"Courage is not the abnormal. Not the marvelous act. Not Macbeth with fine speeches. It is the thing steady and clear. The marriage, not the month's rapture. The beauty that is of many days. The normal excellence, of long accomplishment. Not the Prodigal Son, but Penelope." -- poet Jack Gilbert
Last week this is the kind of courage we were to witness. And in the process, we had the kind of fun you love to complain about -- dirty, sweaty, backbreaking (from all the falling on our asses), dramatic fun. We hiked, incubated malarial jungle mosquitos, piled in a muddy heap on the floor, ate marvelous and simple food surrounded by donkey dung, and somehow just by being present helped accomplish something big.
We were in the mountains of Colombia to accompany a group of courageous people doing something that is extremely unusual in Colombia, land of the millions displaced: they were going back. Life in displacement camps had grow too harsh, too hungry for them, and they were going back to their land. We, the international wimps, were there to observe and hopefully prevent violent repression against the community, Colombian armed groups being reluctant to bite the long American arm feeding the ravenous military mouth.
But our presence was fleeting, and although FOR remains in the base community of La Union to help protect the decision to wage peace, in the Colombian conflict there are no guarantees and little precendence. This week the real work begins for the community of La Esperanza.
They are five families, striking in their quiet resolve, the kind usually portrayed in cowboy movies by men in hats of few words but always a piece of sugar in pocket for their horse. But this is different; this is no game of cowboys and indians, although it sometimes resembles one in its senselessness. The people of La Esperanza have been coming and going in fear of paramilitary reprisals since they were first displaced in 1996. Prevented from farming the land they had always known to be theirs, they have been aching to return ever since, and on this third try appear to have succeeded. Land in Colombia, where the exodus to the cities is a recent, bloody history, is not just land. It is power, money, sustenance, myth, and battleground.
Articles about peace communities, La Union, and La Esperanza
- San José de Apartadó - a model initiative under threat
- Recent Attacks and Threats Against the Peace Communities and NGOs
- FOR Peace Presence Letter from the Field: "Reclaiming the Promised Land"
- Letter from the Field: "The Hope of Return"
Yesterday Tom gave a talk about his thesis ("Good Fences, Good Neighbors, and the State: The Politics of Property Rights and Economic Performance"), so I'm fresh off a crash course in agrarian reform and land struggles in Colombia. More on this topic later, as I learn more about the history behind The Return. For now, on to my tale of two comfort-loving adventurers, arriving sleep-deprived in a city too hot for dreams.
Chapter 1: Sleepless in Antioquia
We had quite a trip, leaving Friday the 20th on the overnight bus to Medellin. We emerged, ten hours later, frost bitten from the overactive AC and greatly enriched by our viewing experience. "The China Dolls" is a timeless classic, with a little something for everyone: kung fu fighting, a nihilistic attempt at feminism, Asian fetishism, stunning landscapes running with blood, some light kiddie porn, fights to the death, and a classic love story (boy meets girl, girl tries to kill boy, boy escapes and pursues girl to lock her up, boy carries girl's mother on his back to the hospital after her jealous mother-figure boss tries to have her killed, boy gets girl only to lose her to the allure of the sequel). Pretty generic stuff.
And after the final credits rolled (I took notes)...the music started up again. I took off for the front of the bus, on a collision course with destiny, or the control-happy bus driver, whichever I could find first. Luckily someone else beat me to him, and the rest of the bus ride was spent in frosty silence. Not because anyone was angry, just that we could see the breath steaming out of our mouths. We landed safely in Medellin, and after a nice taxi driver caught my mistake at the bus terminal and prevented us from going an hour out of our way to the wrong airport, caught our plane to Apartado. Met up with PorTom at the airport, and Trish&Co met us getting off the plane. All of whom were a sight for sore, bloodshot eyes...
to be continued...
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