Looking out over the muddy banks of the Río Atrato, Mercedes tells of nightmares of mangled bodies, spiraling flames and the cries of dying children. Trying desperately to grasp the hands that reach out to her through the darkness, she awakens to nothing but silence. Mercedes has been working with a UN-sponsored psychologist for months now, struggling to come to terms with the horror that struck this small Afro-Colombian community over a year ago. Of the 1,400 people that lived in the remote town of Bellavista before the events of May 2, 2002, only 600 have returned.
It is difficult to believe that so much suffering has occurred here. Dugout canoes laden with bananas, pineapples, sugarcane and miscellaneous packages vie for space near the dirt embankment as lively exchanges take place between people calling instructions back and forth. A large poster, which I later learned was placed strategically on the riverbank by the army, reads: “On May 2, 2002 the FARC assassinated 119 people here. We will never forget!” A larger than life boy’s face peers out from beside the words.
The events of May 2 began with 400 paramilitary troops passing through several military checkpoints as they made their way from the Gulf of Urubá up the Río Atrato to Bellavista in the Chocó department. The last of these checkpoints was located in Ríosucio just a few hours downriver from their destination in guerrilla-controlled territory. When the paramilitaries arrived in Bellavista on April 21, the acting mayor and a local priest immediately notified the regional and national authorities about the imminent danger faced by the community but to no avail. Fighting began ten days later on May 1 when the FARC tried to drive the paramilitaries out of Bellavista in an offensive that lasted through the night and into the next day. In an attempt to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, hundreds of residents of a particularly exposed neighborhood, Pueblo Nuevo, took refuge in a small church in the center of town.
Mercedes remembers her friends huddling close to one another in the church, trying to remain calm and talking in hushed tones of how things would be once the war was over. The paramilitaries had set up camp next door, and they were the intended targets of a FARC cylinder bomb. Crashing through the roof of the church the stray projectile, loaded with shrapnel—metal, cement and nails—tore through bodies and walls leaving 119 people dead and many others wounded. Mercedes describes the moments immediately following the explosion when she lay on the ground staring at the ceiling and walls where various body parts and a fetus were splayed. She recalls that long night when she and another woman comforted the dying, bringing them water and praying with them.
Almost 10% of the town’s population perished that day. Although national authorities were immediately notified of the calamity, the army did not arrive until six days later, despite the fact that the Fourth Brigade’s 12th Infantry Battalion is based only four hours upriver in Quibdó. Furthermore, a UN investigation revealed that paramilitaries maintained a visible presence in Bellavista for almost two weeks after the army arrived.
The suffering of Bellavista parallels the experiences of communities throughout rural Colombia. The key difference is that so many died in this one incident, focusing international attention on this remote community. While I was in the town, government representatives from Bogotá and Medellín, along with several NGO workers, came to work with local authorities and community members to develop an extensive plan to rebuild the community. The acting mayor explained how the plan was to be carried out in consultation with the community, but that due to a lack of funds, only part of the rebuilding had been approved so far. Meanwhile, other Afro-Colombian communities in the Chocó continue to be neglected. Many live without water, electricity or access to healthcare in Colombia’s poorest department. Eighty percent of chocoanos live in extreme poverty and the illiteracy rate is three times the national average.
Afro-Colombian and indigenous communities continue to endure harassment from all the armed actors including the ongoing collusion between the U.S.-backed army and the paramilitaries. Socioeconomic and security problems are now being addressed in Bellavista because of the magnitude of the tragedy of May 2, 2002. The rest of the Río Atrato region, and much of rural Colombia, continues to suffer: human detritus of the country’s war without end. And Washington continues its war against drugs and leftist guerrillas by supporting a military closely allied with right-wing paramilitaries.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Terry Gibbs is director of NACLA
