Newsletters

Date: June 18th 2010

by Dave and Joan Gifford
June 16, 2010

A newcomer entering the city of Apartadó from the north might first breathe a sigh of relief he or she is no longer on the two-lane highway leading to the city. On a typical day it is busy with busetas, camiones, motos and ciclas, moving either at top speed, or just crawling. Topes, designed to slow traffic, are a chance for drivers in a hurry to move to the left and pass slower moving traffic; open space on the road is an opportunity to push the accelerator to over 120 kph. Pedestrians beware! It's an experience to make anyone believe!

A billboard boasts a city of 134,000 people, slightly over 3 meters above sea level, and founded in 1907. The city is like others in the area, with a few broad streets, many narrow ones, some paved, some dirt, with people coming and going, engaged in the business of the day, or sitting relaxed in doors opened to the street. It seems orderly enough, with police visible here and there.

And yet it is an unusual city. You won't find much on Apartadó in the travel guides. Colombians from other parts tend to avoid it because of the heat and humidity, but also because of its poverty and past violence. While traveling on that same highway leading to Apartadó, gazing on rows upon rows of green banana trees, we were told of brutal massacres that took place on either side. Today, people remember those events, when guerrillas or paras senselessly and brutally took the lives of family members or friends. If they speak of it, it is in a hushed, quiet voice.

Just a few years ago the whole area of Urabá, north, south, east and west of Apartadó was free territory for the guerrillas. It was important for gaining access to the Gulf of Urabá and Panamá for exporting drugs. It was also regarded as a source of funding for their operations. They infiltrated many banana plantations to provide a cover and income. They threatened workers, union leaders and owners if they did not cooperate, provide jobs, and especially money. They also took control of entire communities in many rural areas. Anyone seen as an obstacle to their agenda or control, especially anyone who showed signs of leadership or organizing to make things better, was forced to leave, threatened with death, or simply eliminated.

As the intimidation and violence intensified, wealthy land owners sought to protect themselves with their own armies, giving birth to paramilitaries. These consisted of ex-military, off-duty police and soldiers, and even former guerrillas, often women and children. Their numbers grew steadily. The paras killed anyone they thought might be a guerrilla, or anyone regarded as collaborating with the guerrillas. No one was safe.

Since our arrival in Apartadó we have met and come to know people who have shared their stories with us. They have come here from bordering departments of Chocó and Córdoba, and from the towns of Turbo, El Tres, and others. The majority of people attending churches we have visited are desplazados, uprooted from their homes at the point of a gun, witnesses of brutal atrocities, of family members killed before their eyes – sometimes at the hands of guerrillas, others by the paras. Sometimes the perpetrators were unidentifiable; simply spoken of as armed actors.

A lay pastor in El Tres told us that the challenge of ministering to the displaced people in his church is confronting the burden of sadness, anger, fear, and mistrust that most victims of displacement carry. Most of this sentiment remains bottled up. These people, he told us, used to be happy campesinos who sustained themselves and their families with simple farming. Some faced displacement two and three times, as control of land was wrested back and forth between guerrillas and paras fighting for control. Each time left them faced with nothing to lean on but faith in God and the meager support they receive from strangers, friends, and churches. The pastor told of visiting a widow of his church late one morning and finding her children still without food for breakfast. All he could do, he said, was to give her the few pesos he had in his pocket, cry and pray with her.

In ministering to the desplazados the Iglesia Presbiteriana de Colombia seeks to listen to their stories and emphasize how they survived, how their faith in God helped them through the crisis. Their stories are representative of the nearly 5 million internally displaced people living in Colombia today. While laws exist to protect them, they are mostly ignored or poorly enforced. Sadly the violence continues in Colombia. Just this week we read of a woman known for seeking justice for the displaced who was physically attacked in the street. And last Friday, June 11, the "Colombian Reality" literally exploded just 12 or so blocks away from our apartment when someone, reportedly the guerrilla, detonated a bomb in a clothing store in Apartadó killing one young woman and injuring 17 others, including 3 minors.

Join us in praying for the people of Colombia and those who seek to restore justice here.


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