We Have Been Made Invisible

by Alexandra Buck

“We have been made invisible and abandoned by the Colombian state,” one indigenous leader from the Pueblo Nasa people of Putumayo told our delegation in Bogota.

A woman displaced from her home after watching over 40 people in her family massacred, said that the paramilitaries who assassinated her village were “the only state presence we’ve had in Cartatumbo.”

I visited a displaced community of Afro-Colombian women who are heads of households. I heard of a “premeditated genocide” in which the government is “killing people and destroying our identity to justify their megaprojects.”

I heard their voices. I saw their faces. I watched their tears. The people most vulnerable to the violence of Colombia – indigenous and Afro-Colombian communities, often women –forgotten, exploited, even killed by their own government. Displaced people, forced to leave their homes, struggling to support their families with no shelter, no employment, no recognition, no reparation, living in fear and desperation, and clinging to hope. This is “who” our sisters and brothers are in Colombia.

The “what” is difficult to re-tell. Saying I listened to stories makes it sound trite; these were not stories but reality, testimonials in the fiercest sense of the word, raw, brave denunciations of infuriating damage inflicted on life. I heard of unemployment, hunger, racism. I learned of disappearances, massacres, torture. Even when documented, these cases lack any recourse to due process.

The “why” is even more impossible. Political-economic ambitions of power and greed drive the megaprojects multinational corporations are undertaking in partnership with the government. Through force, violence, and duplicity, paramilitaries and guerrillas vie for control of land. Armed groups remain immune to rule of law, government oversight, or international protocols due to their huge political influence built on drug money. The situation is incredibly complex, the power structures in total collusion, and the state incapable of protecting or providing for its citizens. Violence and impunity dominate.

The deeper questions of “how” elude me. How can people treat each other with such complete lack of humanity? How can a violent civil war persist in a country for over 50 years? How can the Presbyterian Church of Colombia withstand constant threat while maintaining such fervent faith, spirit, and love? How can the international community be so ignorant and apathetic of the worst humanitarian situation in the western hemisphere, as termed by the United Nations? How can I use my privilege as a US citizen to influence the incredibly militaristic Plan Colombia of the State Department which funds training and weapons that exacerbate this violence in the name of security? How can we as a church respond to our partners in Colombia living out genuine Christian witness for human rights?

“Through all of you, our voice makes an echo in the world,” an indigenous leader fiercely spoke out in a voice so often ignored, so seldom heard. But I heard, we heard, you heard, widening the ripples of sound until enough movement is made to trouble the water.

I realized during my time in Colombia that we have the power as US citizens to affect the policies that in turn affect thousands of people in Colombia. I now know some of their names; I’ve heard some of their words. I was amazed by their passion for life, their dedication to justice, and their commitment to non-violence in the face of all that is death, impunity, and violence in their country. I was moved, sometimes to tears, by their remarkable witness. These are the people we are called to be with in solidarity as Christians; not the corporations that extract huge profits or the governments that cling to power by killing supposed enemies.

Experiencing the incredible faith of the Presbyterian Church of Colombia and all of its partners gave me a deeper sense of faith than I have ever had. I am convinced that being faithful to our God means taking risks that challenge our comfortable involvement in political and economic systems that oppress our sisters and brothers all around the world. Following Christ means demanding that the ignored are heard, that the vulnerable are cared for, and that our selfish, worldly desires are de-prioritized in seeking a more equitable distribution of power and wealth. This is not politics; this is faith.

I feel urgently that it is time we as a Christian community stand up like our Colombian sisters and brothers to work for a more just, peaceful world as we are meant to do through the example of Jesus Christ. Jesus fought against the powers that oppressed. He challenged empires and governments. To call ourselves Christians in his name, we need to do the same. And Colombia is a perfect place to begin.

There are two areas of engagement with this issue that are current and very important.

First, stopping the Free Trade Agreement with Colombia in US Congress right now is an important, urgent step to adjusting exploitative trade relationships. It overlooks Colombian’s human rights record to encourage investment that will only exploit the poor while benefitting the elite. More farmers will be displaced, more lives will be lost. Economic development is important, but through a model of fairness, equality, and dignity for all.

Second, closing the School of the Americas is recognized by some Colombians as the single most important thing the US can do to ameliorate the violence in Colombia. This institution, now called the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation, is a facility of the US Department of Defense. It trains Latin American soldiers in “counter-insurgency” tactics. Religious leaders are among those specifically targeted as victims of human rights abuses, “disappearances”, and death by these US-trained assassins.