IIt’s the weekend, but the class is full of children carrying green and red batons and adorned with sashes and ribbons. In the town of Toribío, in southwestern Colombia, the Indigenous Guard teaches their children how to avoid being recruited into militias and defend their lands in the province of Cauca, known as one of the most turbulent in the world. country.
The colors they wear represent “green for mother nature and red for the blood shed by our elders,” says 11-year-old Angie Barrera.
A child’s staff rests against the wall of his house and, on the right, a Nasa shaman sprinkles Angie Barrera with a tincture of aromatic plants, which he says is intended to protect children.
“The guard is important because it is responsible for ensuring that the government or armed groups do not come here to take over or kill us,” she said. “They help defend mother nature, our lives, our children and the community.”
The guard – Kiwe Thegnas in the Nasa Yuwe language – was established 20 years ago in the Cauca during the most intense years of the Colombian civil war. Its more than 30,000 members are committed to nonviolence and bear no arms.
A sign in the village of Tacueyó, near where, in October 2019, five members of the Indigenous Guards, including Governor Cristina Bautista, were murdered by dissidents known as the Mobile Column Dagoberto Ramos
But today, their struggle in their autonomous territories is more difficult than ever. After the 2016 agreement with the government of President Juan Manuel Santos, some rebel Farc fighters split into dissident groups, which plague Cauca, and continue to recruit young indigenous people into their ranks. Other criminal groups use NASA Autonomous Lands to plant marijuana or coca – the raw ingredient for cocaine – or illegally mine gold.
At night, the powerful lights of vast marijuana plantations illuminate the mountainsides around Toribío.
One of the main activities of the guards is to protect against armed groups in their territories, sometimes they also destroy coca fields, risking a direct confrontation with the gangs. Recently, the incidents have become more violent.
Young indigenous guards in a newly planted coca field near Las Delicias, Cauca province. In recent years, this part of the Andes has seen an increase in the cultivation of coca, the leaves of which are used to make cocaine
A 2021 report by Bogotá-based think tank Indepaz claims that at least 611 environmental defenders have been killed since the signing of the 2016 peace accord. Of these, 332 were indigenous, according to the report, and 204 took place in the Cauca.
This year, 32 indigenous people, including four members of the guard, have been killed in Cauca, according to Juan Camayo Diaz, coordinator of Tejido de Defensa de la Vida, a human rights group.
The murder of 14-year-old Breiner guard David Cucuñame, shot dead when dissidents opened fire in his village on January 14, has caused horror across the country.
A week after Cucuñame’s death, José Albeiro Camayo, a renowned guard chief, was killed by dissidents near Las Delicias, sparking further outrage.
José Albeiro Camayo, center, one of the leaders of the Indigenous Guard, was shot dead by an armed group linked to drug trafficking in January 2022
At Cucuñame’s funeral in a hilltop cemetery, children wept and hugged near his grave, which was decorated with green and red paraphernalia. The surrounding valleys are full of vast coca plantations, highlighting the absence of any state presence.
President Iván Duque’s office did not respond to questions from the Guardian, instead sending a link to a website outlining how people at risk could apply for a safety program.
In Toribío, classes start at 9 a.m. in the Saturday school for children aged 5 to 15. In the playground, a Nasa shaman teaches them a sacred ritual to thank Mother Earth. With a leafy branch, he sprinkles the children with a tincture of aromatic plants to protect them.
Children learn how to stabilize a leg injury using whatever resources are available, left, and how to find cover under a table in a drill simulating a possible bomb blast or gunshot attack.
Role-plays on how to carry an injured person to safety, as well as how to take shelter during gunfire are staged.
“It could be very useful at any stage of their life,” says Edgar “Tumi” Tumiña, 42, a senior guard who has witnessed several near-fatal attacks and travels with a security team.
Tumi runs the school and constantly fears for her life, sleeping in a different place every night. The splinter groups resent the guards’ efforts to defuse and remove their landmines.
“All these children have become accustomed to conflict from an early age. It has become so common for people in these areas to hear a bomb go off or a gunfire and go out and see where it’s coming from,” he says. “We teach them not to do that and to protect themselves and others.”
Camayo Díaz, from Tejido de Defensa de la Vida, says 272 children were recruited into armed groups in 2021.
Elizabeth Dickinson, analyst at the International Crisis Group, says: “What the dissidents have done – tragically with some success – is they have argued that they are the only opportunity in town, and in particular for young people…working with dissidents is a job opportunity and a path to social status, it’s power over your peers.
The pandemic has made it easy for dissidents to reach young people, Dickinson adds.
A few kilometers from Toribío, a graffiti at the entrance of a village is signed by the armed dissident group, the Mobile Column Dagoberto Ramos
“Through football clubs or by having parties, you can really gain a lot of social capital, and that’s what they’ve done successfully and attracted young people to join these groups,” she says. .
Adriana Pazu, head of the Toribío guard school, received threatening messages from armed groups.
“The truth is that the situation has become very complicated. Many leaders are now afraid to continue working with the formation, as many have lost their lives due to this work.
“For me, it is a source of strength and gives me more courage to continue fighting for these children, because we must not show weakness or fear to people who want to kill us,” Pazu said, holding his red and green stick.
“We have to show them that we, the indigenous Nasa people, are full of courage and that the more we are united, the more we can go on.”
Sign up for a different perspective with our Global Dispatch newsletter – a roundup of our best stories from around the world, recommended reading and our team’s thoughts on key development and human rights issues, delivered in your inbox every two weeks:
Sign up for Global Dispatch – please check your spam folder for the confirmation email