September 19, 2005

A Paramilitary Group Demobilizes

by Anastasia Moloney

Inside the confines of a disused water plant not far from Cartagena, Colombia’s top tourist destination, 596 paramilitaries from the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia (AUC) wait. Soon these fighters from the Mountains of Maria Bloc, like thousands of AUC soldiers before them, will disarm and become civilians once again. This group was feared and loathed. Operating in northwest Colombia, it fought against leftist guerrilla groups it calls “the subversives.” The paramilitary group also unleashed its vengeance and terror upon innocent civilians and those it accused of collaborating with the AUC’s sworn enemies.

During the week, scores of officials from the Colombian government and Organization of American States (OAS) arrive at the compound to oversee the demobilization process. Huts dotted around the site are converted into busy makeshift processing centers where hundreds of fingerprints and photographs are taken of the paramilitaries, who wait patiently in long queues to receive their new special identity cards. Nurses and psychologists are on stand-by to patch up wounds, both physical and emotional.

Nearby, under the shade of a tree, a group of fighters hear about the different government work projects on offer after their release. Some paramilitaries listen intently; others stare aimlessly at the ground as if the possibility of new lives as farmers seems too remote.

Up a muddy path is the munitions store kept locked by a flimsy padlock. Inside lie hundreds of AK-47s, grenades and revolvers neatly stacked in rows along wooden racks. OAS officials wearing rubber gloves meticulously record and photograph the serial numbers of every weapon. Tomorrow, these arms will be handed in at the demobilization ceremony. Then they will be transported to Cartagena and recycled back into the conflict to be used by the police and armed forces against the same enemy.

During the day, journalists are asked to leave the site for security reasons. A nondescript helicopter lands in a field inside the compound. It is laden with cash. The money is part of the government humanitarian aid given to all demobilized fighters, each will receive around $150 a month for the next year and a half. Local journalists gossip. “By next week, they’ll have spent all the money on women and booze,” comments one.

Back in the compound, as dusk approaches, clusters of smoke rise from cooking pots as fighters prepare dinner. Others chat idly, gently swaying in well-worn hammocks that hang between the trunks of trees while enjoying a smoke. In a nearby field, another group of paramilitaries play football accompanied by enthusiastic stray dogs.

Poor local villagers take advantage of their temporary neighbors to earn much-needed pesos, selling mobile phones, telephone cards, cigarettes and snacks to the paramilitaries. Many villagers have friends inside the compound. “Demobilizing them is a good thing,” says Alfonso Vazquez who lives opposite the site.” I know someone inside and I hope that the government fulfills its promises and gives him something to do when he’s out.”

The next day, Diego Vecino, the group’s chief commander, prepares to appear on national television for the only and last time as an AUC commander. In the absence of his astute press officer, and despite being media savvy himself, Vecino is unsure about what to wear for the interview. “I’m not sure whether I should change into full camouflage gear or into civilian clothes or just wear this,” he says referring to his dressed down military look, consisting of camouflaged pants and a beige tee-shirt with the words ‘AUC Negotiator’ across it. He ponders about the symbolism his choice of attire will convey to the public. “You look good as you are,” advised a local reporter reassuringly. “Dressed like this reflects your gradual process of disarming and re-integration into civilian life.”

But the journalists are only concerned with one issue. They want Vecino to admit that the common graves of murdered civilians recently discovered in the village of San Onofre, two hours by road from this compound, were the work of Vecino’s group. Later, during the interview Vecino said, “We’re not the only group responsible. All the actors in this conflict are responsible.”

At first, speaking to the paramilitaries about their experiences in the AUC is like having a conversation with a prisoner facing a parole board. “The past is behind me. I’m going to be a good person and give back to society,” are stock answers. It is also like witnessing the trial of an accused soldier at a military hearing. “I’m not guilty. I was just carrying out the orders of El Patron (the commander),” is another knee-jerk response.

William Romero is 23-years-old and has fought with the AUC for the last five years. He hopes to become a rap singer in the future. As part of the uniform, he wears a black tee shirt, which simply says “Against the guerrilla.” William wants to know how the international community perceives the AUC. “So what does the world think of us?” he asks. I reply that the AUC are classified as terrorists by the US government, have committed human rights abuses and are involved in kidnapping and drugs trafficking. William does not appear to be surprised by my answer. “So, is this impression correct?” I ask.

“We’ve done some bad things but so have the guerrillas. There’re the real terrorists. No-one believes that we build roads and schools too, but we do,” he replies. He adds that the role of the paramilitaries is to protect vulnerable populations from the guerrillas. “When a farmer has his livestock and land snatched away by the guerrilla they turn to us to protect them,” William explains. We provide the sort of security and protection in areas where the government can’t.”

Tacit and direct collaboration between paramilitary groups and the national army is well documented. “How would you describe the AUC’s relationship with the army?” I ask. For William, the army is like family. “We’re like cousins,” William says nonchalantly. “We exchange intelligence information about the whereabouts of the subversives. And sometimes we join them or they join us on patrols.”

By now, William is eager to change the subject and talk about something that is far more interesting to him. Knowing that I am from England he asks, “How’s David Beckham? Great football in Britain, eh?”

As the days drag on, the paramilitaries became more relaxed. Now they are keen to have their pictures taken by the local press. “You’re all marked men. Let’s just hope that the guerrillas are not getting a good look at these photos,” jokes one soldier.

Kelly Diabilas, an 18-year-old pretty indigenous AUC fighter, is one of eight women in the group. She joined the AUC three years ago, like many, she says, “to do something about the subversives who were attacking my community and stealing our cattle.” Her sweet-mannered nature belies any signs of an accomplished fighter who was trained to handle a variety of weapons. Her light touches of eye mascara, platted ponytail and chipped pink nail varnish makes it easier to imagine Kelly as an ordinary schoolgirl than a fighter who has participated in many combat operations.

She plans to keep in touch with her older boyfriend, also a paramilitary from the same group, and return to school. “I’m really glad I’m leaving,” Kelly admits, “I just want to be normal again, live with my family and go to school like everyone else.” Like many of her peers, Kelly’s memories are consciously being wiped away. She won’t be telling school friends about what she used to be. “It’s best that people don’t know about my history for my security and theirs,” says Kelly. “The past should stay in the past.”

By the end of a long week, the fighters look a sloppy bunch. Only the commanders now bother to polish their black boots. The rest drag their feet in muddy rubber boots. To ease the transition from military to civilian life, each soldier receives new clothes, including a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and shoes. “Will you swap your tee-shirt with mine? I prefer the color of yours,” asks one soldier to his friend, as they excitedly ruffle through their packages.

The final hour has come. In a field facing a covered stand full of dignitaries, the troops line up in rows, their feet a foot apart, holding an AK-47 by their side. Some hastily polish their weapons for the last time. Behind the uniformed fighters stand scores of paramilitaries adorned in civilian clothes who formed the AUC’s urban militia units, acting as informants, messengers, intelligence gatherers and extortionists across Colombia’s cities.

Families and friends of soldiers wait patiently in the stifling midday sun. Outside the compound, a large crowd of curious locals peers through fences, some hanging in trees to get a better view. Various indigenous groups have arrived to show their support of the demobilization process. Banners dotted around the field declare hopeful messages. “Peace and reconciliation is our principal goal,” says one banner.

Several four-wheeled drive vehicles with blacked-out windows suddenly appear, signaling the arrival of the notorious ex-AUC chief of Italian descent, Salvatore Mancuso, now the official representative of demobilized AUC soldiers. He walks confidently towards the stands wearing black sunglasses and a crisp white shirt causing a flurry of excitement in the crowd and press enclosure. “It’s like being at a meeting of the capos,” remarks one reporter.

While the speeches last three arduous hours, the fighters wilt under the fierce Caribbean sun. For Kelly the heat is overbearing and she faints while Vecino’s speech is in full swing. Next, each soldier in turn approaches the stand and hands over their gun along with much hand shaking. This long awaited symbolic gesture of peace is greeted with applause from the crowd, who watch with mixed expressions of joy and relief.

The disarmed fighters quickly change into civilian clothes. The field changes from a sea of camouflaged uniforms into a mishmash of bright colors. While mothers tightly embrace their sons for the first time in years, the OAS monitors carefully pack away the weapons.

A woman meanders through the jubilant crowds clutching a photo of her missing son, hoping someone might know of his whereabouts. Families take photos with ex-commanders and thank them for returning their sons and daughters alive. But the real prize is a snap with Mancuso. Local journalists and fans scramble to get close to him. Mancuso is also giving out autographs. “Hey Salvatore,” a fan shouts from the crowd, “will you sign my poncho?”

In the space of a short time, these fighters had been converted from the bad guys who committed human rights abuses to the promoters of peace in Colombia. Around 20 rank and file fighters from this group face charges. Vecino and other bloc commanders will join their fellow colleagues in Sante Fe de Ralito, a safe haven for demobilized AUC chiefs, and await their fate pending criminal investigations.

The former fighters board tourist buses provided by the government and set off on the final journey back home, leaving behind their belligerent lives for good. Or so it is hoped. It is estimated that high unemployment will drive roughly a third of this group’s fighters back into the ranks of the AUC.

For the remainder of the year, this event will be replayed over and over throughout Colombia as thousands more paramilitaries demobilize. Since President Alvaro Uribe assumed office in August 2002, over 4,000 paramilitaries have laid down their arms. “The government has forgiven us,” reflects Kelly. Now, only time will tell whether other Colombians are willing to do the same.

Anastasia Moloney is a British freelance journalist working in Bogotá since 2002. She has lectured at the Javeriana University in Bogotá on U.S. history and U.S. relations with Latin America.

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