BOGOTA, Colombia — Leyner Palacios knows the devastation of war. In 2002, as Colombia’s left-wing FARC rebel group battled with right-wing paramilitaries in his town, a church was hit by a cylinder bomb fired by the guerrillas.
Hundreds of people had taken shelter in the Iglesia de Bellavista that day as the conflict over this strategically important region moved out the jungle and into the town. The building was left a shell: the roof destroyed, the windows blown out of the salmon pink walls, the floor covered with shreds of white bible pages.
There are different accounts of the death toll of what would become known as the massacre of Bojayá: the International Federation for Human Rights talks of 119, including 45 children, the national authorities claim 79. Palacios knew 32 of the victims: they were friends, uncles, nieces and nephews.
What happened in Bojayá is recognized as one of the worst atrocities in the 52-year conflict that has pitted rebels from the Leaders of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) against the Colombian state. It is a war for which the statistics are hard to comprehend: 220,000 killed, 6 million displaced, tens of thousands kidnapped and held hostage.
Last week was meant to be the first week of peace. After four years of painstaking negotiations, the Colombian government and the rebels finally agreed on a peace deal in August. President Juan Manuel Santos went to the United Nations in New York to declare that there was one less war on the planet. Dignitaries from around the world descended on the beautiful port city of Cartagena for a ceremony where the two sides used a pen made from melted down artillery shells to sign off on the agreement.
The only problem was that the deal had yet to go to a referendum, and on this, everyone got it wrong. Despite polls before the vote showing the people would back the deal, the “no” camp won: by 50.2 percent to 49.7 percent.
Although the majority was wafer thin — a difference of 54,000 votes — the impact was immediate. Colombia was not going to be celebrating peace, at least not yet.
The result was a surprise to everyone, but was perhaps felt hardest in the areas that have seen the worst of the conflict. In places like the Pacific region of Chocó where Bojayá is located, 79.7 percent of people voted in favor of the peace plan; in Cauca in the troubled south, the figure was 67.3 percent.
“What is sad is that the regions and the cities that voted “no” feel the same as they did before the plebiscite,” says Eduardo Gallego, the president of the Colombian Institute of Human Rights. “But it is those places where there is a guerrilla presence that are going to feel the hit if they don’t come to an agreement.”
Bojayá came out overwhelmingly in favor of the peace deal — 95 percent voted yes — so when news of the national result arrived, citizens there were left reeling.
“We did not expect this,” says Palacios, a father of three who is on the Committee for Victims Rights in Bojayá. “We feel that we need to change this country. If we all perpetuate hate, vengeance and retaliation, we are never going to become a country that offers better opportunity for our children.”
What hurt most, he says, was that the vote had been swung by people living in the cities, far from the worst of the conflict.
“That’s what we don’t understand. We have suffered. We are suffering and we are prepared to take a step forward for reconciliation.”
Before the vote, the government had been playing hardball. President Juan Manuel Santos, who has spent six years of his presidency trying to negotiate with the guerrillas, said a “no” result would mean war. Santos, who was nevertheless awarded the Nobel Peace Prize on Friday for his efforts, now says the cease-fire will hold, but initially only until Oct. 31.
With the clock ticking, FARC has ordered their foot soldiers, who had been on the brink of disarming, back into the mountains to avoid “provocations.”
“There was no Plan B. We believed the country wanted peace,” Foreign Minister María Ángela Holguin said as the government scrambled to see how they might reach a deal going forward.
The original peace agreement would have seen close to 6,000 guerrillas move from the jungle to United Nations-monitored transition camps. They would have had six months to disarm, retrain and then reintegrate into civilian life. Many foot soldiers would have been amnestied, while those accused of the most serious offenses, like murder, rape and recruiting child soldiers, would have had to appear in front of a special truth and justice commission before being sentenced. As long as they told the truth, no one would be jailed but would instead be subject to “restricted liberty” and made to undergo community service.
This, it seems, is one of the biggest sticking points for the “no” camp, led by former Colombian President Álvaro Uribe, who is now demanding a better deal.
Many no voters agreed with Uribe that the terms of the current agreement are too soft on the movement that has terrorized the country for years.
“I don’t think the FARC are really sorry,” says Andres Mora, a 55-year-old designer voting “no” in Bogota. “They have brought a lot of pain. They are still saying they did not lose and the government did not win. That’s not repentance for me. I’m in favor of peace, but it’s not a peace at any price.”
So what comes next? No one seems quite sure.
“Uribe’s team are calling for renegotiation of elements of the agreement, which is not something that looks very likely,” says Mariela Kohon, the director of the nongovernmental organization Justice for Colombia and an adviser for the FARC delegation at the peace talks. “The justice agreement, for example, has been agreed, it was negotiated for 18 months. The FARC have made clear they will stick to it.”
In the meantime, millions of dollars of aid are on hold, everyone seemingly holding their breath in hope of a new deal.
[READ: Chile’s livingroom lawmakers.]
“This is really a non-contemplated scenario. Everyone is scrambling,” says Vanessa Finson, the country director of the demining charity Norwegian People’s Aid, which has a number of operations linked to the peace deal.
“Parts of the agreements are already being implemented by the government side,” she says. “Certain elements of the agreement should be less problematic to implement but it is very complicated.”
But while the politicians talk, people on the ground are worried. Palacios says he fears a return to violence, and as for the deal, he’s more interested in peace than retribution.
“They damaged a school? Then make them rebuild it,” he says. “Help us recover — that’s reparation. Us paying for them to be in prison, that is not dignity.”
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