Colombia’s Haunted Peace: The Unending Battle with FARC and ELN

In the tangled web of Latin America’s political theatre, Colombia and Paraguay sit as poignant reminders of a region’s harrowing past and the daunting path toward a peaceful future. Colombia, once a battleground for Marxist guerrillas, right-wing paramilitaries, and state forces, still reels from the chaos of its lengthy armed conflict, while Paraguay’s fragile democracy wrestles with shadows of a past dictatorship that still clings to its socio-political fabric.

In Colombia, despite the seemingly transformative peace pact of 2016, signed under the auspices of then-President Juan Manuel Santos — a deal that endeavored to demobilize over 13,000 FARC fighters — violence continues to flare like an unextinguished pyre. The National Liberation Army (ELN) and dissident factions of FARC, notably the “33rd Front,” engage in brutal territorial skirmishes over illicit coca crops. This violence has precipitated the displacement of over 40,000 individuals in Catatumbo, echoing a haunting refrain of despair. Far-left President Gustavo Petro, grappling with this turmoil, has been forced to declare a “state of emergency,” exposing the stark reality that paper treaties are no match against entrenched grudges and economic desperation.

Petro’s controversial excursion to Haiti amid the crisis — where he critiqued former U.S. President Donald Trump with rhetoric that accused him of fostering division — further underscored the complexity of balancing international diplomacy with domestic unrest. “They don’t want Haitians, they don’t want Venezuelans… Those who kick us out are going to be left alone,” Petro remarked, his words laced with appeals for solidarity in the face of external antipathy.

The irony is palpable. While Petro seeks peace, clashes continue unabated. Reports indicate headcounts of the deceased range from 60 to 80, with the eerie prognosis that more lie unaccounted in the inaccessible reaches of conflict zones. As the Colombian Attorney General reissued arrest warrants for ELN members, it became evident that the specter of war still reigns supreme over aspirations of peace.

As Colombia battles its internal demons, Paraguay’s citizens face a different sort of reckoning. The legacy of Gen. Alfredo Stroessner’s authoritarian reign — a period marked by terror and the disappearance of approximately 500 individuals — lingers in the collective consciousness. Stroessner’s Colorado Party, remarkably, remains a dominant force in Paraguayan politics, obstructing full accountability and reconciliation. The 2018 election of Mario Abdo, son of Stroessner’s personal secretary, is a testament to the enduring sway of a party once the hallmark of dictatorship.

For those like Rogelio Goiburu, the search for truth and justice is relentless. Behind his dogged pursuit to uncover the fate of his father — a leftist leader who vanished into the abyss of Stroessner’s crackdown — is a poignant defiance. “Dad trained us on survival,” Goiburu reflects, his words a testament to resilience against overshadowing odds.

The wounds are deep, yet voices like that of Carlos Portillo remind us of what is at stake. “There’s no culture which doesn’t have a ritual for mourning,” he asserts, capturing the essence of the vanished as more than mere statistics — they are existential voids in the social fabric.

Paraguay struggles with a lack of infrastructure for forensic investigation, compelling activists to rely on Argentinian resources to identify remains. While neighboring nations offer government-funded endeavors, Paraguay’s efforts remain largely individualistic, spearheaded by volunteers and families who must navigate the murky waters of historical and political resistance.

Both Colombia and Paraguay poignantly illustrate the arduous journey toward peace and reconciliation. Each missing person resonates as a beacon, calling for collective acknowledgment and action. From Gustavo Arbeláez, a former FARC rebel now engaged in reconciliation efforts, to the tireless quests of families for their disappeared, there is a shared narrative of redemption and fortitude.

As Arbeláez succinctly notes, “None of us decided, from a young age, to become paramilitary leaders, rebels… Certain circumstances led us.” His reflection is not an excuse, but a sober acknowledgment that the path to peace is as complex and nuanced as the conflicts that necessitate it.

Ultimately, the stories emerging from Colombia and Paraguay are not merely chronicles of anguish; they are potent reminders that the journey to peace is cumulative, fraught, and profoundly human. For these nations, peace endures as both a promise and a pursuit — a perpetual striving toward a future where justice is realized, and the shadows of yesterday are finally laid to rest.