Limping Toward Justice

what's next.

2008-03-26T12:39:00.003-05:00

"He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves."
-Florentino Ariza in Love in the Time of Cholera

It has been over a month since I walked down the mountain for the final time, leaving the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó. In many ways it feels like I am simply on an extended vacation. The rare moments in which I’ve realized that my time in Colombia has ended I feel a catch in my throat combined with, if I’m being perfectly honest, a sense of relief, of release. The constant on-call situation wears one down. But the daily worries in no way overshadowed the unreal privilege of being draw into the community. Faces flash through my mind without warning and the warm and still-fresh memory paralyzes me. This was no meaningful but fleeting immersion trip of my past. This was deep inclusion in a community process that works to create peace amidst undeniable violence, one that leaves me unable to eloquently speak its truth. I seem to totally lack digestible summary preciseness. But most questions are more about Colombian food and other safe topics. I haven’t been forced to think and feel my way through the soul-searching questions of lessons learned, perspectives gained.

Even this blog has been winning the stare down. Maybe it would be most appropriate not to have a last entry as I want this experience to stay with me, to feel without end. A tidy ending to these reflections might feel too sterile. But I’m a closure girl and have wanted to write it a hundred times over even though the words won’t come. I find myself struggling to bring the documentation of my time in the Peace Community to some appropriate conclusion.

Thinking about what to write only conjured up the changes I’ve experienced since arriving home: hot showers feel ridiculously luxurious; I can’t stop throwing used toilet paper in the wastebasket instead of the toilet, I still feel compelled to talk in code about certain ideas when in public, my eyes readily scan the sky for helicopters and my ears remain finely tuned for any threatening sound. I keep saying "chau" when parting ways with people.

I thought I could write about the connection between my departure from Colombia and the near next-day killing of FARC commander “Raul Reyes” in Ecuadorian territory that sparked aggression between Ecuador, Colombia and, predictably, Venezuela. Ambassadors were pulled, troops were sent to the borders and war seemed inevitable until the leaders hugged it out at a summit of Latin American countries hosted by the Dominican Republic. Clearly, my presence was keeping diplomacy intact if upon my departure war nearly broke out. I followed these events as best I could from hostels in Panama and then Costa Rica. I missed being expected to generate a contextual analysis of unfolding events. I missed the instant feedback from our friends and neighbors in La Unión. I missed my teammates – together picking apart the situation to make sense of what we understood and the more that we did not. I attempted discussing it with fellow travelers but mostly found the expected “I love Uncle Hugo and whatever he does must be in the name of Right and Revolution”. I had barely left Colombia, but there she was, calling my attention to all I was missing.

In Costa Rica I went to the cloud forest reserve of Monteverde – a place I had hoped to visit for years. The well-protected green was indeed breathtaking, especially as I sped through on zip lines, but it was rather commonplace after so much time in the true-rain-green of the district of San José de Apartadó. I thought of our mountain after the rain as it dripped greens all over. I pictured it as the sun set over the not-so-distant gulf, painting the sky with its pallet as the mountains bounced the warm glow back and forth down the valleys.

Over the holidays, one of my “moms” back home, Elaine Lahm, was sharing stores about “Thin Places”, a Celtic designation that is given to locations where the boundary between heaven and earth is indistinguishable. The Community, for me, is a Thin Place. But it seems to be a confluence of more than just heaven and earth; there meets life and death, peace and war, cultivation and destruction, tradition and progress, heaven and hell. Mountains give way to ocean – peaceful fallows give way to mined fields – and if the Community continues to expand and flourish, the hope is that war and violence will eventually give way to peace and communal spirit. My pastor father would say that these contradictions all speak of the resurrection and I would have to agree, the Community seeks to build resistance through the memory of those who have been martyred in her founding and growth. Life out of death. I myself felt recreated many times over during my experience with the Community.

The day I walked down the mountain, my face was bathed in tears and I promised to return. Repeating to myself that I would continue to work in whatever way possible to support this and other processes of non-violent resistance in Colombia and elsewhere. I also left completely convinced that I would turn my main focus back to the States: The domestic challenges of drug addiction and drug violence, disproportional imprisonment, our government’s obsession with global hegemonic control, and the population’s acquiescence to the domination of the military industrial complex and its dependence on waging war. All of which absolutely feed the conflict in Colombia and places the world over. I feel a responsibility to tackle these problems from the source – especially as a privileged, white, educated US citizen. I am slowly developing a more complete understanding of every activist’s favorite buzzword – solidarity.

Solidarity is absolutely going and experiencing and learning from a culture, a people, a movement outside of your normal comfort zone. But I think what truly brings us into solidarity are the ways in which we use that experience upon our return. How deeply do we allow ourselves to be affected? Are we called to lasting action? How integrated do we allow our experience of the other to become in our daily lives? How do we balance a serious commitment to change with the levity needed for our everyday lives? How do we encourage action in others without copping a holier-than-thou stance?
Gabo once wrote: “What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.”

What I do know is that I am desperate to see a change in this country’s leadership and then to see that change reverberate through the nation. If Barack Obama’s speech on race in America is a good measure of the man, then I look forward to moving President Obama to a more nuanced stance on US aid to Colombia. I, perhaps naively, hope that with pressure we could push his administration to oppose Free Trade Agreements, stop the absurd "drug war", appropriately fund public education, shift focus away from incarceration and to rehabilitation and jobs programs, and to end aggression as the default US response to uncertainty abroad.

After some time filled with constant news of violence and repression, I am grateful to delight in the giddy indulgence of hope.

I am also so very grateful to all of you who have read along as I have been changed and shaped by this experience. Your support has meant a great deal to me. I hope you will continue to be informed about the Colombian organizations and communities engaged in active, non-violent resistance to the war. Links on this page will help you to do so. For those of you who know me, I ask that you help me to keep my time in Colombia at the forefront of my life. Already I am more viscerally concerned with the NCAA tournament than the latest happenings in Colombia and the Community. Distance does funny things to urgency and while perhaps some time is now needed to readjust, I’ve made too many flowery and assured promises in this blog alone to allow myself to so easily forget.

I’ll close with one of my favorite moments of my time in the Community. About a year ago I was responsible for some US reporters visiting the Peace Community. This meant that I was present for interviews and most times acting as an interpreter. During one interview, one of the Community leaders was being pressed on the communal response to the 2005 massacre. This leader’s young sister was murdered with a machete by members of the Colombian army. The reporter was trying to understand why this leader wouldn’t break with the Community’s decision to protect the witness from government interrogation as doing so would surely ensure that his sister’s killers be met with justice. The Community believes, based on precedence, that the government would torture and likely eliminate a witness to the crimes of the Colombian army against the civilian population. And, if the other over 180 extra-judicial killings have gone without prosecution why would this case be any different?

My friend, the leader, said that giving up the witness would gravely endanger both the witness and the community. And while he has a great desire to see his sister’s killer brought to justice, he has a greater commitment to the brothers and sisters of the Peace Community. He has a greater desire to see that no more civilians are massacred, assassinated, disappeared or displaced. His family runs wider and deeper than his blood. Perhaps another testament to the “thinness” of the Community – the boundary between neighbor and family does not exist. They are all bound up together in death and new life, in planting and reeping, in resistance and struggle. They live together with the memory of those who have given their lives and with the hope that their peaceful and powerful resistance will one day break down the machinations of war giving way to a peace that is lasting and boundless in its scope.

Thanks so much for reading.

gone.

2008-02-24T00:30:00.001-05:00

going....going....

2008-02-14T22:37:00.000-05:00

My replacement, Chris, and I hopped an evening bus to Medellín in order to take the first morning bus up to Apartadó. I am a convincing sleeper on bus rides, though long and winding they may be here in Colombia. I unfurled the blanket I had brought, proving my seasoned status as a rider on the frigidly air conditioned busses between Bogotá and Medellín, popped my earphones in and settled down for the 10 hour ride.

Forehead to the window, I watched the dark shadows of mountains and eventually the river valley pass by. Sleep would not come. I was too focused on the fact that this was the start of a long journey north back home. I would not pass this way again until I begged, borrowed, or stole enough money to get me back to this country that has come to mean so much to me. And the winding road was bringing me closer and closer to the place that will always have a hold on me, the Peace Community and La Unión in particular. It is full of the friends and neighbors who have been my family since I half fell off/half purposefully dismounted a horse back in November of 2006. As I scoured the darkened scene outside the quickly fogging window, I was awash in the warm sentiment true to homecomings. Faces flashed through my mind and that all-too-obvious lump in my throat threatened to choke me with tears. I was only going back for five days. It was essentially a delivery trip: get new volunteer Chris to the community, give him some training and head north to Panama to begin my amble across Central America and eventually home.

My wakeful thoughts turned to rearranging my admittedly loose travel plans. I would stay for a bit longer. Afterall, I was leaving only days before one of the most important anniversaries in the Community, that of the 2005 massacre in Mulatos. And this year the remembrance would be observed alongside a celebration of return to the outlying community – as a handful of resilient families would mark the macabre date by moving back to the vereda to restake their claim to the fertile land that has been emptied out over and over by paramilitary and military threats, massacres and forced displacements. How could I leave a couple days before this? I had been to Mulatos many times; accompanying the process of planting that readied the area for this very return and this was seeing the process to fruition, I had to go. Having decided this I quickly allowed to not-so-gently rocking bus to lull me to sleep.

We managed to arrive in plenty of time to buy tickets for the 5am bus to Apartadó and boarded the next installment of land travel. We arrived around 2pm, met Danny who has been in the Community the past month, got some lunch, some groceries and headed up on the chiva to San Josecito. I was smiling like a fool at just about anyone. In Apartadó, I had managed to hug the chiva drivers, the juice ladies, a waiter, the vegetable ladies and even tried to see if the bathroom attendant in the terminal would remember me. (she most definitely did not) So, when I hopped off the chiva in San Josecito I was running into much more deserved and expectant hugs. These hugs were the ones I had been waiting for. It felt so right to be back. We didn’t stay long down below as the darkening sky hastened us towards La Unión.

The hike up was seen through a lover’s eye. When I first arrived I remember Paul and Mireille gushing about just how gorgeous this place is, how special, sacred even. And I found reason to agree. But, having been unexpectedly sent away back in the very start of December and then living in Bogotá for the past two plus months, I was gushing. It felt unreal that we were invited to live here, that the green could be so green, that the setting sun could be so warm and purple. Walking into La Unión, the greetings of some of my favorite kids rung out in the darkness before we even made it through the door. I sped up my pace. I grabbed the first available child and squeezed. It was so right to be back. The less-than-luxury homes seemed without flaw to me. Dilapidation looked sensational. We slowly inched our way towards our house. Everyone declaring that I looked fatter and healthier. Chris introduced himself in my wake of joyful hugs and how´vyabeens and I smiled as I heard the first struggles to correctly say his name as he in turn made his first attempts at some of the more creative and tongue-numbing monikers of this small community.

We eventually made it to the FOR house and I felt that twinge of sigh-filled home. The next morning I slept in a bit and as I lay awake listening to the sounds of morning - chickens, rancheros and vallenatos, folks leaving for work in the fields, kids running down to the school – I realized that my original plan would hold. I would indeed leave at the end of my precious five days. And it would not be the best timing I’ve ever had. But, I’m at a loss to really understand exactly when would be a good time to leave an at-risk community. I’m unsure exactly how you leave people you have grown to truly care about, how you leave the excitement and danger of living in a Colombian war zone. It seems to me that you just leave when the time for leaving has come. So that is what I am doing. The time has come. I am leaving.

marching towards ... more polarization?

2008-02-05T22:38:00.000-05:00

Yesterday saw the "biggest mobilization in the history of Colombia" as here in Bogotá and around the world, people took to the streets in protest against the FARC and in favor of freeing the hostages held by the FARC. These world-wide coordinated marches were initially called for by one Colombian man through everyone's favorite way to wile away time in front of the internet, Facebook. And it took off. All around the world. News of the marches in Sydney, Australia and Tokyo were hitting the internet on Sunday afternoon. Marches happened all over the US, in the mid-east, Europe, Asia. We're talking Tel Aviv, in Moscow,and there was even a group of three people in IRAQ holding up anti-FARC and peace for Colombia signs.

Here in Bogotá, large billboards appeared a couple of weeks ago declaring "No Mas" written over the colors of the Colombian flag. And the polarization began. The march which began as a cry for peace and for the end to the terrorism of the FARC, quickly became a cry out in support of President Uribe, a cry out against President Chavez of Venezuela and mainstream media outlets began to suggest that anyone who wasn't in the streets marching against the FARC was obviously in support of the FARC. Chants from the crowd included: "Uribe, Amigo. El Pueblo esta contigo" (Uribe, Friend, The People are with You) and "No Mas Chavez, No Mas FARC" (No more Chavez, No more FARC). You can see and hear some of the sights from the march here.

Many of the people and groups that FOR and like-minded groups accompany and work with here in Colombia organized a counter-march that strove to focus on a less black-and-white approach. The FARC must stop their war on civilians, yes. But the FARC are not the only armed actor in this conflict. Paramilitarism must be truly eradicated and state-sponsored terrorism must be brought to light and to justice. The countless victims of this violence must be acknowledged and given their due. The groups organizing against the march believe a humanitarian accord is the best way to ensure that the hundreds of FARC hostages are freed safely and expediently. The overarching discourse should not be so narrow. In a conflict as tied up and rooted in historical violence as this, supporting the Colombian President and vilifying the Venezuelan President should not be the chant, can not be the answer - no matter how neatly it ties loose ends up. Too many people's lives hang in the balance of that Bushist "with us or against us" mentality. To see more on the Anti-February 4th March, check out the coverage on Indymedia Colombia.

At the same time it is quite a thing to see millions of people take to the streets. The rivers of people flooding the major arteries of Bogotá are obviously ready to exert whatever kind of pressure they possibly can in order to end the cyclical violence they continue to live through. It is just too bad that the large majority only addressed one aspect of that violence. I'm with the tagger who sprayed the wall of a downtown church (wwjd anyway?) with this question - "And when are we going to march against paramilitarism?"

Back in Bogotá

2008-01-13T15:36:00.000-05:00

After a wonderful three weeks back home with my family and in various cities with dear friends, I flew back to Bogotá last Monday. I had really unplugged while I was home, skimming news from Colombia, talking to my teammates in La Unión once and a while, but mostly I simply enjoyed being back amongst family and friends and broadcasts of the Steelers. (Thanks to everyone who hosted me, fed me, flew me places and helped me realize how much there is waiting for me back home). My plane landed in Bogotá mid day and as no one was currently in our Bogotá office, no one was waiting for me. And it all felt so very normal. None of the excitement and anticipation I felt while waiting in the immigration line back when I first arrived in November ’06. I wasn’t nervously rehearsing what I would say to the immigration agent in Spanish, I wasn’t catching my breath on the thought of living in a rural community for a year. I was calmly going through the motions and soon found myself back in our apartment/office. It was comforting to feel so normal about arriving back here in Colombia but I almost missed the excitement of the unknown.

I was back at the airport two days later, waiting for Danny, an ex-FORista who is coming back to help us out for a couple months so we can have a full strength team. His flight was late arriving and the long immigration lines meant that I was waiting for over an hour. I loved watching the constant stream of people coming from the international gate as their friends and family waited for that first glimpse. Ever the sentimentalist, I had teary eyes watching the joyous reunions. It was obvious that some of the visitors had been gone for years and watching the touching embraces was incredibly heartwarming.

The next day I was tearing up over another, more dramatic reunion. While I was waiting to pay our water bill the release of Clara Rojas and Consuelo González de Perdomo, former Vice-Presidential Candidate and Former Congresswoman was being broadcast on the television in the waiting area. Both women have been in FARC captivity for years, Rojas was kidnapped alongside Ingrid Betancourt in 2002 and González in 2001. The past couple of weeks have been full of starts and stops in the process to release them, brokered by President Chavez of Venezuela. And finally, on Thursday, the long-awaited reunion.

I was just watching the footage again online. Even if you don’t speak Spanish, watching this clip of the women getting off the plane in Venezuela and being embraced by their families is incredibly moving. The reporter herself had difficulty controlling the catch in her voice. Of course, the release of two FARC hostages still pales in comparison to the estimated 750 hostages still in captivity in the jungles of Colombia. But the images of the reunion and the hope this release brings for continued negotiation and release is the most encouraging turn of events in this wrenching human drama.

Up in the community things remain tense and worrisome. The presence of paramilitaries continues and seems to continually grow. A woman from the zone, Margarita Giraldo Usuga, was killed by Colombian soldiers on December 23rd as she gathered yucca from the fields near her house. She is, of course, being referred to as a member of the FARC by the military – a common practice of killing civilians and then claiming a victory against the insurgency by claiming to have killed an insurgent. My teammates have been incredibly busy in these last weeks and I am anxious to get caught up to speed on all that has happened. Being here in Bogotá I feel very removed from the daily happenings of the place I came to feel so at home in. But it does give me the chance to have a better sense of what is happening in the rest of Colombia and the world.

melancholy and the infinite sadness

2007-12-11T11:06:00.001-05:00

As usual, I have promised more news and reflections and have not delivered. It has been a strange almost two weeks here in Bogotá. As happened in my October convalescent stint in the capital city, after so much time in the rural countryside, I find myself overwhelmed by the easy access to news. And what’s more, this complicated country is bursting full of daily revelations that continually add complicated and intricate layers to the intricate and complicated reality of Colombia. This time, I have been alone in the office/apartment so the distractions are minimal and the time alone with the news and my reflections are unavoidable. Trying to wrap my brain around the sudden and (at least to me) unexpected demise of relations between Presidents Uribe and Chavez, around the news relating to the Feb 2005 massacre in the Peace Community, around the proofs of life of kidnap victims that were found on FARC members on their way to Venezuela – is just a lot to contextualize.

Today the news revealed that the President of Nicaragua, Daniel Ortega, has informed his country that they should be prepared in case they need to confront the Colombian army over the disputed Caribbean island of San Andres. (Which is, to be quite honest, much closer to Nicaragua). Also, Juanes sang some songs for the Nobel laureates. (I’m still miffed that Al Gore won over the Peace Community, don’t think I’d let that go so soon). The news is flooded with the important and the trivial the world over, but living in this country that is at war with itself makes it all seem a bit more intense. And now having access to the news as it breaks makes me feel that I must soak it all up. It makes me realize just how much I still don’t understand, how much I’ll never understand, about this conflict.

I have also been feeling choked up with emotion as I finally have left the community in which I had come to feel so comfortable, so at home. And, as these things sometimes play out, I left abruptly and without any of the meaningful goodbyes I was expecting. The immune system was apparently not ready to return and lasted about three weeks before throwing in the towel once again. So my departure after a year was more of a yanking than the gentle farewell I had looked forward to experiencing. In the early morning hours of the first of December I took the first flight out of Apartadó to Bogota. I felt like I was sneaking away. Something about the pre-dawn taxi ride to the airport and the fact that I didn’t even get to go back up to the house to pack my things made it feel surreptitious and just added to the fight I had in me against leaving.

I’ve been a combination of angry (at my body for failing me, at my bosses for forcing me to leave, at the sub-par doctors in Apartadó for being sub-par) and weepy. Some of the community members have called to check in on me and I can barely respond to their kind and caring inquiries without sobbing. Those of you who know me know that I am rather in touch with my emotions, so tears are no rarity in my life. I was expecting tears. I was expecting long, melancholic waves as I walked down the mountain one last time. I was imagining loving hugs and meaningful handshakes. I was going to stand still and take stock of the smells, the sights, the reality that I had been so privileged to live out this last year. You know, the type of bittersweet ending with which these out-of-this world experiences must conclude. To not have said goodbye is all the bitter and none of the sweet. When my time with FOR is over I’ll go back for the goodbyes, but for now I am in Bogotá feeling overly emotive and overly informed.

On the day I left Apartadó, my flight was obviously delayed so I spent the morning in the airport. I was listening to my walkman (yeah, so? some of us still rock walkmans, ok?) and wallowing in self-pity when I finally realized that all was quiet outside of my earphone cocoon and all eyes were focused on the lone TV in the waiting area. The morning news channels were reporting on the proof of life that had been confiscated from FARC members caught in Bogotá. Part of the negotiations that Colombian Senator Piedad Cordoba and President Hugo Chavez had been working out with the FARC had included an agreement that the FARC would provide proof that the kidnap victims were still alive. Well, only days after Uribe ended the negotiation process, and the ensuing cat fight between Uribe and Chavez, the proof was on its way to Venezuela and presumably, Chavez, when it was intercepted by Colombian public forces. It included videos and pictures of the hostages and a letter from Ingrid Betancourt (kidnapped in 2002 while running for President, holds French and Colombian citizenship and is the most well know of the hostages) written to her mother. The video showed the victims in various states of animation. Some were speaking to the camera, a few just stared it down and Ingrid Betancourt sat, despondently refusing to look at the camera. The three US hostages – contractors who were taken hostage when their plane went down in 2003 – are Thomas Howes, Keith Stansell and Marc Gonsalves, the longest held US-hostages in captivity. They appeared in front of the jungle background, looking gaunt but standing and speaking. For both Ingrid and the US contractors, this is the first proof of life that has been released since 2003.

These images are hopeful – proof that the hostages are surviving and that the FARC was in the process of making good on its commitment to deliver proof to Chavez and Piedad Cordoba. Proof that the negotiations truly were progressing and finding more success than prior attempts. But at the same time, these images are incredibly heartbreaking. Uribe abruptly ended what had been the most successful attempt at negotiations to free the kidnap victims. The hostages appear to be gaunt and dispirited. And the video and pictures are a horrific reminder that this war continues to claim victims and destroy families.

And then there is the letter from Ingrid Betancourt to her mother.

A long letter full of desperation and love and frustration and gratitude. She speaks about her children and her country and her hopes and fears and at one point offers up her vacant apartment to a friend who might need it. The practical alongside the poetic. She names the public officials who have not given up on negotiations for her release, pointedly not mentioning Uribe, and she talks about the despair of captivity, how her will has been broken. My tears spilled out as I read her incredibly tender and tired words and tried to comprehend this kind of reality. The pain that was pouring off the page felt so familiar, so like the stories I came to know from the community. It is all tied up together. From the iconic hostage to the humble farmer – there is so much pain in this country. And the wounds are open. How do you heal open wounds?

(If you read Spanish I highly recommend reading the letter, found here. If you don’t, the folks over at the CIP Colombia program translated some excerpts found here.)

The Community was Right

2007-12-04T21:43:00.000-05:00

Last week, news came out that an arrest warrant had been issued for a Captain in the Colombian army in relation to the February 2005 massacre of 8 people in one of the humanitarian zones of the Peace Community. Below is a translation of the article that appeared in the national news magazine, Semana. For the original version in Spanish click here.

The Community was Right

Paramilitaries and Soldiers would have acted together in the massacre of San José de Apartadó. So much so, that last week an Army Captain was issued an arrest warrant.

In February of 2005, when the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó said that members of the [Colombian] Army had participated in the massacre in the district of La Resbalosa, where two families were cruelly assassinated; almost no one believed them. It seemed unbelievable that members of the Armed Forces could have participated in a crime against seven rural farmers, among them three children, two of who were slashed in the throat and the other, beheaded.

Few believed them, because the Armed Forces attempted to show that their men were not at the site of the crime, and even better they suggested that the denouncements made by the [community’s] spokespersons, Gloria Cuartas and the Jesuit priest Javier Giraldo, were part of the “political war” that supposedly the guerrillas develop against institutions.

But three year later, it seems that justice is beginning to demonstrate that the Community was right. This past Wednesday, a State prosecutor from the human rights unit announced a warrant was to be issued for Army Captain Guillermo Armando Gordillo Sanchez for being a co-author of the murder, an accomplice in criminal behavior and terrorism. Gordillo was the officer in charge of the Alacrán Company, assigned to the 17th Brigade based in Urabá. He and his men patrol the region in which the massacre occurred. And even though he alleged his innocence before Public Prosecutors, the testimonies and evidence that incriminate him are sufficiently profound.

The confession of a demobilized paramilitary became the key piece to tie together the puzzles of this case; one that has provoked some of the most focused international attention. Adriano José Cano Arteaga patrolled with the group Héroes de Tolová , that belonged to “Don Berna” [a now demobilized paramilitary leader]and operated between Córdoba and Urabá and was not yet demobilized when the massacre occurred. Cano assured that a paramilitary known as “44” directed the massacre and that another known as “Pirulo” cut the children’s throats. The paramilitaries were, according to his story, joined with some 50 soldiers under the command of Captain Gordillo, who would have stayed “holding down the scrubland or while the paramilitaries went ahead to commit the crime.

They first killed Luis Eduardo Guerra, a known leader of the Peace Community, his son Deyner Andrés Guerra (11 years old), and Beyaniera Areiza. After killing them with machetes they left their bodies strewn in the mountainside. Then they killed Alfonso Bolívar Tuberquia: his children Natalia (5 years old) and Santiago (2 years old); his wife, Sandra Milena Muñoz, and a worker from the farm named Alejandro Pérez. The four also died by machete. The children, according to the autopsy “by slashing the throat with a knife”.

According to [Cano], Gordillo would have said to another member of the paramilitaries that “44” had “f**ked up” to have killed these people in his jurisdiction.

Extremely Serious

Why did this massacre occur? Was it planned? Was there a cover-up? Apparently, the investigation still has not produced answers to these questions. But there is a hypothesis from investigators that aims to establish that the terrible acts would have been motivated by retaliation for a FARC attack against the Army that two weeks earlier had taken the lives of 17 soldiers in Mutatá. Criminal experts assure that the modus operandi of this massacre was not only marked by hate, but also with the intention to send a message of terror to the other members of the Community.

In spite of the fact that the detainment of Captain Gordillo does not implicate him as guilty, sources from the Public Prosecutor’s office have assured SEMANA that the investigation of his involvement points to soldiers acting as coauthors of the crime. The national and international implications of this crime are enormous.

On one hand, this constitutes one of the most serious violations of human rights committed in recent years. Especially because this community, that has declared itself neutral in the face of the conflict, has been handed down cautionary measures that obligate the Colombian State to protect it in special manner. If it can be shown that those who had the mission to provide protection – the military – were the co-authors of the crime, the sanction for this country on the international scene will undoubtedly be waiting.
But the Public Prosecutor seems to back up not only this Community in regards to this massacre. The testimonies of various paramilitaries, including that of Cano, make clear that which NGOs have warned about, that the Military has participated in joint operations with the paramilitary, especially in the Urabá region. The Ministry of Defense has given complete support to the Public Prosecutors and has insisted on ensuring due process for Captain Gordillo.

Beyond the sanctions that the Colombian state could feel for this act, the Armed Forces require a profound reflection on two crucial aspects: the stigmatization of peace communities and the control mechanisms and tracking of its troops.

In some sectors of the Armed Forces, it is suggested in a low voice that peace communities and many of the NGOs are screens for armed groups. This has set the stage for the term “political war” and its use in referring to most of the public denouncements from the communities that are made through legitimate and legal means. The risk of this stigmatization is that officers end up thinking, mistakenly, that they can resort to criminal methods to combat a supposed enemy.

As far as control of the troops, it is worth the effort to remember that for more than a decade, many sources – including the military – have called attention to the coexistence of members of the 17th Brigade with the paramilitaries. The internal investigations, nevertheless, never bring results.

If Captain Gordillo and others from the Military are eventually found guilty of this crime, the Armed Forces will be forced to confront one of the largest embarrassments in their history.

one lonely post for november

2007-11-30T22:12:00.000-05:00

Hello to anyone still out there. I just got back to Bogotá after my final month in the community. I expected to be there a bit longer, but I'll discuss that at a later time. We had internet problems all month long so I just never got around to blogging. But a lot has been happening, especially in this last week. I'll write all that up this weekend and get December off to a good blogging start. The one year in Colombia mark has come and gone and I forgot, among other things, my little brother's birthday, thanksgiving, and the fact that it is winter back home. Seasons, even the slight ones I came to appreciate in Austin, are very helpful reminders of the passage of time. In the Urabá region it could be July or December and it would be hard for this gringa to note the difference if someone wasn't keeping track.

Any way, the big news is the straight up war of words between Venezuela's Chavez and Colombia's Uribe, springing from Uribe's decision to pull the plug on the hostage negotiations that Chavez and Liberal Senator Piedad Cordoba were coordinating with the FARC. And then today, groggily sitting in the Apartado airport at 5:30 AM I realized that the full room had gone quiet and all eyes were trained on the television. The morning news programs were showing the videos obtained from the capture of FARC soldiers showing proof of life of some of the more prominent hostages, including former Presidential candidate Ingrid Betancourt and the three US contractors that were taken hostage after their plane went down four and a half years ago. Plus last week the brutal February 2005 massacre in the Peace Community was finally conclusively attributed to collaboration between state and illegal paramilitary forces. More details on all of this by the start of next week.

Now for the big November sign off....pictures of my first trip up Monserrate back in October. Bogotá sits in a plateau in the Andes mountains, at a nice nose-in-the-clouds height of 8661 feet. Monserrate is one of the peaks overlooking the city at its perch of 10.341, so climbing up it is no small task. I climbed up with Mayra and the big FOR boss who was here for his first visit, Mark Johnson.

For many folks this is a Sunday ritual - a pilgrimage to the top where the 17th Century church houses the statue of The Fallen Lord, to which many miracles have been contributed.

For some people it is a two hour walk up, affording an ever-inspiring view of the city below and the chance to pig out up top. Here a man pulls taffy.

And here is a shot of the endless stalls of food found at the top.

And a shot of sweat-a-saurus me and FOR Executive Director Mark Johnson.

And the view from the top, without us in the way.

We took the gondola-like cable car down. But there is also a rail car - or as we western-PA faithful would say, an incline plane. It only took about 5 minutes to descend what had taken a little over 2 hours to climb up.

Ok, check back soon, I'll have more up on the important news from the last week.

Don't Forget to Vote

2007-10-28T15:35:00.000-05:00

As I write this I am sitting in our Bogotá apartment/office listening to the occasional helicopter flying close overhead and thinking about the home I left up in Urabá. Today is election day in Colombia – folks are risking going to the polls in order to vote for governors, mayors and council members. Traditionally, the days leading up to and following the election are some of the most dangerous in the Colombian year. Uribe has taken measures to ensure that the weekend passes without incident. “Ley Seca” went into effect at 6 pm on Friday night and the mini-prohibition lasts until Monday morning at 6. People are advised not to travel and election observers from the Organization of American States are monitoring the polls.

Nevertheless the risk is high, for potential voters and absolutely deadly for the politicians themselves. At least 23 candidates were killed during the campaigning season for this election. Some analysis points out that the FARC have taken a more low-key strategy to disrupting elections this year. While normally the guerrilla group has looked to sabotage elections with general threats to politicians and potential voters, this year the threats have been more selective, and they have instead focused on the assassinations of “enemy” candidates. This has meant that this election cycle has seen more mobility for candidates and security for polling places that are in areas traditionally controlled by the FARC. However, this perceived improvement comes in a year with a very high count of political assassinations, which, according to the government, have mostly been committed by the FARC. Nevertheless, people are out to the polls on this rainy and cold Sunday and the low-flying helicopter is most likely there to keep an eye on the order. In the more remote areas of the country, where the FARC maintains a strong presence (like Apartadó and the entire Urabá region) it remains to be seen if violence will affect today’s most basic of democratic processes.

I can’t help but contrast the will of the electorate here to the apathy of the electorate back home. I can’t imagine what would happen to pathetic voter turnout in the states if “risk of death” was added to “must bring official ID”. Colombia prides itself on being the “Longest Standing Democracy in South America”. While this is technically true, the history is a rocky one including years of “shared power” between the two traditional ruling parties and (as has been revealed in this last year) strong government ties to paramilitary forces – not so democratic when you think about it. These days there are still questions floating around about the future of second-term President Uribe. Months ago mention of the possibility of a third term started flying about. This would require yet another constitutional revision, ala the Supreme Court decision to allow a sitting President to seek a second term, per Uribe’s request back in 2004. The Supreme court sided with Uribe then, but would they allow for the possibility of a third presidential term? And if Uribe decides to go down this path, how will this hold up in South America’s longest standing democracy when 12 years in office looks a little less democratic and a little more dictatorial?

We're not in Kansas anymore...

2007-10-20T19:08:00.000-05:00

Here I am in Bogotá, ahead of schedule. And how did this early exit from my home in the campo occur? Well, the very same night after the initiation of the community soccer games, the fantastically horrible and largely absent immune system of old Amanda Jack gave out once again, a seeming fare-well-round of nasty that left me so weak and dehydrated that the community sent me down in a hammock. This was an experience unto itself. Not wanting to be remembered as the second FOR volunteer to be taken down the mountain by strong campesino men carrying a tied hammock to a tree trunk, I insisted on riding a horse down and with that proclamation, got to my feet and promptly face planted on the floor. The hammock it was. (Even my friend the baby can keep herself up on a horse)

When we reached San Josecito, my teammates consulted on the best plan of action while community members placed cut potatoes and cold compresses on my head to try and get my fever down. Then I was flown to Bogotá after we decided that because the Apartadó clinic had only days ago assured me that nothing was wrong with me it might be a good idea to get a second opinion. My teammate Camila had been down in San Josecito the night the gross hit so I was by my self up in La Unión being looked after by friends and neighbors. The way in which the community rallied together to take care of me - from packing my bag, to answering the phone, to ignoring my stubborn disposition and thus carrying me down the mountain in the mid-day sun to offering to send someone with me on the plane so I wouldn’t be alone, was completely overwhelming. Granted, I had an incredibly high fever, but tears kept spilling down my cheeks as I recognized the absolute concern and, yeah, love that was surrounding me. I guess 11 months in a place will do that. And even though I felt worse than I maybe ever had, I also felt incredibly grateful to experience this demonstration of love and care. Reflecting on that sense of true community during these last couple of weeks in Bogotá, I am beginning to realize how difficult it will be to finally say goodbye to this community, this big, extended family.

So I spent a few days in the hospital on oxygen and IVs and amazingly bland hospital food. But, as if that wasn’t enough, my first day out of the hospital I went online and was greeted with the mug of Hollywood darling Al Gore, alongside a headline proclaiming that he had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize! This is outrageous to me. As I’ve mentioned in this blog, the Peace Community was also nominated for the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize and I just can’t comprehend a process that would decide Al Gore is more deserving of such an honor. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely dig all he is doing to raise environmental awareness, but the Peace Community is caught in the middle of a war that has taken more than 180 leaders and family and friends and children from them and yet they continue to actively create peace amidst violence. What does Al Gore have on that? I mean, COME ON! He already won an Oscar, isn’t that a more fitting award for the work he is doing? But the Nobel PEACE prize? I get that it would be quite challenging to work for peace in a world that had no ozone layer or polar ice caps, but shouldn’t he instead by awarded the Nobel Prize for Best Use of Celebrity Status to Push an Issue that Scientists Have Been Pushing for Years??? Anyway, fine by me. The Comunidad de Paz doesn’t need no stinking international prize, they ARE international peace.

Other than unmitigated feelings of anger towards Al Gore and the Nobel committee, I’ve been taking it easy and enjoying the comforts Colombia’s largest city and capital has to offer. Refrigerators, movie theaters, high speed internet (meaning Skype and ESPN) at my fingertips, all Very Good Things. And not to be outdone, the capital city has its share of violent political turmoil. That same first day out of the hospital I was rather surprised to see students at the National University engaged in a full-on protest that was met by the police force and their urban tanks. The University campus is literally across the street from our apartment so my Bogotá teammates often share stories of protests filled with tear gas and homemade non-lethal explosives and police hosing and tear-gassing and all around student anarchy. So while Mayra and Janice were largely unsurprised and unaffected, I wondered at the reality of it all as tear-gas-sponsored tears streamed down my face. We are that close that the tear gas filled our apartment for a chunk of the afternoon. And what were the students organizing around? Well, a few things. This was one more in a string of daily protests in memory of the murder of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, killed 40 years ago in Bolivia. Down here, he is not just that dude on the red tshirt – his revolutionary spirit is still inspiring people to lash out against the establishment.

On this particular day, a couple days after the anniversary of Che’s assassination students were organized in remembrance of the assassination of Unión Patriotica (UP) 1986 presidential candidate and charismatic leader, Jaime Pardo Leal, killed on October 11, 1987. He was killed by a 14 year old boy, an example of the sicarios used by paramilitary leaders. In this case, Pardo Leal's murder was arranged by José Gonzalo Rodríguez Gacha alias “El Mexicano” (now imprisoned and one of the many paramilitary leaders giving testimony of former atrocities as part of the Justice and Peace Law). Pardo Leal’s murder in 1987 was a major blow to a political party that by 1988 had suffered over 500 assassinations of its political leaders and elected officials. The systematic killing off of this alternative political party is largely considered political genocide. In 2004, lawyers representing the victims of the UP presented a case for political genocide aided by the complicity of the Colombian government to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, this included an official death toll of over 1100. A vast majority of these assassinations, as in the case of Pardo Leal, were directly attributed to paramilitary groups, which had both obvious and more hidden ties to the Colombian government itself. (Even though I’ve repeated myself a bit, one of my first posts goes into the UP with a tiny bit more context, if you are interested) This case is still pending in front of the Inter-American Court but the memory of the UP is still fresh in the minds and hearts of Colombians organizing for political alternatives. The present day “alternative” party is the Polo Democratico Alternativo, created in 2005 and the most recent incarnation of Colombia’s political left rolled into one party. The Polo has been enjoying success and recent fame for the strong opposition to “Uribismo” provided by outspoken Senators like Gustavo Petro (now a frequent visitor to the halls of US Congress) Antonio Navarro and Party President Carlos Gaviria. It looks like they will enjoy success in the upcoming elections, too as Polo candidate Samuel Moreno Rojas seems positioned to win the mayoral race in Bogotá.

Point being, even though the tear gas employed by the National Police in efforts to disperse the angry and politicized students was not the delectable carnival-for-the-senses that one might expect, it did make me very aware that student movements here in Colombia have not forgotten past revolutionaries and their protests are regularly met with force and those big metal scary looking street tanks. And while I am currently a long way from the campo and the daily realities of the war as it unfolds in rural areas, things here in Oz are just as instantly volatile and I am still in a country that is far from being at peace.

the beautiful game

2007-10-07T16:15:00.000-05:00

FUTBÓL MANIA BEGINS!!!

Today was the opening day of the Peace Community´s soccer tournament. The different settlements of the community as well as some near by communities (like the indigenous community about 20 minutes down the road from San Josecito)are invited to play in a tournament that eventually only one team can be champions of. In the past they have splurged for uniforms screened with the names of the settlement or village but this year we are sporting uniforms of the Americas. I was invited to play on the women´s side for La Unión (of course!) and we have red uniforms that proudly display Chile. Hey, whatever works.

Today we kicked it all off with some friendlies. The young kids started out, La Unión v. San Josecito, ending in a 1-0 victory for San Josecito. Then we were up against one of the women´s teams from San Josecito. The mid-morning sun blaring down as most of the LU women opted to play in their rubber boots, for lack of soccer cleats. My old cleats are back in the US gathering dust, so while I was tempted to wear the boots (shoe and shinguard in one fell swoop!) I went with my less-heavy sneakers instead.

It was a wild game. A lot shorter, too. We played two halves, 30 minutes each and we DOMINATED. Due to extraordinary team effort, coordination and brute force (we haven´t even practiced yet!) the LU women enjoyed a shutout victory, 6-0. Their were no goals by old Amanda Jack, but a couple of assists and more importantly, no embarrassing moments. The gringa can hold her own. The tourney starts to count next Sunday and considering my bruised shins, I might consider going for the boots next time around.

what the world needs now is love, sweet love -and a humanitarian accord with the FARC

2007-10-04T14:58:00.000-05:00

Last weekend was the long awaited amigos secretos party here in La Unión - sorta like valentines day displaced to September and without all the roses (did you know that Colombia is the second largest exporter or roses in the world? In fact, 2/3 of all roses sold in the US come from Colombia) and without the boxed chocolates (even though cacao groves surround the community). We celebrated Colombia’s Dia de Amor y Amistad a couple days late and with what almost seemed like elementary school rainy day indoor recess favorite game, 7-up. Amigos Secretos is a secret gift exchange organized by pulling names out of a hat –men pulling women, women pulling men- setting a price limit and allowing a couple of weeks for some good espionage in which everyone but Camila and I seemed to find out who had their name. Predictably, it turns out I had no secret friend. The one guy who was playing but didn’t show up or send his present along with someone was my guy. Apparently I am so unlucky in love that even my obligatory secret admirer can’t find the wherewithal to follow through.

I was lucky though with the name I had drawn some weeks before. I randomly chose one of the 15-year-old boys here in La Unión who I know fairly well. When I got here he was still an awkward and shy, not to mention much shorter, 14 year old, who first approached me to ask for help with his English homework. He has grown up a lot this year, attending the Saturday high school that many teenagers in the Community go to in Apartadó, now too self-conscience to ask for homework help and at least 6 inches taller. One thing that he has continued to do is come over to the house every once and a while to ask to borrow my CD walkman so he can listen to music in his own, quiet and personal way. When I plucked his name out of the hat I knew exactly what I was going to get him, I was just worried that it would fall way outside the spending limit. Fortunately, I came across a surprisingly cheap personal CD player, snatched it up and really can’t remember the last time I was so excited about giving someone a gift. He didn’t guess me either.

The way it worked was the person guessing would stand in the middle of the kiosk with two chances to guess his or her amigo secreto. If you guessed wrong, the crowd got to choose a punishment, like doing a silly dance or making a donkey sound or jumping around the kiosk on one foot or, the favorite of the night, tying a piece of twine to your back belt that has a pencil attached to it and trying to get the pencil into the soda bottle on the ground. Anyway, after my young friend did his “penitencia” I got to come forward as the secret friend. Later on when he opened it during the dance portion of the evening, I caught his eye as I was being lead around the dance floor and the shared smile was a sweet and lovely moment I won’t soon forget.

I think this small exchange was so meaningful because it provided me with a way to finally give someone something I knew they really wanted but couldn’t afford. I can’t really do that in my role here. There have been so many moments in which I have struggled with the fact that 10 dollars could really make a difference in someone’s life – help them with school, help them with a medical need or just allow them to buy that little luxury that they have their eye on. I realize this restraint is an important part of respecting individual autonomy, of maintaining our independence as international observers, not to mention discouraging a presence based on dependence and intervention, so I continue to hold back even though there have been many trying moments. This was a great chance to indulge myself.

After every pair was finally matched up, there was one more round of Bingo (Bingo had opened the night´s activities) and then after midnight, the music began. I am finally a bit more adept at the dancing here, which is somewhat shameful because it really isn’t that difficult, I mean we are not talking salsa – just a double shake then circular switching motion to the other hip to double shake and then circle back again while making tight circles on the dance floor. Apparently the problem is that much like a certain man in a little blue suit with spikey black hair, I am not an ambi-turner, I can’t turn or shake left.

As I was lead on and off the dance floor by many sweaty and shorter partners I realized that I now recognized all the songs, could almost dance to them and, more importantly, knew all of the people, save the outside visitors, who were crowded into the kiosk. Throughout the night, small moments had been re-enforcing this obvious recognition. Just outside in the shadows was the older man who, before arriving, I had only known as the face of the FOR Colombia Program – the nameless weathered, campesino face that gracefully looked out from the cover of our brochures and web page. Earlier, asleep on my lap was the little girl whose face appeared on the back cover of FOR literature and even was found on a blown up version of the same picture in the SF office. And at the end of the night I shared my last two sleepy dances with a man who just last week was finally released from the municipal prison after two long years of waiting for trumped up charges to be dropped. Until his release last week, I had only known him as a voice on the other end of the telephone, calling from prison and asking to speak with one of the leaders or his brother who lives here in La Unión.

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In other news, Liberal Party Senator Piedad Cordoba, asked by President Uribe to negotiate negotiations for a humanitarian exchange of FARC kidnap victims, has been kicking some major butt. She met with FARC leader "Raul Reyes", brought Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez into the mix, is working with Frances newly elected President Sarkozy, (a man totally obsessed with securing the freedom of former Colombian Presidential candidate (and dual Colombian/French citizen) Ingrid Betancourt), invited the Presidents of Brazil and Ecuador to participate, and after she met with the families of the three US hostages, she has even managed to coordinate the participation of a delegation of US congress people. But all this for what, you ask? The big Chavez-facilitated meet up will take place in days, October the 8th, in Caracas. The FARC have consistently demanded that the Colombian government give in to their request for a demilitarized zone before any discussion of hostage release can take place. President Uribe consistently states that he will never give in to this request. It remains to be seen what, if any, progress comes from this meeting, but the fact that so many folks are on board is surely a hopeful sign.

stone for a pillow

2007-09-26T11:10:00.000-05:00

We got back from another hike to La Esperanza and Mulatos. This time it was a two for one deal: La Esperanza on the first day and then a quick four-hour cut over the mountain to Mulatos the following day. We went with community leaders who were once again gathering folks in the area together to discuss crops, civilian safety, and the possibility of re-establishing education for the kids in the area. The meeting in La Esperanza was held in a run down but still used Pentecostal church and began at dusk. When Camila and I were asked to join them at the end of the meeting in order to introduce FOR and ourselves, we were welcomed into a meeting space lit by a single gas-flamed candle hanging precariously from the ceiling beams and throwing a soft and promising light over the sun-worn faces looking tired but earnest. After the meeting a small group of us headed out to the family farm of one of the community leaders from La Unión. The moon was low and bright as it skimmed the horizon and made flashlights unnecessary. We walked in a single file through fields, criss-crossing the river, and finding our way between gigantic corn stalks until we reached the house. Camila and I and our new favorite person Juan (a guy from Bogotá who is researching his dissertation for his anthropology PhD and is simply amazing) headed down to the river for a bath and were overwhelmed with the celestial dazzle of the vivid moon as it reflected in the clear and cold stream. We bathed, basked is more like it, in the moon’s rays, appreciating the cold water, the warm night and the illusory reality that brought us to that place, that time.

The next morning’s hike to Mulatos stretched into the afternoon and took us up, up, up on a rather closed off, jungly path. After a few moments in which our friends seemed to perhaps have been lost on the infrequently used path, we finally came out at the river that leads to the house where the group is staying. I was so excited to see those folks again. And the house was so much more lived in and improved upon than when we left. We exchanged hugs and drank some tinto and then, as the meeting there got started, Camila, Juan and I headed down to once again wash up in the river. The sun was still doing its thing, so there was no awe-inspiring soak this time around.

We had to leave the next morning, so we reluctantly packed up our things, said our goodbyes and prepared for the muddy walk back without the luxury of mules. We were with the leader I have spent the most time with this year, I even began calling him “Tio” a while back. He is one of the few natural leaders still alive in the community, having taken up a leadership role at its birth. This isn’t meant as a criticism of leadership here, the sad fact is that the FARC, Colombian Army and Paramilitary Forces have killed most of the original community leaders. This means that most of the leadership now consists of quieter men and women, all who have learned leadership, have worked at becoming a respected and trusted voice. This form of intentional leadership is incredibly impressive, especially when you consider that it arose out of the deaths of leaders. But Tio is one of the originals, someone who stepped effortlessly into his responsibilities and balances a laid back attitude with the gravitas of a seasoned leader. Going anywhere with him is guaranteed to be full of laughter and good-natured joking as his charisma spills out over anyone in his path. The journey back was no different, as this time Juan and Camila were the targets of Tio’s laughter as they stuck and un-stuck their way through the mud, both unfamiliar with these paths having just recently arrived. Tio kept bragging about how I was spotless and not even breathing hard as we ascended the thick-with-mud path. This new pressure to walk without incident meant that the few times I did get hopelessly stuck in the mud, I took advantage of the fact that I was bringing up the rear and put all my effort into pulling my boot out by myself so my proud Tio wouldn’t know that his gringa niece was as clumsy as ever.

When we were through the worst of it, we stopped to wait for some folks who were going the other direction so the leaders could discuss some urgent matters with them. We sat down in front of the school in Buenos Aires and appreciated the view of the rolling mountains and green valleys below as well as the, uh, good air. I stretched out and gazed up at the clear blue sky fringed by the coconut palm tree edging into my view. Tio, exhausted, pulled up a piece of earth and took a nap, using a stone for a pillow. I’m not sure if he had any Jacob-like dreams of biblical prophesy, but he gave me the chance to take what will now be one of my favorite pictures from this year.

one of those days

2007-09-20T09:03:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was one of those days that just couldn´t seem to shake off the grumpies. I woke up at 5:30 and by 6:00 was ready to meet the community leader I was to accompany down to town. It was pouring outside and cold and my bed had been so warm and not rainy. I decided to wait until he came to get me, thinking that we would probably wait until the rain stopped. About an hour and a half later the rain still hadn´t stopped and he sent his daughter over to tell me that we should get going anyway. On my way over to his house I almost stepped on a baby chicken and Mama Chicken actually attacked me. I had never been attacked by a chicken before, it was a very effective jump and peck to the leg. We soon started down the mountain with his cargo of lulo, a fruit that I had never encountered until Colombia and don´t know what name it goes by back home. I do know that it is super delicious and I might be addicted to it. The rain finally let up about half way down, giving me a charming damp-sweaty steam for the rest of the walk.

When the chivero finally came we began our descent into town and soon found out from our fellow travelers that another civilian had been killed the night before. The young man, father of five young children, had been shot in broad daylight around 1pm while playing pool right next to the bus terminal, one of the busiest spots in Apartadó. As folks were recounting what they knew of his death the chivero stopped and the man´s wife, children and father got on in order to go claim his body and make funeral arrangements. Just the look on their faces was enough to break my heart. As far as anyone can tell, this man was a decent, hard-working campesino with no obvious reasons to be targeted by paramilitary gunmen. And his kids were all so young, the oldest about 9. My heart kept breaking as I listened to all the other folks in the chivero explain in detail where they needed to go, who they needed to talk to, how the Red Cross would help with an affordable funeral, etc... This has all happened before and everyone seems to be able to give advice. It definitely put my grumpy and damp morning into perspective.

Later that day the leader I was accompanying talked about how he hadn´t been able to stop thinking about what his family would go through if something happened to him. Clearly, this thought is always in the background of his daily at-risk life, but seeing the fresh pain of the mourning family brings it rushing to the fore. And so the war is always unfolding and effecting lives in ways that reveal themselves in a sudden and harsh realizations. For me, a moment of heart-breaking awareness hit while sitting knee to knee with a young woman who had just lost her husband and the father of their children to a violence unafraid to widow a woman, orphan a child, or make people experts in the details of death.

muddy is what you make it

2007-09-17T22:03:00.000-05:00

We just got back from a muddy, sweaty, rainy, beautiful trip to Mulatos, a far flung vereda which made its first and only appearance in this blog back in February as the site of a yearly pilgrimage to remember those killed in the Feb 2005 massacre. This time we went, not to remember the past but to look towards the future. We accompanied a small group of community members in order to plant fields and prepare for what hopefully will eventually be a return to the area as the community looks to expand neutral space for civilians who have long been displaced from the fertile and more remote areas of the zone. It only took us 7 hours to get to the house and land of one of the men in our group. The walk was up, up, up and incredibly muddy, rainy and at the top of the mountains we were climbing, actually cold. I realize now that I am in much better hiking-in-rubber-boots-through-mud-and-mountains shape than I was during the first trip to Mulatos 7 months ago. The muddy path sucked my boot off only three times, granting me the squishy mud feeling both inside and out of my boot. One of the times I managed to achieve such stickiness that it took a muscular fellow both hands and a couple of strong tugs to free the boot. Much to his chagrin, about two minutes later, I was knee deep and once again only in control of my muddy, stocking-foot. If nothing else, I am always good for a comedic set up.

We arrived at the house, now covered in vines and mountain life, with about an hour until dusk fell. The group immediately got out machetes and started the process of reclaiming the house from the vegetation. In about an hours time they had cleared the area, strung up hammocks and started a wood fire to make dinner. It took me that same hour to clean all the mud off my body, supporting once again my decision to set low expectations for myself this year. Now 28, our friend and his family displaced from this house due to killings, disappearances and threats when he was 8 years old. Amazingly the house is still standing, despite armed groups setting fire to the wooden roof beams and using it for grenade practice. A grenade hole actually came in handy as we wrapped rope through it and the nearby window in order to hang the hammocks which we slept in. The house was also covered in graffiti from every imaginable armed group. This photo shows the ¨BCG 33¨ tag - the Counter Guerrilla battalion of the 17th Brigade - and cradled in the first ¨3¨you´ll find evidence of the FARCs presence. We shined flashlights over the walls and realized that we were just one in a long line of groups that had been using the partially-roofed housed for shelter from the chilly and wet nights.

The next three days were spent building a kitchen, settling in and clearing land. Camila and I hung out with the group, listening to their stories and chatting it up, while pretending to work on our personal statements for our law school applications. (Dear Law School, I´m in the northern jungles of Colombia, staring through a grenade hole thinking about torts and hoping you´ll let me study them next fall.) The kitchen was made by cutting wood to construct a frame and then using the traditional palm leaves to make a roof. These roofs totally hold up, too - everyone in the community has the same kind of kitchen, all you need is some wood, some twine, some palm leaves and a group of campesinos to make it happen.
The nights were freezing with blowing rain and not much shelter from the storm. It was even raining inside the house, what with the roof having been partially burned. And Camila and I had hammocks inside, meaning walls offering some kind of protection as opposed to the guys who were sleeping mostly outside, hammocks huddled together under little bits of roof overhang. The younger boys kept waking up at 3:30 in the morning, singing vallenato because they couldn´t stand the cold anymore. We were a quick community. I was easily comfortable and content and genuinely sad when we had to leave four days later. But we will be back soon. The group is planning on being there until the fields are planted and we have committed to accompanying them as much as possible.

The journey back was much shorter and full of sun and an even muddier path due to the constant rain of the prior days. I stayed on a mule the whole way. I was not thrown off this time, instead executing a couple rather spectacular feats of balance and poise as the mule teetered and sunk into sometimes unpredictable mud. The leader we were with, agreed with me that I was now a professional mule rider, and I don´t think he was mocking me. Oh, the things I am learning this year. The view from the field atop the main rise was spectacular, lit by the eye-blue sky and marshmallow clouds. As does the hike to La Esperanza, this spot also offers a view of the ocean, this time it lays more to our east, but its perfect crescent of blue seems deceivingly close. And there is a better view of the big city below, even if Aparatadó seems strange and out of place rising up out of the fertile green valleys, flush with banana trees.

We got home to, of course, no water due to the heavy rains the night before. So, dirty and sweaty we waited. As we waited Camila cleaned a corner of the house that I had never seen free of some form of junk and found a snake. She yelled for me - I was busy burning our used toilet paper in the back yard - and this time, instead of calling out for man-help, I grabbed the machete and quite calmly, if clumsily, chopped its head off. A bit later, one of the men stopped by the house and Camila told him that I had just killed a snake. His observation? "Well, she will never get a boyfriend is she keeps that up." This of course sums up my life in a succinct and honest, if a little chauvinistic, way.

And what of happenings in the rest of this big, beautiful and complicated country? Well, in a somewhat surprising turn of events, Hugo Chavez of Venezuela has been tapped to negotiate humanitarian exchange of kidnap victims with the FARC. One of the major paramilitary leaders has been kicked out of the "Justice and Peace Law" benefits by President Uribe. "Macaco" was found to be, surprise!, still controlling paramilitary groups from his jail cell. So, he is now eligible to be actually tried for his many crimes as well as be extradited to the US. Hope glimmers. Back home, the Senate passed the foreign aid package, which was akin to the more humanitarian focused House bill, if less balanced. This means, that pending a joint committee to work out the differences, it seems that the more balanced ratio of military to humanitarian aid has succeeded. There is, of course, much more happening, but having spent most of this month out in the mud, I am not as up to date as I would like to be. And I´m overwhelmed with how fast my time is slipping by. Less than two months to go in the campo and then come mid-November it is off to the big capital city. Bogotá, get ready, I know how to ride a mule.

Getting to a place called Hope

2007-08-30T14:47:00.000-05:00

I seem to keep ending my recent posts with a promise of “more to come”. Hopefully this post will fulfill that promise to at least some extent. As always, there is much to recount. I think the best place to begin is with corn fritters (isn’t it always?). I have mentioned these fried corn delights before when talking about the wide variety of edibles formed from fresh corn, or chocolo, and expressing my surprise at discovering the Colombian counterpart of a western PA treat. Well, they showed up again as fresh corn was ripe for the picking in this last month and brought down to our village from higher up fields.
Most folks that live here in La Unión work community land or family land north east of the village and higher up in the mountains. In October of last year, the community realized a return of families to a vereda in this area called La Esperanza("Hope"). The people of this vereda had been forced to displace due to the rampant violence and massacres of the nineties, in 1996 paramilitaries issued a “get out or be killed” ultimatum to all civilians in the area. It is estimated that over 800 campesinos displaced. In 1998 some families went back, only having to displace once again. Last October’s return was the start of what the Community hopes will be the gradual and steady repopulation of the area.

Last week we were asked to accompany community leaders on a trip to La Esperanza in order to meet with the around 12 families that are currently living there and working the super-fertile land. I have been expecting to go to LE since I arrived last November, so I was very excited to finally be on my way. The trip is up-up-up and then down-down-down and full of mud-mud-mud. I hopped up on a mule when it was offered and was glad to spend the six-hour journey with the advantage of four, sturdy mule legs. At one point the sturdy mule legs carried me under a half-felled tree causing me to do my best on-mule limbo, resulting in some keepsake scars on my belly. And, on the way back, the sturdy mule legs didn’t stop the mule from falling. One of the community leaders and I were moseying along, having a nice conversation when he suddenly yelled, “The mule is falling!” and I automatically kicked my legs out of the stirrups and flung them over my head, catapulting myself –backpack and all- backwards over the left flank of the mule as it fell. Having never fallen off a mule before I wasn’t sure if it would roll towards me so I added some extra backwards rolls for insurance sake and finally stopped when my friend began saying “Enough, Amanda, enough” in between not-too-suppressed giggles. I was laughing, too. It was a ridiculous situation even by my standards, made more slapstick by my extra backwards tumbles. Muddy but amused and, not to be deterred, I got right back on.

Adventures in mule (mis)management aside, it was quite a beautiful trip. The further up into the mountains we went, the bigger things seemed to grow. The same flora and fauna existed as in La Unión, but I seemed to shrink – Honey I Shrunk the Kids style – as the ferns and palms and trees got bigger and bigger. When we got to the farm of one of the community members we had to walk through a field of super-sized corn to reach the house. I grew up in farming land – there was a cornfield in front of our house, and I am well acquainted with the fact that corn back home is supposed to be "knee high by the fourth of July". Here it must be knee high about 2 weeks after it is planted because it is gigantic at the time it is harvested. This picture here doesn’t even seem to do justice to its enormity. And there are no mechanical harvesters to bring in the crop – when ready the corn is harvested by hand. People here are not screwing around.

Because I was lucky to spend most of the journey on the mule, I was able to look around me instead of focusing on where my next step would go. The views were just breathtaking. Everywhere I looked, I saw endless varieties of green bouncing off the mountains. The journey to La Esperanza has helped me to appreciate how urban the village I live in really is. There, houses here are spread out and are built in folds of the mountain and surrounded by fields and fields of crops. There is no journey to town for supplies every couple of days. There is no electricity. There is, however, some cell phone coverage – modernity finds an entrance wherever possible, I guess. This, friends, was the campo campo. Children there have no school – but the community hopes to correct that soon. They are looking for a teacher and plans are in motion to build a school and more houses for other families considering the return.

This strengthening of La Esperanza is part of the plan to expand the reach of the Peace Community by way of Humanitarian Zones. The HZ’s have been the way in which the Community has designated outlying areas as neutral territory. In the more remote veredas combat can be more dangerous for civilians as there is no clear village area – so civilians can more easily be caught in the crossfire. The HZ’s are neutral areas that also have a designated ‘safe space’ for civilians to flee to in case of combat.These spaces are to be respected by all armed actors and combat should not take place near them. Of course, back in February, combat took place just minutes away from the school in the vereda of La Cristalina - the designated Humanitarian Zone. So, it has been harder in practice to have these zones respected. Another obstacle has been what more and more seems like a targeting of HZ leaders. Four of the men that have been the leaders of the HZ project in their vereda have been assassinated in the past year and a half. The two most recent have been talked about in this blog – Francisco Puertas and Dairo Torres. Arlen Salas and Berto Vasquez were assassinated in late 2005 and early 2006. This emerging trend is troubling and added reason for the community’s newly focused efforts to nurture and support the HZ project.

That evening in La Esperanza Mayra and I washed up in the small stream by the houses as the community leaders we were with met with the families of La Esperanza. Later on we joined up for dinner and the guys began telling tales of the soccer tournaments they regularly had between the villages and veredas of the county. The teams all had uniforms and there were even some women’s teams. According to our friends, La Unión was the force to be reckoned with. They eventually switched into telling us “Campesino in the Big City” stories. I was laughing so hard at these that tears rolled down my face. After having almost ten months of ridiculous gringo mistakes in the campo, it was so enjoyable and hilarious to hear about some of the misadventures of community leaders when in Bogotá or the US or Europe. They reminisced about one leader seeing his bag go past on the luggage belt at the airport and, thinking he had only the one chance to get it, jumping up on the belt and crawling over bags until he had claimed his own. We laughed as they talked about one of the women leaders being told mid-down escalator that she was headed the wrong way. She immediately turned around and started determinedly walking up the stairs, fighting against the mechanically dictated direction. An automatic sliding glass door was quite a foil for one of our friends and another was stranded in Bogotá for a couple of days only because he didn’t understand how to pick up the cell phone he had been loaned in order to meet up with his contacts. These stories came pouring out of our friends as the night sky darkened and the lightning bugs came out, adding their random blinking to the heavenly twinkling of the celestial splendor. As the laughter died down and we prepared to get some sleep in our hammocks I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that some of the heroes of those stories were leaders that have since been killed. Hearing them humanized and joyfully remembered by those who remain was extremely touching.

The absurdity of lives lost to the violence of war is never far from the surface here. On our journey home we paused for a break at the top of the mountain with only the descent ahead of us. The view, as seen here, is spectacular. That is ocean in that picture. La Unión lies hidden down the first dip of the mountain, but the background of this photo shows how close we really are to the Gulf of Uraba. You can see one of the small towns in the center of the picture and to the left is the bigger town of Turbo – where the nearest beach can be found. We paused to admire the breathtaking view and then began our descent. As we began, one of the men we were with quietly mentioned that his father and cousin had been killed by paramilitaries in that very look-out spot just four years ago. The realization that everyone here has been affected by this war came rushing to the surface. He told us that his brother was killed on the same day in a different location. All three were simple campesinos coming back from some family land back nearby. They were guilty of no crime, they were aligned with no armed actor, they were simply passing through a well-traveled path after a long day working in their fields.

I sunk into thought about this reality as my mule half stepped, half fell down the mountain, carrying me towards the place I have come to call home. I looked out towards the ocean and thought about the recent massacre that had taken place the day before (Aug 22)– we had only learned of it that morning on the radio. This massacre was carried out by the FARC and happened not far from Apartadó, closer to the ocean-side town of Turbo. The town, Currulao has been a long disputed area between paramilitary and guerrilla forces. This most recent massacre is only the latest in a long string of atrocities committed by both sides in order to gain control of the town and its surrounding areas. Nevertheless, a place, a people, never becomes accustomed to rampant killings of the civilian population. During this massacre, a group of 8 guerrillas entered homes in the three different neighborhoods, apparently looking for people associated with the former AUC (now ‘demobilized’ paramilitary) “Bloque Bananero”. They killed three men and three women, all civilians – among them friends, family members and mistaken identities of ex-Bloque Bananero paramilitaries. According to news sources, all were civilians. The assassinations took place over a three-hour period – forcing one to imagine the horror that survivors must have felt as doors were knocked down and shots rang out through the neighborhoods.

This past week, the FARC showed up again, this time on the other side of Apartadó. About five minutes after a Police check point outside the town of Chigorodó (30 minutes south of Apartadó) the FARC set up a check point and proceeded to search cars. Among the cars stopped was a car carrying two of our fellow accompaniers from PBI and a community leader. Mayra and I were almost in that car as we had originally been asked to do this particular accompaniment. When the car our friends were in was stopped, the guerrillas had just found who they were looking for and kidnapped two men from nearby Mutata. However, 2 guerrillas had stayed behind to continue searching the cars. They took cell phones from people and eventually told everyone to be on their way. But it was a scare for our friends. Not to mention another indicator that the FARC have re-emerged in the zone in an undeniable way.

As the war continues to unfold all around us, I find myself struggling against the swelling cynicism that wants me to admit that there is no solution to this war. The daily news of massacres and kidnappings and the augmented military presence in the zone I live in seem to draw me closer to resignation. But there is so much beauty to be found in this country, in the people I am privileged to work with and to meet. There are countless places I have yet to explore, countless stories I have yet to hear. And my time is limited. As one of our older neighbors said to me earlier today as she held tight to my waist – “Time flies and you will soon leave us, just wait and see, time will fly.” I know she is right, but I am feeling so settled in lately that I can imagine no other reality than the here and now –gigantic plants, tragic tales, mule rides, guerrilla warfare and all. And I am challenged to hold on to a a belief that a solution to the violence is possible - I am challenged to get through the mud and murk of the daily reality and get to that hopeful place - to find "la esperanza" that is made possible through shared stories, shared laughter, shared tragedy, shared mule mishaps. The hope made possible through genuine fellowship with one another.

how it feels

2007-08-25T11:56:00.000-05:00

This is what the last two months have felt like. This picture taken from atop the chivero last week is the best I can do at present moment. It isn´t that the chivero is moving all that fast, or that it is my first time on riding on the roof. But the expression on my face, a mixture of surprise and joy and holding on for dear life while knowing that at any moment our progress could be halted for a number of reasons, is the best metaphor I can offer to describe this life as it currently feels. More to come.

how `bout something a little less bleak

2007-08-15T11:51:00.000-05:00

It looks like this month is going to be one with limited blogging. Since I last posted my boss and two teammates from the Bogota office arrived, and in the middle of that week and a half of meetings three old friends came up to visit. Plus a friend of mine in the International Red Cross threw a co-party for our August birthdays. This is a lot of excitement for one girl in the campo. So, I offer minimal commentary and lots of pictures. Plus, I realize I need to put up something that doesn´t have too much to do with Colombia right now as it seems that I´ve been worrying some of you. So - worry no more! Look at these pictures in which I am smiling and surrounded by friends and cake!

Old, old friend and savvy sailor/world traveler Morgan was the first friend to make it up the mountain. He brought tidings from Ma and Pa Jack along with peanut butter various other things and the newest Harry Potter. He told me that he had a flight out of Philly and was driving across the state the night it came out so his dad, my old HS Economics teacher, found places near the PA Turnpike that would be open for Potter Release Madness. And Morgo, like the superstar he is brought me down a copy. Then, as it shows in this picture, he took on the somewhat monumental task of trying to figure out the electrical wiring in our house. After cobbling together the correct voltage of batteries and investigating the premises so thoroughly that it lead one of our neighbors to ask if we had hired him, he fixed some wiring and taught us how to use our back up power source. It seems like chances are good that from here on, an electrical fire won´t bring down the old casa. Always a good thing.

Soon after Morgan arrived, another old friend and his wife came to town, Steve and Constanza somehow managed to squeeze in a few days in the precious little time they had in Constanza´s native Colombia. It was so overwhelming and wonderful to suddenly be surrounded by three important and loving people in my now comfortable campo context. Steve told tales of his recent time with the UN Mission in the Congo and then in Nepal while Constanza shared about her work in a Congolese hospital - serious world travelers and multi-language people themselves, it was wonderful to share our adventures and here more about the world outside of the Peace Community of San Josè de Apartadò. Friendships like these are indeed a blessing! My three friends had a bit of a non-traditional experience of my everyday life as we left for Apartadò on Saturday to attend the joint birthday party for me and friend Vincent of the Red Cross. This party was awash with NGO folks and full of sweaty dancing. This is the second time I have gone to a NGO party out of the community and man, do I miss that kind of socializing. It was so fun to be the birthday girl too - I had promised to bake the cake that my mom always makes from scratch for our birthdays, but lack of ingredients and time meant we bought one. Bogota based teammate Camila is lighting the candles in this picture.

As soon as Vincent and I blew out the candles, the cake was of course shoved into our faces. And this lasted long enough that I´m not sure if any cake was actually left to eat but I did have a lovely eau de dairy for the rest of the night. I can`t stress how wonderful it is to be shoving messy cake in someone´s face after a complicated last month of combat and murders.
We obviously decided to get our friends in on the cake-on-face action. Did you read that? I said FRIENDS! As in multiple people who live in the region who are peers and share at least some kind of similar context as internationals working in the region. Even if the Europeans all speak English better than me, plus 46 other languages. We really need to fix US schools. So, here, me with friends: Hans from PBI (the other accompaniment org that is with the Peace Community), me, Vincent, Diego (also of the Red Cross) and my teammate Mayra.

The party was indeed a success and I am still full of love and appreciation to have been surrounded by old friends and teammates-turned-new-very-dear-friends. On Sunday Morg left and on Monday it was "nos vemos" to Steve and Cons as I rushed to get back up to San Josecito for a meeting of six embassy representatives with the Peace Community. This was a very important meeting for the Community and while it was shorter than had been planned due to a late arrival by the embassy representatives and a packed schedule, Community leaders did an excellent job of presenting their concerns and needs to an important representation of the international community. The Defensoria Nacional (the Human Rights Ombudsman´s office of the Colombian State) was present as was the MAPP-OAE (Organization of American States, Mission to Support the Peace Process. This kind of meeting could really move things for the community and is especially important given recent events - international backing has been key to their survival and continues to be important to their resistance. The organization of this meeting was a joint project between our Bogotà team members and Community leaders - an example of the important political work that our team in the big city in involved in.

After the meeting, we as FOR kept meeting. Susana, our boss from San Francisco and our entire in country team have an amazing capacity for reflection and dialogue. We are also quite deft at taking dignified pictures.

All in all, it has been a very busy couple of weeks. Somewhere amidst all of this I decided to extend my time down here. I will only be here three extra months but I am excited to be able to experience more of this complicated and beautiful country and as I closed out my ninth month it became clear that I actually wasn´t ready to leave. But I´ll get Christmas at home and then some time in our Bogota office. I look forward to exploring life in the Colombian capital and working towards a deeper understanding of our partner organizations. But, until the end of November I will continue to enjoy the daily joys and wonders of life in La Uniòn.

Next up - more news on what is going on in the Community and in Colombia, just as soon as I get back into the normal swing of things here.

a quick update

2007-08-03T15:25:00.000-05:00

I have been attempting to write a flowing and erudite blog about the combat that took place last Friday. But it just kept coming out sounding trite or too dramatic or something. So I have given up. And right now, time does not allow for much more than the quickest of updates - maybe I´ll take a stab at expressing my more complete thoughts in the coming days. So: Last Friday, the FARC attacked the Police as two of their vehicles traveled down to Apartado from San Jose. The began shooting just past the Peace Community settlement of San Josecito (also known as La Hollandita) about 1000 meters or 3 minutes in jeep away. We could hear the combat all the way up in La Union. Gun shots - ¨tat tat tat tat¨and bombs exploding - for me, at first it was almost indistinguishable from the distant thunder rolling towards us from the mountains. The FARC killed one policeman and injured another and then fled back to the mountains.

In the days since the attack (which was the second FARC attack against the police in July) the Peace Community has been under enormous scrutiny, given the proximity of the combat. This past Monday, a police control was set up on the roadway directly in front of the gates into San Josecito and the roadway has been heavily militarized with check points and men with guns at the ready. The Colombian media and some Colombian officials have all but suggested that the Peace Community is in some way responsible for the attack. We are on constant alert and honestly, I am really nervous about what kind of retaliation might take place.

July was a difficult month. Two policemen were killed by the FARC in two different attacks, Humanitarian Zone leader Dairo Torres was killed by paramilitary gunmen in broad daylight, not far from the regular police check-point on the only public roadway and stigmitization of the Peace Community was constant and dangerous. I am hoping for better things in August, even if facing this month means I have to turn 27.

Look for more on all of this soon. Oh! The chocolo was back in the last weeks! Folks were harvesting corn and then making delicious treats out of the fresh corn. Corn on the cob is one of my favorite summer foods back home and I was sure to eat my fill at a neighbors house. Plus we got to help make the traditional mazamora, a drink made from ground fresh corn and sugar cane and with corn kernals added in. So, not all is gunshots and despair.

Reconciling Atrocities

2007-07-21T11:25:00.000-05:00

A couple of nights ago I was making dinner, cutting up a squash we grew in our little garden, and chatting with one of my young friends in the community. Her father was killed in the massacre of July 8th 2000 that happened directly in the center of La Unión. I have mentioned this massacre before in this blog, I have talked about it at length with friends and neighbors here in the village, I have not yet come to terms with the horror that people must have felt as they were assembled and then asked to give up their leaders. I cannot imagine what it felt like to remain silent and then watch as masked paramilitary gunmen picked out three of their leaders and three of their fellow community members in spite of the courageous silence. It seems unbearable to reconstruct the moments soon after when the paramilitaries, keeping the six men at gunpoint, ordered everyone else to flee, as a Colombian military helicopter circled directly overhead – demonstrating absolute complicity with the illegal armed group. And then the shots firing just as people had barely reached the path outside of the gate that encircles La Unión. I have no emotional reference to even begin to access what my young friend felt as she heard the shots that killed her father.

At nine years old I was worried about playing soccer and having sleepovers and what was happening down in Fraggle Rock. I was not dealing with the violent and terrorizing death of my father as it unfolded in the remote mountain village of my birth. Here in La Unión, thoughts of the massacre are never far away as the protracted violence that continues in the land the community calls home and indeed, all over Colombia prevents time from softening the horror of this act. And, as if that weren’t enough, the current public hearings of paramilitary ringleaders and demobilized combatants re-awaken the atrocities with an unbelievably cruel and tragically unjust take on justice. In order to qualify for the legal benefits that are part of the demobilization package codified in the offensively named Justice and Peace Law (Ley de Justicia y Paz), demobilized paramilitary leaders and combatants must make a full confession of their crimes. The legal benefits include a maximum sentence of 8 years for crimes committed and guarantees against extradition. Colombian paramilitaries are responsible for some of the most atrocious human rights crimes thinkable and if a “full confession” of these atrocities is made, the maximum time served would be eight years – plus if they have already been in jail, time served is taken out of the sentence. This keyboard does not have the exclamatory range to express how outrageous and preposterous this is. I understand that after more than fifty years of internal conflict a government should consider all options for ending the violence and soft judicial proceedings for crimes against humanity might seem like a way to end paramilitarism. But as these hearings unfold I have become even more convinced of the cruel and obvious disregard for justice or peace in the so-named law.

This past week have seen the, versiones libres or public confessions of Jorge 40 and Don Berna, the common known alias of two of the most notorious of the paramilitary war lords as well as a demobilized paramilitary from the Bloque Banero that operated in San José, José Adriano Cano, known as his alias, “Melazo”. As part of his lengthy confession, Don Berna – who is still known to be controlling paramility activities in Medellín from prison - admitted to ordering the above-mentioned massacre in 2000 in La Unión. Adding to this, “Melazo” admitted to committing the same massacre of 6 leaders in La Unión, of which my young friend’s father and uncle were included. He said that he and ten other paras, all with faces covered in ski masks, had patrolled the area with members of the public forces, proving collusion between the paramilitary and state forces and finally giving official credence to the version of the massacre that the community has always insisted upon as the truthful version. A couple of months ago, this same man admitted to having been present with the Colombian army as they committed the massacre of February 2005 which killed community leader Luis Eduardo Guerra, 3 children and four other adults.

As I continued to prepare the squash I carefully brought up the fact that two of the paramilitary’s responsible for her dad’s death were admitting to it as part of the confessions necessary to take advantage of the Justice and Peace Law. Her delicate face hardened into anger and pain as she said the only reconciliation would be the death of the men who killed her father, uncle and the 4 other leaders and community members. I found myself unable to argue with her – while at the same time thinking of how I should be speaking up for one of the moral stances I find non-negotiable; my opposition to capital punishment – thinking of how I should at least try to gently suggest a ‘turn the other cheek’ alternative to meeting violence with violence. But I found myself absolutely incapable to challenge her resolute response and felt instantly shaken and unsure about what I thought these monstrous men deserve. I just don’t know. I do know that the audacity to suggest that these are truth and reconciliation trials strikes me as callous and cruelly disingenuous. I do know that I will never be able to understand what it is she must feel – what the friends and families of the countless victims must feel. I do know that persuading these war lords to admit to “all of their crimes” and then punishing them with what amounts to a light slap on the wrist is not the answer to this convoluted and overwhelming war. I do know that I could live and work in this country another 25 years and still not really understand the complexity and many layers of corruption and violence that envelop Colombia.

Victims and families of victims have been showing up at the hearing sites in large numbers – thousands of people registered to be present for Don Berna’s public confession – a right granted to them by the government. However, there have also been “supporters” of the paramilitary war lords present with signs proclaiming grateful support for these monsters who are personally responsible for the deaths and disappearances of thousands of innocent civilians. In many cases it seems that the big shot about to confess has made monies available to pay campesinos from the areas he once controlled to rally at his confession sight and appear supportive and even taken aback that such a caring and upstanding citizen could be under arrest for such atrocious crimes. The pictures and stories I’ve seen on these gatherings are just sickening. I am glad to juxtapose them with the sights and words of the victims who courageously appear in hopes of getting some answers to why and when and how their loved ones were taken or killed. The photos show faces similar to that of my young friend – faces twisted in anguish and despair but hardened by anger and the awareness of being on the true side of justice and peace.

Recent Events - not so much fun

2007-07-17T21:30:00.000-05:00

The assasination of Alto Bonito Humanitarian Zone Leader, Dairo Torres, on this past Friday the 13th really shook me. I had never met Dairo, although he is well known by anyone I ask here in the community, so I am not feeling the extreme personal loss that comes with knowing a person whose life has been taken. But the way he was killed and the events leading up to his assassination and the feeling here in the zone since, is eerie and not very comforting.

The two paramilitary gunmen who killed Dairo,were seen the day before on the road between Apartadó and San José. They were looking for someone and they were doing so in broad daylight, on a well traveled road, in extremely close proximity to the police post that is permanently set up on the road as it leaves Apartadó. They were dressed in civilian clothes, carried small guns and told the chivero that they stopped at one point that they were members of the Aguilas Negras (Black Eagles – one of the resurgent paramilitary groups that has formed all over Colombia after the supposed “demobilization” of all paramilitary forces”).

Earlier that week, FARC guerrillas had dressed up as members of the Colombia military, entered the soccer court in the center of San José around 8:45pm and shot at Colombian policemen from close range, injuring two officers, one – Hernán López Cardona died soon after from his wounds. It wasn’t quite a combat, more like volleys of shots from both sides, lasting only minutes but resulting in the death of Officer López who was soon to complete his service with the National Police and return home to his family. The guerrillas ran off into the mountains, aided by the dark of the night and so far, no captures have been made. The shots could not be heard from La Unión but the community members living only 20 minutes walk away from San José had quite a scare as the shots were easily heard ringing through the night. This is precisely why the community displaced in April of 2005 as the police post was installed, they refused to be used as civilian shields, never mind share space with an armed group. The astuteness of that decision was made clear soon after in June of 2005 when the FARC first attacked the police post, injuring three officers and leading to subsequent smaller attacks.

A few days after this fatal shooting in San José, the two paramilitary men appeared on the main transportation route. The next morning, Friday, they were seen sitting with the police officers at the already mentioned police post. This post is a routine part of our weekly trips to Apartadó as we pass it while riding on the only public service vehicle – the jeeps or “chiveros” that run up and down the road to San José. The police are always present and lately, have taken to stopping the jeeps and doing cursory searches of people and bags. On this particular morning, the police and paramilitaries sat and talked and then about three hours later, the chivero carrying Dairo and a few others made its way past the now empty police post and, only minutes after, stopped by the 2 paramilitary men, dressed in civilian clothes.

The two armed men told Dairo to get out of the jeep, Dairo refused. One of the men then shot at Dairo, hitting him in the shoulder and leaving the bullet lodged in the jeep. The men then forced Dairo off the jeep and told the driver to continue on. Dairo’s body was found at the same spot in the road when the next jeep came up soon after. The next day blood was still visible in the spot of the assassination.

The last time that we came up on the jeep, the police were at their post and there were no suspicious gunmen along the road. But there is a heightened military presence and everyone here seems to be more on edge than usual. These events have been a definite jolt to the calm that I have felt in recent months as I truly settled in to the oftentimes, deceivingly tranquil life of this rural community. There has been a large and international response to Dairo’s assassination (you can still send some emails if you’d like, the info is found in the previous post) and we continue to analyze our security and safety at every moment. It is times like these when the model of international accompaniment is most put to test. Our deterrence is more needed than ever as things heat up and my faith in this model remains solid and sure. But I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little bit freaked out, which I think is only natural.

Paramilitaries Kill Leader of San José de Apartadó Peace Community

2007-07-16T12:19:00.000-05:00

Paramilitary gunmen killed Dairo Torres, a leader of the San José de Apartadó Peace Community, on Friday, July 13, shortly after 12 noon, according to the community. Torres was a passenger on one of the jeeps that serve as the only public transport between the city of Apartadó and San José, when it was intercepted by two paramilitaries – the same men who detained the jeep the previous day and made threats against the Peace Community. The community said that gunmen told Torres to get off the jeep, which he did; they told the driver to continue, and then they killed Torres on the spot.

The killing occurred only two minutes from a police checkpoint, where earlier in the day witnesses saw the gunmen sitting and conversing with police.

Torres was a leader of the humanitarian zone of Alto Bonito, a hamlet of San José de Apartadó. He is the fourth San José humanitarian zone leader to be killed in the last 20 months. Humanitarian zones are sites established by the Peace Community where civilians can go in case of combat between the armed groups that are active in the area, and be respected under the norms of international humanitarian law.

The killing occurred just four days after an attack by FARC guerrillas on the police post in the town center of San José de Apartadó, which killed a policeman, Hernán López Cardona, and wounded another policeman. In April 2005, the Peace Community displaced to land a mile from the town center when the police post was installed, precisely because it would make the civilian population a military target for the FARC.

Extensive Colombian media reports of the FARC attack conflated the Peace Community – which has no presence near the police post – with the San José town center where the police are located. La Patria, in a July 12 tribute to the fallen policeman, wrote “San José de Apartadó, [is] a population denominated as a Peace Community. Nevertheless, the guerrillas patrol there and this was demonstrated by the attack.” El Tiempo also stated that the attack took place “in the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó.” None of the media reports mentioned that the Peace Community had displaced away from the town center when the police post was established, so as not to live with any armed group.

The day after the attack, according to the community, police told several people in San José that the attack had originated from the Peace Community’s settlement and that it would pay for it. On July 12, according to a community statement, paramilitary gunmen on the Apartadó-San José road identified themselves to public transport passengers as ‘Aguilas Negras’ (Black Eagles), and said “that SOB peace community would begin to pay very dearly.” ‘Aguilas Negras’ is the name used by a paramilitary group newly active in several parts of Colombia.

The Peace Community first announced the establishment of humanitarian zones in Alto Bonito and seven other hamlets in February 2005. Ten days later, two families, including Community leader Luis Eduardo Guerra, were massacred by men whom witnesses said were army soldiers. Army soldiers killed Arlen Salas, coordinator of the Arenas Altas humanitarian zone, in November 2005, in what it said was an accident; soldiers killed his successor, Edilberto Vásquez in January 2006, claiming he was a guerrilla killed in combat. Seven soldiers subsequently have been charged with his murder. Francisco Puertas, another humanitarian zone leader, was killed by a paramilitary gunman on May 13 of this year.

The shameless challenge to Washington’s purported values of human rights could not be more direct. The hundreds of violations, including more than 180 killings, against the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, have been the subject of mandatory protective rulings by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, and six collective letters from dozens of Members of Congress to Colombian officials and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. More than $70 million of U.S. military aid was suspended in 2005, in large part as a result of outrage over the massacre in San José in February 2005. Members of Congress have visited the Peace Community. FOR and many other NGOs have focused the attention of thousands of people to urge the Colombian government to put an end to the violence and impunity against this community.

If this is what happens to a community that Colombian and US officials say they are acting to protect, what is the fate of the many communities in Colombian conflict zones that are not the subject of so much human rights concern? After all this, why should the United States continue to support Colombia’s military and police forces when clear collaboration between state and paramilitary forces routinely results in the murder of members of this small and neutral peasant community?

Please take action!

Write an email or fax to the US Department of State, expressing sorrow for the killings of Hernán López Cardona and Dairo Torres, and urging:

That State Department officials make a public declaration expressing concern about reports of police collaboration in the assassination of Dairo Torres,
That State Department officials publicly support the establishment and honoring of humanitarian zones in areas of conflict as instruments for upholding the principle in international humanitarian law of protection of civilians from adversaries in armed conflict.

The Fellowship of Reconciliation believes that the United States should suspend assistance to the Colombian National Police until the reported links of its members to paramilitary groups or other illegal armed groups are fully investigated and prosecuted.

Contact:
Jonathan D. Farrar
Principal Deputy Assistant Secretary
Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor
Email: FarrarJD2@state.gov Fax: 202-647-5283

========================
Statements by Peace Community:
PARAMILITARES ASESINAN A DAIRO

Con dolor, rabia e impotencia hacemos esta constancia del asesinato de nuestro compañero, amigo y líder DAIRO TORRES.

Ayer 13 de julio a las 12:15 p.m., a cinco minutos de la salida de Apartadó en la carretera hacia San José, fue interceptado el vehículo de servicio público por dos paramilitares, los mismos que habían salido el jueves 12 de julio haciendo amenazas contra la comunidad. Pararon el vehículo los paramilitares y con armas cortas en las manos le dijeron a DAIRO que se bajará, DAIRO se bajó, luego los paramilitares le dijeron al chofer del carro que siguiera, y allí mismo asesinaron a DAIRO.

El asesinato ocurrió a menos de dos minutos del retén de la policía, pero el descaro no para allí, hacia las 9:10 a.m. se le habían visto a los dos paramilitares conversando y sentados con la policía en el retén que tienen en el Mangolo a la salida de Apartadó hacia San José. La complicidad es total, aquí sobran las palabras, los hechos son mas dicientes.

DAIRO era coordinador de la zona humanitaria de Alto Bonito (ubicada a cuatro horas de San Josesito), un líder que venía trabajando con la comunidad desde el 2004, un hombre íntegro, serio, responsable, un líder total que trabajaba incansablemente por las veredas. Participaba activamente en las asambleas de la comunidad, en sus reuniones, un artífice en el proceso de la comunidad.

Sabemos ya del cinismo y descaro del estado que dirán mentiras como lo hicieron con el asesinato de Francisco Puertas el 14 de mayo: fue delincuencia común, aquí no existen paramilitares, era un guerrillero, no era líder, no trabajaba con la comunidad, lo expulsaron de la comunidad, lo mataron en otro lado, etc, etc.

Es un crimen de los paramilitares en total complicidad con la policía, ya veníamos dejando constancia de estos hechos sin que ninguna institución del Estado actuara en absoluto, las amenazas de la policía no se dejaron esperar y sus mensajeros los paramilitares cumplieron órdenes bastante rápido.

Es un golpe brutal para la comunidad, para la zona, ya que DAIRO era un hombre claro en la resistencia civil y en su liderazgo en las veredas. Pedimos con urgencia la solidaridad nacional e internacional para exigirle al estado que pare el exterminio contra la comunidad, contra la población civil de la zona.

Esta es una acción atroz y por ello mismo sabemos que el dolor nos debe llevar a seguir resistiendo civilmente como lo hemos hecho, como no lo enseñó DAIRO, que sigue y seguirá entre nosotros, dándonos luces y ayudándonos a seguir de pie, mas firmes que nunca en los principios que defendió, como es el derecho a ser respetada la población civil en medio del conflicto armado. A su familia, su compañera, sus tres hijos pequeños, nuestro más sentido pésame, estamos con ustedes para seguir en esta causa justa por la vida, la paz y la dignidad.

COMUNIDAD DE PAZ DE SAN JOSE DE APARTADO
Julio 14 de 2007

a bit of a complaint. also: GOOOOOLLLL!

2007-07-06T13:48:00.003-05:00

Mayra and I went to the beach this past weekend, thus fulfilling weekend getaway plans that Mireille and I made back in January. We headed toward the sea-accessible port of nearby Turbo and bought some tickets on the “panga” or speedboat that acts as a water taxi. It took us about an hour and a half to travel north towards Panama and eventually get to the beach community of Trigana. This spot was recommended to us as an ideal non-touristy spot. And we were easily the only internationals amongst many Colombians out to enjoy the “Puente”, or three day weekend – apparently in the world of cities and 9-5 jobs , Colombia enjoys a “Puente” seemingly every other weekend. This is something I’d like the US Congress to consider, more government sponsored three-day weekends. After of course it considers, perhaps – just a humble suggestion - impeaching the President.

I was talking with my folks a couple of nights ago and they told me that Bush commuted the “too severe” sentence of Scooter Libby last week. Well, Happy Birthday America. Honestly, even Paris Hilton spent a few days in the celebrity clink for her shenanigans. This kind of cronyism, among other impeachable moves by the current administration like: “no we swear, you are all about to die because there are definitely weapons of mass destruction” or the illegal Orwellian spying on the American people or just the down right reprehensible treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo makes it so hard for the US to legitimately criticize a place just as obviously steeped in corruption like Colombia. I’m very glad that less US money will be directed towards militarized outlets here in the next year, but as I close in on my last four months here I continue to be reminded that there is much to do back home.

But wasn’t I writing about the relaxing weekend at the beach?

It was so great to stretch out in the hot sun and float in perfect temperature of Caribbean ocean. Of course, working as an accompanier in a community that non-violently rejects all armed groups and aggressions, it was a bit jarring to share the peaceful coast with members of the very same 17th Brigade that has jurisdiction over the Peace Community and surrounding area. Young men in camouflage and with automatic weapons at the ready stalk up and down the beach and the nearby lodgings all day and night. I really think the Colombian army should reconsider the type of camouflage they are using in beach areas as the green doesn’t really blend in with the sand and surf. A fellow beach-goer told me that the last combat in the area had happened about an hour further north in 2002 between the army and the FARC. Apparently no combat has occurred since then but the entire region remains heavily militarized, as all ports located in the area are prime drug trafficking spots. Also, for all vegetarians considering a trip to Trigana – bring your own food – or be prepared to enjoy a not-at-all nutritious three meals a day consisting of rice and patacon (plaintain fried and mushed into big flat disc and fried and mushed again). All in all it was a lovely and absolutely needed break from the FOR Tshirts and life up here on the mountain.

There are some other important things to report:
Last week news broke that 11 FARC hostages, all local government officials from Cali kidnapped five years ago, had been killed in what the FARC is claiming was crossfire initiated when an unidentified unarmed group attempted a rescue effort. This is a huge blow to hopes of a humanitarian exchange of FARC kidnap victims. The FARC has been maintaining its stance that it will not negotiate with the government until its demands for a demilitarized zone of 785 square kilometers. But the recent prisoner release by Uribe seemed to indicate that the government was perhaps beginning to explore other (if surprising and ineffective as the FARC release) avenues toward negotiation. European countries have also offered to help broker negotiations, but if the FARC were actually responsible for the death of the 11 deputies, negotiation seems to be an incredibly hard point to arrive at. This news has been dominating the media in the past week.

Sharing the news spotlight has been less serious and sad news: Copa America 2007, played in neighboring Venezuela – the oldest tournament in South America in which Colombia found glory back in 2001. Adding to the excitement, Mexico and the USA were invited to participate. The gringos were coming off the very recent Copa de Oro victory, having won the final against Mexico. Colombia and the US were put in the same group and both ended up being eliminated from further tourney play even before their third game, against each other, took place last night. Colombia lost to Paraguay 5-0 (ouch) in its first outing and to Argentina 4-2 in its second. The young US team didn’t fare much better loosing to Argentina 4-1 and then Paraguay 3-1. It has been great to hear the announcements of “GOOOOOLLLLL” from radios and TVs here in the community. I’ve caught bits and pieces of the games at our next-door neighbor’s house but mostly am able to extract the results of the game from the announcer’s dramatic cries and proclamations.

We did some errands in town yesterday and set out a bit later than I had hoped, meaning that we wouldn’t arrive in time for the start of the game. Our late start ended up not mattering at all though, as a crazy storm blew in about fifteen minutes into our walk, drenching us the rest of the hike up and taking away the power here in La Unión. As I type this our wallets and notebooks and just about everything else (all had been tucked away in plastic bags to no end) is strung out in the hot afternoon sun. I, myself, should really be hung out to dry too as I fear that I have permanently taken on a faint smell of mold.

Anyway Colombia won 1-0. And the quarter finals continue this weekend. Go, Mexico.

Just another week in the campo

2007-07-02T11:42:00.000-05:00

It is old news by now, but probably worth saying that the House Foreign Operations Bill was passed over a week ago and included some very positive changes in aid towards Latin America in general and Colombia, specifically. Thanks to all who wrote and called their Reps - DC seems to have been listening. US tax dollars will now be flowing southward in the form of more economic/humanitarian aid, even though the package still maintains a military focus (65% of total aid to Colombia is to support military efforts). The bill even includes some humanitarian provisions that have never before been included, one requires the State Department to certify that Colombian armed forces are not violating land and property rights of Afro-Colombian and indigenous communities. This is all good news. However, I am hesitant to call it a ¨victory¨as it is being widely viewed in human rights circles. This is still a disproportionately militarized aid package. And being a believer in non-violence I struggle to find any good in supporting armed conflict. But, I´ll take it. It is a start towards moving in the right direction.

The past week was filled with much of the same - visits and rain and hammocks and sun. A week ago Saturday we broke a piñata in celebration of 25 years of teammate Mayra. This happened a week after her birthday because I decided to start making the piñata the day of, forgetting about the amount of time it takes to dry - especially when pasting the newspaper to the balloon with a concoction of corn meal and sugar, not my best idea ever. But one of our friends took over and finally it was finished and ready for the rowdy crowd of kids and adults. We reinforced it with duck tape and ended up creating an almost unbreakable piñata. This meant that everyone that wanted to, had a chance to hit it. Actually making contact with it was made much harder by yours truly and one of our friends from the community as the two of us pulled on opposite ends of twine causing the piñata to sail up towards the ceiling or down towards the floor just as the blindfolded candy-seeker was about to place a good solid wop on it. This spectacle lasted for quite some time and eventually turned into an impromptu dance in the kiosk. People have been asking us all week when we will break another piñata.

A week ago Sunday, we accompanied a community "pilgrimage" to the vereda of Miramar. Miramar was the home of recently killed ex-community leader Francisco Puerta. Francisco was shot down in front of an Apartadò club on May 12th by paramilitaries. We walked the almost four hours to the site of the Miramar Humanitarian Zone (physical space for civilians to temporarily displace to in case of combat, thus avoiding more permanent displacement)where our small group from La Uniòn met up with folks from San Josecito. Father Javier said mass for Francisco and community members spoke about Francisco and other murdered leaders. We then made our way back to San Josecito and La Uniòn, following the winding river most of the way.

When Mayra and I got back up to our house after the pilgrimage, we found that the electricity was once again off (not at all surprising) so we lit some candles and discovered that there was a dead rat in our water tank (quite surprising). Rats are carriers of the dreaded leptospirosis, one of the three tropical diseases that hit me at the same time back in March. Mayra also suffered through it in April. A dead rat is better than a live rat but a dead rat in a water source is enough to make me really sick to my stomach. So I found a glove and a hundred plastic bags to put my hand into and then fished the dead rat out. And then we scrubbed and scrubbed. And then we went on a rat removal mission. All in all we have (intentionally) killed four rats in the past week or so. That same night (electricity and thus lights, still out) Mayra discovered a snake in her room. This past month everyone we talk with seems to warn us of the poisonous snakes that are all about. A woman was bit a month ago and almost died, other people have died, I would most likely die if bit, etc...

So, to see a snake by candlelight was not at all an ideal situation. I must admit that we both jumped on nearby chairs and began to scream. It was just too much for one candle-lit night. Mayra decided it had to be killed and went for the machete as I insisted we put our stocking feet into boots, lest the reptile should strike. As we went to the front porch to put our boots on I yelled out into the night ¨There is a snake, there is a snake!". The night was quiet and doorways were empty, all save our favorite next door neighbor, three-year-old Esteban who answered my cries with ¨Whaaaaaaat?" Very cute, but not very helpful.

Luckily another neighbor walked past a few moments later and we handed him the machete as we went to locate the snake that had crawled through the wall from Mayra´s room to my messy room. Just another reason I should not leave clothes all over the floor. Our neighbor finally found it and killed it. He told us it was ¨brava¨ (angry or ready to strike) but that it actually was not poisonous. The lights, of course, came back on about four minutes after the snake was dead. Ahhh, life in the campo.

Another break in, a Presidential break out and perhaps a small break through in the halls of Congress

2007-06-20T12:28:00.000-05:00

Another NGO has been robbed. Again, it seems to have been a targeted break-in, to obtain information on non-violent peace movements in Colombia. From the JustaPaz action alert:

The Christian Center for Justice, Peace and Nonviolent Action, Justapaz, which is a program of the Mennonite Church of Colombia, reports that before dawn on the 14th of June, 2007, its office was broken into and two computers were stolen. These computers contained sensitive information on people and churches that are active in work for peace and human dignity, and on people from churches that are victims and witnesses to human rights violations. The perpetrators of this criminal act apparently entered through the roof in the rear of the building before 3 am and tore out the wiring of the alarm system, although the alarm went off. They passed by 9 other computers, telephones, a safe, etc., and removed two specific computers located at the other end of the office. They also broke into the desk of the coordinator for a program for protection of persons at risk.

Here is a link to the JustaPaz website where you can find more info and participate in the action alert. If you haven’t yet sent letters to your congressfolks, the US Embassy in Colombia and Colombian officials about the FOR robbery, I encourage you to address both break-ins at the same time. Find a list of contacts here. This is a disturbing new trend and makes the already targeted work of human rights organizations and the Colombia communities we work with more precarious and vulnerable.

The follow up to the robbery of the FOR office/apartment in Bogotá has kept my teammates there super busy doing interviews with radio and TV stations, meeting with Colombian and International NGOs, meeting with Colombian Senators and Foreign Embassies and Colombian government officials. Back home our San Francisco office has met with Congress and some concerned members have written a letter to President Uribe expressing their full backing of an investigation into the robbery and their belief that more protection should be extended to human rights organizations working in Colombia. The subject of the FOR break-in was also broached in person when Rep. Charles Rangel (D-NY) had some face time with the Colombian President. Here in La Unión, we have felt very far away and a bit helpless or maybe hapless from up here. Knowing that sensitive information is now in the hands of someone who forcefully sought it out is unnerving. It has most definitely affected the community’s security but we don’t yet have a full understanding of to what degree. It’s as though the breath that we are usually holding, waiting for something terrible to happen was inhaled once again and this time with a bigger gulp of air.

Speaking of “wait and see”, the entire country seems to still be quite befuddled at President Uribe’s decision to release over 200 FARC prisoners. The news weekly, Semana laid out four possible reasons for the baffling move by the second-term President:

1. As the government contends, it is a bold strategy to negotiate peace: This is quickly overridden by well-warranted suspicion that this ex-incarceration is only a herald of plans to release convicted paramilitary leaders as well as congressmen ensnared in the para-politico scandal from the punitive judgment awaiting them.

2. Unblock the option for humanitarian exchange of kidnapped FARC prisoners: the release of Rodrigo Granda, the FARC member of highest rank who had been imprisoned, seems to signal that Uribe hopes to use his release and that of other FARC prisoners as a bargaining chip for the kidnap victims held by the FARC. The FARC has said it will not negotiate with the government until it is seeded a demilitarized zone and has repeatedly called Uribe’s government illegitimate and thus unworthy of entering into negotiations with.

3) To turn public opinion against the FARC: This seems to be likely but not very effective as the FARC is listed as a terrorist organization in the US and in Europe – and has held 3 US contractors hostage for the past three years. Public opinion has not exactly been on the side of the FARC and it has not affected their strategy in the least. However, some foreign governments, specifically France, have seemed to put more blame on the Colombian government than on the guerrilla group for the absence of a humanitarian accord to release kidnap victims.

4) Looking Towards Europe: The stuttering in Washington over aid to Colombia and the Free Trade Agreement have been received here as a sign of the faltering relationship between the US and Colombia. This prisoner release could be a grand gesture for the benefit of the new administration in France, as the new President Sarzkozy has made the release of former Colombian Presidential candidate and dual Colombian-French citizen Ingrid Betancourt, a priority of his government.

Semana concludes that none of these reasons are satisfactory or completely explain the prisoner release. The magazine says that it all seems to be simply a grand distraction to direct the country’s attention away from the para-political scandal that continues to unfold and involve many Uribe supporters. Only time will tell what becomes of this bizarre and unexpected move by the President. (To your right, a photo catching me not in my most non-violent moment, but instead slap fighting with one of my little brothers in the community. In the end we hugged it out. But I totally won)

Amidst this talk, news has arrived from back home that, surprise!, almost half of US military aid to Colombia is going directly to US Contractors. The AP article states: “U.S. defense contractors are receiving nearly half the money allotted by Washington to fight cocaine trafficking and leftist rebels in Colombia, throwing into doubt their mission to train Colombians to replace them. “ The State Department report shows that nearly $300 million of the roughly $630 earmarked for military aid is going to US contractors with Dyncorps International Inc, leading the way with $164 million for piloting the armed crop dusters seeking to eradicate coca production. Read more here.

More news from the land of the free indicates that the Foreign Affairs subcommittee of the House (the very same subcommittee I bemoaned in this here web space back in April) has decided to shift money away from Plan Colombia military aid and towards humanitarian aid. The house bill now contains a 55%-45% military-humanitarian aid split. Once taking into account the extra $150 million that goes to Colombian military aid out of the Defense Budget appropriations, that scores: Military Aid 65%, Humanitarian Aid 35%. Last year, also taking into account both the Foreign Ops and Defense appropriations, the military percentage was up at 83% and this year the administration requested 81% military aid. This seems a good time to reference the title of my blog. This is, I guess, some form of justice, limping very, very, very slowly. I remain skeptical and hesitate to call this piddling offering any kind of victory for human rights in Colombia.

For those of you back in the states, keep your ear to the ground as this legislation under the Foreign Aid Bill is set to hit the floor as early as today. Call or email your Representative and urge them to keep the 55-45 split intact. Republican Representatives are already rumored to be preparing a counter-amendment to rectify the perceived “imbalance”. In fact, my old pal, Dan Burton (R-IN), ranking republican of the Foreign Affairs subcommittee is at the front of the line, probably planning on introducing just such an amendment.

Young Steven comes ashore

2007-06-15T21:22:00.000-05:00

Today I had my very first visitor. That young, guileless spirit of the open seas, who for a short time in Austin joined the land lubin’ pirates of the Good Ship Holly, found himself on a cargo ship from Panama headed towards the Gulf of Urabá. This is very much to be expected from the likes of young Steven Van Maren, who called from a beach not too far away and made plans to meet up in Apartadó. All night rains, a dangerously high river and prior accompaniment commitments meant we had all of 45 minutes to recap our past adventures before I sadly walked away from the only familiar faces who have graced my almost-doorstep. Young Steven and his sea-faring friend, Ernesto Perez (also formerly of the ATX and frequent summer guest of Holly Street) took off soon after on a bus to Medellín with my hastily written instructions for locating the night-time anarchist scene in the great mountain city – a scene any good pirate should find his way to. While there is nothing particularly Colombian about this picture of me and the boys I hope it serves as proof that it is possible to find your way through the Darian jungle and into my life. Young Steven and Young Ernie certainly did and I am grateful to them! Arghhhhh, mates, arghh.

Papayas grow on tall tall trees

2007-06-11T22:09:00.000-05:00

The rains that just don’t seem to stop have stopped, or have at least let up a bit. This is a good thing because while walking up the other day I choose poorly and stepped into extra deep mud and my next step brought me right out of my boot. Some not-so-graceful balancing along with Mayra’s help brought my vulnerably socked foot back together with my entrenched boot. (Here a picture of Mireille not getting stuck in the muddy path, she is way more agile.) Life in this campo continues to be full of strange and wonderful missteps and moments like I have never known before. Yesterday we walked down the way to welcome the newest member of the Peace Community, a baby girl born just five days earlier. She and her mom had been brought up in a hammock just yesterday and are both in good health. The baby is so tiny and innocent. Birth in a community so afflicted by violence seems to me a hopeful testament reaffirming life. Yes, death and violence seems to pervade every aspect of life in the campo, but people are still being born into, what I like to think is, the promise of a better future.

After visiting with the tiny newest addition to our community, Mayra and I went over to Doña Lola’s house, the community’s second-to-oldest resident. Doña Lola’s face is filled with the enchanted crinkles and lines of a life lived in spite of obstacles and hardships. Her eyes twinkle with love every time she leans up to give you a kiss, regardless of how sweaty your condition. She pads off to her kitchen and back to offer us agua panela when we arrive from the hike up the mountain, opens up her kitchen and offers up her hands to us when we want to grind cacao or coffee, feeds us even when we aren’t hungry and gifts us the papayas that grow in her garden tree. Earlier that day we had passed by to poke some papaya’s out of the too-high-to-reach-or-(for us)-to-climb tree. I accidentally poked too hard at one and speared it on the stick, causing it to slide down the long pole I was using and land at Doña Lola’s feet. As papaya splattered at her feet and onto her apron, she just looked up at me, laughter in her eyes, and patted me on the back. It is so wonderful to have a grandmother here.

(Here is Lola´s porch in the daytime)Last night, we passed as night had just overtaken dusk. Doña Lola and her son, Ricardo, who is also old enough to warrant a “Don” in front of his name, sat eating dinner by candlelight. Their electricity was cut off long ago and they instead use candles to illuminate the dark night. Candles always seem to add a bit of romance to any ordinary night. The radio was tuned to the news station and Don Ricardo told us about the news of the massacre that had just happened the day before. This seemed more than the usual amount of senseless in scope as two drunken soldiers gunned down six civilians, including a little boy at a school outside of Bogotá. The soldiers were caught by the military and no motive was given other than alcohol mixed with an argument. Doña Lola shook her head and commented on the evils of liquor while I thought about a system so entrenched in violence that claims even the drunken soldiers amongst its victims.

Doña Lola brought out some café and a canister of dried milk for us to mix into it as the news turned to the upcoming games in the national soccer tournament. I looked out to the firmament from their open porch and was amazed to see the stars brightly shining down at us, unencumbered by celestial fog. The night was crisp and cool after all day rains and I realized that the recent constant rain had also translated into consistently cloudy night skies. These were the first stars I had seen in some time. The clear points of light reaching down were a perfect compliment to the café con leche, the unhurried conversation and the flickering candle light of Doña Lola’s inviting porch.

As we walked back to our house I thought about the jumble of news that had come out of the Colombia media in recent days; President Uribe’s out-of-nowhere announcement to release over 200 incarcerated FARC members (more on this news here), a confrontation between FARC and National Police that lead to deaths of 2 policemen and took place on a road to Sante Fe de Antioquia (where we just recently were for our retreat) the recent protests all over the country against the decision by Congress to shift money away from public education, and rumblings that the US Congress seems to be delaying a vote on the FTA giving we opponents hope that it might not pass.

So much is happening here that I can’t soak it all up from my technology-challenged perch let alone comprehend the meanings and implications of something as mind-boggling as Uribe’s decision to release FARC prisoners. And the robbery of our office/apartment in Bogotá somehow fits into this tangled landscape. (For more on the robbery, check out my teammate Janice’s blog) It is much easier to sit with community members on a clear-sky night and sip at a coffee while listening to their tried and true tales of life in La Unión. It should be as simple as that uncomplicated kind of communion with one another. But at the same time it is fast-paced and utterly incomprehensible in its grand scope. Sigh. As my teammates and I have taken to saying (stolen and adapted in good faith from a line in Blood Diamond): TIC, This is Colombia.

One teammate who I no longer get to exchange shrugs of “TIC” with is the one with whom I have shared all of my time until this point, the irreplaceable and utterly amazing, Mireille Evans. She is taking some time to travel around Colombia before heading back to Canada to find new ways to share her unflappable good spirit with the world. I miss her. Here she is walking off into the night, guiding one of the kiddies of the community back home.

FOR Bogota office robbed, records stolen: Take Action

2007-06-06T22:17:00.000-05:00

The Fellowship of Reconciliation (FOR) denounces what appears to be a politically motivated attack on its offices on June 2 in Bogotá, Colombia.

According to people who live in the same building as FOR, unknown persons forcibly entered the FOR house/office in Bogotá between 6 pm and 7 pm on June 2, breaking the lock and part of the door. The individuals stole the FOR’s two central computers that contain the organization’s records, including information on the accompaniment of the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó. This community has been the target of attacks by the all the armed groups and is covered by protective measures from the Inter-American Court for Human Rights.

Recently, FOR has worked on delicate issues such as the murder of a member and ex-leader of the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, Francisco Puerta; the use of demobilized combatants in the army operations; and the presence of and threats by paramilitaries in the San José de Apartadó district. Additionally, given the documented collaboration between Colombian military and civilian officials at the highest levels and paramilitaries, FOR has led efforts to end United States military aid to the Colombian Army, and has been active in opposing the Free Trade Agreement between the United States and Colombia.

The individuals destroyed electronic equipment, including part of a satellite phone stole clothing and cash but took out and did not steal a credit card and the passport of one of the FOR team members; as well as a television and other items of value that were in plain sight. In the days before the break-in, individuals had been observed watching the house on several occasions.

This incident constitutes a serious violation against an international human rights organization that gives protective unarmed accompaniment to threatened Colombians. The violation occurs in the context of threats against other human rights organizations working in Colombia, such as the Corporation for Juridical Liberty, which resulted in an urgent action alert issued by Amnesty International. Such a climate of intolerance is reflected in statements issued by Vice-President Francisco Santos at the Council of the Americas during his recent visit to Washington. According the daily newspaper El Tiempo (May 25, 2007), the vice-president accused human rights organizations of being motivated by purely economic interests. The organizations refuse to recognize the Uribe administration’s efforts “perhaps because if they do the donor will withdraw large amounts of money. This is a business too and they would be without a job,” Santos said.

FOR continues its work of accompaniment of the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, the Antioquia Peasant Association, the Youth Network of Medellín, and other Colombian groups that work for justice and peace using nonviolent means.

Read more on the requested action here.

rain fallin´on my shoes

2007-05-27T21:28:00.000-05:00

(let´s see just how many relevent to the subject matter blog titles i can take from tangled up in blue - which is for some reason on repeat in my head)

We are mud-to-the-knee deep in the rainy season. I´m told the rain will continue until I leave in November. I will probably develop some kind of amphibious trait by then. Today I walked down the mountain from La Unión as the thunder threatened above me and the sound of the slow moving curtain of rain chased me down the hill. I kept my eyes on the clear skies still holding ahead and picked up my pace. I am not faster than rain. I arrived to San Josecito soaking wet and just in time for the sudden storm to suddenly stop.

Our laundry has been going through extra rinse cycles on the line all week long. We had to string up extra lines to make room for all the wash. Damp is the new dry as we struggle with deciding when a piece of clothing is simply too dirty to continue wearing, thus soaping it up and giving it over to the clothesline for who knows how long. After this experience I´d have to say that any of those laundry detergents that claim to have a "rain fresh smell" have got to be lying. Rain fresh mostly smells like damp. Not a smell I´d want to push.

and revolution in the air...

2007-05-19T21:46:00.000-05:00

The whirlwind tour outside of the Peace Community continued for five days in Medellín after the accompaniment with the ACA in the Oriente. It was such a completely different experience than that of the Oriente and that of living in the community these last six months that I hardly know where to begin, but I think it begins with music and dancing.

Our bus left San Francisco in the late afternoon and about four hours later we were back in Medellín and standing in the midst of the kickoff street concert for the following day’s “AntiMili” day long concert of music and revolution, an annual event of the Red Juvenil de Medellín (The Youth Network of Medellín). This blocked off street party was miles away from the crisp mountains of the Oriente. It was dark and grimy and loud and full of lots of mohawks and resolutely raised fists. Two women from Bogotá, known as “Por Razon del Estado” rapped some seriously revolutionary “flow” and earned my instant respect and admiration. The pavement bounced with energy and our friends from the Red introduced us around as we met Colombians and Europeans, most of whom were conscientious objectors gathering together for days of music and serious networking around resistance to war. Again, I was surrounded by Chuck Taylor’s, but this time the genuine version – apparently the universal shoe for anarchists. Young people hung out windows and on the stairs up to surrounding apartments as I adjusted to being in a Colombian city – what’s more, in the midst of a total scene in a Colombian city.

As the concert was ending my teammate Camila was ready to go out dancing for the night. Anyone who knows me understands that I am not what one would call a dancer. I specialize in the “Cheese Grater”, the classic “Hold on to your ankle while pumping your knee and elbow” and the “8th Grade Dance Arms-Length Away Awkward Shuffle”. And true to my whiteness, I just can’t figure out how to move my hips in the way the people are seemingly born to do here. I have tried to learn but I always end my lessons still caught in the mechanical side-to-side hip sway, the rigidity of which probably makes me an excellent square dancer. Nonetheless, my short stay in the “City of Eternal Spring” began with salsa, merengue and vallenato late into the night. Camila and our friends from the ACA tried to help me out, beating out rhythms and allowing me to dance with them while I trained my eyes on their feet. I must have improved some because I was reminded of the existence of muscle somewhere in the love handle region. Progress.

The next morning we woke up early and got ourselves over to the headquarters of the Red Juvenil. The Red has made their home in a house on a street like many others in Medellín and it would remain inconspicuous if not for the flyers and artwork suggesting disobedience and revolution. Stepping through the doors I felt the not-so-old urges to smash the darn state. (Note to my parents: don’t worry, I am not allowed to get arrested on my visa, I’d be kicked out of the country – so no need for alarm). Inside those doors is always a steady hum of activity, on that morning it had accelerated into a whir of last minute arrangements and panics. The 12-hour concert was set to begin at noon, leaving only a few hours for final preparations and stage set up in the nearby park. The “Anti-Mili” concert is in its 10th year and draws a huge crowd from over Medellín, Colombia and even a few world-travelers. It is planned in proximity to International Conscientious Objectors Day and is not just another concert. It is a bold challenge to the Colombian State to recognize the right of conscientious objectors to its war.

CO status is a risk here as it is not recognized as a legitimate alternative to soldiering. All Colombian men over the age of 18 must possess a “libreta militar" which proves that they have provided their one year of service in the Colombian Army or the National Police. If the an has not earned his high school degree he is legally bound to 2 years of service. Service is determined by a drawing usually when boys are registered with local military command after completing high school. What you pull out of the hat determines your fate. Some pull out a third option, one that allows them to pay for their libreta militar instead of potentially sacrifice their life or morals. Of course, only those with ready cash can afford such options –the rest are forced to serve out their time. Those with ready-er cash can buy their way out of obligatory service even before fate forces their hand to reach in and choose. Such is the way that boys put on uniforms and head into the mountains and jungles to vanquish an enemy that declared its resistance before their parents even met.

The Red Juvenil and COs all over Colombia believe in a fourth option – one that respects an individual’s right to object to a war they feel is morally reprehensible. Men without proof of libreta militar can not receive college degrees, can not find a job in the formal sector, can not own property, can not sign a contract and risk capture by the State and forced military service or imprisonment. You can’t simply dodge this draft, you have to disappear. There are also those who stand up in plain view and demand their right to objection. These COs have found their way to the Red and like groups and have come together across Colombia and joined up with War Resisters International in efforts to stop capture and forced recruitment and to hopefully push Colombian society to the point of demanding legal CO status. The concert was the kickoff.

Twelve hours of live music is quite a feat. And the fact that the park was continuously full of people and as night fell, absolutely jammed full of people, is a testament to the networking prowess of the Red. Many kinds of music streamed from the stage; from hip hop to screeching metal to reggae. The over-flowing crowd raised its fists and danced in collective celebration and resistance. The palpable energy was heart stopping and as the music refused to end in the twelfth hour the crowd was finally scattered by the rain that had been threatening all day. The faithful few remained as rain poured down and laughter bubbled up and then down to my unwilling hips and feet. Finally the stage was broken down and I found myself picking up wet trash with the others, exhausted but smiling at a day spent engrossed in such a completely different form of resistance than that I have become accustomed to in my time so far.

The next day the 70-some COs headed to a farm outside of the city to use the next couple of days to work out details of their international efforts as well as plan their collective action for International Conscientious Objectors Day that week. We were invited to join them and did so on the second day. The people that Janice and Camila and I met over those couple of days were instant allies and friends. It was a privilege to be part of their meetings and workshops as they worked out the details of a national network of COs supported on the international stage. I met people from other Latin American countries. My favorite conversations happened with a man from El Salvador, now in forties, who recounted his days of theological study with the liberation theologians that were later targeted and killed in 1989, with US backing. He knew these men and he had even heard Archbishop Oscar Romero’s homilies in person. I could have talked with this guy for days. My brain felt alive in new ways and my overall awe of the situations I continually find myself in here increased ten fold.

The action itself was amazing to watch. I have grown so tired of the well-intended but now too standard marches or die-ins of US activisim. “What do we want? Peace! When do we want it – oh, who cares.” The folks that came together decided to do a theater-like slow motion performance that ended in some much more inspired chanting and then “carnival”.
Carnival meant joyous drums and clarinet driving folks down the street as they danced their way to the next performance spot, the Parque Botero. Maybe it is our lack of similar public parks and spaces in the US that changes our activism. But this kind of activism was tied up in performance and something that felt much more alive than angry shuffling down the street. That night we celebrated together by dancing all night long at an empty club (it was a Tuesday) and my stubborn hips finally started a legitimate sway. I think I danced all but three songs in the four hours we spent at the club and then laughed as the lights came up and the DJ ended the night with three old school favorites. Mr. Big’s one hit, Puffy’s tribute to Biggie Smalls and just for good measure, Gangsta´s
Paradise. The obligatory circle that formed found yours truly doing her best Cheese Grater and then Knee/Elbow pump in the middle of my new and wide-eyed friends. Some things never change.

There´s war in them mountains

2007-05-13T21:38:00.000-05:00

As a write this I am smearing Caladryl lotion on my arms in hopes of stopping the poison ivy type rash from spreading. The campo is full of itchy things and it seems that I am quite adept at catching just about anything the countryside has to offer. I guess I am going for the full experience every time. This time the itchy countryside I traipsed about in was the eastern part of the Department of Antioquia, or the Oriente Antioqueño. This part of the country (which is a far away part of the same department that I live in) has experienced some of the most concentrated and horrific violence of Colombia´s internal war.

During the FOR delegation in August of 2005 we visited one of these Eastern municipalities and its far flung veredas, or rural townships. I was in absolute awe of what we saw in our two days in this region. We made our way higher up into the striking mountains, stopping at small veredas of the municipality of Corcona on the way up. The first was a town called El Molino. The people of this small farming community had suffered from the war as it dropped its bombs on their humble houses and claimed its causilties from the civilian men, women and children who had long lived their modest lives in the embrace of these inspiring mountains. Fifty percent of their community had been killed or displaced and they shared with our delegation the story of their struggle and their efforts to stay organized and remain on their land.

We then continued up the road to what was once the thriving town of Santa Ana. Only eight people were left living in the town, and these were older folks who hadn´t been physically able to leave when the entire town displaced. Colombian military and police stood watch over abandoned and bombed out buildings - the reminders of the military campaign to arrest control away from the FARC and by doing so force displacement of almost 100% of its inhabitants.

Our final stop on the delegation was to the small community of Los Medios. Here was a more hopeful story. While this community had also suffered from displacement and deaths, been constantly plagued by unidentified mines laid in once familiar paths to their crops and suffered from the continual stress and terrible reality of war, they are slowly rebuilding their lives. A group of Franciscan nuns and one priest moved into the community in 2004 to provide permanent accompaniment (very similar to our work in the Peace Community) and it has made a noticable difference as families have returned and the community has stayed organized and committed to a better future. I remember one of the walls displaying the words Sí! otro mundo es posible (Yes! Another world is possible). The stark contrasts between each of these neighboring communities struck me and I have hoped for a chance to visit with more of these veredas and people ever since. This of course brings me back to my current experience and itchy extremeties.

I hurried out of Apartadó after a whirlwind couple of days hosting a FOR delegation of Buddhists in the community in order to meet my teammate Camila and two people who work for the Antioquia Peasant Farmer´s Association or ACA. I had the rare pleasure of flying out of Apartado and of course, I was kicked off my first flight making things a bit more difficult but eventually getting me to Medellín. Anyone who knows me understands that problems with flights are even more common for me than, I don´t know, my tendency to wear ugly pants. So it was really no surprise at all.

I met Marta Lopez (in this picture with we Foristas) of the ACA at the bus station and we introduced ourselves and then hopped on the 3 hour bus ride to the Oriente. Martha is a couple years older than me and has been working with the ACA for 6 years now as a capacitator and organizer of rural at-risk communities and displaced campesinos now living in urban areas. By the end of the week I had a new friend in Martica and was making plans to hang out and even copying her distinct paisa accent. Upon arriving in San Francisco, we hiked out to meet Camila and Gustavo, an agronomist with the ACA, in one of the farther out veredas of the municipality of San Francisco.

The hour and a half walk to get there was full of my ooohs and ahhhs at every turn. These mountains leave me without adequate description. Their ancient majesty is covered in green and the evening light casts about a warm, generous and almost mysterious glow. Cool and fast flowing water rushes down in waterfalls and rivers as people make their homes on the steep inclines of the mountainside.

Gustavo has been spending time in these communities demonstrating how to build terraced fields and pig excrement-to-methane gas constructions, among other sustainable farming methods. This pig to gas contraption is really incredible. Pig excrement is gathered into a holding tank which feeds into a large plastic bag-as-tube. The sun breaks down the excrement into methane gas which then flows into pvc piping and carries it to nearby houses to light gas stoves or light up the house. The excess waste is then used as compost for crops. It is truly just ingenious. And I think this is a sideways picture of it.

While Gustavo is molding the earth and cultivating new energy forms, Marta keeps track of concerns and needs of the community, ensuring that national attention is focused on these at-risk areas and that the communities themselves feel accompanied as they struggle to stay on their lands. The next day, Fernando, a lawyer with the ACA, joined us in order to give talks on the Free Trade of the Americas Act that is being met with some resistance in the US and would prove terribly consequential for these small mountain communities. It was really empowering to listen as Fernando outlined the origins, stipulations and probable consequences and how they would specifically effect these communities. He also offered concrete and practical ways to resist the sure-to-pass pact.

The work of the ACA is truly inspirational grassroots organizing, rooted in real community concerns and framed within achievable goals. Nestled in the Cordillera Occidental of the Andean range (about 5300 feet up), these 41 veredas of San Francisco still maintain about 6000 inhabitants. The region has experienced around 70% displacement and many of the veredas remain abandoned and prime territory for the deformity of war. Mines were planted starting in 2003 by FARC and paramilitary forces. Over 98% of the mines in this area are still unidentified, making sticking to the well worn path a very important piece of advice to heed.

Our second day in the area we walked down, down, down a path to the vereda of La Esperanza. A community deeply rooted in the Catholic tradition and one in which every front porch provided a magnificent view of the facing mountains. Here, too, the 21 families are struggling to stay on their rich mountain land. And the ACA is accompanying them through their process. Marta, Gustavo and Fernando were all warmly welcomed back as Camila and I were greeted with excitement. I spent a good part of the night teaching the kids words in English and ever-so-poorly trying to repeat a really hard Colombian toungue twister that even my small teacher couldn´t make it through without pausing for a dramatic breath. We met Doña Celsa who at 78 is an example of the energy and weird spunk that we can only hope to have at 28. She explained the healing powers of many of the plants and herbs she has long cultivated and told us stories about her life as a widow and a midwife. Doña Celsa also sported the same fake Chuck Taylor high tops that most people in this area wear. Oldest to youngest resident, they are all walking around in All Stars.

The next three days were spent in the town center of San Francisco. In the mornings we would go to nearby communities or mostly displaced campesinos who are making it work despite the many hardships they have had to face. They have all reinvented themselves far away from their rural mountain homes. One of these groups, La Solidaridad, is a group of mostly older women who farm a terraced area just up the hill from the center of town. These women shared their stories with Camila and I, and almost every story involved children and husbands being killed by the violence combined with inevitable displacement from the land they were born in. All of this as they were weeding the terraces and replanting onions and tending to the greens.

The same fortitude was shown the next day in the nearby community of Boquerón. There we once again met displaced people, resettling in new and untamed lands, willing to work with groups like the ACA who bring in new ideas and hopefully, added sustainability and an increased feeling of security. As we boarded the bus on Friday afternoon and wound our way down the picturesque mountains heading back to Medellín I couldn´t help but feel overwhelmed and so very priviliged to have spent time in a new part of this country. The beauty of the mountains was astounding and the strength and resilence of the people was even more so.

The next morning we switched gears completely as we began a four day accompaniment of the Red Juvenil of Medellín (Medellín Youth Network)and quiet mountain majesty gave way to radical urban revolution. These youth know how to get it done, (to borrow from the Mita/Jack coffers). That will be next up in blog land. Plus an update on the lastest happenings in the Peace Community.

If you are interested in seeing more pictures of my trip to the east, check them out here.

there and back again

2007-05-06T19:16:00.000-05:00

Hello to anyone that might still be hanging in there with my lame and inconsistent blogging. I made it back from gringolandia just under a week ago and much has happened since. I have mostly managed to recover from my varied and ill-timed diseases; although everyone´s second favorite way to die during the Oregon Trail computer game, typhoid fever, is still hanging on in a negligible but persistent way. Maybe proving once and for all that it was the real covered wagon malady to be feared, much more so than dysentery or the hapless and unfortunate failed fordings of the too-high river.

I had many, many adventures while home for the two weeks. One of which was the oh-so-joyous wedding of Jenna and Nate (seen dancing here!), the reason for the mid-year return and a weekend of mucho fun and celebration. I met up with my teammate of one week in November, Paul, whom I replaced here on the team. We took in some DC museums, had a catch on the mall and then made the somewhat egregious mistake of taking in some Congressional hearings on US aid to Colombia.

We attended the House Foreign Affairs subcommittee on the Western Hemisphere hearing on US/Colombia relations, specifically the success and validity of renewing/ratifying Plan Colombia and the Free Trade of the Americas Act. The first is up for serious consideration and renewal after the last six years of the ¨War on Drugs¨has only resulted in billions of dollars in funding for the Colombia military to fight a futile war which seems to only kill civilians while the price of cocaine on US streets has actually dropped - meaning it is more abundant, not less. Check out more on this here: It seems the War on Drugs has been just about as successful as ye olde war on poverty. The FTAA is under more fire as the Democratic halls of Congress are clamoring over the Colombian para-political scandal and certain conditions of the much-maligned free trade pact.

Paul and I decided that the hearing could be summed up quite concisely: insignificant. While it is encouraging that Democrats are taking a harder look at US aid to Colombia, led by long time critics Sen Patrick Leahy (D-VT), Rep Jim McGovern (D-MA) and Rep Sam Farr(D-CA), it only takes a few hours in a Congressional sub-committee hearing to understand that the majority of the people making these important decisions do not understand a darn thing. The first panelist was former Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert. ¨Coach¨ turned on his microphone and read from his prepared harangue, (which included the incorrect spelling of the country in question, ColOmbia) vacillating between awe-inspiring ignorance of the subject at hand and numbifying monologue on how Colombia drugs are killing American children, at the same time somehow managing to compare this drug epidemic to 9/11. Of course Hastert also probably believes that same sex marriage and burning the American flag are killing American children. While completely unimpressive in its scope of understanding, his speech was at least mildly entertaining. He referred to the second largest guerrilla group in Colombian as E-lon (ELN) and invented a completely new ¨terrorist¨ organization that he called the AUL.

The second panel consisted of former Ambassador to Colombia Anne Patterson and Assistant Secretary of State for Western Hemisphere Affairs, Charles Shapiro. It was a relief if only because they provided competent testimony and spared us the pageantry of values-crusading. Their shared recommendation was to continue funding military focused aid to Colombia and to sign off on the free trade pact. Committee Chairman Engel did manage to probe about the disproportionate percentage of military versus social aid as part of US funding. The proposed split in aid for 2008 is 81.4% military versus 18.6% for social assistance programs. Rep Engel asked why the obvious disparity between the two couldn't be remedied, especially given the continually emerging links between the Colombian military and the paramilitary. Mr. Shapiro assured him that he hoped that one day soon more aid would be shifted towards social programming and effectively side-stepped a concrete answer.

I think the most outrageous moments during the hearing were provided by ranking Republican Member(and only Republican present in the sub committee hearing)Dan Burton (R-IN). He acknowledged the presence of Colombian Ambassador to the US, Carolina Barca by calling her a ¨lovely lady, a real lovely lady.. i mean she looks just like a model!¨ Really? Really Rep. Burton? Are we still patronizing women and assigning them value based on subjective beauty? And are we really doing this when they are foreign dignitaries? Really?

There was also some uninspired vilifying of the too-easy target President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, or he who is following in ¨Castro´s footsteps¨. Rep Burton then made some rather belligerent comments about Colombian opposition leader Gustavo Petro of the Polo Democratico. Senator Petro has been one of Colombian President Alvaro Uribe´s harshest critics, calling into question Uribe´s own ties with paramilitary especially during his years as governor of the volatile department of Antioquia in the mid-nineties. The ever distinguished Rep Burton couldn´t seem to recall Petro´s name but did refer to Senator Petro as the ¨Senator who has been making false remarks about Uribe and who is part of the terrorist organization MI-21 that terrorized in the past and is still terrorizing today¨.

I can only assume he was trying his darndest to speak about the former urban guerrilla group M-19 (April 19th Movement) of which Petro was part of in his youth. M-19 handed in their weapons and peacefully demobilized 17 years ago in 1990. Many former members are now respected politicians and members of Colombian society who have continued to struggle for justice in the political sphere. For Burton to throw the term ¨terrorist¨around seems to indicate his absolute lack of understanding of the Colombian conflict and how this kind of labeling literally endangers the lives of those who are so ignorantly singled out. This is continually a topic of discussion here in Colombian as the señalamiento or insinuating signalization of public figures, grassroots groups and even sometimes international NGOs (FOR in 2005), can absolutely prove deadly as armed groups zero in on supposed threatening opponents again and again.

I am not a fan of Republican Representative Dan Burton of Indiana.

There was a third part to the panel but Paul and I realized we couldn't handle more of the same and also, I was supposed to be on vacation. To their credit the committee did invite for the third and final panel a former Colombian Governor, Luis Murillo Urretia as well as Maria Sanchez Moreno of Human Rights Watch. These are the kind of panelists who I might have had a harder time poking fun at.

All in all it was good to know that I am involved in work that puts me daily in touch with people. And being with actual living, breathing people seems miles away from the talking suits of DC and the anemic discussions of its hearing chambers.

Not to say that there isn't some good news that makes its way out of our Legislative body. Senator Leahy, as chairman of the Appropriations Panel of the Foreign Operations sub-committee is refusing to just ¨rubber stamp¨ monetary aid to Colombia. In fact, just this last week he refused to accept Secretary of State Rice´s certification that Colombia is complying with all human rights standards and therefore able to receive US aid. Senator Leahy is not rubber stamping to the tune of 55 million dollars.

Senator Leahy stated last week, “The Administration and the Congress have a fiduciary responsibility to American taxpayers to use these dollars wisely and to take care that U.S. military aid is part of the solution, instead of perpetuating Colombia’s problems.¨ Fiduciary, indeed!

Next up: Is Uribe already preparing to seek a third term as President? Does the LA Times scoop linking the head of the Colombia Army, Gen. Mario Montoya to paramilitary groups hold any water? Will my covered wagon ford the raging river with success or will I opt to wait it out in order to waste some precious bullets shooting at small animals instead of deer with my arrow keys?

OR: A report on the delegation that I just helped to host in the community and an exciting out-of-Uraba report on my trip to the Eastern part of Antioquia where I will be accompanying organizers to campesino communities in this historically volatile and breathtakingly beautiful region of Colombia...

stay tuned.

Celebration with a side of Typhoid

2007-04-05T16:22:00.000-05:00

This is a picture of a mule. If this mule looks rather satisfied with itself it could be because it had just proved the old idiom “stubborn as…” having, the evening prior, forced me to pull it up the mountain as the eager journalists from the Chicago Tribune raced on ahead into the darkening mountain leaving me behind with muley and all of their stuff. That next morning this mule challenged me to pull her down the mountain as said journalists once again raced ahead while I muttered nonsensical encouragements to the mule who took one slow, but sure, step after another. The journalists visited the community the two days prior to the start of the 10th anniversary celebration and I was lucky to spend every minute with them as they asked questions and took pictures while I translated and gave background information. The end product was a weakened immune system for yours truly and a decent article in the Chicago tribune and a really lovely ‘multi media’ photo essay in which I provide some explanation and attempt to say campesino as many times as possible in one sentence.

Check it out here: http://www.forcolombia.org/news/endimpunity

It has been a while since my last post partly thanks to the aforementioned weakened immune system and partly thanks to the flurry of activity that took over the community in the days leading up to and during the Anniversary Celebration. In La Unión we watched as the community workdays were used to build a new fence around the kiosk, repair the community kitchen and pick up trash. Women worked to sew costumes for the big youth dance presentation as the youth worked on their song and dance and cleaned the school from top to bottom to make it ready for hammocks and mattresses. There was a palpable energy in the air and even though I was playing tour guide to the journalists, I was able to soak up the excitement.

The Community announced its founding ten years ago on March 23rd and celebrated it’s continued peaceful resistance by organizing a five day long “encuentro” kicked off on the 22nd with a mass and display of coffins representing the 178 community members who have been killed by armed actors. The coffins were placed alongside candles that created a mournful glow as the act of remembrance was begun and Padre Javier officiated. The next morning commenced with a silent march from San Josecito to Apartado, 24 kilometers round trip. Community members, accompanied by fellow Colombians and visiting internationals commenced the solemn march in the morning, most on foot, some on horse or mule and some in the colorful bus that was contracted to ensure that children and older folks could participate even if they couldn’t handle the long, hot walk.

I brought up the rear for most of the day and found it incredible to see so many people stretched out ahead of me on the dusty and winding road. Folks carried signs and later on the same coffins as we inched closer and closer to a town that represents greater danger for community members. In this town, community members have been killed and detained by the police and military and paramilitary forces. It was in Apartadó two years ago that Colombia’s President stood before the press and insinuated that all members of the Peace Community were part of the guerrilla forces and that the International Accompaniers were also collaborating to facilitate the FARC’s war. Such words are as powerful as bullets in a country so immersed in violence. For many PC members it is a place they avoid if at all possible, for others it is a routine trip for groceries and necessities. For all involved in the march it was a powerful witness to the atrocities survived by the Peace Community and a potent reminder to the residents of Apartadó that the war rages on in the countryside and its impact continues to be felt.

In the middle of the night, following the march, my immune system gave way to a high fever, the harbinger of what was to come. The next morning the encuentro kicked off with guests arriving to lead workshops and talks. I went to town for the dreaded malaria test and then, feeling better after a negative result, walked up to La Unión with the rest of the participants. Sick or not, I was determined to be present for the song and dance presentation. I, of course, did not have malaria and it took a couple more days of awful fever and many blood draws later until I was finally diagnosed with Typhoid Fever and Lyptospiros with a side of possible Dengue and a sampler of parasites. Apparently I’d been sick for months, which neatly explained all the random fevers and illness. So while I was there for the amazing song and dance, the fever kicked in later that night and even a dance with my famous partner Norbey couldn’t sweat it out of me.

The presentation by the youth was once again amazing. The boys sang the Community Hymn as well as three other songs, including a version of Guantanamera with verses written by one of the young boys. The girls danced their hearts out, swirling in their carefully sewn costumes and even showing off some more scandalous reggaton moves. The kiosk was packed full of community members, visitors and friends, all of us basking in the glow of celebration and fellowship. The presentation was followed by a community dance that lasted well into the night. After my brief appearance and Norbey-lead twirl around the dance floor, I crawled back into bed and sunk deeper into fever as the now familiar strains of music somehow lulled me into feverish sleep. (This last picture is of me and Norbey, I have a really high fever there so I can´t say if the smile is pure joy or pure delusion)

The remaining three days of the encuentro was more of a blur than anything else for me. I eventually got back to town thanks to a speedy horse and my amazing teammates who took good care of me. I have been in Apartadó now for about a week and a half, receiving drugs straight into my veins and being reminded, via cable TV in the hotel room, just how addictive US television programs can be. I was very disappointed to miss the opportunities for collaboration and the workshops given by guest speakers. But it seems as if the encuentro was an enormous success. The community was inundated with concerned people from all over Europe, the Americas and Colombia while ten years of resistance was commemorated through silent witness and powerful proclamation. The future was embraced through song and dance and cultural sharing and the international and national network of solidarity was strengthened and invigorated.

For more on the Encuentro check out the article on the FOR webpage, introduced by my teammate Janice and followed by a statement from the community: http://www.forcolombia.org/peacecommunity/anniversary

happy birthday, peace community!

2007-03-22T19:08:00.000-05:00

Hello faithful readers,
There is much to report on and little time to do so. Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of the founding of the Peace Community and the celebration is already starting. I´m taking mad pictures and having eloquent thoughts...hopefully some of those will get down on paper...er computer. I will be sure to write more when time permits!

How many armed guards greet you in foreign lands?

2007-03-11T19:04:00.000-05:00

The opening line up here in the community is usually “Está amañada?” According to Larousse and his dictionary “amañada” means: clever, skillful. However, this is not what folks are implying. What they mean is, “Are you settled in, are you satisfied with life here? Are you, in fact, happy?”. The first time I heard this, many months ago when I first arrived, I had no idea that it could mean so many things as I had never before heard it. My razor sharp instinct led me to believe that the person posing the question had simply misunderstood my name as I had just presented it. So my original reply was, “No, no, soy Amanda”. This, or course, was ridiculous and is most likely the reason people speak slowly and clearly with me. I don’t have a hearing problem, its just that I’m not amañada in the official sense of the word; clever or skillful. [this picture should serve to prove my amañada-ness, those kiddies are cute]

Now when new team members arrive to the community and first flash a look of confusion at the common question, I warmly smile and nod in my most sagacious manner as I fill them in on the regional vocabulary twist. And I have a better response these days, too. I am settled in, I am satisfied with the rural lifestyle, I am happy. I do of course live a daily life built on the faith that peanut butter will continue to arrive from friends and family back home. And a recent loosing bout with the bed bugs that continue their nightly biting offensive quickens thoughts of fluffy mattresses and washing machines with hot water cycles.

But, these bourgeois concerns with daily living seem to always evolve into general feelings of searing guilt as I grapple with wrapping my head around the lives of Colombians living with this protracted violence. Helicopters, now frequently flying overhead, are a noisy reminder that something is indeed rotten in this State. We pass heavily armed military and police any time we leave La Unión. The news is perpetually full of the latest on the armed conflict or the para-political scandal or, lately, the announcement that the Colombian equivalent of the Attorney General’s office (the Fiscala) has determined that the military was indeed responsible for the brutal 2005 massacre of eight community members. This news is surprising and seemingly positive and is met with incredulity in the community. The lack of confidence in the Colombian justice system runs deep and is proved by the complete impunity in which all cases have been left unresolved. In fact, we have just recently seen news that the attorneys responsible for filing this report of military culpability have now resigned from the Fiscalía (in a way discrediting their findings holding the 17th Brigade responsible).

It remains unclear exactly why the attorneys stepped down, but it seems a safe bet to surmise that they might be threatened or even just plain frightened at what might happen to them now that they have implicated the Colombian military in the 2005 massacre, which is being called here the “worst human rights violation” in recent Colombian history. In what sources we have been able to read, the information is sketchy at best and seems to imply that these two attorneys were discredited based on their information sources in other cases. The Attorney General himself is standing by the massacre findings of the former attorneys, as news circulates that another attorney from a different department inside the Fiscalia had been going over his head to convince State defense lawyers that the findings against the military are illegitimate and the FARC was responsible for the brutal massacre. News reports say that her fate will be decided in the upcoming days, but her firing seems imminent. [my young friend jimar thinks this whole "justice" thing is a bit suspicious] This is combined with the resignation of the head attorney for the narco-trafficking unit, due to reports linking him to attempted bribing of six narco-traffickers set for extradition to the US. And news outlets say that more exits might be forthcoming as the Fiscalía tries to avoid the same flavor of scandal that has rocked the DAS (Colombian equivalent of CIA and FBI) and the halls of Congress. All of this shake up in the Fiscalía means that a larger dose than usual of healthy skepticism towards governmental processes is absolutely necessary. It seems that lady Justice is not just blind here, she’s sorta like Helen Keller before her miracle worker whats-her-name.

Earlier today the radio announced the impending arrival of the one and only President George W. Bush. He landed in Bogotá early this afternoon and the radio said over 200 journalists were eagerly awaiting him on the tarmac, microphones poised, to welcome “the most powerful man in the world”. Ugh. There have been student-organized protests for the last few days leading up to a huge protest today sponsored by the leading opposition party, the Polo Democratico. They are calling the protest the “Toma Pacificista de Bogotá” – or the Peaceful Takeover of Bogotá. It should be an awesome sight as organizers set out to boldly state their collective opposition to the Free Trade of the Americas Agreement (FTAA) and Plan Colombia, both represented by Mr. Bush’s visit. They are also not too psyched about Bush, and I’m guessing there were some rather strong demonstrations focused solely on expressing that ire. My teammate Janice has been taking photos and interviewing protestors and then posting it to her blog, slow internet has kept me from checking it out, but you can by going to her blog at: http://pedalingforpeace.blogspot.com

According to news reports Colombia really rolled out the red carpet for Bush. 21,000 military troops plus 7000 extra police officers have been stationed in Bogotá and near the Presidential Palace to ensure the safety of the conniving, er… convening heads of state. According to the General of the 17th Brigade who we met with a couple of weeks ago, there are a total of 236,000 troops in all of Colombia. That means that over 11% of these troops were concentrated in Bogotá for Bush’s four hour visit today, and lets not forget that is in addition to this whopping figure are the 7000 extra police officers.

[jeffrey says "Bush and Uribe: stop the lies!] We just ran next door to catch the Bush/Uribe press conference. Nothing luminous was revealed as much of the same rhetoric was repeated and both politicians not-so-deftly sidestepped any hard hitting questions. Bush praised Uribe and Colombia for ardently pursuing justice in cases of human rights abuses and lauded the provisions of the FTAA and the beauteous aid package that is Plan Colombia II ($3.9 billion over the next seven years). And Uribe responded in kind by calling Colombia the true ally of the US from South America, declaring that his government was committed to routing out terrorism, paramilitarism and narco trafficking. He added that, anyway, most of the serious crimes had been committed prior to his administration’s rise to power over five years ago. The folks we sat with grunted and laughed at these out-right fabrications as they sifted through de-shelled rice while kids ran around outside and horses wandered past. Politicians really do come up with the most boring and predictable horseshit.

Bush took off soon after and headed to Guatemala. Apparently his visits in Brasil and Uruguay had also been met by sometimes violent protests. Bush’s visit to Bogotá marks the first time in years that the US Head of State has ventured to the landlocked capital city. Usually visits to Colombia are held in Cartegena, the storied colonial Caribbean port city, making for easier escape should escape prove prudent. And danger is lurking nearby. Apparently Mr. Bush’s nemesis, my favorite sulfur-smelling President of Venezuela, Hugo Chavez, is touring Latin America at the same time. It seems that crowds gathering for Mr. Chavez are of a much different attitude. I wonder if Mr. Bush can’t help but feel quite the opposite of amañada in Latin America…and I mean that in every defined and colloquial sense of the word.

when it rains it...gets really wet

2007-02-27T18:53:00.000-05:00

Exhausted and hasty, but it needs to be said:
The commemoration trip to Mulatos and Resbaloza was: up hill, sweaty, full of evidence of military presence (including food trash with “Made in USA” labels), really cold at night swinging in our hammocks under a brilliant night sky, a powerful pilgrimage of remembrance. We left on Tuesday around 9am and our group of 68 members of the Peace Community and four international accompaniers arrived in Mulatos around 6pm. Even though we were lucky to avoid rain I, of course, managed to soak my clothes and hammock by not screwing tight my water bottle cap. (As seen here)

The next morning we gathered at the sight of the massacre of Luis Eduardo Guerra, his 9 year old son Deiner and his partner Bellanira Areiza. Now, two years later, a small chapel stands were a commission of Peace Community members and international accompaniers (including FOR) found their bodies. Deiner had been decapitated by a machete and Luis Eduardo and Bellanira killed brutally, also with machete. Luis Eduardo was one of the founders of the peace community and one of the most respected and energetic leaders. At the rememberence service, which fell on Ash Wednesday and 2 years to the hour of the massacre, Padre Javier (who has long accompanied the PC) reminded us all that we are mud, that we are weak. He then marked us with the mud from the river we stood next to, the river by which these three were so brutally and horrifically murded and reminded us that the mud from this river was consecrated with the blood of Luis Eduardo, Bellanira and Deiner. Padre Javier is a Jesuit priest and when I later asked him if he was moved to the theology of liberation beginning with the Medellin Conference in 1968 he said, Oh no, long before then. He brought to that sight not a style of high church, but the highest. In his botas, clean white robe and brightly colored stole, he talked about the experience of true faith and belief in one another as bringing us closer to God. The communion he offered to us was one of true peace and love.

After the moving service we breakfasted and then a smaller group of us started out on the two hour hike up to Resbaloza, a neighboring area where the remaining five people were massacred. We walked straight uphill to arrive at the sight. There was a moment towards the end during which a few of us commented that it didn´t seem possible to go any higher. We arrived at the top of one of the mountains and found a lone house situated near cacao fields. It was a few minutes walk away in these cacao fields in which the family of Alfonso Bolivar was killed. Alfonso, his wife Sandra Milena and his five year old daughter Natalia and his 2 year old son Santiago were also brutally killed with machetes. At the same time Alejandro Perez was also murdered. The murderes buried the bodies in a common grave after severely mutilating them. On this sight again, a small chapel was constructed by the comunity and names and crosses remember the lives so mindlessly lost. Padre Javier lead us through another service of rememberence at this sight as well. A cacao tree grows in the middle of the chapel as the common grave where the bodies were found is ringed with stones.

After the sevice we trekked down the mountain to return to our camping sight and dinner, to rest up and prepare for the long hike home. We left by 7:30, following the Mulatos River back to La Union and San Josecito. On the way back we recieved news of a terrible article that had been published by the Colombian weekly magazine ¨Semana¨. It was directly attacking one of the community leaders, accusing her of decrying violence while having all five children in the FARC. It was the most ridiculous piece of slander ever poorly written. The woman in question was Doña Brigida Gonzalez, who is the main reason I decided to spend this year with the Peace Community. Doña Brigida had flown to the US in November of 2005, when I worked in the San Francisco FOR office, to speak at the annual vigil at the School of the Americas in Ft. Benning, Georgia. I was lucky to be one of her translators and hosts. My first five minutes with this spirited, artistic, articulate and passionate leader was more than enough to convince me that I would soon be headed to San Jose de Apartado. Doña Brigida´s 15 year old daughter was soon after tragically murdered in her sleep while attending a holiday party on December 26th of that same year. This was a case of the Colombian Army, with the help of ¨reinserted¨FARC members, attacking supposed FARC supporters in the middle of the night the day after Christmas. As I walked along the Mulatos River with Brigida this past week we talked about her daughter and the incredible sadness she still carries and the strength with which she feels her daughter´s continued presence.

This article was a crude and almost unbelievable attack, published on line the day before the PC commemorated the massacre of 8 of it´s members, as we were making the long hike there. If you read Spanish and would like to see the disgusting piece you can view it here: http://www.semana.com/wf_InfoArticulo.aspx?idArt=101153
Just yesterday Mireille and I accompanied Doña Brigida and her son and grandaughter to their farm about 40 minutes away from San Josecito. Mireille and I watched as they packed up all of their possessions and most of their chickens into a couple of large burlap bags and displaced. It is not safe for Brigida or her family to be in the more vulnerable out-lying areas right now. As always, Brigida is strength and wisdom, wishing to continue forward in powerful and peaceful resistance.
(Here is a picture of us both at the massacre site in Resbaloza.)

This article also made the broad reaching speculation that it was FARC who were responsible for the Feb 2005 massacre and that FARC supporters were found all over the Peace Community. I hate this article.

This awful news was soon transformed into surprised elation as that same night we found out that the Colombian equivilant of the Attorney General´s office was releasing a report that clearly blamed the 17th Brigade of the Colombian Army (the Brigade operating in our zone) for the Feb 21 2005 massacre. The first reports said 56 soldiers were under investigation, now the number is up to 69. Our teammates in Bogota say everywhere you go, this is the biggest news. Colombian news reports are calling this the most important human rights case in the country. Up in the Peace Community we are reeling. It now is obvious the online smear article was more about discrediting the community via one of its leaders in order to create a bulwark against this newest news.

One of the many articles, for you Spanish readers is found here:http://www.semana.com/wf_InfoArticulo.aspx?idArt=101219

Please note this is from the very same magazine as the first article, ¨Semana¨. Seems they are suffering from a split personality disorder. We have posted a translated article of this (thanks to my teammate Janice) on the FOR Colombia Program Website. Check it out here: http://www.forcolombia.org/news/charges

We just bought the newest print version of ¨Semana¨ and found the article about the State´s findings, entitled simply ¨The Massacre¨. In a country riddled with human rights abuses and frequent masssacres of civilian population, this is quite a powerful distinction. This finding of the Attorney General´s office is only the first step to what will surely be a long and dramatic investigation. But, for the first time in the history of the community, one of its hundreds of human rights violations and over 180 brutal murders has hope of no longer languishing in impunity.

These last couple of weeks have been long and intense. I feel completely alive and completely exhausted. A tense meeting today with the General of the 17th Brigade has left my shaking and angry since walking out of his office hours ago. The US Congress is about to go through its annual ritual of ¨human rights certification¨ for Colombia in order to release the annual aid package. And Bush is set to visit Bogota in the next week.

Admidst all of this I was also lucky to return from our trip last week to the news that one of my oldest and dearest friends, Veronica, had given birth to a her first child, a baby girl named Saniyah Elise McBeth. Congratulations to Veronica and Howard and welcome to the world baby wonder! Thanks for reminding me of all that is good and pure in our world and Auntie AJ will see you soon.

It's a bird, it's a plane, oh, it's a helicopter

2007-02-19T15:59:00.000-05:00

What a week. I lack the energy for eloquent telling of all that has passed but at the same time want to get it out there, so here goes, accompanied by pictures taken from my window or very nearby the caserio or clump of houses that is La Unión.

The excitement continued to build after last Tuesday’s combat. We decided to extend Janice’s stay by a few days and get Mireille back up a day earlier as we continued to wait for confirmation on two involved accompaniments and didn’t think it wise for me to be on my own up here. The next day a helicopter passed overhead a little before 6 am but we were still sound asleep and didn’t stumble outside to see it with our own eyes. But not to worry, we had another chance as around 2pm that same day, my now awake and helicopter-ready ears heard a sound coming from far off. I went outside and quickly saw the little black dot approaching from northeast of the community. I shouted at Janice to get the binoculars and we watched as it came straight towards the caserio. It flew over and then looped around back towards us. We stood frozen to the spot as the big black helicopter once again circled and came straight overhead. My heart dropped as I felt sure something or someone was about to drop out of that bird and onto our heads. My penchant for the dramatic is always best kept in check here, so I did my best not to freak out and the helicopter did another circle and flew off to the south, towards the site of last week’s combat and San Josecito.

This was most likely a US Black Hawk Helicopter. Of course, my only reference points for this are the previews for the movie “Black Hawk Down” and the fact that I know that the US sells these helicopters as part of the Plan Colombia aid package. I’ve heard that in past years more time has been spent in Congress arguing over the number of Black Hawks to be purchased as opposed to real debate on the validity of fueling this war. US involvement on the ground here is actually heavily infused with private contractors to do things like pilot said Black Hawk helicopters. According to the Center for International Policy’s Colombia Program: hundreds of civilians working for private US corporations work with Colombia’s security forces as spray-plane and helicopter pilots, search-and-rescue personnel, mechanics, logistics personnel, radar-site operators and instructors among other duties. Due to concerns over their proximity to the armed conflict, a provision in the 2000 “Plan Colombia” package restricted the number of US Contract Personnel on the ground to 300 while at the same time setting a cap of 500 military personnel. So, there is a good chance that the helicopter hovering over my head was piloted by a fellow US citizen – I might have shouted up to ask his opinion on bubble teams for the NCAA basketball tourney. But I didn’t.

That night we were told that there were about forty military on the path between La Unión and San Jose. A group of men had gone down with a very sick woman from the community – she was so sick she couldn’t mount a horse, so eight men carried her down in a hammock, alternating turns at bearing the load. They left after 9:00 at night and when we caught word of the military’s proximal presence to the community and the path we called up the Brigade to let them know there were civilians on the path late at night. The officer told me that as long as they had flashlights there should be no problem. Not very comforting, if you ask me.

The next morning I had to wake up with the sun to go down in time to meet the arriving Mireille and get to a morning meeting of international NGOs. I didn’t like the prospect of passing lots of men with guns in the early morning dark and by myself, so I waited until the sun was cracking through the dark and started down. I didn’t see any sign of military as I passed by the spot that had been described, although it was still early light at 6:15 and I was practically running down the mountain due to my later start.

When Mireille and I came up later that afternoon we stopped to chat with the older woman who lives nearby where the military had been the night before. We thought we’d ask her if she had seen any sign of their presence. As we chatted with her, one of the consejo members came by on his horse, going back down to San Josecito. I walked over to talk with him about the same thing. He started clearing his throat and sort of throwing his head back up the path. I was apparently having a rather dull moment because it took a few guttural sounds and obvious head tossing for me to pick up that the military were right there in front of me. Slowly what I thought were rather strange looking sticks, turned into well-camouflaged men. Oh. We said our farewells and began our final ascent into the community, first going through these ominous looking files of Colombian army. Most were lining the path, looking attentively towards the clearing and hills that rise up from it. This intent, collective gaze was quite unnerving. Others were partially hidden in the dense trees and others still were scattered further up the path, at least forty in total, easily more. From that point it is about a twenty-minute walk to La Unión and we hurried along up the path.

In the past couple of days the presence has continued but recent details are best not given out. We are headed out tomorrow for the commemoration of the February 21, 2005 massacre of 8 people, including 3 children and community leader Luis Eduardo Guerra. It took place about a 12-hour hike away from La Unión and even though witnesses hold that the Colombian Army carried out the brutal massacre, charges have yet to be filed. This event also served as the impetus for the police post in the village center of San Jose, which in turn displaced all Peace Community Members to San Josecito. Tomorrow we head out for Mulatos, a vereda 8 hours away, and on Wednesday we walk the four hours to Resbaloza, the massacre sight and then back to Mulatos. We’ll spend Thursday coming back. I am sure to be physically and emotionally exhausted but I’m really looking forward to accompanying this rite of remembrance.

There are events organized in the US to be in solidarity with this grim commemoration. FOR along with other NGOs geared towards US policy change on Colombia are trying once again to spark some real debate around the annual US aid package. If you are in DC (and I know that some of you are, ahem, little brother: get thee to this rally) you can join folks in decrying current US policy towards Colombia and encourage them stand up for human rights and non-military social aid as well as to funnel more money into drug treatment programs in the US instead of fighting a “War on Drugs” here in Colombia.

For more info on the noon DC rally: http://www.amnestyusa.org/countries/colombia/colombiarally.pdf

For more info on the National Call-In Day: http://www.forcolombia.org/takeaction/call-in

For more info on the Nobel Peace Prize Nomination:
http://afsc.org/news/2007/2007-Nobel-Peace-Nomination.htm

These are not just ways to be in solidarity with the Peace Community, but also to support the work I am engaged in here. So if you are in DC, pack a lunch and take your hour at the rally. If you are somewhere else, take ten minutes to call your congressperson. I would really appreciate it if you could add your voice to this debate. Thanks in advance.

Will you be mine?

2007-02-14T23:00:00.000-05:00

It took me most of the day to realize it was Valentine’s Day. An email from my dad jolted me back to its plastic chocolate heart box existence. I think more surprising is that half of February is suddenly gone. I didn’t really seem to hear any “Dia de los Enamorados” talk today. We stayed down below in San Josecito last night and early this morning hiked up, passing the “No amarrar” sign on the way out of the casco urbano. Amarrar is Spanish for “to tie up”, as in “don’t tie your horse up to this fence”. Amar is Spanish for “to love”. Today, as on most days, I chuckled at the similarities in the two words.

I was really glad to get back up to La Unión today. Even though my bed bugs have been super hungry as of late, our water source has been cutting off every couple of days and our frequent power outages make me want to recall Gray Davis, a couple of days away feels like a couple days too many. (There should be a picture to the left of me and some of the kids playing dominoes by candle light the other night, an excellent way to pass dark power outtage hours) We hiked down late afternoon on Monday with the intention of staying down below in San Josecito (the piece of land that the Peace Community members displaced to after a police post was installed in the town center of San Jose in April of 2005) and by doing so enjoying some time with our friends and fellow international accompaniers from Peace Brigades International (PBI also accompanies the Peace Community, operating in a different kind of accompaniment model and currently spending 17 days a month in San Josecito). It was also nice to spend some time with the folks that live down there. We went to town the next morning and there got news of combat in the zone. It wasn’t happening in La Unión or San Josecito but in one of the humanitarian zones of the Peace Community a little over an hour’s hike away from San Josecito. Shots were heard and helicopters dropping shots were seen. Luckily, even though the combat happened near the school, no children were studying today and no civilians were hurt. Most troubling is that the school is the publicly designated Humanitarian Zone, or place for people in the scattered houses to head to for safety in the midst of potential combat.

I was enjoying one of my guilty town pleasures/attempt at keeping my body lactose-friendly, an ice cream cone, when my phone rang. Even though we were multi-tasking by eating ice cream at the same time we checked on flight changes for work reasons, as my phone rang and I was told what was happening an incredible guilt immediately set in. Even when I learned that the combat wasn’t happening in LU and realized that our presence would not have deterred the activity, I still realized that I was aching to get back to my home in La Unión. There has been a lot of troop movement around us lately and I simply wanted to be back to the neighbors and friends who have quickly become like family up here; caring grandmothers, crazy aunts, gossip-seeking sisters, annoying younger brothers, little children with something sticky/dirty/or slimy destined to be smeared onto your face/shirt/house.

We waited forever for the chiva to head up. This is the problem with public transportation that leaves and arrives according to amount of people present instead of fixed time schedule. We arrived just as one chiva had left and had to wait for eight more people to arrive and make up the ten people needed to ensure departure. Two hours later, we were finally headed out and as usual, climbed up to the roof of the chiva as we sped up into the hill. (this picture is of me and janice on the top of the chiva) Dust kicked up from the rapidly spinning wheels and coated me, baking into my hair and skin in the still-warm late afternoon sun. We arrived in San Josecito and quickly realized it would be difficult and perhaps dangerous to head up the mountain as night was falling and active guns were afoot. I finally found a cell phone signal and got through to some folks in LU to check in and let them know our plan. I was relieved to know that all things were calm up there.

A second night in San Josecito was filled with some visits from many of the kids and two of the consejo members. An eleven-year-old boy, who I have often greeted in our hasty comings and goings, was the first to wander in. We ended up having an unbelievable conversation. It started out by him saying that when we weren’t there, when PBI wasn’t there his mother was very scared. We continued to talk about his own fear, reflected through that of his mother, for a while. Then somehow we got to a point where I was explaining the concept of solidarity. This really quick kid of course already understood this concept to a certain degree; he just lacked a name for it. We talked about his choice not to play the popular “pistolera” game of kids in the community, It seems kids around the world, no matter what their experience of war, find branches and turn them into guns. My young friend finds this too intense in a community that has such first hand experience with the truth this child’s game reflects. This conversation was really delicate, soft-spoken and sincere. I was captive under its subtle spell until more visitors came through the door and the moment passed.

The hike up in the morning was filled with a dairy-aching stomach. (I refuse, REFUSE, to become vegan here. I don’t even really like animals so I have no real business being a vegetarian and I will not give up cheese, I will not deny my culture). When we got to the house, we dropped our stuff and I ran off to see some folks and find out what news people had. A few seconds later I was laughing with a group of women and wondering at the brazen decision of some of the men the day before to go up to an outlying community even with the heightened presence of soldiers on the path. I shared the women’s frustration at the stubborn men and easily paced myself with their somewhat nervous laughter. As I walked back to our house after exchanging some words about coffee beans and other crops with our next door neighbor, I realized that I have worked my way into being tied up here, into being in love. The similarity of these words in Spanish makes sense to me. And this is not to romanticize folks here in the community. There are problems; of course there are problems. Even people staking out a bold neutral space in the midst of a war zone make mistakes and maintain their human fallibility. But without the distractions of urban life, it is so easy to quickly find yourself tied up to those around you. So, Happy Valentine’s day - May you be as fortunate as I to be tied up to people so imperfect and inspiring.

Nobel Peace Prize Nomination

2007-02-09T21:13:00.001-05:00

Thanks for coming back after my too-long absence. We are still enjoying the perfect verano weather, cooler in the mornings, hot in the day and chilly at night. Of course, my teammate Janice would argue that my version of “chilly” has long been corrupted by Texas living and these last (almost three!) months here. Janice arrived from the Bogotá office a little over a week ago to replace the vacationing Mireille. We attended the same volunteer training last October and it has been really lovely to spend these days with her and introduce her to daily life up here. She has less than a week left for now and then Mireille gets back and what promises to be an absolutely crazy next month will begin. We are preparing for the commemoration of the anniversary of the February 21st, 2005 massacre and then for the 10th Anniversary of the Peace Community, founded March 23rd 1997. Sprinkled throughout are visits from the SF office, new volunteer arrival and other accompaniment petitions. So instead of blogging I have been swinging in the hammock and playing with the kiddies in the swimming hole and accepting tough accompaniment assignments like that of last weekend to the nearby beach for a community outing. I know, I know…my life is incredibly difficult. So, lets get to it, shall we? I’ll be scattering some pictures throughout, although they are taken here in the community, they are completely unrelated to what I’m writing about. So, with no further ado, here is what you need to know:

Peace: Voted Best Hair in High School:
We have just found out that the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó has been nominated for the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize. The nomination just went through yesterday and Janice and I were privileged to tell the consejo and community members today! The American Friends Service Committee, having been awarded the prize themselves in 1947, has the right to wade through the lengthy nomination process and bestow this honor on deserving recipients. AFSC also nominated ACIN (The Association of Indigenous Townships of Northern Cacua), a network of Indigenous communities, numbering about 250,000 people and bound together in nonviolent resistance to the war as it rages in the southern part of the country and threatens lives, livelihood and land. They are widely known for the Indigenous Guard, an inspiring group of 7000 unarmed men and women who offer themselves in defense of the Nasa Indigenous people.

I am incredibly giddy just thinking about the honor of the nomination as well as the good that this international exposure, not to mention, the potential prize money could do for both communities. I’ll keep you posted and will get more details up soon on the nomination.

Strangers on a Chiva:
Last Sunday, Janice and I accepted a petition to go the beach. We woke up before the sun and rambled down the hill to the awaiting hired bus where we joined folks from La Unión and San Josecito to began our hour and a half jaunt to the beach. We stayed for most of the day, community members soaking up sun and surf as Janice and I wisely kept out of the strong sun and instead enjoyed the many available hammocks and wondered at our luck to be able to call such an afternoon work. On our way back, the bus was stopped by Colombian military on the main road towards the community, about five miles away from San Josecito.

One soldier boarded the bus and informed us that we were to submit to a search of bags, IDs and in the case of the men, person. This quickly jolted Janice and I out of our excited reminiscing of the curse reversing World Series. As we disembarked, I caught the eye of one of the consejo leaders, enabling us to have a quick check in about this irregular search. We calmly filed off as Janice and I shifted into our most observant and International selves, no costume change required. I immediately recognized half the soldiers from a chiva ride home about two weeks ago. They had been returning from vacation and sharing the coveted rooftop ride with us. It was a ride I particularly remember as I spent most of it jockeying for rooftop position with the young soldiers and desperately clutching the better positioned Mireille as the chiva sped up and around curves as I laughed at one of my now frequent “There but for the grace of God go I” moments.

The soldiers recognized me too, one even remembering my name and asking after Mireille. He with the good memory turned out to be the commander in charge and while on the phone for most of the search, reassured me a few times that they didn’t need to see our bags or IDs and also asked if everything was going well with the search. I can’t even begin to describe how strange this was. The few times I have been in close and unexpected contact with armed men and the community I have automatically switched into high adrenaline, super-composed Amanda - and this time was no different. But I also realized we seemed to be receiving special treatment because these young men had been flirting with us on public transportation a couple of weeks before. Before starting my year here I thought a lot about how I would deal with the machismo that would most likely affect my work as an accompanier. I had counted on it being an obstacle and instead here it was, unseen, but leading the commander to make sure that all was on the up and up with the random and obviously targeted search his soldiers were under orders to carry out.

While on the chiva with the same soldiers, Mireille and I knew the out of uniform boy-men were military but to see those same smiles camouflaged and punctuated by large guns and official insignia made me ache for the victimization created by obligatory military service. Nothing is simple about this war, this violence. Not like this is any huge revelation, but an “Us vs. Them” dichotomy only takes us so far. The humanity of all sides catches up with you sooner or later. The search ended without incident and we boarded the bus as the commander shouted out a cheerful “Amanda, see ya soon”. I of course did see him soon, as there he was along the main road today as we went down to town; gun swinging off his shoulder and friendly smile mirroring friendly wave. What was there to do but wave and smile in return?

Pirates, Popcorn and Ptwizzlers:
Last night we organized a movie night for the kiddies. With kiddie input we decided on “Pirates of the Caribbean” and went about spreading the word over the last couple of days, creating both expectation and impatience among our young friends. Janice and I set up our small house to best accommodate the laptop viewing and the kids poured in right on time. I had managed to pop some “crispeta” and as each moviegoer entered the house I gave them a Twizzler courtesy of the ever-amazing Kathy Paglia of ODSD fame and recent care package splendor. All was set, until I searched for the subtitles and found them only offered in French. After consulting our guests, we decided to go with it anyway and as I ran to and fro rounding up more kids and arranging some final things Janice began translating lines for the kids. She managed to somehow keep this up throughout the rather long movie as I threw in an “argh” for good measure every once in a while. All in all it was a wild success and one I hope to repeat more often. There have already been requests for Elf, another care package gem from afar (very well done, Brienne, Esquire). And what’s more, I’ve checked and Elf has not only Spanish subtitles, but also a Spanish track. It can’t get much better than that.

Still blogging

2007-02-06T13:26:00.000-05:00

Hello faithful readers,
I have not forgotten about my promise to post regular commentary on my adventures here. Nor have I ceased to have adventures. But I have been struggling with an internet connection that will not connect and the excitement of a new teammate arriving for a couple of weeks to replace the vacationing Mireille. I promise to get to the business of blogging in these next few days. As it happens, you should be thankful for this pause in posts, as I recently reread Jane Eyre and a tragic romantic who fancies herself a writer reading a tragic romance in a tragically romantic location could get a bit, well, annoying.
check back soon!

Water, Water Everywhere...

2007-01-27T22:16:00.000-05:00

We are in the midst of “summer” here. This means no daily rains, high midday temperatures and surprisingly cooler nights. A couple of days ago the water from our faucets cut off. This is nothing unusual. After a heavy rainstorm this often happens. Sometimes the water source is clogged with leaves or sand even without the help of heavy rains. This day without water happened without the aid of rain and on a day tenser than most in the community. The night before, the Colombian army had passed through, on the side of the caserio or clump of houses that is La Unión. I heard the dogs barking like crazy at the strangers trudging through and realized something was amiss. The next morning we were awoken by a couple of the internal council members, letting us know that many troops had indeed passed but some had stayed and set up a mini camp on community property right outside the caserio.

As US citizens you might need to pause and readjust your idea of what this means. If the National Guard suddenly was camping out in your neighborhood you might feel they were doing so in your interest, providing some sort of protection. This is not the case here. The community holds the Colombian military itself responsible for many of the killings they have suffered over the years. The collusion between military and paramilitary forces is widely known and recent testimony by detained paramilitary boss Salvatore Mancuso has finally given official testament to the ties between the legal and illegal armed actors. So for the community, the army is no different than the paramilitary or the guerillas. None are permitted on the private property of the community. Not to mention that the mere presence of one of these groups makes any civilian near them a clear target for any of the other groups. So the sight of the army stringing up hammocks in the cacao field directly behind the last row of houses was a bit disturbing. Usually the community would go talk to the soldiers and politely explain to them the parameters and principles of the Peace Community, but most times this is easier said than done. No matter how peppered with formal niceties one makes such a speech, he who is listening is holding a really big gun.

Around mid morning we were informed that a couple of men from the army had entered through the gate at the edge of the community to the nearest house to ask for water. But we were without water, if you remember, and had been since the day before. Around midday, I was out visiting with folks and doing my best international Nancy Drew when one of the women here (who happens to share my birthday) asked if I would accompany her up to the water source so we could get it flowing back into our pipes. After talking it over with Mireille and an internal council member we decided that Bellanira and I would go and Mireille would stay nearby the phone in case I needed to satellite phone anything in.

So, true to our astrological tendencies, off we went, confident and determined. As we left the community gate, at the edge of the caserio, about 50 feet later I was shocked to see all of the soldiers, sitting and swaying in hammocks in clear sight right there – steps away from the community and still on community property as it extends up and out from the caserio, marked by gates and cultivated fields. Bellanira offered a bold “Buenos Dias” as I kept my mouth shut and kept following her up, up, up until we finally reached the small river from which our water comes. From so high up it doesn’t seem right that a war could be played out in such lush and beautiful surroundings. The task of fixing the stopped up water seems like the only reasonable venture. We got to work as I followed Bellanira’s lead and began to scoop out leaves and dirt from the first small holding tank into which water is funneled.

Here is how it works(pictures on this post aid the following description): Nature provides the downhill flowing river, which is almost an hour, straight uphill, from the community. Two long PVC pipes are then placed in such a way that they are able to catch a constant flow of water, these are held in place by rocks placed firmly by their sides. The piping funnels water into a felled tree trunk that has been canoed out and acts as a sort of open funnel (this lessens the chance that debris could clog this part) to move the water into the first cement holding tank. Water from this tank then flows into more long PVC piping that is suspended across the river by plastic twine (Mireille always calls this stuff “the duct tape of the campo”, a perfect description) tied to overhanging trees. This pipe delivers the water to another small cement tank which then continues on its way down hill through an incredibly long chain of more piping until it reaches a super large cement tank (about a 25 minutes walk up from the community) and once again flows downhill through pipes until it shoots up into our faucet and into our very own cement holding tank. Our tanks are rather deep and next to it is a space to wash laundry and dishes. We scoop water out with dried out calabash-like bowls. For cooking purposes we have a plastic container, which we fill directly from the faucet and allow silt to settle at the bottom and scoop water out from the top. For non-boiling purposes we have a simple and effective filtration system of two plastic containers fashioned together, the top with filters installed in it and the bottom with space for the filtered water and a spigot.

So, to keep all those pipes and plastic containers filled, Bellanira and I spent time scooping those first two tanks clean. Soon the water was flowing faster even though the small river was really low and clearly in need of rainfall. We walked back down, sucking on refreshing cacao beans and chewing on sure-fire cavity inducing raw sugar cane. As we neared the community, the same soldiers were still there and we were quite surprised to open the gate to the caserio to find three soldiers on the porch of the nearest house. As soon as we approached, they left. But not before one of them handed me a flower. This was quite confusing as I’m pretty sure the hippie is supposed to hand the soldier the flower. Once they were out of earshot the guy they had been chatting up told us that they were reinserted FARC members who had been camped out with the FARC just under a year ago in a nearby area. Reinsertados as these folks are called, come from both guerilla and paramilitary forces. They can be really dangerous as they are reinserted for access to their “useful” information, which can sometimes be invented in order to remain useful.

Seeing young men with guns inside the community sent all kinds of bells and whistles to sounding inside my head and gave me my first dose of fear since arriving. I went and got Mireille and we talked with community leaders and decided we would call the brigade to see just what was going on. Mireille made the call while I tried the faucet. No water. Sometimes it takes a while for it start flowing again and it finally sputtered back to bubbling life about an hour later. As the sun was setting the troops packed up and headed back down, through the community, towards town. A collective sigh of relief was heard and I went home from visiting and took a shower.

Today the water is back off. This is expected as yesterday we had a crazy downpour in the afternoon. Just as the chiva pulled up to San Josecito to let me off the sky opened up and began to soak the dry earth. I waited for about a half hour and then decided that, as I was making the hike for the first time alone, it was better to do so in the daylight downpour than in the night. So, with folks from San Josecito questioning my sanity, I took off for La Unión, my already heavy pack getting heavier as it sopped up the torrential downpour. At first I emptied out my rubber boots as soon as they filled up to avoid stepping with the excess weight, after a while I tired of that and just slodged ahead, realizing it was no longer possible to be any wetter. The mountain path that had been so dry for the past many weeks was suddenly changed into a mini rapid-ridden river and more than once it threatened to carry me away, back downhill. The three river crossings that had barely covered the toes of my boots the day before had suddenly surged and now hit me at mid thigh. As I slowly but surely continued my determined ascent I couldn’t help but laugh out loud almost the entire walk. I mean, how did I reach this particular life moment? Walking through a conflict zone, on a path that military forces were currently using, by myself in a thunder-and-lightening rainstorm. I was laughing so hard at one point I had tears streaming down my face alongside the huge drops of rain that were quickly turning me into a prune.

Just as I reached the second to last gate of the community, the rain suddenly stopped. This is when I laughed the hardest. About two football fields away from home and the sky cleared and the biblical-seeming rain stopped. And now, of course, that the rivers beds are not bone dry, we have no water. Apparently though, we are not in danger of an extra dry summer season. Some folks told us that this past week was some form of campo Ground Hog Day. It was described by a word I can’t remember and the tradition says that if no rain was received at some point on the 24th of January, we would have no rain for the rest of the summer season. That evening we had a light rain, so apparently we are not in danger of drought. It is still early on in my stay here but I have already developed a much deeper appreciation of water.

Cows, Coffee, Chocolate and Corruption

2007-01-19T12:47:00.000-05:00

Life continues to be full of new discoveries and a growing feeling of comfort and ease even as we see and hear about large amounts of Colombian military passing near the community. There are adorable children everywhere who can’t get enough of Mireille and I tossing and twirling them around. They are continually amazed by pressing the button on my watch that illuminates the face in a satisfying green for about 3 seconds. There are well worn paths all over the community that lead to fields and cultivations that I slowly coming to know with my own eyes. There are fresh cacao and coffee beans to be bought from folks here, shelled and ground into addictively seductive and rich brown substances. The Colombian government continues to be full of scandal and political maelstrom as the true face of the unabashedly named Law of Justice and Peace, created to aid the demobilization process of paramilitaries, is finally unveiled in all of its ironic grandeur to the public at large. Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh My! Allow me to share some thoughts:

Holy Cow:
Last week we played some soccer with the kids on the field that is cleared for play in between houses and the swimming hole. Recently a goal has been built out of bamboo, it looks more like a field goal post and doesn’t have a net so as to deny the would-be-scorer of the satisfying swish as the ball finds the back of the net, but it more than serves its purpose. The goal at the other end has yet to be built so we chose some appropriately distanced rocks and got to the business of soccer. The most dangerous part of the game was the multitude of cowpies that decorated the field. I hail from rural America so the smell of such natural and rich fertilizer is a familiar, comforting smell, but I have never played on a pitch so covered in crap. Each pile of steaming excrement was like an extra defender. The purveyors of said obstacles have recently been roaming around the community and have sufficiently freaked me out at night at least twice. Theirs is a gait different than the horses and pigs and chickens that routinely roam around; and in the sometimes-eerie quiet of night, I can easily confuse them for malevolent people creeping past our wooden house.

Coffee and Chocolate:
Last week we bought some coffee beans and cacao beans from some of our neighbors here in the community. The dried out beans must be toasted, then shelled then toasted again and finally ground. What could be a tedious task quickly becomes a process that involves lots of visiting and chatting. The coffee beans don’t need an initial toasting and are first shelled by asking our next-door neighbor to use her large version of the mortar and pestle. We dump the coffee beans in and start pounding away. This is a lot harder than it seems it should be and harder yet for out of practice gringos. We mashed up the hard little beans and then, to separate the shells from the amazingly whole beans, we used the slight breeze to our advantage by pouring the beans and shells from one container to another, allowing the wind to blow away the lighter shells as the beans fall into the receptacle. The beans are then toasted by our grandmother figure here, Doña Lola. Once toasted the same Doña Lola looks on with her crinkly eyes and loving smile as we use her large hand grinder to transform the coffee beans into aromatic splendor. Coffee beans are not oily like the cacao beans and we found it surprising difficult to grind them, as visions of electric grinders floated through our minds.

The coffee grown here is not as rich and dark as the coffee from further south in the same department, Antioquia, where the mountains are higher and more conducive to the famous, rich Colombian coffee. Not much is grown here as it doesn’t fetch a very good price. But I like the smoother taste and there is something amazing about drinking a hot cup of caffeine that comes from the organic coffee fields that lay just up the way from the community. I think it is worth noting that the famous Juan Valdez has retired and been replaced this past year. While reading “Semana”, Colombia’s version of Newsweek/Time I came across a blurb about the switch over. The Coffee Growers Federation elected a 40-year-old Antioquian campesino named Carlos Castañeda out of an applicant pool of 406 aspiring icons. He replaces Carlos Sánchez, the Juan Valdez we have known and loved over the last four decades, and will soon set off on a world tour, I’m unsure if the donkey has also been replaced. I had no idea that there was an actual man out there traveling the world and promoting Colombian coffee, I thought it was just a picture on a coffee can.

href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_yStaSbbyErY/RbEHsashj5I/AAAAAAAAAFo/J50gmb8r2GU/s1600-h/desgranando.jpg"> While I am rather confident there is no living caricature for Colombian chocolate, cacao does go through a similar production process. I showed a picture of the beans in their shells earlier on this blog – they are covered in a citrus tasting membrane and plucked out of their yellow-orange pods and then dried on roofs here, specially designed for such a process. Before shelling the cacao by hand, (as we are doing in this picture) the beans need to be roasted, and then the somewhat long process of shelling can begin. This is where folks stop in for a visit before long we have many hands helping the process along as we get to enjoy visitors to our house. Then it is back to Doña Lola’s where she roasts the beans for us, heats up her grinder and then we get to grind the beans into this fantastic paste of rich and bitter fresh chocolate. We then add in some panela (pressed raw sugar cane juice) and nuts to make chocolate bars that are simply delicious.

Corruption and Government, synonyms in any language:
I hear that President Bush has figured out how to fix the humanitarian disaster we have created in Iraq by sending in more troops. I am not surprised. The US has been “helping” Colombia in the same manner for years. We were lucky to attend a community workshop this past weekend given by a human rights lawyer on the International Criminal Court. Forever the nerd, I was fascinated, took furious notes and had about a million questions to ask. The lawyer spoke about the creation, the advantages and disadvantages of the court and the status of the community’s case with the ICC. At one point he referred to the US as a “bad neighbor” who instead of throwing water on the burning house that is Colombian, elects to throw gasoline. At the end we also talked about the aforementioned “Ley de Justicia y Paz” that was established to provide a legal and just way to demobilize illegal armed forces. According to the government, paramilitary demobilization has been achieved, never mind that the commanders are unpunished and the troops themselves have been reformed into new groups all over the country. Here in our zone, the Aguilas Negras now roam where the Bloque Bananero once controlled and terrorized.

The first of detained paramilitary leaders to give official testimony, Salvatore Mancuso, has so far listed 336 people whom he had ordered killed or kidnapped. He has named Colombian military men as complicit in many of these killings and massacres and said that his group had a monthly budget of $400,000 to pay off Colombian police and military. This official testimony serves to corroborate the obvious links between paramilitary and military forces. However, the men Mancuso has named are already dead or imprisoned. It remains to be seen if any active military commanders will be accused in his continued testimony or if Mancuso follows through on his insinuation that he will name politicians. This comes on the heels of the Supreme Court’s orders to arrest three current members of congress for ties to the paramilitary while six more remain under investigation. This was a major scandal as the year ended and was accompanied by the continuing scandal involving the former head of DAS (the Colombian FBI) who has been implicated in crimes of collusion with paramilitary leaders, taking bribes and making deals to personally benefit his financial gain.

Mancuso’s testimony continues to be carefully monitored by victims and victims’ advocates. Under the “Justice and Peace Law” Mancuso is eligible to receive a maximum sentence of eight years for all the horrific crimes he claims responsibility for as well as remain safe from extradition to the US for narcotrafficking charges. Eight years! And he has already listed 336 people he was directly responsible for killing! This is indeed an interesting form of justice. As “Semana” said in its year end issue, “If corruption had a face, it would easily be the best candidate for the magazine’s Person of the Year”.

Here is a picture of non-corruption...our entire team while on retreat in Medellin, celebrating 25 years of Mireille. From left to right, Janice, me, Mireille, Gilberto. Janice and Gilberto man our outpost in Bogota, and Gilberto is soon to leave us for other adventures.

My mom is the greatest

2007-01-07T14:58:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to the woman who gave me life! The Spanish for “to give birth” is “dar a luz” which literally means, “to give into light”. How beautiful is that? There have been two new babies given to the light in the community over the holidays. And on this day I am thinking about my own dear mom and the miracle of motherhood. Women are the pillars of this community. For example, the houses are referred to by using the woman’s name, not that of her partner. In part this results from the many men who have been killed by armed actors, leaving behind the women to raise their children and continue on with the process of the community. It also seems to me that the women are just very steadfast in their devotion to caring for their extended families. The older women also serve as the historians of the community. Their accumulated history is not detached and objective, but full of personal pain and loss alongside testimonies of survival and tales of joy. Great grandmothers wake up early to prepare the morning meal, wash clothes in the hot afternoon, cut and carry firewood to stoke the fire over which they cook the evening meal; all the while caring for their children’s children and finding time to share their stories with curious internationals. I suddenly find myself surrounded by the careworn faces and kind souls of grandmothers who embrace the “gringa gorda” as one of their own.

Yesterday we hiked up to visit with one of the amazing women of this community who told us that she was the first to decide to move further up the mountain. It took us a little over an hour to get there, a steady to steep incline the whole way, two of the young guys leading us. As we neared her house we walked up through banana, coffee, cacao and bean fields as the temperature seemed to drop and the fresh wind picked up and made the heat more bearable. Once I caught my breath and turned around I was greeted with an absolutely incredible view. I didn’t take my camera but I’m not sure if it would be able to capture the sweeping valley that unfolded below and the steep mountain that continued above. A view full of different greens and speckled with those tall and thin mountain trees, the leaves of which flatten out on top, reaching side to side, but are stunted in vertical growth by the constant wind. The woman we visited with told us how the military often passes by on the nearby ridge and the paramilitaries are just on the other side of the mountain crest. We spent most of the day there as she cooked us an amazing meal and told us that her husband was killed 11 years ago, that she had been threatened by the military and accused of helping the guerillas, that she had given up being afraid of death as it is not a surprise that any of us are going to die someday. We played dominoes for hours and finally left as night began to fall.

When we were leaving the community that morning for her house people asked us where we were headed. “Oh,” they would respond, “her house is just p’aca, just over here”. This is said in response when asked the location/distance of just about anything. I am finally beginning to learn that “just over here” or “really close by” could mean anywhere from next door to a couple hours away. The non-specificity of this campesino life is really amazing. People are always leaving “ahorrita” or “right now” and that could mean, in this moment or hours later. Mireille told me that when she first got here she didn’t get why Paul (the teammate I replaced) was always speaking in such generalities: “We’re just going right over there and we’ll leave around right now”. I find myself easily slipping into the vernacular. When playing dominoes yesterday, a game my grandfather taught me, I found myself responding to Mireille’s question about the reason the game starts with a double domino by saying, “Because that’s how it starts”, as our friends from the community echoed my articulate explanation.

Besides the vernacular, the solutions for common problems are also priceless. Two nights ago I went over to the other house (we sleep/work in one house and have a kitchen in the other) to make dinner. I was surprised to find a full on invasion of ants. They were absolutely covering the walls and floor, streaming in from every window, every crack and crawling up my legs. I was a bit overwhelmed, shouted for Mireille and soon we had enlisted the aid of one of the young guys. He began tossing water everywhere, until we had dead ants floating all over. (In my head I was humming the BC marching band’s show-stopping piece from our college days: music from the hit motion picture: ANTZ! Ok, I wasn’t really, I just wanted to throw a little something out to my BC girls). We cleaned up the soggy mess of insect and so far we have been sparred from further attack.

Yesterday was the “Dia de los Reyes” or the Day of the Kings. You know, gold, frankincense and myrrh, we three kings of orient are. In some places in the Americas this means a “king cake” with a tiny, plastic baby Jesus hidden inside. Once, on a college immersion trip to Mexico, I was the lucky one to almost choke on the plasticized Emmanuel. This supposedly meant I was to return and host the party the next year. I didn’t. (Sorry baby Jesus) Here in the community it meant….wait for it…a DANCE! Although the dance was much smaller and not quite as lengthy. Mostly it was a night in which the kids were running around like I have never before seen. We were chasing kids, playing hide and seek with kids, tossing kids in the air, swinging kids in the air and, as energy waned, sitting around with kids on our laps, at our sides, passing stories back and forth. One of the older girls challenged me to an exchange of rhyming limerick-like verses. Now, normally this is totally my bag, I am quite adept at the rhyme in my native tongue, ala the “Princess Bride”: Stop this rhyming now I mean it. Anybody want a peanut? But I have a long, long way to go in Spanish. Not to mention the fact that she was simply reciting verses that everyone seemed to know while I was inventing them on the spot. I got at least a few rounds of applause, so I think I held my own. It was a really pleasant night with a cool breeze and a growing sense of familiarity and ease with this place, these people. I feel blessed to have been given into this light by my mom.

Happy my mom’s birthday to everyone!

all that´s fit to print

2007-01-04T10:27:00.000-05:00

invierno, gone
bright shines the oppressive sun.
i really miss cheese

Who Needs Times Square? We've got choclo!

2007-01-01T14:42:00.000-05:00

It is 11:36 in the morning, new years day, and the music is still playing. People are still dancing. I have still not fallen asleep since leaving the dance around 3 last night. I am not so in love with the community right now, as the dance was once again in the building next door, meaning that the music has been shaking our house since last night at 6pm.

Actually the fact that there are still people dancing is a reason to be completely in love with the community. There are still people dancing! Last night Norbey and I dazzled with our cunning display of agility, grace and ability to cover the entire dance floor in only 10 hops. I've also decided, upon further observation, that the dancing to vallenato music is of the bobble head variety. You know those things they give out at baseball games? That's what the hip shake/bored face dance ends up looking like. Fantastic.

Some folks from the community had put together “el Año Viejo” the day before. A “man” stuffed with dried banana leaves and dressed up with clothes from community members. At midnight one of the older girls read a poem she had composed to say farewell to 2006. It was a long piece full of clever couplets about folks in the community. Mireille and I even had a couplet and it felt really special to be included. They set el Año Viejo on fire and folks gathered around to watch him burn as everyone wished happy new year to everyone else with a hug and a kiss. There was a really happy and carefree feeling in the air. As the well wishing continued and the Año Viejo burned, the consejo leader and his wife handed out buñuelos and natilla. Buñuelos are sort of like donut holes, only made from special buñuelo flour and cheese then fried into delicious goodness. Natilla is the special holiday treat of Colombia. It’s a custard-like treat with cinnamon and cheese and milk and some other things I can’t remember. The community made at least 654 pounds of it yesterday and since Mireille is a vegan the portion they gave to both of us earlier in the day was really for me to eat.

Other than the natilla and buñuelos, I managed to eat mostly things made only from fresh corn on the cob, or choclo. We were fed mazamorra de choclo, colada de choclo, torta de choclo and arepa de choclo. The torta was the most surprising as it was almost exactly the corn fritter I know and love from home (especially from Eat ‘n Park, Erin remember me eating a dish of them this fall?). The mazamorra is like a corn soup made only of corn, some whole kernels, mostly ground kernels. Colada is the water that runs off when grinding up the corn. And arepa is the Colombian tortilla, but arepa de choclo is really big and thick and more like corn bread than tortilla. All in all, delicious. (All the corn reminded me at lot of V and her 5th grade “state” costume.)

Point is, it was good to work off some of the days eating with dancing. And since the same 15 songs are played in constant rotation, I really felt that I truly knew and understood the music this time around. We left the dance around 3 but knew that we weren’t going to get to sleep for some time so we popped in a movie that we rented at this place in town that charges about 50 cents for a movie. Of course, they are all burned so it’s a coin toss to see if they actually play in my computer. But, it worked and based on Brie’s suggestion we watched “GOAL!!!!” and she is right, it is my new favorite movie ever. It’s not just the mediocre acting and the swelling melodramatic musical moments that merit my adoration but also that it includes an undocumented Mexican immigrant, a Scottish man, soccer and the message of the importance of family, teamwork and overcoming all odds to achieve your GOAL!!!!, plus a love story. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

Today folks in the community have already killed a turkey and I have given wheelbarrow rides to two of the boys, only tipping them out once. It is another scorcher and the music continues to play. Happy new year to you and yours! I hope that 2007 is a year filled with laughter, love, corn on the cob and cheesy sports movies.

De Polvo Eres

2006-12-30T20:43:00.000-05:00

A couple of days ago Mireille and I accompanied the community as they exhumed bodies from the cemetery in the casco urbano of San José (where they were displaced from in April of 2005). We woke up early to go down, being passed or joined by many from La Unión on the way down. Upon arriving in San José we headed straight to the cemetery by walking up a steep hill that leads up to the police post. The police post, installed in April of 2005 in response to the Feb 2005 massacre, is the reason the community displaced to San Josesito. The hill then heads down a bit and the cemetery is hidden from the town center but in plain view of the police post, a point amplified by the guns that were constantly trained on the community as the exhumation commenced.

This is the start of a very long process. The community has suffered over 150 deaths since its’ founding in 1997, there are many remains to locate and move. They plan to move them to the memorial that is being constructed in San Josesito. A large and grim task as people have been laid to rest all over the veredas. (If you need extra clarification for any unfamiliar words please refer to the “Allow myself to introduce myself…er my surroundings” post). It is made more complicated by the lack of headstones for many of the deceased. This leads to family members trying to remember which tree or bush was near the grave. And always-changing vegetation further complicates the task.

As the first coffin was located and the remains were pulled out, adults and children crowded around to see who had been found. They had been hoping to unearth Fernando Aguirre, a community leader and the former partner of one of the women from La Unión, she stood over the plastic bag as her son, too young to remember his assassinated father, stood nearby watching. The Priest who has been with the community since its’ founding and who now works out of Bogotá was present to preside over the remains. He began to separate bones from clothes and other material. It was decided that this was not the body of Fernando Aguirre, but Elkin David Tuberquia. His mother stood to the side, clearly affected by the surprise of being confronted with her son’s remains

Nearby another body was located, this time the person with the shovel was the 15 year old son of the assassinated man. He was another community leader named Anibal Jimenez, killed by the Paramilitaries in 1999. Again, the priest sorted through the remains and Anibal was identified by his clothing. Community leaders also unearthed the remains of a third man, Fernando Espinoza, a leader assassinated by the Guerilla in 1997. Towards the end of this process a police commander came into the cemetery to ask what was going on and who had authorized it. Mireille and I and two accompaniers from Peace Brigades International (they accompany San Josesito 2-3 nights a week) collapsed on the police, priest and community present. The priest and one of the leaders answered questions and reminded the police that this cemetery was private property of the Peace Community. The police, machine guns hanging at their side, wrote down names, radioed something in and finally left.

Already past noon, the community gathered the remains and headed down the road to San Josesito. Folks cleaned up and gathered in the main kiosk in the late afternoon. The priest then presided over a ceremony, which included a re-consecration of the remains, the baptism of 2 children and the first communion rite of 10 young girls and one young boy. In his short homily he focused on the juxtaposition of life and death within the peace community. In front of him were four wooden boxes with the remains of assassinated community members, the families of the baptized children and 11 youth, dressed up in white with looks of excitement on their faces. Never has juxtaposition needed less articulation.

After the youth received their first communion, we processed out to the field where the monument will be built and the remains were buried once again, this time in the heart of San Josesito. The painted rocks that bear the names of all those martyred from the community lay nearby, a colorful testimonial to remembrance and a grim display of the many sacrifices suffered.

The next day I was chatting with one of the women who I spend time with each day. Two of her brothers were killed in the La Unión massacre in 2000. She said she couldn’t help but think of how strange it is that people are reduced in death to bones that fit into a small plastic bag, a small wooden box. The bible rings true, she said, we do indeed return to dust…

time to gather round the festivus pole

2006-12-25T16:16:00.000-05:00

The community had a Christmas dance last night. The music system was “tested” for just about the entire day. This was especially thrilling because the building the dance was in lays directly across the way from our house. Last night we danced inside this concrete building with three windows. Usually the community dance is in the kiosk because it is bigger and without, well, concrete, making the heat created by dancing less relevant. But there is fear of inviting an attack by armed actors by providing a very visible target and so this puts us inside the much more intimate concrete building.

Vallenato is, of course, the mainstay, mixed in with some regaton, guasca and occasional ranchero. It beats out a 2/4 rhythm and in between each verse is a solo accordion riff. Couples trace out small circles, then turn the other direction, her arms around his neck, his arms just below her hips. Some of the most entertaining men look away from their partner, towards the floor while not quite placing their hands on their partners’ back. This type of seeming disinterest is comical given the extreme closeness of the partners, definitely no room for the Holy Spirit. Kids ring the dance floor sitting in chairs, smaller kids on their laps. Earlier after the nightly posada reached its grand finale, the kids had their own dance party. A group of girls would go to the center of the floor (in front of the manger scene they all created with construction paper and palm fronds) and then some boys would spring up and grab a girl, creating a replica in miniature of the swinging hips and studly grace as couples dance hip-to-hip in oh-so-close rhythmic embrace. The moment the music stops, both parties look in the opposite direction, never at each other, and walk towards the nearest wall or exit.

This is my second such dance, although the first was in the cooler environs of the kiosk. Unfortunately, I created a bit of a legend for myself by somewhat keeping up with the energetic Norbey who pulled me onto the dance floor and proceeded to bounce around in such ways that I only matched by practically doing double-dutch jump roping hops. And I don’t know how to double-dutch. I wore, as did Mireille, a santa hat with my name on the white brim in green sparkle. I also had on a brown tank top that was wet under the armpits from my, em, bathing attempt just before we left the house. And wet pants. Everything else I could wear was hanging soaking wet on the line. The pants were only mildly wet. It has been raining for two days and nothing is dry. So I’m already damp from the hips down and on the sides of my torso. And I’m the sweatiest person you have ever met.

The moment Mireille and I approach the building, Norbey spots us, offers up his arms, leads us inside, twirls me into his arms and the crazy hop dance begins. But only for a second, as he actually calms down to dance the more restrained small circles of the vallenato. Of course, our hips are still moving wildly – in ways that my hips were just not born to move. My hips were born to body check girls on the soccer field or slam shut car doors, not to find rhythm in this constant 2/4 beat of music. What’s more, I’m on average 5 inches taller than most willing dance partners. This means that, due to the proximity required in such a dance, I am trying my hardest with each bounce not to knee the nice man in the crotch. This is infinitely challenging, especially when at times the nice man’s sombrero is poking me in the eye with every other bounce and breaking my concentration. And harder yet when the nice man is saying how much he likes tall gringos and how beautiful my eyes are. So the nice man has his hands on my wet hips and I have my knee in prime position to put him in a great deal of pain. Plus, while I can hang as the circle turns me to the right, I loose all sense of rhythm the moment we switch back to the left. Holy Zoolander! I’m not an ambi-turner. After about six dances in a row, each one increasingly sweaty, I ducked outside to the safety of obscurity. One of the older women allowed me to hide a little behind her and when the next dance began I am safe, at least for 4 minutes. We left the dance around 1 am, but the dance did not stop until 6:30 in the morning, an unescapable fact given the music bouncing through my on-again off-again attempt at sugar-plum fairy slumber.

This is not to say I didn’t thoroughly enjoy myself. Celebrations here in the community are joyous and well deserved.

Today, the sky remains covered in grey clouds. Mireille and I are worried about the obvious signs of global warming. It is supposed to be the hot, dry season right now. Folks have said that more rain will surely harm the cacao. And at home, my parents tell me there is no snow and it has been quite warm. But it is the birthday of the niño Jesus, so such worries can be saved for another day. Instead we are lucky to have a constant stream of visitors including the kiddies, who have caught on to our “come visit us and we’ll give you candy” trick of the day. It seems to be working.

For those of you that celebrate Christmas, I wish you a very merry day of renewal and relaxation and tasty treats. Someone find some snow (if it still exists) and build a snowman for me, ok?

Celine Dion Ruins the Moment....Again.

2006-12-20T21:03:00.000-05:00

So much can happen in one day that I realize I must be better at sharing what I experience on a more regular basis. That is, after all, why I decided to do this work – I feel a real responsibility to share the privileged insight it provides. Of course, the days go by filled with little interruptions, as now, two of my favorite brothers have wandered in. They urge me to put aside my computer and instead explore the fantastic possibilities of the granola that is on the table next to the hammock I’m currently resting in, trying to get over the nasty nasty bacterium that has kept me feverish, without appetite and a bit delirious for the past few days. I am glad for the visit as I haven’t felt up to doing much else than lay in the hammock. I am beginning to feel a bit disconnected from the community. Here's a photo from a week or two ago of the younger of the brothers, he loves the camera.
The brothers have left after a long visit and now back to the task at hand. After we pulled ourselves out of the topographical map that was the mountains just north of Medellín, we spent a couple of days in the city itself visiting with some of the other groups we provide accompaniment for as well as celebrating Mireile’s 25th birthday. Our first stop was to the Red Juvenil de Medellín (Youth Network of Medellín). The Red has a large house that provides space for offices, meetings, and creative pursuits and always seems to be full of revolutionary and inspiring activity. We said hellos and did introductions with everyone that was around and then headed out with two of the members to meet with Claudia Montoya, a human rights lawyer connected to the Red who had just days before been released from jail.

Claudia had been arrested on charges of rebellion and treason and government conjured witnesses said she had been seen dressed as a guerilla. In reality, Claudia’s only crime was representing social justice workers in a country that doesn’t see such work as a true priority. Soon three of the five witness were proven to be false and Claudia was finally released to house arrest where she waits out the judicial process which legally should last six months but has lasted much longer in many other cases. Meeting with her in her home, 4 days after her release, as her sister and nieces sat with us was surreal. In her early thirties and soft-spoken, she was lucky to have the legal training necessary to not be taken advantage of hile inside the prison system. Punitive justice is harsh in any country, but in one with an ongoing civil conflict it does not bode well to be labeled a dissident.

Thanks to a decent support network and even some international pressure, Claudia was released. Her case will continue to be closely monitored by human rights groups, including FOR. When I asked her if she would return to the same work, she gave me a tired smile and told me that it might be some time before she has the energy to return with the same vigor, but that she hopes to, some day. As for the members of the Red, they said that Claudia’s nighttime surprise arrest has them all a bit on edge. When they are engaged in late-night planning sessions, they jump at the smallest outside noise. The threat of false arrest is a constant fear for those involved in such work here in Colombia.
The next day, at my insistence, we took a ride in the “Metro Cable” which is a kind of gondola that goes from the outskirts of the Medellín valley straight up the mountain towards the poorer neighborhoods of the city. (I’ll try and attach a photo) It is part of the city’s metro system, an aboveground light rail system that continues to expand. This allows at least one more accessible corridor for the some of the less privileged residents of the city. Of course, as with any development, the houses and buildings that lay in the path of the suspended cable car were demolished. Progress comes not without its price.

We got off the metro at the Candeleria Church to stand with the Madres de la Candelaria, a group of mostly women who have had family members disappeared and also murdered by armed actors in the civil conflict. These women meet each Wednesday in front of the large Catholic church; roll out large banners that have color photos, names and date of disappearances. All of the photographs are of people who belong to the women that are there. They stand together, many with photos also hanging off neck lanyards, and chant together for the hour. My three teammates and I stood there in our FOR shirts and our obvious gringo posture and attempted to take in what these women were bearing witness to. Very quickly, I noticed a woman among the many photographs named Juanita Betancaur who was disappeared on my 23rd birthday.

The leader of the Madres gave me a quick hug as I introduced myself and then asked me to talk to a local reporter about our accompaniment. I found myself thrown into my first attempt to give a non-specific interview in Spanish, as FOR accompaniers we do not give opinions on events happening in Colombia. If you know me, you would be right to think that this particular type of restraint is a challenge and one I struggle with. I was immediately taken aback by the reporters correct pronunciation of my last name (usually I get “Hack”) and as the quick interview finished I was approached by a woman who wanted to thank us for our accompaniment.

I asked her name as we were enveloped in the larger group and she began to tell me the story of how her son was disappeared 17 years ago. Her family was also living in Segovia at the time of the horrific and indiscriminate paramilitary massacre of civilians in the late 80s. They displaced after the massacre and soon after her son was taken. Eight years ago, her daughter went out to run some errands and was never seen again. The remaining family displaced again, this time to Medellín, where she found the Madres. Our arms wrapped around one other as she, about a foot smaller causing me to bend down to better hear every word, told me what details she could bear to share. As I stood there, hunched over and shaking with silent tears, I would occasionally look up and feel overwhelmed with the realization that everyone standing as part of this large group has been directly affected by the widespread violence. Mothers, grandmothers, daughters, sisters and a few fathers and brothers, all crying out in unison for justice.

Even though many of their loved ones had been disappeared for years, the pain was evidently fresh and made new with every gathering. It seems that reopening that wound every Wednesday is perhaps one of the best ways to keep their loved ones alive, the moment the pain starts to fade into acceptance is the moment hope is maybe lost. When the hour was complete, the women began to roll up their many banners and invited us back to their nearby office. At the office they showed off their newest form of recognition, the Colombia Peace Prize for 2006, as well as did quick introductions of all the women in the room. Each woman stepped forward, gave her name and the name and date of her disappeared or murdered loved one. This too kept stinging tears running down my face. I, who have been so lucky to be rather unfamiliar with loss, now feel privileged to have these women present their stories and invite us into their process of grief, healing, action and ultimately, hope.

After our time with the Madres, we wandered back towards our hotel, stopping in at the Church of the Candelaria on the way. We lit some candles for the Madres and their loved ones and then I slipped off into a pew to sit with the emotion of the day. I found myself in truly deep prayer/meditation for some time, until outside in the square, the Indigenous Wooden Flute player that seems ubiquitous to all places I have been (from the Boston T station to Austin supermarkets) jarred me out of my reflection by deciding to grace us with his melodic interpretation of the Celine Dion Titanic hit “Our Love Will Go On”. Nothing kills a prayerful mindset quite like it.

The next day we made the winding and long bus ride back to Apartadó. In the days since arriving we’ve made a few hikes up and down the mountain for meetings in the city and in San Josecito. And now I am incapable of much more than laying in this hammock and trying my feverish best to recount the remarkable ways in which people continue to struggle for justice while inviting strangers to share in their struggle.

get IN the map

2006-12-13T17:04:00.000-05:00

We just got back fom a retreat with the Bogotà team. We stayed at a friend´s farm outside of Medellìn. The view from the 100 year old house was out of control. I felt like I was in a topographical map.

Light one candle

2006-12-08T17:54:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the official start of the Christmas season here in Colombia. Families light candles, which in Catholic communities is to honor the Virgin Mary, and in all Colombian communities is done to celebrate the "Illuminación" and the start of the holidays. La Unión is not very Catholic or even Evangelical, but candles were lit nonetheless. One of the older men in the community was explaining his religion to me as the enjoyment of music. He said the rhythms and strains of a guitar get him as close to heaven as he has ever been. Many campesinos, as he did, felt abandoned by the Catholic church in the early days of La Violencia and into the current conflict as the hierarchy overwhelmingly sided with the conservative and wealthy power holders. There have been, of course, many priests also dedicated to the people, preaching a theology of liberation but the rift in some communities has yet to heal and religious practices are noticeably absent. Regardless, the warm light of candles on the front stoops and windows of small houses, aided by a clear night allowing the bright moon to do it's part of the illumination stoked the feeling of comfort that is daily growing inside of me.

Today is a national holiday and although we are in town to run errands that include trips to the bank, post office and Electric Company, all we have found are closed signs and lots of candle wax on the sidewalk, a sign of last nights candle lighting. People were selling candles all over the streets today in Apartadó making the bustling informal economy full of more bustle. The informal economy here really is quite impressive. You don´t need a cell phone because you can buy cell phone minutes on the street. There is at least one table on every corner selling minutes for the equivalent of about 25 cents. Today, because I have yet to receive my Colombian ID card from the bureaucracy-laden government (some things are common the world over) I made a ID-sized copy of my passport and got it laminated at the table that said "se plastifica". About a dollar later I had a very official looking passport ID card. Other tables sell fruits, freshly caught fish, bags, ponchos, hats, sandals, candies, jewelry, and the list goes on.

The heavy rains seem to be slowing down here and our walk down the mountain to town was not as muddy as it has been nor was the river as raging. It is also quite possible that I am finally adjusting to this new life and so things do not seem quite as hyperbolic. I think, however, that they will remain awe-inspiring as I can't imagine ever being able to take in all that I am experiencing and find it commonplace.

The kids have been loving the digital camera that the too-generous Wesolek´s got for me. The ability to instantly see the photo that has just been snapped is a curiosity to children and adults alike and a chorus of "Show me, Amanda, show me!" follows the snap of every picture. And for my part, I love, love, love, being able to share photos of my experiences over the information superhighway. Kudos to Al Gore for the great invention. More importantly, I´m forever grateful to to the Wesoleks for the thoughtful and useful gift of the camera!

Invierno, Cacao and Living with Violence

2006-12-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

It is hard to imagine that it has only been two weeks since I arrived in the community. Time is at once creeping and speeding by. My teammate Mireille continues to recover from malaria, keeping us from traipsing off on too many adventures. The “invierno” or heavy rains continue almost every day. The heat builds here as the sun rises higher in the sky; clothes put on the line at 1:00 are dry by 1:15. The rain seems to come around 3:00 everyday and leaves a cool, fresh breeze in its wake. We have been completing my training in this last week, going over security protocols, evacuation procedures, important events in the community’s history, our agreements with the Internal Council. I have also kept busy with the everyday tasks that seem to take just a little bit longer here. Washing clothes by hand, cooking every meal, washing every dish, gathering food from our garden or trekking down to town and its markets. All of this while kids clamor to have then new FOR volunteer take them to the swimming hole, or carry them on her back, or sing them a song, and as adults come past for a visit and a chance to share their stories. It seems the main task of this job is to build relationships with the people here as the more you are trusted as an accompanier, the more information you are privy to, the better your analysis of the security situation, the more effective your accompaniment.

It seems every day I am struck anew with the realization that the violence of this war has woven itself directly into the fabric of everyday life here. Yesterday I was going over a list of the massacres and killings that have happened since 1977 and an older man walks in, tired from a days work in his fields, and begins to recount his own history. His life story brings to life these atrocities, as each massacre, displacement or threat affected him, was something he survived or something a loved one did not survive. A couple hours later I sat down with the same list of events and a middle-aged woman came over and matter-of-factly recounted loosing two of her brothers in the 2000 massacre that happened in the center of this settlement, La Unión. Paramilitary troops marched into town and took people from their homes, gathering them together at the kiosk in the center of the village. The paras demanded that the leaders identify themselves. After realizing that the community would not give up its leaders, it picked them out on their own, having identified them beforehand, and told everyone else to leave by going further up the mountain into the work fields behind the village. As the men, women and children made it up to the cacao fields they heard the shots begin as each leader was executed. When they were sure the paramilitary had left, they gathered their things and displaced to the main village of San José. They remained displaced for months returning eventually only to suffer through more killings and more displacements. And yet they continue to return and their commitment to the process of this Peace Community holds strong, a remarkable testament to non-violent resistance maintained in the most violent of circumstances.

Last week I sucked on my first cacao bean. The chocolate bean grows in these orange/yellow pods, you break it upon and inside our purple beans covered in a citrus-like membrane. Folks here suck on the bean until the citrus flavor disappears and then throw it out. When harvesting the cacao, the beans are pulled out and dried out, on rooftops here, for about a week, and then the beans are roasted and eventually ground into a paste of pure chocolate. I got to try some of the paste in my first days here as Paul and Mireille prepared some to send home to their families for the holidays. We ground the beans then mixed it with panela and nuts then formed them into delicious chocolate bars. The globalization lesson for today is this: the community sells this rich chocolate and then buys Nestle “ quick choco” to drink and eat.

Allow myself to introduce myself...er my surroundings

2006-12-03T16:28:00.000-05:00

It is time to get serious about this blog. I’ve been here two weeks and have yet to say much of anything. It occurs to me that it might be a good idea to give a rundown of places, people and things I will be referring this year. More in-depth background on the conflict/Peace Community/Accompaniment is found among the initial posts. Today’s voacb list:

FOR, Abbr Fellowship of Reconciliation (in Colombia: Movimiento de Reconciliación)
1. US Peace and Justice Interfaith organization, founded in 1918, part of International FOR, supports the Colombia Peace Presence(CPP), a Human Rights Accompaniment Project in Colombia
2. The logo that appears on the shirts I wear everyday, on the house I live in, I’m considering having it permenantly inked on my forehead

Apartadó, pl
1. City of about 100,000 people located in northern Colombia in the gulf of Urabá, the banana growing region of Colombia
2. Takes a 2 hour hike down the mountain and 40 minute chiva ride to get there
from La Unión
3. Location of air-conditioned internet café, bakery with delicious arequipa, clinics to go get tested for malaria, bus terminal with rocking juice stand, airport and hot, sweaty, dirty streets.
4. Location of a post office and a friendly postman who is trying to learn English. Write me at: Amanda Jack FOR/CPP AA 25008 Apartado, Antioquia Colombia

San José de Apartadó, pl (abbr. SJA)
1. A corregimiento of the municipality of Apartadó, also a town center that community members were displaced from in April of 2005 after the installation of a permanent police post
2. Peace Community Formed in 1998 after endless attacks by armed groups. Committed to non-violent resistance, community work groups, and remaining neutral amongst the legal and illegal armed actors.
3. Governed by an elected Council, the council has the responsibility to petition FOR Accompaniers to accompany community leaders/members on trips to outlying settlements or outside of the municipality.

La Unión, pl
1. A settlement of 45 families, 135 people with a few babies expected in the next couple of months, part of the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, its inhabitants were forced to displace many times, as recently as 2000 after a massacre of 6 leaders in the center of the settlement.
2. Where I live.
3. A place where violence has touched the lives of every woman, man and child. Stories are filled with tales of bravery and fear. Children are identified by “His father was killed last year”.
4. A beautiful, paradise where bananas, star fruit, papaya, mangos, avocados, corn, chocolate beans, coffee beans and so much more grows while animals roam around mowing the grass and eating organic scraps

Mireille, fantastic person
1. Artistic and spirited Canadian who grew up loving the outdoors of British Columbia, arrived in La Unión in June of 2006 to accompany SJA
2. My teammate, my housemate, my new very good friend who just brought me pea soup.

Bogotá Team, compañeros excelentes
1. The other FOR sub-team in Colombia. They work to support the process of SJA and accompaniment within it as well as politically and physically accompany 3 other Colombian non-violent social change groups: the Red Juvenil de Medellín (Youth Network of Medellín), AMOR (Women’s Association of Eastern Antioquia) and the ACA (Small Farmer’s Association of Antioquia)
2. Gilberto, who has been here since February of 05 and Janice who is more newly arrived than me and just completed an amazing bike ride to raise funds and awareness about our project, check out her blog at : www.pedalingforpeace.org

San Francisco Office, noun
1. The third part of the CPP trinity, 2 coordinators (John and Susana) and an intern (Moira) sharing an office with Global Exchange in the San Francisco mission district.
2. Where I worked last year before coming here.
3. Where you can send donations to the project: FOR/TFLAC 2017 Mission Street #305 San Francisco, CA 94110

Campesinos,noun
1. The peasant farmers who live in this community

Sweaty adj.
1. What I am every day here in the equatorial climate, close to the Caribbean especially when I walk up to La Unión from SJA. Or move.

Veredas, noun
1. The divided areas of the corregimiento of San José de Apartadó. I’d maybe compare them to rural townships.
2. Some veredas like La Unión, have a caserio or a settlement of houses, surrounded by work fields. There are no actual roads between or to any of these veredas, just well worn mountain paths.

Cultivos, noun
1. The fields where community members work in groups and also as families to cultivate a variety of fruits, vegetables and grains.
2. A major crop here is baby bananas or primativos as they are called, the cacoa is also plentiful and rich as is coffee and a gazillion other crops

Panela, yummy
1. Sugar cane, ground down, then boiled and formed into blocks of delicious sugary goodness. Often boiled in water and served hot or cold: Agua Panela

Chiva, semi-ridiculous but quite useful mode of transportation
1. Not a goat, but a jeep with 2 benches in the back, that goes up and down the road between Apartadó and SJA, it costs about $1.50 a ride
2. It has to have at least ten paying adults before it leaves at either end and 10 is not a comfortable fit. Once, as legend has it, it fit 32 people.

Machete, noun
1. Device used to cut away brush, open up hard fruits, and other useful tasks.
2. Makes me look more hardcore in pictures taken to send home.

Bestia, noun
1. A horse or a mule that the community will sometimes find for us so we can get up to La Unión or other outlying veredas.

Las Botas, useful noun
1. The bottom half of the FOR accompanier uniform. Rubber gum-boots that hit just below the knee and are used to walk everywhere, keeping water out, unless you are me and allow water and dirt to sneak their way in

Mona, adj.
1. Me
2. Other light skinned persons, including other Colombians.

Zarco, adj.
1. My eyes
2. Light eyes, be they blue or green or brown

Maleria/Paludismo, awful
1. What Mireille currently has and many other teammates before her have had.

La Poza, wet
1. The swimming hole a ten minute walk from the center of La Unión
2. What the kids insist I accompany them to everyday so they can jump on me, at me and over me.

Mugre, predictable
1. Me
2. Dirty/Muddy

Guapa, adj.
1. Here it means strong. "Because Amanda didn’t fall off her horse on the way to Arenas Altas ella es muy quapa." But at first I thought the man was saying I didn't fall off because I'm pretty.

La Huerta, food souce
1. The lovely garden behind our house that gives us lovely fruits and vegetables

Madrugar, verb
1. To wake up early
2. What I am doing now that I’m on campesino time, waking up around 5am and going to bed around 10pm.

Aguacerro, adj
1. A heavy rainfall, like the kind that happen here almost daily right now.
2. A man in town blamed the recent aguacerros on El Niño, which, in case you didn’t know, is Spanish for…The NIÑO.

Our Backyard

2006-11-27T13:38:00.000-05:00

Plus, some fantastic news for me: there is a Cheese Lady who comes to the community and sells cheese every week or so! I´ll post more pictures and more entries soon-the internet isn´t as easy as I thought it might be!

First Post From Colombia

2006-11-24T13:33:00.000-05:00

I arrived over a week ago and spent a few days in the capital of Bogotá before winding through the mountains and valleys of the Colombia landscape on a ten hour ride to Medellín, Colombia’s second largest city. Bogotá is a city of 7 million atop the Andes at an elevation of about 8000 feet. The temperate climate combined with the high altitude and dense exhaust fumes make for a pleasant if not lung damaging experience. FOR has an team in Bogotá in which two people politically and physically accompanying Colombia social change groups including: The Red Juvenil de Medellín (The Youth Network of Medellín), the ACA (Antioquia Small Farmer’s Association), and AMOR (Women’s Association of Eastern Antioquia). I’ll go into more detail on those groups some point soon. The Bogotá team also does much of the political accompaniment work for the Peace Community as they are in the same city as government offices and embassies. Additionally they know great artists, anarchists and places to eat and be merry. I had a rockin’, if not tiring, couple of days there.

I was in Medellín for less than twelve hours. Paul, the team member who has been in the community for a year met me and we slept the night at the apartment of one of the members of the Red Juvenil and got up at 4:30 to catch a bus to Apartadó. Before we slept we managed to see a bit of Medellín and meet many people involved in non-violent resistance movements there. We were present for the end of a meeting of the artists’ collective of the Red in which they planned their next demonstration against the incarceration of one of their members. This group is truly radical, the direct actions they plan are carried out in a heavily militarized state that doesn’t recognize such familiar concepts as consciences objection. Later that evening we shared an Aguila with one of the leaders of the ACA. He gives presentations all over the region, organizing displaced farmers and working with them to transfer their skills from the countryside to the city.

One of the more recent small world moments happened when a friend of Paul’s from back home met up with us as he was traveling from Peru and stopping in Medellín on his way to Caracas before heading home for the holidays. Paul is from Huntingdon, PA, a town very like and not so far away from my hometown, Somerset. And so there we were, three kids from western Pennsylvania sharing a drink together in Colombia. Yinz wouldn’t have believed it.

Paul and I headed back to our friend’s house to catch a couple hours of sleep before leaving for Apartadó. It was another long and winding bus ride, lasting about 9 hours. We stopped for breakfast around 7 and had arepa (The Colombian, thicker version of the tortilla) cheese, plantains, juevos aliñados (scrambled eggs with tomato and onion), yucca and more food that there wasn’t time to eat. It cost the equivalent of about two dollars. We arrived in Apartadó where it is sticky and hot, a city of about 100,000. After running a few errands we left on a chiva, a jeep-like mode of transportation, not a goat, for all you hispanoparlantes out there. After years of petioning, the government finally fixed the only road up to San Jose and so what had been a terribly bumpy and long hour-plus ride is now about 35 minutes. The absence of the usual military checkpoints also made the trip much faster.

We get off the chiva in San Josecito, the displacement settlement about a ten-minute walk from the small town of San José. The peace community members residing in San José displaced down the road after he installment of a permanent police post in the town center. One of the tenets of the Peace Community is to have no contact with any of the armed actors. A police post is also a threat to any civilian population in guerrilla-controlled territories as it serves as a literal bulls eye for guerrilla operations. All over rural Colombia, the state has installed similar posts in the middle of the civilian population, using civilians as shields and almost daring the guerrilla to take aim.

San Josecito looks less like a displacement camp and more like a small, permanent village. When the community first moved there, they had no proper sanitation, no electricity, no school and shared the few houses they had built. Malaria spread throughout the community and people were at risk for other illness. Now there are many more houses, lights, sanitation, a community garden, a school and a healthy community.

Paul and I tried to hurry in San Josecito as it was 5:30 at that point and the two hour hike up the mountain to our home in the settlement of La Unión is best not done in the dark. We finally got the horse loaded up with my things and the supplies we bought in town and we started up the mountain, me on the horse and Paul on foot. Night falls quickly here and soon we were going up in the dark, crossing the river three times, walking through mud and over rocks, finally arriving about two hours later. Our other teammate, Mirielle was waiting for us with a delicious dinner and a big hug. I can’t really say enough about how great Mirielle and Paul are. I am very lucky to be surrounded by such dedicated, intelligent and loving people. They had a welcome ceremony of sorts ready for me, including the absolutely useful and super cool gift of a good hat, which has already helped to block out the sun and keep the rain out of my eyes. The next morning the welcome continued with a treasure hunt of sorts. They hid notes and surprises around the community in the houses of some of the community members who we most rely upon for treats, chats and motherly care. I found such useful things as a machete, a rain poncho, and a flashlight. More importantly, I was introduced to the women who had already begun to care for me before I even began my year here.

In this circuitous and exceptional way, I arrived. Much has happened in the days since my arrival, but I’ll save that for another post.

And.....she's off!

2006-11-14T23:22:00.000-05:00

My flight leaves tomorrow morning at 10AM and I am packed for the year. (One of these bags is filled only with peanut butter.) I fly from Pittsburgh to Orlando. Orlando to Panama City and land at the Bogotá airport around 9pm. The great adventure has almost begun! My next post will be from Colombia.
until then....

Donation Nation

2006-11-13T21:15:00.000-05:00

What Your Support Can Do: a friendly guide to making your dollar count

$7: cost of one FOR T-Shirt, which volunteers wear in the field in order to be easily identified as international accompaniers, keeping them safe and visible
$20: A nicely sized contribution that definitely pays for something that isn’t obvious to me from a quick look at our budget.
$50: cost for two team members to travel for a day to communities in eastern Antioquiali>
$65: cost of one month’s health insurance for one volunteer
$70: monthly fee for the satellite phone in remote San José de Apartadó, allowing FOR team to communicate when accompanying community members in remote areas or when power is out
$100: cost of food for one month for FOR team in San José de Apartadó
$165: cost of transportation from Bogotá to Medellín in order to accompany Colombian Partner Organizations

$200: monthly stipend for FOR volunteer in Colombia

$250: cost of Visa for one FOR Volunteer for 1 Year

$300: monthly rent and utilities for the FOR apartment/office in Bogotá

$550: cost for one way international ticket for volunteer to return to the United States

$600: annual cost to train new volunteers

$850: cost to bring Colombian peace leader to the US for speaking tour

International Accompaniment: sounds fancy

2006-11-10T17:57:00.000-05:00

Protective International Accompaniment was first applied in Central America during the 1980s as a model of human rights worked based on deterrence, non-intervention and the creation of safe political space. In countries plagued by military and paramilitary rule, control is exercised via arbitrary killings, kidnappings and detentions, ensuring state control over the populace through the destruction of safe political space for democratic participation and conflict resolution. In regimes controlled by terror tactics, non-violent resistance becomes the most viable option for the affected population. Communities struggling against militarized regimes stake much of their existence on the conscience of the international community. It is in these situations that International Accompaniment has been called upon.

From "Unarmed Bodyguards", on volunteers:

"The accompaniment volunteer is literally an embodiment of international human rights concern, a compelling and visible reminder to those using violence that it will not go unnoticed."

In this way, International Accompaniment is helping to create that much needed political space while at the same attempting to observe and report on the human rights situation in general in order to raise awareness in the international community. This means that while I'm on the FOR team, I'll be sending almost daily reports to the office in San Francisco and when appropriate, helping to craft alerts on human rights abuses and recommended actions for people back home. This is where you step in. At times we might ask you to contact your representatives, asking them to support measures in the US Congress or recommendations to the State Department.

Don't forget: the US is heavily involved in funding the Colombian Military. An estimated $728.1 was appropriated under Plan Colombia in 2006, over 81% of that is strictly earmarked for military aid. An estimated $755.9 is to be delivered in 2007. And this accompaniment worked is based on the principle of non-intervention. We are not helping to create the processes of the Peace Community, but rather to ensure that their process is able to develop with as little danger as possible. As an accompanier from the US, a country heavily involved in Colombia, I feel especially called to this work.

As a team, we produce a monthly email newsletter called the "Colombia Peace Presence Update". In it we share news of the Peace Community and Colombian Partner Organizations as well as other news of the peace movement in Colombia. Please send me an email (address on my profile to the right) if you'd like to be included on this list.

A brief historical perspective on the Colombian armed conflict

2006-10-28T20:34:00.000-05:00

The origins of the current armed conflict in Colombia are incredibly complex and rooted in the period known as "La Violencia". In 1948, the assassination of popular Liberal Party Presidential candidate , Jorge Eliécer Gaitán, inflamed ongoing tensions between the Liberal and Conservative ruling parties resulting in close to 200,000 deaths and the internal displacement of about 2 million Colombians.

In 1957, the ruling parties reached a power-sharing agreement known as the "National Front" in which all other political views were pushed to the margins. This set the stage for the formation of various insurgent groups in the '60s and '70s. Guerrilla groups such as the ELN, FARC and M-19 formed while the Colombian government alternated between Liberal and Conservative administrations every four years. "La Violencia" ended in 1964 and the modern war began.

The Colombian military grew during this period, receiving training and financial backing from the United States. In the '60s, the army began training civilians as part of the autodefensas (also known as paramilitaries), formed to further combat the insurgency. This escalating violence continued through the end of the National Front in 1970 as insurgent groups continued to battle the government and use kidnappings and extortion to fund their guerrilla operations. In 1980 the first modern day paramilitary group formed, "MAS", its Colombian acronym standing for "Death to Kidnappers" and its formations a response to the kidnapping of the family members of Colombian drug traffickers.

In 1984 the largest guerrilla group, FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) and the M-19 guerrilla group agreed to a cease-fire with the government. In 1985 the Unión Patriotica (Patriotic Union) emerged as a democratic alternative to the two main Colombian political parties and focused on realizing solutions to the problems of the poor and marginalized. While the FARC did play a main role in the founding of the party many Colombians from the left and independent social sectors were active as supporters and candidates. The UP enjoyed very small successes in the national government as members were subjected to kidnappings and killings by paramilitary groups.

By 1998 the UP reported that more than 500 of its leaders had been killed. That same year a report by Amnesty International charged that members of the Colombian military and government were involved in carrying out what was called a "deliberate policy of political murder". This period also saw violence directed towards mainstream political leaders and candidates leading to an overall total of between 3000 and 5000 politically related deaths during the mid-eighties.The late 80s also saw some of the smaller guerrilla groups incorporated into the peace process, including the M-19 guerrilla group. Conversely, the FARC's ceasefire ended, following breakdown in negotiations in 1987 and the government's unwillingness to continue contact with the rebel leaders. The ceasefire years actually proved to be a time of rebuilding for the FARC who added 14 fronts, more than doubling in size, between 1984 and 1988.

In 1987, the charasmatic UP presidential candidate, Jaime Pardo Leal, who had garned over 300,000 votes in the '86 national election was assasinated. In 1990 the UP's presidential candidate, Bernardo Jamarillo, was murdered and while the party continued to contribute candidates through 1994, it had effectively disintegrated. Braulio Hererra, a very popular UP leader who was elected as a Congressional Stand-In in the 1986 elections said during his time in Congress, "What's characterized this conflict is that no one has been able to defeat anyone."

The 1993 assassination of infamous Medellín drug cartel leader, Pablo Escobar resulted in the break up of the larger drug cartels into smaller narcotrafficking groups as well as a renewed paramilitarism. In 1994 Carlos Castano assumed leadership of a centralized paramilitary and formed the AUC, or the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia. As combat continued, mostly in the Colombian countryside as the FARC and ELN fought both the military and AUC forces, civilians caught in the midst of the armed conflict continued to suffer. Colombian civilians were killed, massacred and displaced from their homes and forced to relocate to the poor shanty towns of the major cities.

Colombian President Andres Pastrana was elected in 1998 under a commitment to bring about a peaceful resolution to the decades' old conflict. He quickly began peace talks with the FARC and ELN. These met with many complications and eventually fell apart. Pastrana sought help for the civilians harmed in the conflict from Washington DC. However, what was intended as a development package akin to the Marshall Plan for the areas of the country and civilians most affected by the conflict materialized in 2000 under the Clinton administration as "Plan Colombia". This formalized aid package to Colombia authorized 1.3 billion dollars, 70% of which would be directed to military and security measures designed to combat the "drug war". This was a far cry from the original social aid package that addressed the human rights needs of a civilian population long suffering from the deadly conflict.

The election of President Alvaro Uribe, whose own father was killed by guerrillas, in 2002 signaled a shift away from peace negotiations and back to increased militarism. The rhetoric of the armed conflict also shifted after the events of September 11, 200.1 The remaining guerrilla groups (FARC and ELN) are now referred to as terrorists as the Bush administration continues to provide funding under Plan Colombia, now earmarked as funding in the war against global terror. The Uribe administration began the demobilization process of paramilitary forces and the intensification of military efforts aimed at wiping out guerrilla forces in the countryside. This process has met with objections as the impunity of the demobilization process is hard to ignore.

Today in Colombia there are between 2 and 3 million internally displaced people, according to the UN and 49% of the population lives in extreme poverty. The armed conflict continues to displace people from the countryside and paramilitarism continues to play out in the cities. The US continues to fund "counter-terrorism" efforts through Plan Colombia (renamed the Andean Counterdrug Initiative) scheduled to deliver over $734 million in 2006, 81% of which is earmarked for military assistance.

-this info was compiled from various speakers and meetings I've been lucky to attend, books I am glad to have read (including the incredibly concise " Colombia and the United States: War, Unrest and Destabilization" by Mario Murillo) and some recent stats from the very helpful www.ciponline.org

The Peace Community of San José de Apartadó

2006-09-11T17:34:00.000-05:00

San José de Apartadó is a small town in the northwest of Colombia, near the gulf of Urabá. Farmers settled there in the '60s and '70s and have since participated in cooperative agricultural and community living. In March of 1997, with the support of the region's Catholic Bishop, the Community responded to the escalating violence and extrajudicial killings of community leaders by declaring themselves a Peace Community and committing to:

Farm in cooperative work groups
Denounce the injustice and impunity of war crimes
Not participate in the war in direct or indirect form, nor carry weapons
Not manipulate or give information to any of the armed actors

Since the founding, the community has suffered over 160 deaths of its members, massacres, economic blockades, armed checkpoints along the main access road, displacement and dangerous stigmatization by the Colombian government. One way in which the community has resisted this violence is by staking its survival on the conscience of the international community by making itself visible and seeking the response of the international community when threats or attacks take place.

On February 21st, 2005, a community founder and 7 other San José de Apartadó Peace Community members were brutally massacred, according to community witnesses, by army soldiers. Since that time, the presence of both military and paramilitary forces in the area has risen, making even more critical the need for international attention and support.

The Peace Community was joined in its response to this massacre by Colombian human rights and solidarity organizations in country and the world over. This resulted in a delay of more than $70 million of US military "Plan Colombia" aid to Colombia for the first seven months of 2005 as the US State Department was not prepared to certify that Colombia met the human rights conditions outlined in the legislation. The aid was eventually released days before Colombia's President Uribe met with President Bush, but the delay represented growing State Department concern regarding cases reportedly involving direct violations by the Colombian Army. It was also a testament to the power of international efforts focused on drawing attention the grave human rights violations in Colombia. This growing attention alongside protective measures handed down by the Inter-American Court on Human Rights requiring the Colombian government to take whatever steps necessary to protect the lives and personal integrity of Peace Community members, strengthens the nonviolent resistance of the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó.

to learn more about the founding, process and recent news of the Peace Community, visit their homepage (it's in spanish!) http://www.cdpsanjose.org