APOCALYPSE NOW

Ever since I read news of the approval of the two trillion Colombian pesos
to strengthen the "oldest democracy in South America" black butterflies in
my stomach have not stopped fluttering.

How many Colombians, who today are alive, have dreams, and sweat doing odd
jobs, will die with the decision of the United States Congress? Do the
settlers of Canlo Mosco, pushed into growing coca by the landowners of
Villanueva who robbed them of their lands, know what awaits them? What are
the dentist, the carter, the motorboatman, the mayor's office employee of
Pinuna Negra, innocent of the fact that the bombs that will kill them are
already made and that the helicopters that will fire them are ready to take
off, doing?

Tomorrow, while Senator Lott's boys continue getting high on the heroin
produced by the Mujadeen that defeated the Russian Communists in Afganistan
a few years ago, or on the cocaine that their new allies in southern Bolivar
department produce, in the mountains of Almaguer, Cauca, the peasants will
be left with the sockets of their own eyes to hide in because everything
else will be scorched earth. The Anti-Narcotics Brigade, in a victory march,
will open door after door in Putumayo and Caqueta so that Carlos Castano's
troops can, in Mrs. Albright's words "extend democracy to the south". Each
day, reports of human rights violations will attribute less and less
responsibility to the Armed Forces for obvious, evident, and tacit reasons.
And Senator Helms will pass them over to Senator Leahy, who will not be able
to say anything. Perhaps General Wilhelm will land at the Tres Esquinas base
to distribute cans of American powdered milk, American corn, and American
deviled meat, and a photo of the American First lady to 20 displaced
families prepared especially for the occasion while General McCaffrey
copiously gives out an English primer with the basic principals of the
International Human Rights, put into practice by him in the Persian Gulf
War.

The Minister of Defense, without a tie, as is customary these days, will
frenetically applaud the exemplary act of generosity and sovereignty.

I do not want to think of what awaits the small black children who try to
fly kites made from potato chip packages on the banks of the Atrato River,
the day that the paramilitaries are given the green light to finish off even
the seeds as the chulavitas (the Conservative paramilitaries during the
Violence period) did in Rovira, Tolima in the 1950's. Nor, of what will
happen to the U'wa Indian people when the national army, with painted faces,
laser sensors, and grenade launchers, carry out an aerial operation on their
sacred lands to show off the Black Hawk helicopters, whose makers managed to
prevail in the Senate after extensive lobbying.

I wouldn't want to imagine--today is the day of Saint John, who wrote--"and
there were lightening bolts and thunder and a great tremor on the
earth"--what 40,000 guerrillas armed to the teeth will do, once they step
away from the negotiating table and go out to wage war without quarter and
with no return. I am not going to read--in a way I have already read
them--the headlines of the media exalting the bravery and abnegation of the
U.S. advisors that sacrifice their golf games on the greens of the School of
the Americas to come and "give us a hand" as Luis Alberto Moreno would say.
I would prefer to read within a few years, God-willing, the reports of the
diverted funds, crooked dealings, payoffs, bribes, and the trafficking of
cocaine and heroin on the part of the new allies in defense of the oldest
democracy in Latin America, in order to write, if I am still able:
"Live--and Learn".