'We Want to Forget the Past'

With the demobilization of right wing paramilitaries, is Colombia any closer to peace?

LA MESA, Colombia - David Almansa was a sergeant in the Colombian Army, an experienced soldier with eight years of service.

His unit was on its way to set an ambush for guerrillas of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known by its Spanish acronym FARC, when his vehicle ran over a mine.

It was a powerful blast, possibly an anti-tank mine. The captain and lieutenant in the front seats were killed immediately and 12 other soldiers were injured. Almansa took shrapnel to both arms and legs, yet recovered to full health.

He says the Colombian Army rewarded him for his troubles by discharging him.

Without work, and little job experience besides soldiering, Almansa says he decided to become a paramilitary fighter. He joined the United Self Defense Forces of Colombia, or AUC. He says he had made contact with the AUC through the army, which often worked closely with the paramilitaries. The job paid him 500,000 pesos a month (about $200) — close to his army pay.

The AUC is a right-wing militia formed by wealthy ranchers and drug lords in the 1990s as a counter-measure to FARC and other guerrilla groups that threatened villages and business interests through violence, kidnapping and extortion.

But the "paras" began their own campaign of terror, massacring villagers thought to be left-leaning and assassinating political opponents. Like their guerrilla enemies, they got involved in the drug trade to finance their operations. Eventually, also like the guerrillas, the AUC was named a terrorist organization by both the United States and the European community.

But the AUC, in negotiations with the government of President Alvaro Uribe following his election in 2002, agreed to demobilize.

Gradually, in a process of fits and starts, including disagreements over amnesty and extradition of AUC leaders to the U.S. to face drug charges, an estimated 26,000 paras have laid down their arms.

Last month, Almansa's paramilitary unit, "Bloque Norte," which controlled much of Colombia's northern coastline, finally demobilized.

Bloque Norte, led by Rodrigo Tovar Pupo, who went by the nom de guerre Jorge Cuarenta (Jorge 40), was a holdout. It was one of the hardest of the hard line para groups, with as many as 6,000 fighters.

The town of La Mesa, at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range in northeast Colombia, served as headquarters for Bloque Norte. According to one observer, a basketball court there was piled high with AUC uniforms during a demobilization ceremony last month.

A billboard at the site with a large photograph of Jorge 40 reads in part, "Goodbye to arms. With our arms we have liberated the people, now the national government will assume that defense..."

Under the agreement, paras must lay down their arms, but will be paid a salary of 358,000 pesos (roughly $140) a month for 18 months and are free to go home.

Colombian security police

But for Almansa and about a dozen other former fighters still in La Mesa, there's no going home yet. Those with criminal charges pending against them are under a kind of house arrest in the village and may have to wait as long as six months before rulings are made in their cases.

Once the judgments are made, the Bloque Norte paras found guilty will serve their time, not in jail cells, but in the village of La Mesa.

Almansa says he is charged with murdering a man he didn't even know. He says he's innocent and that even though the man's sister has dropped charges against him, the government still plans on prosecuting the case. He says the accusations are made out of revenge against paras like him.

Manuel Mariano, 43, is another ex-paramilitary fighter with charges pending against him. He holds his young son on his lap, hugging and kissing him frequently.

"We don't feel betrayed by the demobilization," says Mariano, "but we do feel cheated. They promised they would rid us of our problems and they haven't."

He says he has eight children and that to see him, his family has to travel hours from the town of Aracataca, the birthplace of Colombian author Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Visiting with family

"It's very expensive," says Mariano, "and today my wife could only afford to bring one of my children."

Almansa, Mariano and another para with pending charges, Octavio Mindiola, sit on wooden benches outside a La Mesa market, vallenato music blaring from large outdoor speakers. They drink cans of Aguila beer, smoke cigarettes and ponder their fate.

"We just want to forget the past," says Mariano, while his son sits on his lap eating a bag of potato chips.

Recently in the Colombian newspapers there have been stories about mass graves being unearthed in the northern region — massacres, evidence indicates, likely connected to the paramilitaries.

"We don't know anything about that," says Mariano. "Our job was to enforce discipline in the ranks, to defend the people."

The others agree. But Almansa says they usually only had real battles with FARC about once a year, usually by accident when they were out on patrol. Some observers say this is probably because both groups concentrated their efforts on killing and terrorizing the civilian population.

Mariano says his worst day as a paramilitary fighter came during a surprise attack by FARC on his unit in area called Magdalena while they were sleeping.

"We fought from 3 a.m. to 3 p.m.," he says. "My breakfast and lunch were the same meal very late that afternoon."

When I ask them about the AUC being labeled a terrorist organization by the U.S. government they all begin to speak at once. Mindiola laughs.

"There's no proof of that," he says, "we didn't do anything."

"But what about FARC and the ELN (National Liberation Army) also being named terrorist organizations?" I ask.

"Well, there's proof of that," says David. "They've committed crimes. We liberated the people from FARC."

"We worked with the campesinos," says Mariano, referring to peasant farmers. "If it wasn't for us, they wouldn't be safe."

But they get most excited when I ask them about allegations that the AUC, like its guerrilla counterparts, was involved in drug trafficking.

"If that were true why would we be dressed like this?" says Almansa, tugging at his t-shirt.

"We'd have expensive cars," says Mindiola.

"And all the beautiful girls," adds Mariano.

They all laugh, but then the laughter subsides. They drink their beers and look off into the distance. Only the vallenato music, still blaring from the speakers, fills the void.

Though demobilization of the paramilitaries has taken place across Colombia, former AUC leaders say few of the 26,000 ex-fighters have found legitimate work.

In an interview with Colombian radio, Ivan Roberto Gaviria, who as a former AUC commander was known by the alias Ernesto Baez, says many of the ex-paras are either returning to the war or working for drug traffickers or "private justice groups."

Baez also criticized business owners for not hiring members of the militia.

Mariano says he used to be a heavy machinery operator before joining Bloque Norte. He says even though he's been a para for eight years, he's confident he can make the transition into civilian life.

"Of course I can," he says. "All I want is a civilian life with my wife and kids."

"I want to give my children the future I never had," says Almansa.

Almansa says he's ready for the change, especially after nearly being killed, not just in the Colombian Army but also as a paramilitary fighter.

"We were on patrol one day," he says, "and I stepped on a land mine, but it was dud. It only exploded a little."

He pulls off his shoe to reveal a scar where the shrapnel entered his foot near the arch and another where it exited near the ankle.

"God gave me another chance at life," he says, something he's determined not to forget, revealing large tattoos of Christian crosses on both arms.

The men say giving up their weapons and uniforms wasn't easy, since a gun constitutes a sense of power — especially in a place like Colombia, ravaged by four decades of armed conflict.

"It was a little difficult but when you have the love of your woman, it's alright," says Mariano. "These are the decisions one has to make to live a normal life."

Mariano, a former member of a group notorious for atrocities committed against civilians, hugs his son tightly.

"I'm so happy, look at me," he says. "These are not opportunities I used to get a lot. I think my life really could change in the future."

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