Bogotá, Colombia – The ghost of a half-century conflict now stalks the campaign trail in Colombia, where the presidential election has become a referendum on peace itself. As voters prepare to choose between a former guerrilla and a hardline conservative, the streets are tense, the rhetoric is raw, and the human cost is once again front and centre.
The United Kingdom has added its voice to the international chorus, calling for restraint and urging all sides to respect the democratic process. But on the ground, the reality is more visceral. In the working-class barrios of Cali and Medellín, families who lost loved ones to the FARC or the paramilitaries are being asked to choose between reconciliation and retribution. It is a cruel calculus.
Gustavo Petro, the leftist candidate and former M-19 guerrilla, promises to fully implement the 2016 peace deal and address the root causes of the conflict: land inequality, poverty, and political exclusion. His opponent, Rodolfo Hernández, a populist billionaire, offers a tougher line on crime and a rejection of what he calls the “casta” political elite. But neither man can escape the bloody legacy of the civil war.
The conflict, which killed over 220,000 people and displaced millions, is not just a historical footnote. It is alive in the daily lives of Colombians: in the rural communities still terrorised by armed groups, in the urban youth recruited into criminal gangs, and in the families who cannot bury their dead because the bodies were never found. The election, then, is not just about policy. It is about identity, about whose lives matter, and about what kind of country Colombia will become.
Observers say the campaign has been marked by a deep polarisation. At a rally in Bogotá, a middle-aged woman named Elena told me she would vote for Hernández because “he will bring order.” She gestured to the graffiti on a nearby wall: a faded “FARC” tag next to a newer “ELN” scrawl. “The guerrillas never left,” she said. “They just changed their names.” Across the city, a university student named Andrés argued the opposite. “Petro is our only chance to break the cycle of violence,” he said. “We have to try something different, or we will be fighting forever.”
In London, the Foreign Office issued a statement expressing “deep concern” about the “potential for violence and intimidation” during the electoral process. The British ambassador in Bogotá has held meetings with both campaigns, urging them to “reject violence and engage in peaceful debate.” It is a plea that echoes the frustration of many Colombians, who are tired of being pawns in a geopolitical chess game. The UK’s interest is not purely altruistic: Colombia is a key trade partner and a source of oil and coal, and instability could have ripple effects across the region.
But for all the diplomatic hand-wringing, the real drama is unfolding in the homes and hearts of ordinary Colombians. I spoke with Alba, a grandmother in the coastal city of Barranquilla, whose son was disappeared by the paramilitaries in 2000. She has been waiting for justice for 22 years. “I cannot forgive,” she said, her voice cracking. “But I also cannot keep hating. The question is: can my country do the same?”
That question will be answered on May 29, when Colombians go to the polls. But no matter who wins, the civil war will not end. It will simply take on a new form, shaped by the ballot box and the bullet. And the UK, like the rest of the world, will be watching closely, hoping that this time, peace has a chance.