Twenty-one people died in April on Colombia’s Pan-American Highway in a blast inside a tunnel outside Cajibío. The blast was allegedly carried out by the FARC-EMC rebels led by Iván Mordisco (picture) who runs one of the dissident FARC groups still active in Colombia. Colombia’s presidential election took place yesterday. A closer look at Colombia’s political history will show that what took place was no accident; it never is.
What unfolded in Colombia is termed ‘manufactured ripeness’ in conflict studies. Rebellions disrupt political transitions to constitute positions of power prior to the onset of a new government. Dissidents were making a statement and the victims were collateral damage of a poorly-implemented peace negotiation.
When the Juan Santos administration and the FARC signed a peace deal in 2016, it was celebrated as a transformation. Over 7,000 weapons were surrendered. Santos was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. There were speeches in Havana about New Colombia. But there was no structural work visible that was required to end the conflict.
Historically, Colombia’s rural periphery was always contested among armed groups. The FARC demobilisation didn’t change that. It created a vacuum, especially in zones that are corridors for cocaine cultivation.
The demobilisation of combatants was meant to solve this. It didn’t. When the combatants handed over their arms, they lost everything that defined their social status: power, identity, and the status of being feared and revered. In return, they were awarded a transitional allowance, some seats in the Senate for their leaders, and a promise of rural development that was delayed. The agrarian crisis that birthed the FARC in the 1960s was not resolved. Over 300 former FARC signatories have been assassinated since 2022; more than 350 human rights and social leaders have been killed as well. Those who opted for peace remained vulnerable while the State simply watched.
Successful peace processes aren’t events. They’re long social projects. The Northern Ireland peace deal worked because it was accompanied by two decades of economic aid to the region as well as a power-sharing arrangement that gave former rivals a stake in government. The 1992 peace deal in Mozambique worked because the nation’s army dramatically absorbed the former rebels. What both examples signify is that conflicts have to be replaced with something substantial.
Gustavo Petro’s ‘Total Peace’ model failed bureaucratically. Its execution was naive. Ceasefires were fragile and were used to rearm, reorganise and strengthen positions. The Catatumbo violence (between FARC dissidents and ELN) in 2025, which left more than 100 people dead and almost 50,000 internally displaced, was the most visible evidence of a peace policy that confused process with outcome.
Now an old debate has resurfaced. The pro-Petro Cepeda wants to pursue ‘Total Peace’. The Right (Paloma Valencia) favours tougher military action. Both positions miss something important. The real issue is whether any government will patiently and painstakingly strengthen the State to serve the last citizen.
Colombia is still struggling to learn that conflict resolution is not possible only with a security architecture without addressing the structural issues.