Sharp thorns, sweet fruit: 09.04.04

Lateish last night as we were sat around the table ther e was a sound at the door and Ricardo my calm and good humoured host jumped up knocking the table and was the door before I turn my head to the sound. The door opened and Jose Munera walked in unannounced. The president of the union, a small man in his mid to late forties made no greeting and went straight to the phone and made a call. He was promtly upstairs and in discussion with Ricardo unitl the rest of us went to bed. He was gone by morning. His predecessor is still missing, presumed dead.

Today is good friday and relatives are over. The sister of Ricardo and her husband have come round. Its a quiet day, a family day. There streets are dead. We ate a good lunch of fish stew, rice and plantain and played cards. though they do not own a fridge i have been fed enough since arriving in this house to last me till i come home. im loving sitting around talking though its often heavy. Its something I couldnt really do the last time I was here due to the language barrier and for every time a conversation decends into a deep and desperate lamentation a persistent humour rejuvinates the silence with laughter. they are extremes reflective of this country and its people, one of the most violent yet one of the most beautiful on earth.

yesterday we walked up to Montseratte a church atop the towering green mounains to the east of the city. there is a cable car which takes you to the top but we decided to walk. Given the hefty climb and the presence of the cable car I imagined a small track winding up to the top with perhaps the odd keen rambler but no more. What we found was a heaving pilgrimage snaking its way up the rocky track, adorned with shacks and their screaming vendors selling everything form all types of refreshment and food to prayerbooks and rosaries to aid the mission. several older people had collapsed on the path and were being aided by makeshift medics in uniform. people carried children, children led decrepid grandparents and the smell of sweat was only masked by the woodsmoke pumping out from under enormas friers cooking provisions for the travellers. It took us about an hour and a half and god rewarded us by pissing it down when we got to the top also heaving with easter week revellers. it was a good outing.

This after noon after having spent most of the day indoors we went for a little walk before dinner. A man was selling beautiful flowers and plants under a dirty overpass near some open wasteland where the remains of a decrepid circus lay. We noticed how the branches of plants bearing the sweetest fruits also wore the sharpest thorns. The sun came out this evening and we had an ice cream.

wake up: 08.04.04

Fuck. Today for the first time in my life I've come close to recognising the severity of the situation here. its not even that I've learned anything new, but simply that from talking to Christina this morning in the kitchen while she prepared breakfast it began to dawn on me. Speaking to a human being who’s life has been affected, who has lost relatives, has not the money to emigrate nor the desire to abandon her country and so carries on has hit me deeply. What i said about the happiness of the people here i don't take back but it is quite a rosy western traveller analysis that everything is better away from your own culture and requires some qualifications. There is also a deep sadness, desperation and real terror living in the hearts and mind of people which must be recognised. Christina told me about her family, campesinos from San Luis Tolima a place with a long history of brutal conflict. Her uncle, a farmer, now displaced from his land like so many others, lost six sons. Christina lost her younger brother to the paramilitaries. She explained how the young have four job opportunities in the countryside when farming no longer becomes viable due either to the levys campesinos must pay to paramilitaries in their area or that they are displaced from their land. These are; guerilla, paramilitary, police or army. The people are being armed to fight each other while their fertile farmland is either left to grow wild, destroyed by coca eradication chemicals sprayed from the air or is dug up by multinationals to extract valuable natural resources. Those that resist or voice disapproval are killed. Often turned in by desperate neighbours in exchange for money to feed their children. Children too are co-opted and form a valuable part of the counter insurgency intelligence network in their innocence. Others emigrate or move to the city but work is scarce here too and the armed forces offers minimum wage and health cover not to mention precious authority to the young and disposessed. Christina was almost in tears and I speechless. its easy to get wrapped up in side issues, to reassure yourself that things are not so bad, here they are. This is a fascist police state, supported by the US and Europe, viewed as a legitimate democracy and in a state of permanent war, not on drugs but on its own people. This country has been ignored for long enough and something must be done. at the very least informing people in the US and UK what billions of dollars worth of taxpayers money is being spent on while eradication of coca, the supposed rational has not only proved ineffective but counterproductive:

"Department figures show coca increasing in Colombia by 268% since large-scale spraying started in 1995, and ONDCP figures showed a 25% increase in coca production in 2001, despite widespread fumigation."

"According to a 1994 study by the RAND Corporation, coca and poppy crop eradication is the least effective method for controlling drug supply: treatment and prevention is 23 times more cost effective than source country eradication. Nonetheless, forced aerial eradication of coca and poppy crops is a central part of the US aid package to Colombia."

http://www.globalexchange.org/countries/colombia/failedDrugWar.html

07.04.04

Though tired I slept quite poorly and felt desperately unprepared again questioning myself over what i could possibly have to offer people who seemed clearly ten times more dedicated an informed than myself. i dreamed that i made various fuck ups and had to keep waking myself up to reassure myself that it wasn't real. In spite of all i read before i came here i didn't really have clue. Its easy to romanticise political struggle but seeing people living on fuck all and putting their lives in danger simply fighting for basic rights put things in perspective somewhat. its humbling and almost embarresing when I think of my own complaints or self gratification for small actions taken form the comfort of home. everything in context though, i spose theres no point chastising yourself.

In the morning jet lag woke me early and i set about compiling some things to research, or ways i could possibly make myself useful. Luckily Ricardo had a task for me; the translation of power point slideshow explaining a new campaign: “Para que la Universidad viva en Colombia” - So that the University can live in Colombia. Many of the issues such as the effects increased privatisation linked with the General Agreemant on Trade in Srvices (GATS) and problems of elitism are similar to those faced in UK Universities (see www.gatswatch.org). The difference is that while in the UK debate and dissenting opinions about such changes are largely ignored by government, here in Colombia they are met with brutal violence. The former president of the University workers union is missing presumed dead and in the last five years fifty five members of the university community (students and staff) have been killed or disappeared. People are terrified to demonstrate or even voice an opinion critical of government policy in the very institutions where debate and discussion should thrive as part of a functioning democracy.

In the afternoon two friends of Ricardo and Christina, Mauicio and Fernanda came round for a meeting but due to the absence of some others who were supposed to attend it was postponed. Instead we went fro a walk and beer nearby. Stepping out of the door the huge green mountains that sharply define the city limits almost startled me with their imposing presence. I had forgotten how beautiful this city is. We walked slowly down the wide streets of the friendly semi rundown suburban neighbourhood, few cars crowded the roads eclipsed in number by the brightly coloured and lovingly adorned collectivos chugging along packed with people. I am beginning to remember why Joe and I fell in love with Colombia. The people are certainly a big part of it. It is astonishing that in a land where poverty, violence, and death are interwoven into everyday life that people see to be able appreciate the joy of simple existence and pass it on to others through kind action, something which is so illusive in our wealthy and peaceful nation. Perhaps transient nature of life is more real to people, even if subconsciously and that fosters an appreciation of what there is here and now. Equally, perhaps that's bollocks and im just being sentimental. i know that walking around this neighbourhood I feel alot safer than where i lived in barcelona.