and I’ll continue helping those in need.

2. Approximately 2.4 million USD. 3. Groups of Unified Action for Personal Liberty, a branch of the Colombian military and police force.

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THREATS CAN MAKE YOU STRONGER I was born a child of the Cauca, I have Paez blood in my veins.

Men that have always fought, from the Conquest right up till today.

We are here because we fight the invaders, and we will continue to fight as long the sun still burns. –Son of the Nasa people,

Carlos Arturo Bravo

Hymn of the Colombian indigenous community.

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y name is Alfredo

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Campo. I am from an indigenous community in the town of Nasa. I was born in a village called Las Brisas, on the Honduras indigenous reserve, in the municipality of Morales, Cauca. I live in Bogota now with my three sons who are going to school. I also direct various projects, among them a radio communication project for the indigenous community.

I was displaced. I had to leave my hometown because I was being threatened by armed groups who called themselves paramilitaries and the Black Eagles. I have been in indigenous organizations for some fourteen or fifteen years. I started off as president of the Communal Action Council in 1994.

Four years later, I was named vice-president of the Association of Traditional

Leaders and, in 2001, coordinator of the Communication Program of the Traditional Leaders Association in the area.

During this time I set up an indigenous radio station in the municipality of Morales, which I managed from 2001 when it started broadcasting all the way up to the present day. We also organized a group to produce radio programs and research on indigenous communities in order to strengthen the indigenous community in western Cauca. We also wanted to broadcast and disseminate the municipal development plan which we see as a responsibility of the alternative media.

The problems started when they approved the 106.9 frequency for our radio station. That caused a huge problem with the people from the FARC because they had a radio station on the same frequency. When our radio station was installed in Morales, they lost their coverage. They threatened to bomb our station if we didn’t close it down. We felt we had to go on broadcasting because the radio station was for the benefit of the community.

It belonged to the 31,000 inhabitants of the municipality. So we finally convinced the Ministry of Communica-

me to go back home, because it was an emergency. They said that if I didn’t arrive they wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened.

I went to the authorities and they told me not to show my face because it could be very dangerous. That’s when my tragedy began. As of that day, I couldn’t return home and I had to leave the region. In recognition of my work, the Cauca Indigenous Regional Council (CRIC) told me I could go to Popayán to help out with a radio station there. I tried to stay in Popayán but I found out that a fellow displaced person had recently been murdered one Sunday in the city. So the CRIC told me that to guarantee my safety I should go to Bogota. So I made contact with the National Indigenous Organization

Alfredo Campo

tions to change our license to avoid any more confrontations.

The mass media has existed for a long time in Colombia, but the indigenous communities and peasant farmers have been excluded: we’re only in the media when a disaster happens in our community. So we established our own alternative media to be able to talk about cultural issues of importance to the indigenous community as a whole.

I was the station director and the coordinator of the communication program. And the radio station went on broadcasting even though I myself never made a formal complaint (that is what the authorities are for). As a communicator all one does is to provide the means for expression. The only offense I committed was to give people the opportunity to talk about the abuses they had suffered: the invasion of their territories, the massacres and the deaths in isolated rural areas. In September 2008, I received threats saying that I had to abandon the area in 24 hours.

I hadn’t done anything wrong so I didn’t take the threats seriously and neither did the authorities. But about two weeks later, I was in Popayán doing some errands when I got a call telling

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of Colombia (ONIC) and they opened their doors to me. I would help them strengthen the research, production and transmission of the program Peoples on the Move.

I have always loved the radio. When I was little I listened to the only stations we could get, the A.M. stations. I kept my radio on all the time and dreamt of ways I could be there, even if just serving coffee or bartending. It's just a dream I was born with. I got into this without knowing anything at all about radio, without even knowing how to pick up a microphone. That’s one of the stories I like to tell, because it amazes some people.

We are from a small town, but we don’t only complain about the tragedy we’re going through, or that we don’t have highways, or anything else, or that we’ve been forgotten. No, we see opportunities in life.

I finished high school while working at the radio station in Morales. Then I studied radio research and production at the Xaverian University in Cali. That has helped us a lot. I don’t consider what happened to me as a weakness or a threat, but as a strength. Working for the ONIC has enriched me a lot as a

person, because it’s one thing to work at a local level and another to work at the national level. It’s been like a university for me and it’s allowed me to take very important steps.

Now there are 26 indigenous radio stations in different towns in Colombia.

There is also a program called Everyone on the Move that has had a significant impact on the community because it offers a space for dialogue, complaints, history and everything else related to the indigenous community and social organizations in Colombia.

Some of my family–my brothers and my parents–are in Morales.They’re with their children, who are all adults now. I would rather go back to my homeland because I know I could strengthen the communications program there. But if I can’t, I will continue supporting my family and community from Bogota. I see what happened to me as something positive, because we indigenous people believe that there is a supreme being and a mother, and that what other people do to us, they will pay for someday: we have to think that what happens to us gives us strength. That’s what happened to me: it gave me strength. “We indigenous have Paez blood in our veins”.

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MY RIVER MAGDALENA (fragment) As I traveled through your waters you told me That just like me you feel helpless How it hurts you to see so much cruelty Without being able to do anything Of course you rocked in your arms The bodies you submerged with sadness And I heard your voice in the silence While I traveled contemplating your waters And, melancholic, you’d tell me: They’ve thrown many bodies into my flow My face was stained with innocent blood My skin was scarred, it has been wounded And I couldn’t calm the thirst of that poor man as he died I am Magdalena. I hide a thousand secrets in my depths and I cannot take them to the grave Today a thousand mothers think of me as insomnia attacks them each night and they wonder if I will keep their children

I am Magdalena. It’s not my fault I became a graveyard it’s not fair that I should hold so many sorrows My waters were clear and serene and the only thing that remains today is the pain going through my veins The dead who come from the east and other places I ask myself when I will be able to cleanse this pain...

Only when I free myself from the sorrows that I have inside my soul Only when they repair all this pain will my waters be clear again When they no longer spill blood when they have shown their remorse when they stop speaking of forgiveness or forgetting and admit that they did wrong Poor Magdalena Maybe it’s because you carry that name that you were sentenced to so many sorrows.

For being the heart of Colombia Just as Mary Magdalene was left ruined by the blood Jesus spilled on the cross you are left ruined by the blood the armed groups have spilled on our country Ana Ligia Higinio López