In Colombia, “a Government of the Callused Hands”

By 8 am, the residents of Suarez, a township in the northern Cauca department in Colombia, are lined up from the sports arena filled with polling booths to the police roadblock, where security forces are controlling entry. Local authorities tell me they’re seeing many more people than in past elections and they expect an historic turnout. No wonder. This is the hometown of Francia Marquez, the environmental activist and now—with the support of millions of impoverished Colombians like her townspeople—the first Black woman vice president in the nation’s history.

Suarez reflects the conditions that carried Gustavo Petro, a leftist former mayor and senator, and Francia Marquez, an Afro-Colombian organizer and rights defender, to power on June 19. Its inhabitants are a mix of Black and Indigenous communities and peasant farmers. Despite having collective property rights by law, their lands are invaded by warring armed groups and corporate mining interests. Francia is their candidate, and for the first time many viewed the elections as a way out of violence and poverty.

Olga Lucia Pechené, a member of the association of 43 community councils that administer Afro-Colombian collective property in northern Cauca, watches the voting and greets people as they stand in line. “Having Francia Marquez in the vice presidency, we can change things in favor of our communities, especially the most vulnerable in Colombia,” she says. She ticks off a list of local problems: The already “terrible health system” collapsed under the pandemic; young people don’t have access to higher education; and structural racism, lack of security and the economic model all work against their communities.

Many of the people waiting to vote traveled up to four hours from the surrounding hillsides on foot and in rickety buses. Transportation isn’t their only obstacle. The hills surrounding the town are home to coffee and subsistence farmers, but also drug trafficking armed groups and illegal miners. Just two days before the elections, a motorcycle bomb parked outside the police station left an officer severely wounded.

Hundreds of people who were forced out of Suárez by the violence and lack of economic opportunities rented buses to come home to vote from the cities, especially nearby Cali. After more than 60 years of armed conflict, Colombia has the second-highest rate of internal displacement in the world, some 5.6 million people.

Just before noon, a noticeable buzz arises. Olga Lucia makes a phone call. “She’s arriving,” she announces. Minutes later, Francia Marquez steps out of a white van and is immediately surrounded by her people. Members of the Afrodescendent Community Council of La Toma, her village, keep closest guard rather than armed soldiers or police. She has received death threats for years, but she moves casually between the polling places. She smiles broadly, hugs old friends, receives greetings, and shakes hands with every one of the citizens at the voting tables. After marking her ballot for Petro-Marquez, she holds it up to photographers and urges people to vote. Then she heads off to the nation’s capital to await the results.


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