In a development so predictable it could have been scripted by a committee of narco-drunken tortoises, Colombia’s eternal conflict has once again skipped merrily into the presidential campaign, trampling all hope of sensible debate. The latest act of this blood-spattered pantomime involves the usual cast of leftist guerrillas, right-wing paramilitaries, and a government that seems to be playing blind man’s bluff with a firing squad.
Candidates, never ones to let a little thing like mass slaughter interrupt their self-aggrandisement, are now tripping over themselves to offer solutions. One proposes a military crackdown so brutal it would make Pinochet blush. Another suggests a peace process so soft it could be mistaken for a pillow fight at a meditation retreat. Both will fail, of course, because Colombia’s conflict is not a problem to be solved: it’s a national sport, like bullfighting but with less pageantry and more orphans.
The UK, always eager to wade into quagmires from a safe distance, has called for urgent peace dialogue. I can almost hear the foreign secretary now, tweaking his spectacles and intoning solemnly: ‘We must engage all parties in constructive talks.’ Translation: ‘We have no idea what’s going on, but it looks bad on the telly, so let’s issue a press release.’
Meanwhile, in the jungles and slums, the violence grinds on. Landmines still blow off legs, kidnappings still extract ransoms, and the drug trade still lubricates the whole disgusting operation. The presidential race, therefore, is less a contest of ideas than a choice of which gangster-in-chief will preside over the next season of carnage.
But fear not, gentle readers. Britain’s finest diplomatic minds are on the case. They will fly in, shake hands with everyone whose hands aren’t too sticky, drink some tepid coffee, and produce a communiqué full of words like ‘unilateral ceasefire’ and ‘holistic reconciliation.’ Then they’ll fly home, patting themselves on the back while the war trundles on like a rusty bus with no brakes.
This is not a crisis. This is routine. And in the routine of Colombia’s tragedy, the only certainty is that the poor will get poorer, the bodies will pile higher, and the politicians will keep on smiling for the cameras. So raise a glass of cheap lager to the peace process, folks. It’s the thought that counts, even if the thought is pure, undiluted nonsense.