By Hernando Gómez Buendía, EL ESPECTADOR, October 4, 2026
(Translated by Eunice Gibson, CSN Volunteer Translator)
Abelardo De la Espriella adores the military. So much that he has decided to convert himself into one of them. He salutes like a soldier, talks like a soldier, and patrols along with the military. On the day of his inauguration, he said: “I’m one more soldier.” No, Mr. President. You are not a soldier. Fortunately. In a democracy, the President commands the military, precisely because he’s not a soldier. He represents civilian power to which the arms of the State are subject.
You are the Commander of the Armed Forces because Colombians chose you to be the President of the Republic, not because you have served in the military—in 1994 the Army found you unsuitable for the service—nor because you grew up in the same block as Salvatore Mancuso, nor for your longstanding bravado.
The President confuses military honor with military theater. Napoleon, Frederick the Great, or Bolivar who knew a little more about wars than El Tigre, understood the difference. Clausewitz explained it with precision: the great virtue of the soldier is not his courage but rather his capacity to submit to “obedience, orders, rules, and method”.
During the campaign, De la Espriella converted “Firm for the homeland” and the military symbols as part of his political brand. Now that he’s President, he announced that the terrorists knew “how hard the Tiger and his Armed Forces can bite.” But the Armed Forces is not his; it belongs to Colombia. The Army’s Code of Honor says: “I will serve the Colombian people with honor and discipline.” The people of Colombia. Not El Tigre. Democracy says the Army, the dictator says my Army; it seems like a question of pronouns, but it is not.
And then came the pistol. The President went out on patrol in Santa Marta with the soldiers and with a pistol in his belt; body armor, soldiers, military salutes, and martial music. Only Rambo was missing. A President doesn’t need to demonstrate that he can also shoot a gun. His job is to decide when and why force can be used, submit the use to the Constitution, and take the consequences.
But there is something more serious. De la Espriella has exhibited the dead bodies of men who were killed, has walked around them in front of the cameras, he has insulted them in a loud voice, has said that the criminals “are going down like rats”, and that anyone that fails to submit will end up dead “in a bag”. The Army’s Code of Honor orders something else exactly: “Show humanity and compassion for the vanquished dead”. This is an elemental act of decency. The dead are dead.
The hit man also knows how to shoot. A paramilitary also carries a pistol. A guerrilla fighter can also be courageous. What distinguishes a soldier is neither the weapon nor the courage: it’s that he uses force under legitimate orders, within some rules, and in the service of a government that cannot behave like the criminals it is fighting.
The Armed Forces need budget, intelligence, weapons, training, and clear commands. They also need to have the President who protect that which distinguishes brute force by the Army: discipline, law, and respect for the conquered enemy.
De la Espriella lives fascinated by appearing as a warrior. He needs to respect the very noble military profession.