Cross and resistance

Writing about this environment and the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó may seem difficult.
On one hand, to understand the situation, it would be necessary to understand the history of the Colombian armed conflict and its factions, how each player controls or penetrates the territory, and the geography of the region, resources, and interests at stake.
But we would need more than a few history books —and certainly more space than we have here—for even a brief introduction that could pretend to be comprehensive. Besides, even focusing on the specifics is difficult, out of respect for the stories and suffering of the people involved, and even more so because of the restrictions and rules we must follow for our own safety. Fortunately, it is often the Peace Community itself that lifts these burdens from us, constantly offering examples of what a life of non-violent resistance truly means—a clarity that makes our task much easier than expected. The Peace Community was founded in 1997.

Since then, its members have chosen not to take part in any way in the armed conflict that has torn this country apart since the end of the Second World War.
For this decision—for their courage, and the radical commitment with which they follow the path of non-violence—they have paid, and continue to pay, a heavy price: in human lives lost, and in lives lived under constant threat.
In most cases, the Peace Community has been the victim of joint paramilitary and military operations —massacres driven by the twisted logic of “if you’re not with me, you’re against me,” or by the blatant desire to seize land and displace its rightful owners.
Everyone here has lost family and has been pushed forced into displacement at least once.
On Friday, April 18, a large part of the Peace Community began their march, as they have done every Good Friday for the past 28 years, following the Way of the Cross. The procession is led by Jesuit priest Javier Giraldo, a staunch defender of human rights in Colombia who has accompanied the community since its founding. As every year, along a route that changes each time, the procession stopped at each station of the Cross—each one marking the site of a victim or a massacre to be remembered—accompanied by readings and a commentary from the Gospel. For a believer it is easy to grasp the profoundly Eucharistic nature of these commemorations. They reflect the life and peaceful resistance of the community: not only are members of the Peace Community remembered, but also all the innocent victims of the region. Wooden crosses bearing their names are nailed to trees in their memory. Even for those without any Christian or religious background, the political and symbolic power of this event is unmistakable. For more than eight hours, these people have walked under the tropical sun, honoring a memory of suffering that belongs not just to them but to everyone — publicly, and in full view, knowing that among the watchers may be the very perpetrators of past atrocities. And while we may take refuge in our own ability to erect monuments or hold remembrance days, what sets the Peace Community apart is how they live remembrance. Unlike our often sterile commemorations, they bring the meaning and necessity of memory into everyday life—in a real, tangible way. In the little time that we spent here with them , I saw how they defend their land, rescue animals, and offer protection even to those who are not members of the Peace Community but have still have received death threats. I have seen how they manage to bring together people and young people who, outside this protected space, might have starved or been pulled into the conflict.
I witnessed how they fight for the future of the youth and care for adults in need. Despite their grief for the fallen, the constant threats, and the harsh demands of farming life, they remain a refuge and a source of support for their neighbours.
But in the end, they are not asking to be seen as saints. They are asking for the right to live as ordinary people—as campesinos—free to work their land and live their lives outside the logic of war and extractivism.

E.