One of the difficulties in improving the human rights situation in Colombia is that most people in the cities are immune to the war going on, to the terrible human rights abuses perpetrated by the military, paramilitary and guerrillas, and to the dire poverty that exists in so much of the countryside. Because of this indifference, generating the political pressure necessary to change these conditions is difficult. After being here a month, I get why this urban-rural disconnect exists. Bogotá is a city that reminds me more of a European capital than anything I have experienced in Central America, Africa or even Colombia’s neighbors Peru and Ecuador. I walk around in the evening alone and feel safe (yikes! It’s OK mom – all the internationals and Colombians do it too), I go to the posh swimming complex, then go out for crepes and waffles at a nice local restaurant. I had breakfast with one Bogotano who told me that “I don’t know anything about human rights abuses, but the city under Uribe (the current president) is much safer.” Indeed, in the whole country, the number of reported crimes has fallen dramatically since Uribe took power in 2002 – homicides are down 40%, acts of terror by 66%, and extortive kidnappings by 79%. This coexists, however, with ever-more internally-displaced persons, the continuance of “extra-judicial executions carried out directly by the security forces, as well as the still high number of ‘disappearances’” according to Amnesty International. Most of the violence, however, is now concentrated in the rural areas. This city is huge (8 million people – bigger than NYC) and it can feel like this newly-safe city is the whole world, which makes it difficult to imagine that a starkly different reality exists in other parts of the country.
I was on a 10-hour bus trip to Medellin when I was reminded that the Bogotá experience differs greatly from that of most of the country. The road from Bogotá to Medellín used to be dangerous because it was contested between the guerillas and the military. Uribe put a huge amount of money and attention into securing this road, and it is now considered fairly safe. In practice, this means that every mile or so along this journey you see military men, and that there are sandbag bunkers every 5 miles. I have never seen sandbag bunkers before, and something about the sight of them made the fact that there is a war going on hit home for me. The sandbag bunkers are like kid forts – they are about the size of a mid-sized bathroom, about 5 feet tall, and consist of small bags of sand put together like bricks, with space made for the windows. The young sometimes-scared, sometimes-swaggering soldiers that occasionally boarded the bus have to use those "forts" to protect themselves in case of an attack.
I do feel like I need this reminder that there is a war going on to work effectively in the Bogotá office. I know I am doing work that is centrally connected to protecting the lives of campesino peace activists by being here in Bogotá; ready to respond by meeting with officials and sending out international calls to action if anything should happen, and in the meantime supporting our teammates that are living out in the community and forming relationships with other peace groups and international activists. But sometimes it feels a little...dare I say...cushy. I am looking forward to going to the community for a couple weeks in February to be jarred in my perspective of Colombia.
It is illegal to take pictures of anything military-related in this country, including sandbags....so I have put up a picture of flowers instead.
Despedida: Goodbyes
People like to party, or rumbear, in Colombia. And not the have-people-over-for-2-hours-and-more-if-it’s-really-fun type of party. We are talking parties that start at 6 pm, and end at 7 in the morning. We had a New Year’s party that went like this, and it was wonderful and fun, and fantastically exhausting. But I digress. One of the many things I am coming to love about this country is the way people say good bye. And there are lots of goodbyes to say...especially hanging out with the international community. People are generally here for a term of about a year, so in a community of 30 people or so, there are constantly people leaving. And each departure calls for a grand “despedida,” or good bye party. At the despedida, everyone brings food and drink to share, people pass around guitars, and as it gets later people tend to salsa more and more, as dancing is the chosen Colombian strategy of staying awake. There is no rush to...do anything, since the party may last for 12 hours, and sometimes people nap on a couch at the party for a couple hours to refuel for later in the evening/morning. Coming to Colombia, or leaving, is a big deal in most people’s lives – and it feels right that time should stop, that people should spend longer than a working day recognizing and celebrating one’s time here.
“Está haciendo invierno:” It is making winter
Colombia doesn’t have seasons like we think of them. In fact, a season can happen in one morning. A typical day here starts our warm with brilliant sun streaming in through our windows. Around 2 or 3, it often rains. And this is the time when, if you ask a Bogotano how the weather is, they will say it is “making winter.” Making winter means, simply, that it is overcast and raining, and something about conceptualizing seasons as this transient tickles me.
According to my Lonely Planet, we are now in the dry season, which last until March, and it is also fairly dry from July to August. But global warming is throwing a wrench into any semblance of seasons that Colombia thought it had, and in the peace community it has been downpouring for the past couple of weeks, throwing off the planting season and reaking havoc on the crops.“Mira mira. Pst. pst.” – Look. look. Psst. psst.
I have taken the phenomena of cat calls, where all women, but especially foreigners, are called to – literally as you would call a cat – while walking down the street as part of reality for me in Latin America. In most places I have traveled on this continent, many (maybe even most) men from between the ages of 15 and 90 will stop and stare as foreign women walk by, and often hiss at them, whistle, call to them or in some other way acknowledge their passing – if I’m feeling like rationalizing behavior, I can think of it as their way of saying hi and welcoming us to their country. It can be disconcerting, a little scary, alienating, dare I say occasionally flattering? In any case, it is weird, but I had come to expect that as part of my experience in Latin America. It doesn’t happen in Bogotá. I can hypothesize the reasons why – that it is a more sophisticated, European city; that the population is racially more diverse, and until I open my mouth, I can pass for a Bogotano – but the absence of this low-level harassment on a daily level is a welcome change in my daily life here from what I expected.
Amigos: Friends
I am making good friends here, which is of course is less interesting and novel to write about, but is the heart and soul of my experience here. Here is a picture of me with Gilberto, my house-mate, working partner, and the person I have spent most waking hours with. I am grateful for all that I am learning from him, not to mention his *incredible* cooking.
Here is a picture I took of Amazing Amanda in Suesca, a breath-taking little town on the outskirts of Bogotá, where I plan to go to have a pollution-free, healthy retreat from the city on a regular basis. Amanda and a group of friends, and maybe me in the future, rent this cute little cabin there, which has the best bathroom “door” I have ever seen.
