A year after the physical death of eleven heroic FARC-EP guerrillas who fell under the bombs criminal Yankee imperialism and this cruel oligarchy that has no mercy to kill the poor of my country.

FARC guerilla

By Lizeth,  FARC-EP guerrilla, Catatumbo mountains


In memory Yuribi, the nom de guerre of my sister, who unfortunately also fell into the cowardly bombing of October 11, 2011, along with 10 comrades.

I want to take stock of our lives. This is very hard for me, but I feel obliged to do so. For the world to realize the situation in this country. And to solve if our cause is just or not!

My sister and I.

We belong to a poor family. My family, from dad, living in Barranquilla, and by mother, in Norte de Santander. In the latter we were raised.

My earliest childhood memories are very tragic. I was about six years old and my sister about 10. One morning we woke up surrounded by uniformed people. We got scared a lot, and we soon realized that paramilitaries were scrambled with the Army. My father were then taken to another little most people. About 20 minutes from where we lived. As my father and my mother were separated, one of my brothers were with my mother and others were with my dad. Since we lived close, about two minutes on the way, my older sister ran to tell the others. We all gathered in the house of my father, to pray and mourn for him. With all there, we heard some shots and bursts of rifle side where they had been taken. We despair more. It was very terrible to think that they were killing.

We suffered a lot, felt like we were being ripped the soul. And the evening was my dad, but that hour was an eternity. He had finally arrived. The embrace and kiss of joy because they had not killed. Then he told us that the shots that were heard was that they were killing a carrier, known us. The informant toad paramilitaries had accused him of collaborating with the guerrillas. He told us he was beaten over a hundred shots because he did not fall to the floor, and asked for water. And the paramilitaries were frightened, they said he was the devil. Until he was mauled to death.

The next day the paramilitaries came back to the house. We were afraid. They are scattered all over the road, and grabbed a young boy who came with mules. They tied at the side of the road and put forward the machete that he wore around his waist. With hands tied behind their backs. To us though we did see that boy there humiliated. Unable to do anything for him. Then, mid-day, we saw there came a man who had been a worker ours was a worker like us. He was drunk. To which saw the bracelet AUC was frightened and ran zigzag.

He formed after the plomacera again, but in our presence. I was very scared and I hugged my dad. He covered my eyes, but I, between whining and scared, looked at what was happening. And one of my sisters stood there like a statue, with toteados and astonished eyes. Among the many shots, so they shot him in the knee, and then fell with machetes like hungry beasts, and bitten into pieces. And then there was the worst. See the commander of them, how the blood dripped down the machete licked. Seeing that, somehow, I snapped me my dad’s arms and got under the bed, terrified of everything.
As we saw this drama, we did not realize what time they had slain the boy was tied. After all that, the commander of them asked my dad if younger children had seen what had happened. But he did not answer them all, she was outraged. Then they went to kill more people in other houses.

Then we all gathered and buried the dead on the side of the house. And my dad decided it was best to leave that area. He searched everywhere, he sold what he could to raise the fare to travel to where his family, to Barranquilla. Now still another difficult time for us. Separating parents. Dad went with four children, and my mother was left with three. Among those who stayed with my mother was Yuribi, she never wanted to leave her. But we reached not to leave, when the paramilitaries were already retreating.

cronica_3.jpgComo were many people gathered in one house, they also were, the paramilitaries took all the men and made them form in rows, and the informant put forward, and he pointed to who could kill. They had taken either as three of the row. His relatives cried and begged to be left alone, they were innocent. Suddenly the informant told my dad. We shuddered and trembled with fear us, but nothing happened because after noted, the toad said he was a poor man full of children.

Then we returned the soul to the body and left him alone. But always they killed about four, and others told us to go, if we returned to see not forgive us. That same day we went, we Cucuta, and then embarked on a bus heading to Barranquilla.

During the trip, it was wonderful emotion to know such a big city. The bus stopped at mealtimes and for refreshments, the trip lasted half day. First impression was at the entrance to the city. A great bridge, a mighty waters. Then a very large bakery. That first looked at my eyes. We were happy, but not enough to forget the past, because in that hell had been our hearts, our mother and our brothers. There we had many wonderful experiences, we met our uncles and cousins, and our dear grandmother. By the way, it was very nice with us. With that part of the family we went downtown, drive bumper cars, met Barranquilla Stadium, went to sea.

All that was wonderful. But there was also a sad reality, begging children, the elderly on the street, thieves, robbers, was everything between these huge buildings and beautiful places, a picture of misery watched, a huge inequality. After a few days my dad returned to the North and left us with a brother to him. And they put us to the Pentecostal Church. Where we lived was a poor street, the streets were not paved. We were there until my father returned. He came back for us. That news pleased us on the one hand and on the other we sad.

We were happy because we would meet again with our mom and my brothers. Entristecíamos us because we left that beautiful city, the sea and never would see, and also those uncles and cousins ​​who would not look so tender and that grandmother, who would suffer, because they had grown fond of us.

Well, back to Cucuta. The greatest happiness. The family meeting, knowing that nothing had happened, the sad story that counts. But there was something that I did not like that my mother was living with another man, also dad with another woman who had worked at the bar and had two children. And I was about to turn eight. They held me and kept beside my dad, he had a casetica where he sold arepas stuffed with egg. With that we earned the food.

My older sister was married and had a child. And I hated her stepmother and me, I went to live with my sister. She lived in Ocaña, I healed the girl and studied. The brother was very lush but never the little food we needed. I studied two months and then I hit mastitis, and came to the field with my mother and my sister Yuribi. But there was another problem, not me along with my stepfather. Because he hit us, for us and my mom too. And he not worked. And the money that we took we were winning. He never brought a grain of rice to the house. This life that I lived with my mother was terrible.

I was ten when my sister was fourteen Yuribi. We wanted very much. She, like he was older, he took me everywhere she went. But one day my mother sent us to bring meat. A Yuribi, my other brother, who took me two years, and myself. Arriving at the house we find the FARC. Yuribi had a boyfriend and was there with others. For us, on the sidewalk, the guerrilla was like an authority, we were very familiar, because every day we watched and they were very good and kind to us peasants. Sometimes we gave economy. They loving people earn, not with words, but with deeds. And will not how people want one that is so kind, caring and respectful of one! That they are the opposite of soldiers and paramilitary is coming to kill us and move and humble.

Entonces like my sister’s boyfriend was there, we started hanging out with them. And we slept in the house of the chief of the militia. We lay the three brothers Yuribi and groom on a tent. That night my sister had told me that she had entered, but I did not believe him. The next day, at about 6 am, we woke up my brother and me. Yuribi asked for and were told that she had gone with the guerrillas. I thought tender look, but my brother said no, we left for home. And we went without flesh and Yuribi. But my mother and was coming to get us. When we asked for Yuribi we not know what to say. But finally we said, and she took the rage, did not cry at the moment. He just said “I do what I figured.” Arriving at the house we flooded the nostalgia of thinking that no longer would see Yuribi. For me it was very hard, because it was the sister I loved most, and had gone to the guerrillas leaving me alone with no one to uphold me, without stepfather who defend me.

From then on everything it was complicated for me. I had to learn to cook. We took turns, one week was my twin sister, another brother who was with us when Yuribi left, and the other week. Because my mother worked as a man to feed us and clothe. The situation was worse with my stepfather. To me I hit me all the time, and my mother too. One day my brother came and would give machete with him, but my mommy, tears in her eyes, she stopped him. All were tired of that situation.

In the days of entering the guerrillas, my sister came to visit. We said that was fine, that there was very nice, it was treated as a very close family. But instead we told him that the stepfather had become unbearable, so I was very sad. When he left to go, he stood before him and told him that if he came to know that he was sticking to my mom and us, was coming and going to hit some shots in the legs. She was furious. And he went again. I despaired every day. When he was eleven, one day it hit me and I raging, I went for a broken and stayed there until dark. I thought many things, Yuribi, lack that made at home and me. He begged the guerrillas to pass by, to go with them. I remembered what had happened as a child and stepfather told me that I had was a paraco and which should die. I do not want to come home and lay down under a large stone.

Late at night I was awakened by some lights. Again I remember the morning when we woke up surrounded by the paramilitaries and scared me. But it was my mother and my brothers who were looking for me. To find me, they took me home with them. A few days later I found the guerrillas and asked them entry, but I said no, that when I was older, I was a child yet and should finish my first breeding. That forced me to make another decision, blow my house. I left because I could not stand it. My mom brought me the hard way, but I turned to fly. I was twelve and I joined in with a man of twenty. But I did not last long with him, he left me like three months. Within days, I finally joined the guerrillas. My main desire was to meet my sister, and I knew a guy who had also entered.

Here in the ranks of the FARC, and everything was different. Everything was better for me. I lasted three months basic course. It was a very interesting time, because here you head to one arm first and then hands. In-depth study I understood everything I had lived. I realized that poverty was not by the grace of the Holy Spirit, but had some responsibility. That the culprits were those that I had seen their faces when they killed my people. And they were led by the state. And the state was kneeling before a bigger enemy, the American oligarchy. And I also realized that we had rights, that when a man is born has the same rights and duties in society. Therefore he did not have to be rich and poor.

I also realized that the story of God was a policy imposed by the capitalists for centuries, so that the poor believe they live in misery because God so ordained. And they do not realize the fact that if we are poor is because a small part of society robs us of what belongs to us. And there are still many farmers and workers who ask God every day to improve their living conditions, when in fact that must demand is that the State is obligated to guarantee us a better life.

Upon discovering this, I realized I had taken the right path. And I’m here is because I love my people and I want to have a better life. I love my mother and my father, but I do not fight only for themselves, but for all the poor parents who, like my family, suffer in that sad Colombia. This training and awareness I have gained from the organization.

After three years in row unit moved me and I could meet my uncle. I was glad. And more so when a few days later I met the one I wanted most, my beautiful sister. We hugged for a long time. She was very pretty, plump and strengthened, we talked a lot and we were happy to find ourselves together. To be fighting for the same thing and with the same ideas. At two we found it very easy to understand and embrace this cause, had gone through the same story and had suffered much. We were unsure of what we were doing. We stayed together for about a year. She was an excellent nurse and I had just gone through a nursing course. We share together the difficult moments and happy moments. When our comrades were not sleeping together and ate together. We wanted very much.

I remember she liked to play with me repeating a phrase: You have to listen to me at all to me, because of the two I’m the oldest. Then I answered to the four corners, referring Regulation, did not establish any difference between an older sister and another child. Then SolTab laughter. She helped a lot to the guy, and required me to worry about him anymore. The truth was that the three we helped a lot. Then my sister brought before the higher their desire to further professionalize nursing. She was transferred to another place where it would be possible to fulfill his wish.

Here in the guerrilla one has the privilege to be prepared in many ways, not the least cost. Just behave properly. It took about eight months of preparation and was then sent to a unit of public policy, to put into practice what he had learned. To me I was assigned to serve as permanent staff on a course of pictures. There I had the opportunity to learn much militarily and politically, because every day you learn something new. One just never learn everything, every day is something to be learned, knowledge is infinite. Then I was in a commission of mass organization. I found my sister on three different occasions, where we take the most time to speak and entrust everything.

cronica_5.jpgNo enlarge it again. Although I missed a lot, I not angered me with the controls for it. Both clear and aware that this struggle were so, one need on one side and the other on the other side. The most important is the contribution that you make to this cause, as one can. We wrote in a row, communicating errors and successes that we had. And we we corrected each other through those letters. About a year later I learned that he had been sent to the column commanded by Danilo controls and asked if it was true. I confirmed it. The truth worried me a little, I knew that against that unit operating were hard and frequently, but he understood the situation.

One morning we heard on the news that had bombed a FARC camp and had killed 30 guerrillas and other Eliezer. I said that I wish were not true and did strength because among the fallen was no one I knew. One would hurt the death of any guerrilla, because you know that even without knowing it, is a brother of struggle that has suffered in the same way or even more than us this war. But it hurts more when they are guerrillas who shared one next year. But we know that a war, unfortunately, brings the dead of both contenders. If it were otherwise, there would be war.

When the news, I was working on a commission. Three days later we were picked up for camp. I greeted with joy to my uncle who was there. I noticed something strange when I said we had to talk right now. He was pale. I asked him if he was serious and he said yes. I panicked and immediately thought of many things, but in which I thought was not exactly where it happened. We retired a few meters from other people and then he proceeded to tell me that he and the superiors had reported and confirmed that Yuribi had died. And he had been entrusted with the task of communicate it.

I was speechless. The moment the tears would not come. The first thing I thought was to raise them to send me to fight, to kill many soldiers as revenge. But then I took the pain and crying, and thought. Again I felt were ripping out the hearts, it is very hard, something one understands but does not allow you to resign. Losing to be loved, who had accompanied me through thick and thin. That’s terrible, is not the same to say to feel it. They were very sad day for me, but thanks to my uncle, my partner and the whole guerrillerada that fully sympathized with me, I began to think over it. All of them also hurt them because my sister was a very simple woman and endeared many of the guerrillas. Thanks to all of them concluded that what remained was to follow in the fight, harder and with more reason than before.
My reflections

Then I heard on the news talking to President Santos and the minister of defense. They were proud and happy to have actually killed eleven young people, including three women that most did not exceed 23 years. What we want the Colombian president. He believes that killing people will bow down or bring down our morale. What then can I say something, Mr. Santos? You are wrong. Every time we fight a guerrilla dies harder and more so than before. If you kill five guerrilla today, tomorrow ten because our struggle entering the support the masses, the poor people of this country that we are the majority.

Also note that whenever a guerrilla dies, you pounces a family. So whenever in his speeches says he wants peace, he is tired of this war, we produce laughter, because we know that you have no idea what war is. You and your government machinery, are rich in this country have lived all their lives in palaces, they do not lack anything, silver up to shoot for the top. Thanks to what they have stolen us. So we know that neither you nor your group will get a penny out of their pockets to improve the lives of Colombians, it never will. At least for the good.

Personally I have a question, Mr. Santos. If you are a robot or a human being. Because you have nothing human. Only one machine acts as you do the capitalists, oligarchs, pipi Yankees call or whatever. You will have nothing left well the role of hypocrite who have been playing the Yankees. Anyone who hears his words without knowing their past think he’s talking about a revolutionary. Lie, because while publicly saying that we must fight to reduce poverty, actually work as Fidel said in a speech: “do not kill the disease killing the sick, not kill ignorance killing the ignorant.” Already said Che Guevara: “The words are not the facts, and if they are not greet each other, because they do not know.”

Luckily we Colombians already being assholes. No longer we pay attention to the words but to facts. That mask you have nothing left right, Mr. Santos. Note that there is a big difference between you and us oligarchs revolutionaries. We never glad when a soldier dies, because we know better than anyone that the soldiers who die every day are peasants are poor people like us. And because they are on that side is obligated to pay for the service, or feel the need to do to earn an income and feed their families. Or they are deceived. We have been formed with the idea of ​​having him a deep respect for the enemy. Here, even as prisoners of war, it allowed a soldier to mistreat profanity. The commander Manuel Marulanda fought lifetime because no soldiers were called pimps.

I know that these soldiers are unaware that this war is a class struggle pitting the rich against the poor and vice versa. I know many of them have not even asked which side they are. If the rich side or the side of the poor. I want to invite the soldiers fighting in the service of the rich to reflection: What is better, sacrifice and suffer a while, or begging live forever? Do not you have wondered why the children of the rich are not going to risk their lives fighting for your class? What is better, to die for our class or die defending the interests of those who have robbed us all? If we die defending our people, history will hold us as martyrs, but died defending transnational history will judge us as traitors. What do you prefer?

As for Santos, I would like to dedicate the disk Diomedes Diaz titled Judas. And this is not saying a commander of the FARC, or an intellectual, this says a guerrilla base just has twenty years of age. But that does not mean you are telling the honest truth.

I do not tell this story to praise me, but for everyone to know this reality, which is only one of every day and every time Colombians live. And for all to wonder and judge whether our cause is just really or not.

I would also like to respond to Vice President Angelino Garzon, that traitor to his class that perhaps much money did so after leading the workers into the service of those who exploit them, whom he fills her mouth claiming that the FARC recruit children old, real children. Why when they sent bands to kill our parents, siblings, and even the children they took to defend ourselves? Why do not they left to fight for human rights? Because it is clear, do not children, they do so in order to discredit the FARC.

You know what we say children who entered the guerrillas? As you since childhood we are attacking, up to us to defend ourselves from children. Be clear you and the whole country, here nobody is compelled or forced to enter. On the contrary, we have to beg and explain over and over why no choice but to greet us. Because the guerrillas have standards of recruitment in exceptional cases like mine touches transgress.

I also invite the workers, peasants, students, miners, Indians, intellectuals and all the people in general to leave differences aside and let us mark a route. States to face our enemy, which is the enemy of all, imperialism, capitalism, which can only defeat thus. For our struggle it is not a struggle of the FARC, but a struggle of all who belong to the class of the exploited.

Every time there is a bombing, or the death of a leader of a community, or a child, or any human being, I wonder: How long will this people supporting that? How many more deaths will have to put all the people to rise in revolt against those who oppress and murder? I would say it’s about time. We have already many dead.

You say if it is right here that while some are giving their lives to change this criminal regime, you stay in front of the television, gone insane and the world of reality, spellbound with stories and realities. Will you ever have wondered if that’s fair? TV, movies and programs are designed by our enemies to keep us under control. Do not give them that pleasure, turn off the TV. We go to the streets to support those who fight for a change in this country. I do not mean by this that the only way to be wielding a gun fight in the ranks of the FARC. No. There are many other ways to fight from the unions, from school, from the neighborhood or the party, protesting, demanding, demanding. We can not sit with folded arms.

Ask ourselves why the neighboring countries people live under other conditions and work to build a better life? Could it be because the governments of these countries are revolutionary, truly represent the people, are people who have suffered and fought for the changes? Why else in Venezuela, Ecuador, Nicaragua, Uruguay, Bolivia, Argentina or Brazil itself are changing, in Colombia we continue the same?

It is true that the FARC initiated dialogues. But that does not mean it is already going to be a change. It can not be forgotten that the people make the changes. When the president says we want peace, while you are saying we will kill the insurgency.

What good can be expected from a man like that? Yet dreams of becoming president again, what a shame.

Shame to see him with bombs, aircraft and even missiles and could not be cleaned up thousands of armed only with a rifle to defend peasants. That the only way to kill it when we are sleeping, with planes and bombs to five hundred kilos. For land to be seen who would do worse. Despite that, we have soldiers as truly brave men. Although when they get victories, they are unfortunately the generals who win awards, when from Bogotá have done nothing to dispatch orders. So I’m sure someday they will raise awareness and will continue to oppose killing us among ourselves. They will not allow continued use as cannon fodder.

Mr. Santos, and all the rich in this country, why do not send their children, or their families, to fight on the front line? So they know what it is to lose a loved one, proving the distaste for the war. And they are no longer taking advantage of the needs of Colombians. Defend yourself you, you do not look to others to defend them! But I have faith that this will not last long.

On behalf of all the martyrs as Alfonso Cano, Raul Reyes, Ivan Rios, Jorge Briceno, Danilo Garcia, Yuribi, Francy, Betty, Yuli, Dairon, Jawin, Farley, and all the warriors and warriors who have fallen in the heat of the fight, invite the Colombian people to stand up and fight together. Because United we stand, divided  we fall. Put an end to so much death and not allow any more single. Let us raise a cry all enough! And if necessary, we will make a revolution.