Colombia's peace process
Demob unhappy
Aug 2nd 2007 BOGOTÁFrom The Economist print edition
A precarious arrangement is at risk
TWO years ago President Álvaro Uribe promulgated a controversial law to regulate the demobilisation of some 31,000 members of the right-wing paramilitary groups who for years fought left-wing guerrillas by inflicting a reign of terror in the Colombian countryside. The law pardoned the rank-and-file fighters while offering reduced sentences to those charged with crimes against humanity—in return for their co-operation with investigators. Their assets were to be used to compensate victims. The official hope was that this offered an acceptable balance between the conflicting interests of justice, reparation and the achievement of peace with an undefeated outlaw army.
Yet two years on, nobody is satisfied. Rights groups say the law is a cloak for impunity. The paramilitary leaders complain that they were duped by promises of lenient treatment, since broken. Officials say peace has been sabotaged by the courts. Hundreds of former fighters are re-arming.
Universal dissatisfaction might suggest to some that the government has got the balance right—except that the whole precarious structure of the peace process now looks at risk of crashing down. Last month the Supreme Court ruled that the rank-and-file paramilitaries could not be considered to have committed (and thus be pardoned for) the political crime of sedition, as the law envisages.
The court's argument was that the paramilitaries did not rise against the state, but acted in complicity with some army officers and politicians to defend economic interests (such as those of drug-traffickers). So, it ruled, they engaged in a criminal conspiracy for which they cannot be pardoned or amnestied.
That may be legally true. But Mr Uribe accused the court of double standards in having considered in the past that the crimes of the left-wing guerrillas, which include the murder and kidnap of civilians as well as drug-trafficking, are political in nature. The jailed paramilitary leaders responded to the ruling by threatening to end collaboration with the authorities. They desisted only after the government sent Congress a new bill to grant them political status. But even if the bill is passed, it may well be knocked down by the courts.
Mr Uribe's critics say that this impasse reflects the improvised way in which the peace process has been conducted. Officials counter that the process was bound to be messy, and that its flaws can be corrected as it goes along. They point out that no other country has put so many people on trial while conflict continues.
Only 44 paramilitaries (out of a potential 3,000) have begun giving their courtroom confessions. Some 70,000 people have applied to be officially registered as victims. The attorney-general's office seems overwhelmed, and impatience among the victims is mounting.
When militia leaders began their confessions in December, throngs of victims packed into anterooms where they could watch the hearings through a live video feed. But as one leader after another recounted massacres and disappearances with no remorse, and blamed many crimes on long-dead leaders, disillusion has grown. “The truth that we were promised from all this is not coming forth,” says Iván Cepeda, who leads a national victims' organisation. Scores of victims have received death threats, and at least three have been murdered this year.
Whereas the government pays a stipend to the former fighters, the victims have yet to receive anything. Even so, the biggest fear is that more of the demobilised paramilitaries will return to arms and crime. The Supreme Court's decision could encourage that, says Gustavo Duncan, the author of a book on the paramilitaries. But he reckons that the jailed leaders have no choice but to stick with the process, not least because for some it is the only safeguard against extradition to the United States on drugs charges. For all its problems, the likelihood is that the peace process will stumble on.
Demob unhappy
Aug 2nd 2007 BOGOTÁFrom The Economist print edition
A precarious arrangement is at risk
TWO years ago President Álvaro Uribe promulgated a controversial law to regulate the demobilisation of some 31,000 members of the right-wing paramilitary groups who for years fought left-wing guerrillas by inflicting a reign of terror in the Colombian countryside. The law pardoned the rank-and-file fighters while offering reduced sentences to those charged with crimes against humanity—in return for their co-operation with investigators. Their assets were to be used to compensate victims. The official hope was that this offered an acceptable balance between the conflicting interests of justice, reparation and the achievement of peace with an undefeated outlaw army.
Yet two years on, nobody is satisfied. Rights groups say the law is a cloak for impunity. The paramilitary leaders complain that they were duped by promises of lenient treatment, since broken. Officials say peace has been sabotaged by the courts. Hundreds of former fighters are re-arming.
Universal dissatisfaction might suggest to some that the government has got the balance right—except that the whole precarious structure of the peace process now looks at risk of crashing down. Last month the Supreme Court ruled that the rank-and-file paramilitaries could not be considered to have committed (and thus be pardoned for) the political crime of sedition, as the law envisages.
The court's argument was that the paramilitaries did not rise against the state, but acted in complicity with some army officers and politicians to defend economic interests (such as those of drug-traffickers). So, it ruled, they engaged in a criminal conspiracy for which they cannot be pardoned or amnestied.
That may be legally true. But Mr Uribe accused the court of double standards in having considered in the past that the crimes of the left-wing guerrillas, which include the murder and kidnap of civilians as well as drug-trafficking, are political in nature. The jailed paramilitary leaders responded to the ruling by threatening to end collaboration with the authorities. They desisted only after the government sent Congress a new bill to grant them political status. But even if the bill is passed, it may well be knocked down by the courts.
Mr Uribe's critics say that this impasse reflects the improvised way in which the peace process has been conducted. Officials counter that the process was bound to be messy, and that its flaws can be corrected as it goes along. They point out that no other country has put so many people on trial while conflict continues.
Only 44 paramilitaries (out of a potential 3,000) have begun giving their courtroom confessions. Some 70,000 people have applied to be officially registered as victims. The attorney-general's office seems overwhelmed, and impatience among the victims is mounting.
When militia leaders began their confessions in December, throngs of victims packed into anterooms where they could watch the hearings through a live video feed. But as one leader after another recounted massacres and disappearances with no remorse, and blamed many crimes on long-dead leaders, disillusion has grown. “The truth that we were promised from all this is not coming forth,” says Iván Cepeda, who leads a national victims' organisation. Scores of victims have received death threats, and at least three have been murdered this year.
Whereas the government pays a stipend to the former fighters, the victims have yet to receive anything. Even so, the biggest fear is that more of the demobilised paramilitaries will return to arms and crime. The Supreme Court's decision could encourage that, says Gustavo Duncan, the author of a book on the paramilitaries. But he reckons that the jailed leaders have no choice but to stick with the process, not least because for some it is the only safeguard against extradition to the United States on drugs charges. For all its problems, the likelihood is that the peace process will stumble on.