Draft

“I hate all those sons of bitches”. These are the exact words of my grandfather when asked about the Colombian resistance guerilla, more formally known as FARC. I can remember hearing these words as far back as I can remember my grandfather, yet I somehow always saw past the initial shock of the cursing to the real meaning and pain behind them. In my mind, my grandfather has always been the poster-child for my family and my country’s history with this terrorist organization (FARC). The history of murder, robbery, intimidation, and extortion that follow the long trail of tears and blood carved by this organization has more than one time crossed my family’s backyard.

I will begin by giving a brief recap of my family’s history, keeping in mind that this part of the story revolves around my grandfather Regulo Garcia. My grandfather was the second youngest in his family of nine brothers and sisters. He was born in a small village in the Northern part of the Colombian territory. He was born in the 1930’s, a period when education and order did not reach far outside major city limits in Colombia. He, like the rest of his brothers and family, would become involved in cattle-herding, and all involved in running a ranch. The ranch grew with time and other properties were purchased, all in the surrounding regions. As my family gained more and more land and money, they also gained power and voices in government. One of my grandfather’s older brothers, Marcos Garcia, was elected to the Colombian senate. His political party was in strong opposition of the FARC, and his election happened to coincide with a time where a lot of politicians that went against the FARC were being killed. The first part of the events that carved my grandfather’s as well as my own life was the murder of Marcos Garcia while he gave a public speech. He was gunned down by automatic rifles, shocking not only my family but the whole country as well. The hardest hit went to my grandfather, who had been the closest in age to Marcos and had learned everything he knew from this older brother.

In the process of recovering from his brother Marcos’ death, my grandfather was once again knocked down. His father, my great grandfather, died of natural causes. These two events happened within the same year time span, taking a heavy toll on my grandfather and permanently scarring him, as would have been the same for anyone else. Now that I am older, I realize that this might have been the reason my grandfather always taught me to respect, love, and appreciate my parents. Time passed, and my grandfather and his remaining brothers continued to expand their lands and earnings through ranches. They reached four ranches, each with six-hundred plus heads of cattle, a truly extraordinary feat when we realize the country had an economic recession that lasted most of the twentieth century. Their success was the fruit of the dedication that went into these ranches, and what was about to happen would shock and devastate my family almost as much as a death would have. Guerrilla troops raided the region where the ranches were and took over the land. They killed the cattle to feed themselves, and used the ranches as places to sleep and meet. My grandfather and his brothers depended on these ranches, which had been the center of their work life. My family attempted to buy the lands back but a history of bad relations with the FARC prevented this from happening. To this day, the lands still have not been returned to my family.

FARC Guerrilla has affected my family on a personal level, my grandfather receiving every emotional hit. All these past events, which occurred long before I was born, have found their way to reach and affect me. I am filled with anger and hate when I hear my grandfather talk about his younger years and how they were filled with pain and suffering all because of these people. Having lost everything to the FARC, my grandfather is not a man filled with hope. This has affected me because I grew up with the stories, the comments, and the pain left behind by all the acts my grandfather lived through. It is a lot to take in, and it sounds a lot like a story of tragedy we would only see in a movie, but this was my family’s reality. Events like these affect generations to come, and I know my generation in my family has felt the effects of events that happened years before we were even thought of.