They started placing bombs along the routes people travel.
For six decades, Colombia has lived with the wound of armed conflict, but the wound has deepened sharply — forced displacement tripling in a single year, guerrilla and cartel membership doubling, and entire rural territories surrendered to those who profit from fear. On Sunday, Colombians will choose between two philosophies of healing: one that believes peace must be negotiated from the roots of poverty and inequality upward, and one that believes it must be imposed through force from the barrel of a gun downward. The choice is not merely electoral — it is a referendum on what kind of country Colombia believes itself capable of becoming.
- Armed groups have doubled in size over five years, seizing drug and mining corridors while displacing hundreds of thousands — the worst such surge in two decades.
- Civilians like Edilma Martinez Flores face an impossible arithmetic: pay extortionists, flee under threat of bombs, or bury their dead — the state nowhere in sight.
- Left-wing senator Iván Cepeda and hardline businessman Abelardo de la Espriella offer irreconcilable prescriptions, splitting the country between negotiation and military annihilation.
- Donald Trump's explicit endorsement of de la Espriella — and his warning that the election will define US-Colombia relations — has injected Washington's shadow directly into the ballot box.
- Critics of the current 'total peace' strategy say armed groups exploited ceasefires to expand, while its defenders argue that military crackdowns have historically killed thousands without resolution.
- Sunday's result will not only determine a security doctrine — it will set the trajectory of Colombia's sovereignty, its relationship with the United States, and its long-deferred reckoning with structural violence.
Edilma Martinez Flores watched her brother die because he refused to pay. When leaflets arrived in her Cali neighborhood ordering residents to leave or be killed — with bombs placed on the very roads of escape — she left everything behind. Her story is one of hundreds of thousands unfolding across Colombia as the country heads into a presidential runoff that may be the most consequential in a generation.
The scale of the crisis has shifted dramatically. Illegal armed groups have roughly doubled their membership over five years. The FARC dissidents, the ELN, and the Clan del Golfo now control rural territories central to drug trafficking and illegal mining. A single offensive near the Venezuelan border displaced tens of thousands in days. Between 2024 and 2025, forced displacement surged 300 percent — the highest rate in twenty years.
The election pits two opposing visions against each other. Iván Cepeda, the left-wing senator who designed the current government's 'total peace' strategy, believes negotiation and structural reform — addressing poverty, inequality, and the absence of the state — are the only durable path. His opponent, Abelardo de la Espriella, known as El Tigre, promises ten mega-prisons, aggressive military operations, and an absolute refusal to negotiate with criminals. He carries Donald Trump's endorsement and holds US citizenship.
At a displaced persons center in Bogotá, the human cost fills every chair. A couple described FARC representatives demanding $1,500 from their children's food delivery earnings. A man from Chocó has not heard from his half-brother since guerrillas took him years ago. His Pacific Coast region remains a permanent battleground over cocaine and gold.
Cepeda's supporters, including young voters, argue that military force alone has never worked — that without social investment and honest engagement with why people join armed groups, the cycle simply repeats. But even a government peace advisor conceded the current strategy has offered 'carrot but not enough stick,' with armed groups exploiting ceasefires to expand into vacuums the army never filled after the 2016 FARC demobilization.
De la Espriella draws his strongest support from Colombia's Caribbean coast, where supporters describe him as a man of conviction with the courage the moment demands. Trump's endorsement was explicit: a de la Espriella victory would earn Colombia 'the total support and strength of the United States.' The left called it foreign interference. Washington called it policy.
For one brief night, after Colombia's World Cup victory, Bogotá celebrated as one. Vuvuzelas, cheers, a country momentarily at peace with itself. Sunday will end that pause. The vote between dialogue and crackdown, between structural reform and security-first hardline, will not just choose a president — it will define what Colombia is willing to believe about itself.
Edilma Martinez Flores lost her brother to extortion. He refused to pay. Armed men killed him in front of his children. When criminal groups began distributing leaflets in her neighborhood on the outskirts of Cali—ordering residents to leave or die—she made the only choice available to her. She abandoned her home, her things, everything. Bombs were being placed on the roads people used to escape.
She is one of hundreds of thousands caught in Colombia's grinding, decades-long conflict between the state, armed cartels, and guerrilla factions. But the scale of the crisis has shifted dramatically in recent years. Membership in illegal armed groups has roughly doubled over the last five years. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, the National Liberation Army, and the Clan del Golfo have seized control of rural territories crucial to drug trafficking and illegal mining operations. A year ago, fighting between the ELN and FARC dissidents near the Venezuelan border displaced tens of thousands in a single offensive. Between 2024 and 2025, forced displacement surged 300 percent—the highest rate in two decades.
This catastrophe is the defining issue in Sunday's presidential runoff, a contest between two fundamentally opposed visions of how to stop the bleeding. On one side stands Iván Cepeda, a left-wing senator who architected the current president's "total peace" strategy, which prioritizes negotiation and ceasefires with armed groups. On the other is Abelardo de la Espriella, a conservative businessman and lawyer who calls himself El Tigre. He has been endorsed by Donald Trump, holds US citizenship, and promises a military onslaught: ten mega-prisons, aggressive military operations, and an absolute refusal to talk with criminals. "Any criminal who does not surrender will be taken down," he has pledged.
At a support center for displaced people in Bogotá, the human toll is visible in every face. A couple whose small food delivery business was targeted by extortionists described how a man claiming to represent the FARC demanded 5 million pesos—roughly $1,500—from their children. The woman wept as she spoke about how crime has metastasized, how you cannot leave your home in safety anymore. Erin Gamboa from the Chocó region on the Pacific Coast explained that his half-brother was taken by FARC guerrillas years ago. No word since. His region is a battleground where paramilitaries, guerrillas, and FARC factions fight constantly over territory used for illegal mining and cocaine production.
Cepeda's supporters argue that his negotiation-based approach, while imperfect, prevents larger bloodshed and addresses the structural roots of violence—poverty, lack of state presence, inequality. Young voters in particular have rallied to this vision. Catalina La Grande, a student, articulated the logic: security cannot rely only on military force. It requires social programs, state investment, and acknowledgment of why young people join criminal organizations in the first place. The alternative, she argued, repeats failed strategies from previous governments that killed thousands without solving anything.
But critics of the current strategy argue it has backfired. Isabelita Mercado Pineda, a government advisor for peace and reconciliation, acknowledged that the approach has provided "carrot but not enough stick." Armed groups have exploited ceasefires to expand their territorial control. The army failed to occupy areas abandoned by the FARC after it demobilized in 2016, creating vacuums that other groups rushed to fill. The government's strategy, she said, has "failed."
De la Espriella's base is strongest on Colombia's Caribbean coast, where he grew up and retains deep regional support. Maria Luisa Sanchez, a childhood neighbor, described him as a man of "very strong convictions" with the "courage" Colombia needs. His supporters believe he will be tough on drug trafficking and guerrillas, will work with the United States to combat organized crime, and will pursue economic policies—tax reform, job creation, health and security investment—that address root causes through growth rather than negotiation.
Trump's endorsement has been explicit and conditional. He stated that the election would determine Colombia's relationship with the United States, promising that if de la Espriella wins, "Colombia will have the total support and strength of the United States behind him." He called Cepeda a "radical left Marxist." The endorsement signals a broader US shift toward more interventionist security policies in Latin America, and it has drawn accusations from the left of foreign interference in Colombian affairs.
On the streets of Bogotá, after Colombia's World Cup victory over Uzbekistan, the city briefly unified in celebration—vuvuzelas and cheers, a nation momentarily at peace with itself. But Sunday's election will fracture that unity. The choice between dialogue and military crackdown, between structural reform and security-first hardline, between a negotiator and an outsider backed by Washington, will reshape not just Colombia's security strategy but its relationship with the United States and its own future.
Citações Notáveis
We have not seen displacements like this for the last two decades— Isabelita Mercado Pineda, government advisor for peace, victims and reconciliation
If Abelardo wins, Colombia will have the total support and strength of the United States behind him— Donald Trump
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why has displacement spiked so dramatically in just one year? What changed?
The armed groups doubled their numbers and seized control of rural areas the state abandoned. When the FARC demobilized in 2016, they left voids. Other groups filled them. The government's peace strategy gave ceasefires but didn't occupy the territory or provide enough pressure—carrot without stick.
So negotiation failed because it wasn't backed by military presence?
Not exactly failed—it prevented larger wars. But yes, without state presence in those territories, criminals used the breathing room to consolidate power and expand cocaine production. That's what's driving the displacement now.
De la Espriella promises to be tough. Does that actually work in places like this?
Colombia tried that for decades. It killed hundreds of thousands and didn't solve the problem. The question is whether military force alone addresses why young people join these groups in the first place—poverty, no jobs, no state services.
But if people are being extorted and murdered right now, doesn't that matter more than long-term structural reform?
Of course it matters. That's the trap. You need both—immediate security and long-term change. The disagreement is which one gets priority, and whether talking to armed groups buys time for reform or just lets them regroup.
Trump's endorsement seems designed to influence the election. Is that unusual?
Not anymore. The US is taking a more interventionist stance in Latin American security. Trump made it explicit: support him and you get US backing. That's a direct signal about what kind of relationship Colombia will have depending on who wins.
What happens if de la Espriella wins and the military crackdown doesn't work?
Then you have a government that burned bridges with armed groups and has no negotiating path left. You're locked into escalation. That's the risk voters are weighing.