The following is a translation of an article that appeared in the EL 
COLOMBIANO newspaper last Sunday, October 3.  It is a feature story on 
the pilgrimage of the displaced communities of the Choco, located in 
Turbo and Bocas del Atrato, which took place September 29 to commemorate 
a year and a half of forced displacement.  I attended this pilgrimage as 
an international accompanier and representative of the Colombia Support 
Network.  The article provides a detailed report of the events that took 
place.


THE DISPLACED ON THE ATRATO: A RETURN TO SOLITUDE


COLLECTIVE MEMORY OF THE DISPLACED WILL NOT BE ERASED
by: Jose Guillermo Palacio


To make a pilgrimage, to go to a place that we consider sacred in order 
to leave signs to the God of life.  With this mission the uprooted 
community that,  for 18 months live in conditions of extreme poverty in 
the shelters of the port of Turbo, crossed the Gulf of Uraba and the 
waters of the Atrato River to the village of Bocas.

In Bocas del Atrato, the refugees of the port united their voices with 
their other displaced brothers who face the exodus of their homes.

The event was intense and brought tears to the eyes of those who 
attended:  the national and international NGOs, the Defender of the 
People, the national international press, as well as the commission of 
displaced persons who arrived from Dabeiba and members of the victim 
support group of Trujillo.

In an act of peace and joy, the eyes of those that arrived sought the 
figure of a friend, a brother, a father, a mother or a child that they 
had been separated from since February 28, 1997, when they were expelled 
from their lands by the actions of the paramilitaries, the avatiation, 
and the official Army who launched a hard offensive against the 
guerrilla fronts that operated in the Middle Atrato region of the Choco.

"The government committed a great injustice against us, it expelled us 
from our lands.  In its advance, the paramilitaries penetrated by land 
the entire region of the Cacarica, the Truando, the Perancho, and other 
rivers.  As they were entering, they informed us that they needed the 
land ´clean´ of all campesinos, since they were going to wage a hard 
combat against the guerrilla.  Since then we have spent 18 months and 
there´s nothing we can do to return to our parcels."

"By air came the planes that did not cease its bombings, and everything 
turned into hell.  One by one we fled.  We fled with only what we could 
carry.  In the site of La Loma, of the Puente América, was the largest 
paramilitary checkpoint.  Upon seeing that the majority of us were 
exhausted by hunger and desperation, the paras gave us food and 
facilitated some boats to take us to Turbo, where we arrived like a 
wandering, aimlesss people."

"When we complained before the military official who was responsible for 
the zone, he left us without relief.  The order is that they should 
leave and they had to enforce it," say the displaced.

"The injustice is still great because we lost everything.  Family 
members, friends, homes, crops, animals, the river channels... We were 
left having to start all over again," asserts Ramón Mosquera, another 
one of the uprooted.

"In conversations we had with one paramilitary, we made him see that the 
when the armed groups visit the campesinos, who are defenseless and far 
from any government support, all they can do is save their hide and if 
they have water in their house, they have to offer it to them.  The 
paramilitary acted like he understood us, but he advised us that they 
would not tolerate the civilian population in the area," says María 
Perea.

A MORNING ON THE SEA

"Listen to me Chocó, I want to kiss you, it was a dream and it became 
reality.  Listen to me, Chocó..." sang the hundreds of elderly people, 
men, women and children packed into the "chalupas" (large motor boats) 
that crossed the the waters of the Gulf which, on that morning of 
September 28, woke to a calm that did not seem normal.

"This sea, which has made even the greatest sailors cry, presents itself 
to us today as if it were a little mirror where all the figures see 
themselves and nothing moves," said María Romaña.

Sustaining a conversation in the ship was impossible because every one 
wanted to sing as loud as possible.  "The Chocó has many children, many 
children has the Chocó, I am one, you are one too, and together we will 
return..."  the choirs sang time and time again in joyful rivalry.

It may be paradoxical, but the joy of the displaced somehow struck the 
heart of those who had the possibility of reflecting on the moment.  
"Joy is still possible among us," commented one man to another who 
accompanied him at the bow of the ship.

The two morenos watched each other and then shook hands.  The man 
listening responded.  "It is proof that our return with dignity will 
happen."

At 11:30 in the morning, the waters of the Gulf initiated a slow but 
progressive change of tonality.  For the refugees it was the beginning 
of a new wish come true.  Like someone who just discovered a new 
treasure, a solid morena with dark eyes and a stormy voice rang out the 
alert.

"This is the water of the Atrato," she shouted.  A few seconds of 
silence followed, and then a general uproar.


NEW BAPTISM

Upon arriving in Bocas, the campesinos continued with songs that evoked 
the splendor of other eras and the martyrship that they were submitted 
to in their already long journey.  Similarly, there were songs and poems 
of hope, that artifact that never disappears from the horizon of the man 
who struggles; poems of love for their lands, for their future crops, 
and for the right to a life in peace.

Jesus Jaramillo, Ana Joaquina Espinosa, Ramón Velasco, Rosario Romaña 
and other matriarchs and patriarchs collected water from the Atrato 
River, blessed it and gave life to a ritual of new birth in which they 
baptized the members of their communities and institutions that have 
accompanied them in their time of adversity.

"The Atrato," said Jesús Jaramillo, "was a witness to our birth, our 
joys, and the pain that we were submitted to after the government took 
the war to our territories on February 28, 1997.  

"That day, burdened with misery and pain, the river received us into its 
bed, gathered our tears and transferred them to the places where 
national and international nongovernmental institutions were moved by 
our situation and decided to support us."

In that same river rested mutilated bodies of many of the displaced 
people who were put to death as supposed collaborators of the guerrilla.

A painting by a group of refugee children makes note of this.  In the 
picture appears the rushing river burdened with bodies, without arms, 
that were hurled into the currents by the violent ones.

The baptism is also hope for new life, for a return with justice, and 
for peace.  At the end of the baptism, the matriarchs and patriarchs 
threw the water left over into the river.  "Return the water left over 
in a sacred act just like the baptism that protects us from new 
misfortunes,"said Ana Joaquina.

The ceremony was followed by a march that passed through the only street 
in Bocas.  In the entrance and the exit of the village the participants 
erected two white and green flags, colors that represent peace and the 
natural wealth of the region.  Later the flags will be replaced by two 
monuments in honor of the 65 victims of the forced displacement.  There 
will also be a space to pray to God for those disappeared in the 
tragedy.

"At these monuments we will pray for those who, upon being snatched from 
this world, did not find a sacred place to rest in their journey through 
eternity.  Likewise it will serve as a center for the collective memory 
of our children and future generations so that they will never forget 
what happened.  We wait in  hope for the determined hand of a new 
National Government to make justice and a quick return with dignity to 
our ancestral lands," said the representative of the patriarchs in their 
declaration.