Colombia confronts civil conflict
A new court looks to provide justice for war atrocities
BOGOTA, Colombia — The testimony is searing. “They tied me to a tree,” said one victim of Colombia’s guerrillas. “They put us in a cage,” said another. “I was kidnapped for four years.”
“Until then, I had not heard of ‘mass graves,’ ” said a victim of the military. “Finally I understand that those in charge of protecting civilians killed thousands of Colombians.”
After decades of civil war, Colombia has created a historic postwar court designed to reveal the facts of a conflict that defined the nation for generations, morphing into the longest-running war in the Americas.
Thousands have testified. Wide-ranging investigations are underway. The first indictments were issued in January — and the first pleas are expected in April. Perpetrators will be punished, with those who admit responsibility receiving lesser, “restorative” sentences, like house arrest or remaining free while doing hard physical labor. Those who refuse to do so will face trial and the possibility of decades in prison.
The goal of the court, which began its work in 2018, is to give the country a common narrative about the conflict, one that will allow Colombians to move forward, together. The success of the court, called the Special Jurisdiction for Peace, could help change the trajectory of a nation that has been at war for much of its history, with one conflict rolling almost immediately into the next.
Its failure could mean the repetition of that cycle.
“We have a window — a generational opportunity — to leave behind the insane violence we have lived in all our lives,” said Ingrid
Betancourt, a former presidential candidate who was kidnapped and held by guerrillas, sometimes in chains, for more than six years. “I would like us to be able to open that window and let the light in.”
Colombia’s most recent conflicts date to the 1960s, when a leftist rebel group called the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC, launched an insurgency meant to remake a sharply unequal society.
The war grew into a complex battle among leftwing guerrilla groups, rightwing paramilitaries, the military, drug cartels and the United States, which supplied and advised the military.
For years, everyday life was marked by bombings, kidnappings and assassinations. At least 220,000 died, and more than 5 million were displaced. The war ended in 2016, when the FARC and the government signed a
peace deal that included the creation of the postwar court.
But if the goal of the court is to dig up buried truths, it is clear that this search is also exhuming and exacerbating long-standing divisions — and that the road to a common narrative, if one can be found, will be lined with conflict.
Some see the court as their best chance to find answers about lost loved ones and the country’s best hope for peace; others are angered that assassins and kidnappers will not receive prison sentences; still others simply dismiss the court’s findings, saying the institution is biased in favor of the former guerrillas.
The court’s most prominent critic is former President Alvaro Uribe, who presided over some of the final years of the war and who remains the country’s most divisive and influential political figure. A recent report by the court implicates the military in more than 6,400 civilian
deaths from 2002 to 2008, during his presidency.
Uribe responded to the report by calling it an “attack” with “only one purpose”: “to discredit me personally.”
The court is held in an imposing black building on a main avenue in Colombia’s capital, Bogota. Some testimony is public and has been streamed on social media or released in public documents, offering a window into decades of suffering. To protect participants’ safety, much of it takes place behind closed doors.
So far, the court’s findings have been explosive, revealing victim counts far higher than previously confirmed and hard-hitting accusations that many skeptics did not expect.
In January, magistrates issued their first indictment, accusing eight top FARC leaders of orchestrating a kidnapping-for-ransom operation that lasted decades and resulted in more than 20,000
victims, many of them civilians, some of whom were raped or murdered. The kidnappings were used to fund the insurgency, said the court, and amounts to crimes against humanity.
The accused former FARC leaders have indicated that they will admit guilt. If they do, they will receive nonprison sentences, which could include up to eight years digging up old land mines or tracking down bodies. If they do not admit guilt, they will face a trial and the possibility of decades behind bars.
They have until late April to reply to the court.
“We are assuming collective responsibility,” said Julian Gallo, who is among the indicted leaders.
“These were practices that in some form delegitimized our fight,” he went on. “What we have asked for is forgiveness.”
Some see the charges and the defendants’ response as signs that the court’s decisions will be taken seriously, enabling it to establish that common narrative.
Hector Angulo’s parents, a metalworker and housewife, were kidnapped by the FARC in 2000. He sold his home and paid a ransom for their release, but the guerrillas never returned his parents. He has spent two decades searching for their bodies, he said.
He is not sure he can ever forgive, he said, “because the pain one feels for a family member is irreparable.” But he supports the court’s work, he added, because “it’s what we have.”
Ximena Ochoa opposes the court. Her mother was kidnapped by the rebels in 1990, held for four terrible months and released after her family paid a hefty ransom. She believes that the court is a distraction designed to gloss over the FARC’s unresolved crimes. The guerrillas, for example, have yet to hand over much of their war chest.
The court, she said, will allow the former rebels to admit to some things, an effort to placate the international community by claiming that justice has been served in Colombia.
“This whole transitional justice thing is a hoax,” she said. Of the FARC, she added, “They are never going to tell the whole truth.”
In February, magistrates turned their attention to the crimes of the military, issuing the scathing report that implicated officials in the intentional killing of at least 6,402 civilians when Uribe was in office.
The killings were part of a previously revealed strategy in which Colombian soldiers or their allies lured civilians from their homes with the promise of jobs, then killed them and tried to pass off their deaths as combatant kills. Many of the victims were poor; some were mentally disabled.
The idea was to show that the government was winning the war.
How much pent-up demand exists for live entertainment that involves leaving your home? Chicago finally has helpful data.
At the time of writing, around 150,000 tickets have been sold to “Immersive Van Gogh,” a show that is cranking out admissions on Chicago’s Near North Side from 9 a.m. until 10 p.m. Right now. No Zoom account required.
Despite its title, ”Immersive Van Gogh” is not an art museum exhibit. There are no Van Gogh paintings whatsoever to see at the former Germania Club. There are no artifacts at all.
What people — a whole lot of people — are buying is a show that lands somewhere between film and theater. It’s a high-definition, environmental movie containing original music, images and storytelling. And it’s adaptable to the shape of the building in which it happens to be playing.
In other words, it’s the kind of immersive, communal experience that conventional wisdom says just got blown away by the pandemic and won’t return for years. Convention wisdom, as usual, is wrong.
“Immersive Van Gogh” is the work of an incredibly savvy Canadian theater company. Starvox Entertainment, which also created “Potted Potter: The Unauthorized Harry Experience,” “Evil Dead — The Musical” “Four Chords and a Gun” and “Faulty Towers the Dining Experience” (note the shrewd spelling change).
While most local companies and presenters were stuck trying to figure out a crisis plan and hitting roadblocks, the shrewd Starvox producer Corey Ross somehow figured out a way to bring to Chicago a hit attraction from Toronto (tricky international borders notwithstanding), get it installed in the former Germania Club building (108 W. Germania Pl.) redubbed Lighthouse ArtSpace Chicago (not a typical live venue), hire a staff and still pass muster with a city regulation that has so far limited indoor gatherings to no more than 50. And a lack of competition means a lot more media coverage.
The show had unusual advantages, of course.
There are no live performers — everything is digital. And that meant Ross did not have to deal with safety-conscious unions, although he did need staffers.
He did run afoul of the International Association of Theatrical Stage Employees Local 2, colloquially known as the stagehands union, explaining why a giant rat could be seen for a day or two at Germania Place. But in an interview Tuesday, Ross said he had settled his dispute with the union, and a call to IATSE confirmed both sides were happy. (An IATSE spokesperson also said people had been feeding its rat.)
Better yet for Ross, Lighthouse ArtSpace has several rooms, so it’s possible to get more than 50 people moving through the environment at once while still social distancing everybody. Because the show is digital, it was also possible to extend the performance hours, although it’s still striking to me that the audience demand is so high, even on weekday mornings. It’s indicative, perhaps, of some vaccinated retirees feeling comfortable about the safety of this particular endeavor.
Buildings without fixed
seating are seeing a major advantage at present. So are venues with a lot of space allowing for safer entrances and exits. If you can sell a show as something you can safely enjoy with a single companion, aware of others but not too close to them, you are, in the Blago terminology, golden.
There are a couple of other salient points here.
Ross could get this done precisely because he lacks a Chicago staff. Most venues and presenters still have a lot of staffers on furlough and aren’t about to bring people back without more product (it’s a bit like restaffing a well-known restaurant for a month’s worth of reduced-capacity dinners; it makes no sense and the start-up operator invariably can be more nimble).
At one point in our conversation, Ross, a superb marketer of his shows, was telling me how much his immersive and magnified digital images of the
licensed Van Gogh pieces allowed for a superior experience than standing at a respectful distance from the works themselves.
“You can better see the brushstrokes but also the artist’s pain, as compared to peering closely at the painting and hoping you are not getting tackled by a security guard,” he said.
I laughed wryly at what the world has become (especially since Ross often does his shows in Toronto in the cavernous room that once printed the analog version of the Toronto Star), but I also think Ross has homed in on one permanent pandemic change: increased comfort with digital facsimiles.
If you’ve gotten used to talking only to a digital facsimile of your mom, as so many of us have, you’re probably less inclined to make a fuss about that old distinction between the real thing and some digital representation. If you can love on Zoom, you can
adore pictures of things in high definition.
This, to my mind, has huge implications for the future of live theatrical entertainment, although Ross is also skilled at making commercial shows out of real art works too, such as the works of the British artist and provocateur known as “Banksy.” He does the same thing with shows about bands like The Ramones and when parodying literary and entertainment properties.
Ross said he doesn’t plan to abandon live performances, arguing instead that this theory of a new digital comfort will be exploited through the environments in which these humans can be seen. In other words, people are sick of screens and the trick, beginning now, will be to make sure they aren’t so aware of them even if they are present.
On Broadway, of course, that already has been happening for a while. No wonder IATSE was anxious
to make sure it had a contract to handle that physical stuff that remains to be handled.
Ross’ point is that our pandemic versions that are inferior to what was experienced before the pandemic will be quickly abandoned. Drive-through comedy will be consigned to the trash as quickly as possible, as will rock concerts heard through your car’s speakers. These experiences might be better than nothing, but they are undeniably worse than the original.
What will abide, he argues — and he’s wellpositioned to know — is live entertainment that is better than what we had before, at least in the minds of an audience. And at least 150,000 people in Chicago already seem to agree.
No closing date has been announced.