when it rains it...gets really wet

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

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?

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

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

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!