COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Walking in Lila's shoes
septiembre 10th, 2008
in:
CPTnet
10 September 2008
COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Walking in Lila's shoes
By Carol Tyx
For the better part of a day, I am walking in Lila's* shoes. Literally. Her “shoes” are knee-high black rubber boots, and I wear them as I walk through a valley in the Magdalena region of Colombia to investigate a murder. I'm not sure how far I would have gotten without Lila's boots. I was told we would travel by truck and canoe. So when we arrive at the small village of Puerto Matilde and learn we will walk, I know I'm in trouble. Everyone is wearing the standard campo boots.
A slender woman points to the boots on her feet and gestures toward me. At first, I'm hesitant. But after a few exchanges, I understand: she's staying behind and offering me her boots. I pull off my shoes and, feeling a bit like Cinderella, slip my foot into her boot. "Perfecto!” I exclaim.
The rains have turned the caramel-colored soil into soupy, treacherous muck sometimes over a foot deep, viscous enough to suck boots off. Fortunately, Lila's boots fit snugly.
Finally, we reach the small house where Aicardo Antonio Ortiz once lived. The officials divide us into two groups—soldiers near the house and civilians within the corral—and the murder investigation begins. I stay with the civilians, keeping an eye on the government workers with their yellow tape measure moving around the house. The story is not as easily measured out. Only the most basic facts are unequivocal: on 8 July, soldiers from the Colombian National Army killed Aicardo Antonio Ortiz. Other pieces of the story contradict each other, the army telling one version, civilians another. But my teammates and I are not there to determine which is true. Rather, at the request of a local campesino association, we are accompanying civilians to make sure the authorities hear their perspectives.
When the investigation finishes, the civilians receive permission to view the site. How does one enter such a space? I try to look away first, to see the simple plank bed, the dishes hung from the wall, the television set on a small shelf: a whole life in this one room. But I can't avoid looking down. A long splotch of red, a nebula splattered from the tiny kitchen to the bed, stains the floor, and in the center, a jagged hole remains where a bullet ripped through the floorboards. I walk carefully, trying to keep Lila's boots from getting bloody, but walking in the house without walking through blood is impossible.
The sun fades. It's been a long day. I think about the life Lila walks in: the armed soldiers she passes daily, the potential for spilt blood. As a woman from the United States, I know I cannot fully understand what it means to walk in Lila's shoes, but I am grateful for the gift of this day. As I slip back into my shoes, I feel the heat from Lila's feet, a heat that accompanies me all the way home.
*Name has been changed
Pictures of the investigation of Aicardo Antonio Ortiz’s death are available at http://cpt.org/gallery/CommisiontoinvestigatethedeathofAicardoAntonioOrtiz
10 September 2008
COLOMBIA REFLECTION: Walking in Lila's shoes
By Carol Tyx
For the better part of a day, I am walking in Lila's* shoes. Literally. Her “shoes” are knee-high black rubber boots, and I wear them as I walk through a valley in the Magdalena region of Colombia to investigate a murder. I'm not sure how far I would have gotten without Lila's boots. I was told we would travel by truck and canoe. So when we arrive at the small village of Puerto Matilde and learn we will walk, I know I'm in trouble. Everyone is wearing the standard campo boots.
A slender woman points to the boots on her feet and gestures toward me. At first, I'm hesitant. But after a few exchanges, I understand: she's staying behind and offering me her boots. I pull off my shoes and, feeling a bit like Cinderella, slip my foot into her boot. "Perfecto!” I exclaim.
The rains have turned the caramel-colored soil into soupy, treacherous muck sometimes over a foot deep, viscous enough to suck boots off. Fortunately, Lila's boots fit snugly.
Finally, we reach the small house where Aicardo Antonio Ortiz once lived. The officials divide us into two groups—soldiers near the house and civilians within the corral—and the murder investigation begins. I stay with the civilians, keeping an eye on the government workers with their yellow tape measure moving around the house. The story is not as easily measured out. Only the most basic facts are unequivocal: on 8 July, soldiers from the Colombian National Army killed Aicardo Antonio Ortiz. Other pieces of the story contradict each other, the army telling one version, civilians another. But my teammates and I are not there to determine which is true. Rather, at the request of a local campesino association, we are accompanying civilians to make sure the authorities hear their perspectives.
When the investigation finishes, the civilians receive permission to view the site. How does one enter such a space? I try to look away first, to see the simple plank bed, the dishes hung from the wall, the television set on a small shelf: a whole life in this one room. But I can't avoid looking down. A long splotch of red, a nebula splattered from the tiny kitchen to the bed, stains the floor, and in the center, a jagged hole remains where a bullet ripped through the floorboards. I walk carefully, trying to keep Lila's boots from getting bloody, but walking in the house without walking through blood is impossible.
The sun fades. It's been a long day. I think about the life Lila walks in: the armed soldiers she passes daily, the potential for spilt blood. As a woman from the United States, I know I cannot fully understand what it means to walk in Lila's shoes, but I am grateful for the gift of this day. As I slip back into my shoes, I feel the heat from Lila's feet, a heat that accompanies me all the way home.
*Name has been changed
Pictures of the investigation of Aicardo Antonio Ortiz’s death are available at http://cpt.org/gallery/CommisiontoinvestigatethedeathofAicardoAntonioOrtiz
