rain fallin´on my shoes

(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...

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

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

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.