COLOMBIAN INDIAN GOVERNOR SEEKS ALTERNATIVES

Death Threats From Guerrillas, Paramilitaries

OPAYAN, Colombia -- As a Guambiano Indian in a region ruled by blue-blooded
political bosses, Floro Tunubala says he faced racism and outright ridicule
during his campaign for governor last year.

"Some people said, 'We don't want him, because he wears a skirt,' " says
Tunubala, referring to his anaco, the bright blue woolen kilt worn by most
Guambianos.

Proud of his heritage, Tunubala refused to tone down his wardrobe. And by
reminding voters of the corrupt practices of traditional politicians in the
southern state of Cauca, Tunubala coasted to victory.

In January, he was sworn in as Colombia's first Indian governor.

For many of the nation's estimated 1 million Indians, Tunubala's journey
from the Guambiano reservation high in the Andes to the colonial-style
statehouse in Cauca's capital of Popayan serves as an inspiration.

Yet his emergence comes at a critical moment for Colombia's indigenous
groups, which are increasingly being targeted in the nation's 37-year-old
civil war.

Tunubala's independent streak and his vocal opposition to U.S.-backed
efforts to fumigate drug crops have angered government officials in Bogota.
And due to his strident criticism of Marxist guerrillas and right-wing
paramilitaries, groups that are fighting each other and operate throughout
his state, Tunubala has received a string of death threats.

"Floro is a very high-profile figure," says Catalina Toro, a political
science professor at the University of the Andes in Bogota. "He is trying
to show that there are alternatives to the war on drugs and to military
confrontation."

Tunubala, 44, left the Guambiano reservation as a youngster to attend
school in Popayan. He won a college scholarship to study agricultural
engineering in Mexico and returned to Colombia as the indigenous rights
movement was gathering steam.

He took part in a special assembly that drafted a new Colombian
Constitution in 1991. Through a provision in the magna carta that
guarantees representation of ethnic minorities in Congress, Tunubala was
appointed senator and served for three years.

But analysts describe his current post as far more important, because he
was elected in a statewide vote.

Backed by union leaders, students, peasant organizations and Indian groups,
Tunubala entered the race for governor as an independent just two months
before election day. By winning, he broke a century-old stranglehold on
power by the two main parties, the Liberals and the Conservatives.

"They are still in shock," says Lorenzo Almendra, a Guambiano Indian from
the town of Silvia. "Cauca has always been run by a few prominent families
that act like we're still in the colonial period."

Indians make up just 19 percent of Cauca's population, a sign that
Tunubala's support came from a broad sector of society.

"Non-Indians are starting to believe in Indians," says Francisco Rojas
Birry, a senator and an Embera Indian. "But that means we have a huge
responsibility. We must not make mistakes."

Though his every move is being scrutinized, Tunubala has not shied away
from controversy.

In fact, he has become one of the nation's most outspoken and influential
critics of Plan Colombia, President Andres Pastrana's effort to crack down
on the illegal drug trade with the help of millions of dollars in U.S.
assistance.

A cornerstone of the plan involves fumigating crops of coca and opium
poppies, the raw materials for cocaine and heroin. Thousands of peasant
farmers in Cauca grow drug crops to survive.

But Tunubala calls the program a dead end.

He says that chemical defoliants used by police crop-dusters poison the
land and water and also kill food crops, such as corn and yucca. Farmers
who lose their drug crops will simply move deeper into the wilderness to
grow more, he says.

Rather than antagonizing peasants, Tububala says, the government should
encourage peasants to eradicate their own plots of poppies and coca in
exchange for government assistance to grow legal products.

The Pastrana government has backed a wide range of crop-substitution
programs. Yet police spray planes, some flown by civilian U.S. pilots
contracted by the State Department, continue to fumigate drug crops across
much of the country.

"We are trying to defend our people," says Tunubala, as he sits in his
office wearing a bowler hat, a black cape and a red scarf. "How would you
like it if foreigners came to Florida and began fumigating even though the
governor of Florida was against it?"

Along with two other Colombian governors, Tunubala has traveled to the
United States and Europe to denounce the fumigation program and to urge
independent groups to provide rural development funds directly to the
states rather than to the Pastrana government.

After a visit to Washington last month, Tunubala came away with the
impression that U.S. drug warriors are out of touch with Colombian reality.

"They know all about the number of acres of drugs, but they know nothing
about the social problems in Colombia," he says.

Critics of drug fumigation are often dismissed as allies of the guerrillas
or the paramilitaries, because both groups are deeply involved in the
illegal narcotics trade and fund their war, in part, with drug profits.

But Tunubala is largely immune to such accusations due to his stature as a
governor and as a longtime Indian-rights advocate.

However, his barnstorming and his efforts to promote a greater autonomy for
Colombia's southern states have led to accusations that Tunubala and a few
other outspoken governors are scheming to form a break-away republic.

"It's very dangerous for a group of governors, just because they are angry
with the president, to proclaim independence for a region," says Sen. Juan
Martin Caicedo.

Tunubala smiles at such comments and points out that he and Pastrana are
old friends. But he insists that Colombia's states have been deliberately
underfunded and ignored by the Bogota government. To get anything done
during his three-year term, Tunubala says he must find a way to pay for his
own projects.

Despite his crossover appeal, Tunubala never strays far from his roots.

He spent a recent Sunday in the village of Toez at an emergency conference
of Cauca's indigenous groups. The meeting had been called to discuss a new
wave of violence by paramilitaries and the guerrillas.

Both armed groups have stepped up their recruitment of Indian youths and
frequently trespass on remote reservations. Rojas Birry, the senator, says
that nearly 200 Indians have been killed in the past two years, including
10 prominent tribal leaders in just the last eight months.

Tunubala has urged Indians to remain neutral and to resist overtures from
the guerrillas and the paramilitaries. As a result, both groups have
threatened to kill him, forcing Tunubala to work and travel with armed
bodyguards.

"Cauca is going through some very difficult times," Tunubala says as he
sips a cup of organic, Indian-grown coffee. "The threats have come from all
sides. But I believe we are doing the right thing. People can judge me when
my term is over."