CPTnet
November 11, 2002
COLOMBIA: Gunshots

After a night of hard cleansing rains, Lena Siegers and I awoke in La
Florida, a small community perched on the banks of the Opon River and a few
minutes' walk from the swampy lake called Cienaga del Opon.

As we headed across the lake in our motor canoe toward the house of someone
we knew, I suddenly saw gunshots cutting through the soft ripples on the
water. We could not hear them because of the noise from our motor. Men on
the shore saw us and thrust their hands in the air. Were they waving us over
or waving us away? Lena, her face set, motioned that we should head toward
the shore.

We pulled up in front of a house we'd known before it was taken over by the
AUC (United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia) a paramilitary group illegal
according to Colombian law. A family with small children still lived there,
amidst the piles of automatic rifles, pistols, and hand grenades. Dark green
ammunition vests hung on a clothesline. The commander greeted us cheerfully.
His stern-looking right-hand man held on his lap the malfunctioning assault
rifle they'd been shooting into the lake near the house, trying to diagnose
the problem.

After we introduced ourselves to all who let themselves be seen, Grandma
Lena did not hide her anger. "Why are you shooting this gun into the lake?
Don't you realize how dangerous it is?" Most of the young men looked back
blankly or turned away. On a previous visit, Lena had challenged the
friendly commander to give up his weapons and learn how to play the drums.
"People in this area, a long time ago, used to make wonderful music. That's
what these communities need, not more guns." The commander had insisted that
he, too, was working for peace, and that "guns are only for defending
oneself."

After about ten minutes, the men resumed their "testing." Each time the gun
fired, I jumped, then winced when I realized that the children were already
becoming accustomed to the sound. I did not want to go close to the men with
guns to say goodbye, but Lena walked up to the commander and forced him to
put his gun in the other hand in order to shake her hand.

Saddened, we drove away. As we approached the narrow channel that connects
the lake with the river, I saw dozens of men, standing, crouching, and
sitting among the reeds. What are they doing? I wondered. Then I saw their
magnificent fishing nets, and the fishermen using both arms to throw the
nets out from their small wooden canoes in a wide circular motion. Because
of the storm last night, the fish were particularly active this morning.
The vigorous greetings we got from the fishermen encouraged me and reminded
me of their dream: to someday be able to fish, harvest crops, and raise
their families without fear.