Where palm helped the poor... for a while

[In a few hours I'm off to get on my cargo boat. It's been quite a rush this week, as the boat is leaving three days earlier than the original schedule. (When you sign up for a trip, it is made clear that this might happen.) I'll be writing more on this story when at sea, and I may get to post it if the Dominican Republic stop is in the day and I have enough time to go swimming too. Back in UK around 27th June.]



I have been chasing a story for the comic book my organisation is creating about Colombia. We hope it'll be like the brilliant Joe Sacco's Palestine and will explain the history and issues of this country in a readable and digestible way. Chapters will be about stuff like the murder of Coca Cola worker Isidro Gil, and the social effects of the cocaine trade.

Obviously there is a bit of a bias towards stories about people getting killed by the state and paramilitaries, as that does tend to happen a lot here. So I was hoping to find a feel-good story for a section on agrofuels.


I heard about a case where an afro-colombian community had won 2900 hectares of their land back from two palm companies. The person who first told me about it didn't know what the current situation was: whether the community was going to keep the valuable palm on their land and sell the companies the fruit, or whether they would uproot it. The next person I went to for details didn't know either, and said I would have to ask them.

So I travelled south on a two-day bus journey, to Tumaco in Nariño. It took a little while to warm to the bloke from the community which had won the land. I found it quite difficult to extract information from him, especially the details needed to bring a story to life. He was not a man for detail. When he took us from Tumaco town to a village on his community's land, and I asked him “Who are we seeing next?” he replied, “A colleague.” Really not an ideal interview candidate.

Luckily, all the people who gathered round us in the cafe in that village were easier to engage.


There has been oil palm in that area for the last 25 years so the five farmers we met were second generation palm growers. They are still in debt though, as they had to replace the original palm trees. Palm had been good to them until recently. They were probably the first campensinos I had met who were putting their children through university. I was struck by how much on this trip I heard people talk about how their basic needs are not being met. Drinking water. Healthcare. Education. But for these farmers, the income generated by oil palm had made a big difference to their standard of living and quality of life.

Until recently. But here in Tumaco I saw first hand the way that monocultures are vulnerable to disease. Bud rot is decimating the oil palm population. I saw large areas where affected palm had been felled. I was told the yellow leaves on much of the palm that remained, meant those trees were also dying.


This is devastating to the campesinos who grow palm. All those we met were affected. Mostly with 100% of their palm dead or dying. They will have no income until the first harvest of whatever crop they next plant. In the meantime they will have to take their children out of university. And do lots of worrying about their debts.

When I was in Regidor being taken around the countryside to interview people about palm, I felt good that my guide, president of the Movement of Landless Campesinos, could also use my trips to network and build up his organisation.

My guide this time had just been to a seminar about 'piñon' the next agrofuels monoculture idea which could replace the dead palm. These farmers were desperate to know what they can do next. One is planting a bit of cocoa. Another said it was not worth the hassle as the crop is so easy to steal. Growing food crops is just not profitable enough due to transport costs. Yes, it leads to greater food sovereignty. But as someone told me, you still have to buy salt. (And pay for your children's school fees. And healthcare. Clothes are also useful.)

The new agrofuels idea appears to be one of the few choices they have which will meet their basic needs. The other being a supposedly bud rot resistant new variety of palm which costs three times more than the last variety did.

In Colombia I’ve heard mention of ‘planes de vida’ (‘life plans’) a fair bit. This is distinct from the more familiar term ‘local development plans’ as they reflect the fact that people here are questioning what is meant by ‘development’. ‘Planes de vida’ involve planning with local communities what changes they want which better reflect their values. This afro-colombian community is one of those which use the term, and yet they are stuck within an economic system where choices seem limited and leave them vulnerable to crop diseases and to fluctuations in international commodity prices.

Snapshots of Regidorian lives

Alberto had been farming some land with no legal protection, so when asked to leave by the landowner, he had no choice but to become yet another landless campesino in the municipality of Regidor, Southern Bolivar.

He has spent the last two weeks clearing some land next to a road. He intends to plant food crops such as corn and yucca. It is owned by an oil company as it has a pipeline beneath it, and although he could be told to leave it at any point, given that this oil company have tolerated all the others doing the same thing, he is hopeful he might be able to stay there for a few years.

The next time he is moved on, perhaps he will be able to find another disused corner somewhere near enough to walk to. Although in a few years time his food crops will have even more Oil Palm to compete with.




Nicolas paid 7 million pesos (1300 pounds) for some land. Unfortunately, he’d been tricked and the person he had paid wasn't the owner. So he continued in his landless state.

Unlike many I've met in his situation, he was an exceptionally cheery fellow. The disused corner of land he's been farming for the last two years is on a small island. I asked if the owner minded. It turned out the land belonged to the family of the person who had brought me there to meet him. So we can presume he’s safe there for a good while.




This is one of the many, many bits of land I've been shown which now floods in the winter. Two years ago, the water would drain away. Now that a palm company has blocked up the drainage stream so that their own land remains dry, these four hectares owned by Davíd can no longer be used to grow corn. He receives no compensation for the lost harvests which used to bring in around six million pesos (1500 pounds) a year. Like many others have done, he explains to me how the power of the palm companies means no one wants to make a fuss. (Nearby a couple of weeks ago, the army took a man away. People don't know why, but it adds to their general desire to keep quiet.)




This is one of the fifty displaced families living in Regidor. They came two years ago, fleeing paramilitary violence in another area. The husband works for a palm company, earning between 10 000 and 16 000 pesos (2.80-4.50 pounds) for a ten hour day. The wife tells me that palm is the only work he could find, and his social security is not paid so he would like to move to another firm who do pay benefits. His earnings do not cover their costs, and they have a debt of over 200 000 pesos (55 pounds) for food.

None of the displaced families are doing well economically. Due to Oil Palm, land is expensive and there is little available to grow food crops.




Diana and Omaira share our back yard. Diana has physical and learning difficulties and Omaira has a degenerative disease. Neither of them find walking easy. They spend pretty much all day every day sitting in the shade. Diana has her lunch brought to her by her sister's family. Omaira's comes from a niece.

There should be state support for people such as them who need it. But local politics rarely works like that. Here the families of those who actively supported the current Mayor's campaign, get the support they are entitled to. Those who didn't, don't.

A death threat brings it home

Yesterday, in the office where I'm writing this, my friend turned up with the bit of paper we had known about for days. Such is communication in these parts, the death threat emailed to various recipients on April 4th, had only come to the attention of us in Regidor on the 9th, and we only had it in our hands on the 11th. It turns out the death threat does not list my friend by name, but it is very clearly him referred to as "Leader of Regidor, obstacle to a good municipal government". Drawing on a particular turn of phrase often used by the local mayor.

The threat is addressed to four people (one by name, two by profession and my friend specifically referred to) and various organisations, with the subject "Get out of the Magdalena region".

As it got passed round those who had arrived to read it, I got to witness a scene that must be frequently played out throughout Colombia.

Since hearing about the threat to his life, my friend who previously always seemed so cock-sure and relaxed, now fidgets constantly. As people read the details, they realised that the group as a whole was also included, and the fear spread round the room.

They discussed the fact that the threat was very serious. The consequences that my friend leaving would have on their work. Who would want to get involved now, and risk becoming the next target? Would the micro-credit scheme have to fold? What would that mean to the lives of those with loans? If he left, would the work continue? If he didn't, what were the risks for him? Can a community response be organised to increase everyone's safety?

I listened with a sense of detached and objective interest. I felt pretty sure that their weighing up of risks would be a wise one and that he would leave before anything bad happened to him. So it interested me to watch the effect that words sent in an email a week before could have on a community. The potential for a positive response that would strengthen the community, like what happened after Alejandro Uribe's death. The possibility that this threat-as-opportunity attitude would not win out.

In a way it made me angry and frustrated that it can be so easy to spread such fear. Someone somewhere creates an email account, sends out a threat, and communities are crippled, organisations fall apart.

But I understood too, that this email works because it is not just an empty threat. People know how close the nearest paramilitary base is. People know who in their community have been killed in recent years. And when we heard that for the last two days two paramilitaries have been seen talking on the phone in the alleyway by my friend's house, I started to feel a lot less detached.

Postscript: I wrote all that a few days ago, but thought I'd wait until we'd left Regidor before posting it, so's not to overly worry my Dad. Not that he should worry anyway. My international status makes me pretty safe.

It turned out that the 'threat-as-opportunity' mentality has won out impressively well. My friend was pretty pleased with the way the community has rallied round him, and we went to a fair few meetings to discuss the community's response before we left.

Given that the death threat also named some catholic priests and the EU-funded Program for Peace and Development, there has been political power on our side, and the threat has made national news. It is the first time I've seen a death threat reported in the media since I got here. (And I know there have been more.)

The press release my organisation sent out has been translated into English. Mysteriously, when it asks you to write to people in the Colombian government to complain, it misses out most of their emails. Here they are for your convenience: auribe@presidencia.gov.co, fsantos@presidencia.gov.co, siden@mindefensa.gov.co, infprotocol@mindefensa.gov.co, mdn@cable.net.co, ministro@minjusticia.gov.co, contacto@fiscalia.gov.co, denuncie@fiscalia.gov.co, defensoria@defensoria.org.co, secretaria_privada@hotmail.com, anticorrupción@presidencia.gov.co, reygon@procuraduría.gov.co, cefranco@presidencia.gov.co, fibarra@presidencia.gov.co

Don't worry that it's been a few days since the threat. It's still incredibly helpful for the government to know that people abroad are noticing these things. Colombia's international reputation is important to them, especially as their human rights record is part of the debate currently thwarting their hopes for a free trade agreement with the US.

And don't worry about writing in English. You can always copy in the demands in Spanish (the four points after 'Solicitudes').

There are good guys and bad guys

I’ve run in to both the defensoría (Public Defender who collects human rights complaints) and the fiscal (Public prosecutor who processes legal complaints) from Rio Viejo on a number of occasions now. They both seemed pretty friendly, and I hadn’t formed much of an opinion on either of them.

I made an appointment to talk to the defensoría about the complaints he’d received about palm companies.

He started with an analysis of the problem of palm, which included the fact that the wealth is not owned by the community. When corn is grown, those harvesting it get paid in kind in addition to their wage. After a corn harvest, the leftovers are available to whoever wants to go collect them. Birds eat corn and form part of the ecosystem.

Nothing eats palm. It does not contribute to region’s biodiversity. Workers are paid the same ‘going rate’ (12 -15 000 pesos), but without a bag of corn cobs or whatever food stuff they were harvesting, they are significantly poorer.

Because for the first two to four years no seeds are produced, and full production does not start for another five years after that, oil palm is only a business for those with significant capital to invest.
Wealth and the power that goes with it, are further concentrated in the hands of the few. Who don’t always use it fairly. Most of the palm companies do not make the social security payments they are meant to, making their employees vulnerable. One company which often pays late, points its workers to the loanshark at the gate on pay day. He charges 10% interest, and is suspected of being mates with the management, and of using the same money the workers should have got directly.

Sharing his analysis it was already clear the defensoría was a good ‘un.

Then he told me about a particular case of a farmer whose land is completely surrounded by palm company land. They had blocked his rights of way to his land with ditches and fences. They unilaterally cut down the trees dividing the land (which would normally happen only by mutual agreement), which fell onto and damaged the farmer’s fence. His cows got out, and some were killed while others received machete wounds.

He made a complaint to the defensoría. A counter-complaint was made, concerning the fact that he had opened up the fence that was blocking his right of way (see photo).


The fiscal, whose office is next door to the defensoría, is apparently not one of the good guys. He is prosecuting the farmer for damage to the fence, but not the palm company for any of its infractions. “This is how Colombian justice works” the defensoría tells me. Bribes being a staple of the criminal justice system, and palm companies being in a far better position to afford them.

It struck me how enormously frustrating being one of the good guys must be. He spends his time receiving complaints about injustices, but has no power to get them processed. His neighbour the fiscal came in while we were talking, was all friendly and jovial with the defensoría, who gritted his teeth and was friendly enough back. All the times I’d seen such friendliness between them before, I had no idea what lay beneath it.

Postscript to March 8th Hijacked By Patriarchy

I met up with the woman who organises the women’s group here in Regidor. I particularly wanted to get the low-down on what she made of Women’s day on March 8th being hijacked by men. Turns out it really was a hijack. The women’s group was meant to be co-running the event with the town council. They had intended something more educative, and had planned presentations and a visual piece about domestic violence. She was out of town for the few days before, and arrived back just in time to watch the event be dominated by men, with no proper time even made for her to explain the work of the women’s group. So maybe it wasn’t just me who found it annoying. Although she seemed more resigned than irritated.

She told me a problem with the women’s group is that people are not able to attend meetings. Child rearing is the main focus of most women’s lives. And they tend to have a lot of them. Their husbands are not so partial to helping out even for the duration of a meeting. So they are stuck at home.

Apparently, some women are not allowed to leave their houses much at all. Husbands may have trust issues. There is not such of a culture of visiting female friends. And while this small town has a surprising number of pool halls, they contain only men. There are precisely no public spaces for women to socialise in.

I guess that means some victims of domestic violence are isolated to the extent that they don’t even have anyone to hide the bruises from. Literally never leaving the house. The thought does my head in to be honest. Our Asian neighbours in Birmingham may not leave the house to walk to the corner shop, but they get driven about for plenty of social visits. Although I guess in every culture there are some women stuck at home and suffering.

While women everywhere face similar problems when weighing up whether to leave the short-term certainties of a home and some family income for the unknown, which may or may not bring longer-term benefits, in a country such as this, making that break is particularly difficult. The lack of economic independence is even more critical when considered together with a lack of social welfare and a quantity of children. And strong social norms lead to women accepting their lot and staying quiet.

March 8th could have been a great opportunity to have educated women about their rights and sources of support. As it was, 400 women having a rare chance to socialise together had more significance than I realised at the time.

Love & Machismo

When I got here, my standards for pulling were

1) Not in a monogamous relationship
2) A decent gender analysis
3) No moustache

I soon realised this would equate to six months of celibacy. So 2) was downgraded to "Vaguely decent gender politics", then to "Not machista" (A particular brand of sexism and male chauvinism they have here), then "Not overly machista".

After two months, the bloke I found at least conformed to 1) and 3). The jury was still out on 2).

What might be warning signs in the UK, I made allowances for, given the cultural context. I was told off for saying I didn't need his hand to help me make the very easy step from river bank to canoe-ferry. Apparently when he hadn't offered it before, people had shouted “Give her a hand”, and me refusing it made it look like we were arguing.

Early on, I pulled him up on a comment about women being experts at manipulating men. But I thought it wasn't worth ending a relationship over, especially when continuing would be such a rich learning experience.

In the UK, a relationship with a particularly alpha male had taught me an invaluable amount about the patriarchal society I live in. How men who are more tied up in it have an expectation that their needs will be fulfilled by women.

Here that tendency is far more pervasive. And men whinging on about their needs not being met is something I find a proper wind up. There's a whole genre of music seemingly devoted to the subject (corridos), but in any genre I catch lyrics of men singing about how she's left him (so ask yourself why!) and how they can't live without her love.

At the Assembly of the Federation of Farmers and Miners of Southern Bolivar, a woman was explaining how the experience of their micro-credit scheme was that women were more responsible. The same man got up to speak who had just joined the lunchtime women's meeting I'd been in. He listened a while to us organising a women's event, and then interrupted to speak at length to ask how we could help with his grandchildren's educational needs. So I was expecting a level of ignorance, but his comment (and some vociferous clapping from a few) left me convinced I must have heard wrong. No, apparently he did actually say that it's not that they don't give women a space, it's that they go past the space they've been given.

Then there was a musical interlude. Someone who'd done some great performance poetry earlier, undid any respect I had for him by explaining how the next song was for all men who had ever cried over a woman, as he believed there wasn't a man alive who hadn't. The song was about if you treat a woman well and give her flowers ("woman like those details"), she'll respond to your caresses. ie tips on how to get women to meet your needs, given that's what they're here for.

It occurred to me that what all these men crying over women are actually lamenting is the loss of their needs being met. That might seem a bit harsh, but I feel the idea is supported by my experiences.

Blokey told me he loved me an hour after our first snog. I told him that given he hardly knew me, he was confusing love and lust. He denied this repeatedly, and was more forthcoming with the keenness than anyone I've ever been with.

There was pressure to return the keenness. For the first time, I was instructed to tell someone I loved them. (I explained why that was a daft instruction, and I'd tell him if and when I felt it.) When he answered his own question "Do you know what it means to me to be lying here next to you?" with the word "suffering", I failed to avoid laughing out loud. I think the response that he expected was probably more sympathetic and ego-stroking.

I'm only here for two more weeks, and it would have been very simple to opt for the easy life and lubricate our time together with some expressions of keenness that I didn't feel. Responding to demanding behaviour with what is being asked for can be less tiring than resistance.

Which helped me to understand where his comments about women being manipulative come from. "A woman's feeling that she must get around a man is the hallmark of male dominance." (Steven Goldberg) Manipulation is what you resort to when you lack the power to confront directly.

While his expressions of love and enthusiasm continued being expressed, I was not feeling like our relationship was particularly good quality in terms of closeness, connection or communication.

When he told me that his partner (who had left him 6 weeks before) was returning to him the next day, he didn't seem to get the point that that was us finished. He told me I should learn to do it the Colombian way. That there's nothing more beautiful than secret love and stolen kisses.

I was amazed that my obsession with honesty and integrity in personal relationships had not come across to him still. To me, it's such an enormous and integral part of my identity. If that's who I am, and he so clearly hasn't got me, who has he been 'in love' with? Conclusion: Someone who was meeting his needs.

My integrity had already been compromised by the complications of how much things are very different here. He had originally wanted us to have a secret relationship because in this town it is looked on badly if you get together with someone less than three months after your last relationship. He wanted me to hide it from my Christian landlady/friend and her short-tempered husband. I did tell her, but she asked me to hide it from her husband and from the town, as her fellow church goers would judge her for letting it happen and she would lose respect and social standing.

I was left feeling pretty sad. That relationships here are so full of lies, which complicate and prevent closeness. He seemed to view what we had as something special, and given the lack of connection felt at my end, I feel sad for him his benchmark is so low. And sad for his partner that she's back with someone so demanding and misogynistic and deceptive. And given he definitely was "not overly machista" and is in many ways a pretty top bloke, very, very much sadder for all those Colombian women who have to put up with so much worse.

The Tale of Two Landless Villages

The villagers of El Piñal, like many rural communities, do not have it so easy. There may be a health centre building, but it has no staff or medicines. There may be a primary school with two out of three of the teachers needed, but for a secondary education, students have to walk an hour to get the bus. In the winter they need a canoe to cross the 300 metres which is under water. They leave the house at 5am, returning by 3pm having not eaten in that time. This year there are 58 primary school pupils, but no one is travelling to the secondary school in Regidor.

Drinking water has to be transported by hand or donkey for 1 1/2 kilometres.

The man bitten by 'Doguidoca' snake (who was very lucky to get the antidote in time, as that's a very poisonous snake) now has problems with his sight. He paid to see a specialist once, but can't afford to again.



Many things are difficult, but for the moment they have somewhere to farm.

Twenty years ago, when FARC controlled the area, the owner of the 500 ha farm next to the village abandoned it to flee the conflict. The first villagers to start farming his land asked for and were given permission.

Now more than fifty families depend on this land for survival. Mostly they have smallholdings of 5 ha, some with up to 10 ha. They grow palm trees for roofing, and staple foods such as corn, yucca and plantain.

I've heard the figure a few times, that there are 8 million people dying of hunger in Colombia. It seems difficult to believe in a country with so much fertile land, but this is a result of the displacements caused by the conflict, and the lack of food sovereignty. In El Piñal, while access to healthcare, education, drinking water or a decent road are a problem, I think we can assume that hunger is not so much.



But this village lives with a great sense of insecurity. Five years ago an Oil Palm company approached the owner. The community strongly asked him not to sell, and he did not.

He has not visited the area for twenty years, so most of the community do not know him. They had no idea if he would say 'no' again. They do know that losing that land would be the end of their village. Resulting in a future of displacement for those fifty families. Meaning the choice between urban or rural poverty, and with most families joining the 8 million hungry.

Meanwhile, San Cayatano is already some way down that road.

When Señor Numa, the owner of a 900 ha farm died 23 years ago, the villagers waited five years for his relatives to claim the land before they started to farm it. They were there for fourteen years: around forty families, again growing staple foods.

It is still unclear whether the men who arrived claiming to have bought the land from Señor Numa's sons actually ever did. (A lawyer from the EU-funded Program for Peace and Development is providing a ray of hope by investigating this.) What was clear were the threats behind the request for these families to leave the land. People were offered some money (although 2800 000 pesos (775 pounds) for 5 ha is not much) and were told that if they didn't leave the good way, they would be leaving the bad way. Given the paramilitary presence in the area, people took this pretty seriously. The last man left was taken by the AUC (paramilitary organisation linked to the state) to be killed, but managed to escape.

That was three years ago. 'Misery' was the word used to describe life for them since. Unemployment is especially uncomfortable when there are eight children to feed. One meal a day becomes normal. Hunger universal.

It is understood that the land was acquired for growing Oil Palm, though it is currently being used for cattle.

Other than their lack of land and their geographical proximity, these two villages have some other links. Six years ago, the father of Regidor's Mayor is alleged to have blocked a water inlet, to drain his own farm. This dried out both the shallow lake by El Piñal and the canal by San Cayatano. The members of both communities who had made a good living from fishing were no longer able to.

It's this same man, believed to have drug-trafficking and paramilitary links, who is allegedly behind the acquisition of Sr Numa's land, and who is thought to be trying to buy the land by El Piñal. The current owner may well be a nice man who does not want to leave his previous neighbours hungry, but a request to sell from someone believed to have ordered the killing of two business associates, may not be so easy to refuse.

The Smallholder Palm Growers of Villa Elvira

In a country where so many people have lost their land, the winners of a state lottery to divide up the airstrip formally owned by a drugs trafficker were pretty lucky. Two hundred had put their names forward back in 1991. Thirty nine people got 10 hectares each.

I met one of the unlucky ones. He had lost his land 20 years ago when he had to sell it as the conflict meant it was not safe to stay. Ever since he's hired himself and his machete out for manual labour. He said working for the palm companies is good work. The only difference between them and the smallholders is that he gets paid monthly rather than weekly.

It was one of the first interviews I'd done. Not having such a stock of questions up my sleeve, I simply asked "Anything else?" He told me that we're put on this earth to suffer, until the day God chooses to end it. Until then we suffer like the Lord suffered. We work to get our daily bread. And we suffer.

So, as I say, those that won the land are the lucky ones.

However, I worry how long this may be the case for the 22 smallholders who have chosen to plant Oil Palm in the last few years. (The Afro-Colombian community has asked that we don't call it 'African Palm' anymore, as Africa already has enough negative connotations.)

I spoke to a number of them. Many used to grow corn, but the price was so low that it didn't cover the costs. The land is on a floodplain, and some farmers had lost their harvests due to flooding.

So the promise of a crop with a higher commercial value drew them in.

For the first three years, while the palms are growing, they get paid 400 000 pesos (106 pounds) per month to cover the upkeep of the 10 hectares. It actually doesn't cover much. At least two people are needed every day for keeping the area weed free. (If you are reported for having livestock on the land, the payment stops.) If the workers are not family, they need to paid 40 000 pesos per day. If they are, they need feeding.

Some use herbicides. I asked how much they cost, and was worryingly told that the farmer didn't know. The company gave it on credit.

At the time, I got the impression that the monthly 400 000 was a payment from the company. Actually it will also need to be paid back when repayments start after 5 years.

Most farmers currently have a loan of around 25 million pesos (6600 pounds). I asked one if he was worried about losing his land. He wasn't. But others I am working with are not so calm and see it as a real danger. When their trees start bearing fruit, they will be at the mercy of global prices and the amount that their company San Lucas chooses to pass on to them.

It is not a company that has so far inspired much confidence. Three years ago they made an agreement with the local community to sort out the local road (which is impassible in the winter. Children struggle to school knee deep in mud and arrive 2 hours late according to the teacher), and to put in a drainage system to help against flooding. None of this has been done, and in fact the problem with flooding has been far worse as the drainage system from the company's own land directs more water onto the old airstrip, and another palm oil company at the other end has blocked where it used to drain away.

The palm trees which are under water for the winter do not grow as fast, and are unlikely to be as productive, if they manage to survive.

I was told that the meeting we were going to, called by the Corporación Ambiental (Environment Agency equivalent), was to address issues such as this with the Palm companies. It was very well attended. The EU-funded Program for Peace and Development paid expenses for the campesinos to attend. They generally sat at the back. At the front sat those representing local government, the palm companies, the Program for Peace and Development, and a few different state agencies such as the Public Defender's Office (Human Rights lawyers employed by the state) and the Personaría (Local ombudsman’s office, first port of call for complaints).

Instead of the Corporación encouraging the campesinos to inform us what the issues were, or tackling the points raised by the Public Defender, and then coming to some agreement involving some sort of action, there was much talk that didn't lead to anything concrete.

Mostly those at the front talked, and most of what was said had no relation to the problems the campesinos face. We did hear how brilliant one palm company has been in driving up environmental standards. We heard some local politics squabbles being aired. And we heard from one palm company how much common ground it believed it had with the EU Program. Obviously most campesinos were too intimidated to speak out. Those that did had good points that were promptly ignored. Disappointing.

Nuns in a riot

I met some very cool nuns. The bloke who’d set up the meeting for me had told me in advance that “son chevéres” (They're cool), and he was dead right.

There’s been a strike of palm oil workers happening in Puerto Wilches, and I was meeting with the nuns to hear about how they had been supporting the workers, and how I might be able to help.

They told me about the background to the strike. It started on January 30th by workers from the Monterey company. Monterey subcontracts the majority of its work to cooperatives. Which might sound like a good thing, but it really, really is not. It is done simply as a tactic to get over labour laws.

As Norma The Nun began to tell me about the workers’ conditions, my jaw started falling floorward. Seeing this, she commented how it had had the same effect on her.
Collecting palm oil seeds is not easy work. The men spend the day craning their necks, pulling bunches of seeds down from the trees. It's very hot. There are commonly spinal problems from looking up all day, and injuries from falling branches.

The job of injecting the trees with the pesticide monocrotophos (illegal in many countries) is often done with little protective gear. Last year 18 year old Emilio Sabas died after only two weeks at the job. He only had a flimsy face mask. No protective clothes or gloves. Blame of who should have been responsible for his gear bounced between the Monterey and his cooperative.
Given how most workers can hardly afford the food they need on their wages, extra clothes are not their priority. So they go home in the same clothes, hug their kids, have their clothes washed along with everyone else’s. And studies have shown levels of pesticide contamination in workers’ families.

The sorts of things the Monterey strikers were protesting against when they started, included how

- The many ways in which they get fined. For bunches with fewer than 8 branches, for bunches left in the trees, for bunches cut without leaves, for stems which are too long, and when bunches are too ripe and seeds fall out.

- Wages had not risen in five years

- Workers have to pay 100% of the transport costs of getting to the fields

- If they buy their tools from the factory shop (where they can get credit, which they need when they're paid late), they are 60% above market value.

- Workers have to pay for the transport of the seeds from the fields, and are fined for any damage to the carts, including wear and tear.

- The cooperatives are meant to pay 100% of the social security payments. Given that Monterey is often late paying the cooperatives, there are gaps in payment which leaves people with a big problem if they have an accident during one of the gaps. It’s risky work, so people do.

- Workers are fined for the seeds that fall loose on to the floor. Women collect them off the ground. They are paid, and the men are fined, according to their weight. That’s the bit that really made my jaw drop.

So the Monterey workers started the strike on January 30th. They were joined on February 13th by workers from many other companies. They set up a blockade on February 18th. Two groups of nuns were there, supporting two different sites, meeting up at 4am.

The nuns had gleaming eyes as they related the story. Riot cops arrived at 5.25am, threw in some tear gas, and there was a pitched battle til 8 or 9. The crowd grew from 300 to 5000 when the tear gas started. The police singled out people to beat up. They threw tear gas into houses with pregnant women and children in. One woman later miscarried. The nuns treated tear gas victims and told off lots of cops. People got wise to throwing water over tear gas canisters to neutralize them. The police then ran out of gas, were surrounded, and had to get rescued. They left the scene at 12pm.

The blockade lasted another week or so. There were some negotiation meetings, but the companies did not give an inch. Gutting. It’s common after agreements are reached for community leaders to be assassinated afterwards. I imagine they might be even more vulnerable when the power balance is such that they didn’t even win anything. Bit of a worry.

How mining communities organise

The Colombian army have had the habit for a few years now, of killing villagers and declaring them "guerrillas killed in combat". Sometimes they dress the bodies up in military clothes. Sometimes they place weapons on them (recently in the news a Sergeant Alexánder Rodríguez told how soldiers were asked to pay $10 themselves for each gun they placed, but were given 5 days holiday for every 'guerrilla' killed).

Often these are just random campesinos, killed to add to the army's statistics of dead guerrillas. Sometimes they are union leaders or community activists, standing in the way of state interests.

This was the case for Alejandro Uribe, head of the Community Action Council in the gold mining village of Mina Gallo.

The great thing about the mining area I visited, was the complete lack of multinationals. Those who discover a mine become the owners. Occasionally there is sole ownership, but shared ownership is more normal and is encouraged by agencies working with the communities, because then mines are less likely to be sold on.

I was quite intrigued by the relationship between the miners and the owners. Early on I asked about how profits are distributed, and got the vague answer than it depends on the mine. I kept my preconception that the owners were capitalists sitting on their bottoms somewhere while others created profits for them, until finally it was explained to me that actually the owners live in the community and work in the mines, much the same as everyone else. My questions about whether they were the boss of the mines, or about power inequalities in the village were met with smirks. Not really. It's the union that does the organising.

So far, so idyllic. (In so far as, if you have to live in basic poverty, miles from any basic healthcare or secondary education, I'm sure it's much nicer when no one else is making money out of your situation.)

But obviously, there is a multinational knocking on the door. To quote an Amnesty report, "This is an area in which the gold-mining company AngloGold Ashanti (Kedahda S.A.) has interests. Alejandro and other local miners had opposed the arrival of this company in the area."

He was killed on September 19th 2006. The army took away his body, and later declared that he was an armed member of the ELN, killed in combat. When 600 local residents travelled to the military base to demand his body was returned, they were told, "This is not the only corpse you're going to have, there will be more dead leaders."

His absence is still noted today in Mina Gallo. On posters and on a variety of commemorative t-shirts worn by residents. AngloGold Ashanti is also notable for it's continued absence from the area.

Journey to a meeting

My favourite meeting of those I've attended so far in Colombia, was held in the tiny gold mining village of Mina Piojo in the region of Southern Bolivar.

To get there, I got a taxi to the bus station in Bogotá, a 12 hour overnight bus to Aguachica, a 20 minute taxi to Gamarra, a two hour boat ride upstream on the river Magdalena to Cerro Burgos and a 30 minute taxi to Santa Rosa. In Santa Rosa we had breakfast and waited for the jeep which proclaimed itself to be 'Servicing the mining community'. Then, a tortuous two hour drive over the worst roads I'd ever been on in a vehicle. Incredible foot-deep tyre-wide ruts that took much concentration on the driver's part. At the moment it's summer and the ground was solid, but in rainy winter those bits would be impassible.

I was squashed between one of my travelling companions and a nurse travelling to service the tiny health centre up there. The nurse was all friendly and chatty, along those "tell me all about your country" lines. He asked me that question "What does your country export?" that I remember from when I was last in Latin America 12 years ago. I remember being stuck by my own ignorance when asked before, and I remember resolving to research the matter when I got home. Though I don't remember doing so. All the ideas he came up with (cars? computers?) I thought had probably moved elsewhere. I forgot that the arms trade was something we do excel at, and my mind was totally blank. Which I'm sure was strange to someone in a country where the evidence of the natural resources being exploited for the national economy is all around you. Even before I got here, I could list loads of Colombia's exports (flowers, palm oil, oil, gold, soap operas and cocaine). With the exception of soap operas, I can tell you environmental, social and human rights problems associated with each one. But other than weapons and what goes with them, and maybe some cars, I'm still not so sure what the UK does export.

At the time I glibly gave this answer, which I welcome you to critique as pitilessly as you see fit (go Nigel): "With our history of colonialism, given that we've robbed the natural resources of lots of other places, now we have the money which makes more money." Opinion or analysis welcome - post them below.

Then we arrived in La Punta: entry point to the gold mines in the mountains. Mules were hired that were in a far worse state than those we'd had on our mountain walking holiday. Life is clearly harsher here.

Then a four hour walk/mule ride along an up & down mud path that apparently is a nightmare in the winter (evidenced by the odd lost wellington boot sticking up out of the ground) and takes hours longer.

We stayed the night in Mina Vieja and set off again the next day. No mules to take our stuff this time, and a three hour walk. Pretty much all downhill, at times steep and tricky. Great views, going through woods stuffed with cool plants and fantastic butterflies, but also with the knowledge that the next day the return journey would be lots more work.

Then we arrived and I got some understanding of what life is like seven hours from a road.

We were told that we'd been expected yesterday. When the only communication is via people being given messages as they pass through other villages, misunderstandings are pretty easy. So a new meeting was fixed for 6.30pm. We watched an electric light being installed in someone's porch specially for the meeting. At 6pm we were called for dinner in the house which included a tiny shop and seemed to function as the village social centre. We'd all had a shower there, and plenty of other people seemed to use the bathroom facilities (small shed with a toilet and hose) too.

For dinner I was sat at a table in front of a tele and my first proper telenovela experience. I discussed with someone from my group how staggeringly, incredibly, bad it was. Only later to get up and notice most of the village sitting just behind me, avidly taking it in. Ooops. (Since then I've not only discovered that they are actually incredibly entertaining, but it's also been explained that the over-acting is a deliberate parody. If true, I guess that makes it okay.)

I liked the meeting because although it mostly consisted of all the men from the village, it was a very sorted woman that ran it. She started by reading out an agenda. And I was happy that a remote gold mining community, where probably pretty much no one had been to a secondary school, could still have a good meeting process. I also liked how a little way into the meeting, she was presented with her screaming child to breastfeed, and how effortlessly she multi-tasked.

I was there with a bloke from a national NGO which does capacity building work, and with three guys from the Federation of Farmers and Miners in South Bolivar. The meeting was for those agencies to encourage community development. I was a bit taken aback when one of the men from the Federation launched into a long rant about the environmental effects of gold mining and what the community should be doing about it, but it seemed to be well received. Everyone was in agreement around the importance of environmental protection. And I felt a bit choked when an old man from the community started his own rant about why you should plant fruit trees even if you're not going to be alive to benefit from them (ie because someone else will).

I also thought it seemed pretty blunt when the community were told that they should plan ahead because at the moment they can choose either that their children only receive a primary education, or that they send them off to secondary (only really possible if they have relatives near a school) in which case they rarely come back. When I mentioned later how harsh this had seemed to me, I was told that the NGO and the Federation are working on a proposal for a secondary school nearer by, and the point was the community needed to get involved in this.

The main other point was to encourage the miners to get more into growing their own food. The news that bananas cost 15p each in a nearby mining village (rather than 5p normally) caused a bit of a stir. By the time we left there was a committed and organised bunch of people with the beginnings of an allotment plan. That felt really positive.

Near the end of the meeting, the Federation bloke who'd been talking for ages, suddenly goes, "and now it's our international friend's turn to speak and to give us some thoughts on her visit here." I would have really appreciated some time to form some thoughts, but I had to make do with bland pleasantries. Something about differences, how we generally all had roads going right up to our houses and how I was learning a lot about what life was like for them. This was followed by some loud demands that I stay for a whole week to learn more. I find the thought really tempting. It was an incredibly friendly and comfortable place to be, with a brilliantly strong sense of community. I'd just worry about getting there by myself.

Later, I did have the time to form some more opinions. I thought about how my previous impression of gold miners was of colonialists causing environmental damage and problems for indigenous people. No indigenous people round here, although, okay, until the clean-mining equipment comes soon to the area, there probably is too much mercury and cyanide being released. But with their houses made only from local wood and plastic sheeting, with all goods being carried in by person or by mule, and with not a car driver or air traveller amongst them, it's the lowest-impact, most sustainable village I've ever visited.