Displaced Misery

Newspaper articles, prime-time stories, and movies all focus on the drug-related violence taking place in Colombia. A cocaine drop-off was intercepted by the Coast Guard in Miami. More kidnapped victims were released after spending six years chained to a tree in the jungle whittling rosaries out of seeds. Obama's administration applauds Plan Colombia's success at fumigating 100,000 hectares of coca fields along the border with Ecuador in 2008 (which was less than the 120,000 hectares of new fields planted during the same year). Does it ever seem strange that the people at the forefront of the information about Colombia involves paramilitary, guerrillas, and government officials? What about all the other (innocent) people involved?

The majority of Colombians have probably never even seen drugs before, let alone become involved in them in some way. But they do know that foreigners from the US and Europe consume large amounts of the cocaine and marijuana that feeds the violence affecting their country. It isn't the fault of Colombians that drugs are addicting and white people can afford them. Yet they still suffer the consequences of the growing demand for such stimulants.

A hidden and very serious effect of the narco-trafficking and resulting drug wars is the second-largest population of internally displaced peoples IN THE WORLD. Sudan, with over 5 million internally displaced people (IDPs) is first, IDPs making up 14% of the overall population. Colombia has around 3.5 million IDPs, constituting 7.8% of the population of the country and 1.5 times the population of Medellin. People have fled from over more that 90% of Colombian municipalities, either in response to or in anticipation of violence targeted against them by armed groups. But when you think of the Lost Boys and UN refugee camps set up for displaced Sudanese, you also think of some schools, clinics, and services dedicated to people fleeing violence. It makes them a much easier group to count, access, and to whom international organizations can administer aid. In Colombia, displaced families flee to the large cities, other rural areas, and sometimes across international borders into Venezuela or Ecuador but in general are so dispersed throughout the country that it is impossible to keep track of them all.

As the second-largest city in Colombia, Medellin hosts over 110,000 displaced people. They come mainly from the nearby district of Choco, are disproportionately Afro-Colombian, arrive without anywhere to stay and without knowing anyone, are unaccustomed to city life, highly uneducated, and more likely to end up living on the streets than anywhere else. Because of the intrinsic complications of secretive groups inflicting violence on civilians, it is too confusing to try to figure out whether the paramilitary or guerrillas are the primary cause of displacement, but at this point there are too many problems to undertake with this population that pointing fingers is the least of any one's worries.

When IDPs arrive in the city, they are encouraged to register their situation with UAO, an over-worked sector of the government set up to aid displaced people. However, because many people have been horrifically threatened and fear being discovered in their new location by entering their name on a national list, they do not register for the services of which they are in dire need. This serves as a problem because the majority of them aren't even entered in the national SISBEN registry and effectively invisible as far as the state is concerned--they do not exist. However, everyone, unregistered as it may be, are referred to one of four 'albergues', or shelters set up by private organizations, where they live while trying to acclimate to Medellin, find work, and contemplate their dire future.

Like in every other place in the world, women carry the burden of inflicted violence. One in every three displaced Colombian girls has a baby before she reaches 20 years of age, and one in five displaced women will be raped during their lifetime. What happens to these babies and what are the government or other entities doing about this huge problem? As a researcher, I have undertaken this difficult question but have yet to come up with any definitive answers. What I have learned so far has been through working one to two days at one of the shelters that can house up to 80 displaced people for a maximum of 3 months.

Most of the people living there are single mothers with anywhere from 3 to 8 children, although some come with spouses in complete family units or as a couple having left children behind. The environment is of idle fear, board children, and a sadness so palpable that every time I breathe I feel like I could drown in each person's sad story.

Rather than getting caught up in the past, I try to help the adults focus on their future by offering literacy classes. Most women haven't received an education past 1st grade; their children are better than them at arithmetic and spelling. I also try to the best of my foreign knowledge of the Colombian system try to research technical training programs available to them, and give classes on the correct way to dress and act when approaching a fast food restaurant or vendor of cell phone visits asking for work. Despite my best efforts, they seem so lost in their hopelessness that very few have responded with any action.

Sometimes I find myself wishing that I could only work with the children--at least they apply what I teach them during art classes and singing games and have more hope for their futures. But I know that several other people come to play, wooed by their sly smiles and ever hug-ready arms, leaving the adults abandoned and feeling even more despaired. In return for this work, they are also more willing when I ask if I can interview them for my research.

My project focuses on the experience of pregnant women during displacement. This involves how their lack of permanent home affects access to maternal services, what effect displacement has on family dynamics, and their worries about bringing a new child into such a difficult situation. It is heartbreaking to listen to a 22-year old girl younger than myself explain how she is pregnant with her 4th child fathered by a man who was drafted by the guerrillas and she might never see again. The other children all have different fathers and are living with her mother. She had her first sexual encounter at age 11 with a man who was 30, then pregnant by age 12 from a different partner. When I asked her why she doesn't use any sort of family planning she said she got pregnant again so she could be sterilized by PROFAMILIA, the national branch of Planned Parenthood, because they won't perform the procedure on anyone with under 4 children. Luckily, that same PROFAMILIA offers excellent, *free* maternal services to displaced women and so the actual pregnancy should result healthily for mom and baby alike. But what happens after the child is born, she moves out of the shelter, and again has no future?

I am trying to learn from my informants what difficulties displaced women face in Colombia in order to internationally make people aware of this issue that otherwise is undetected on the radar of human rights and health organizations. I wish that I could come up with some sort of solution, but the main problem that needs attention is education--the solution for many of the world's suffering people. As one foreigner I cannot override an entire system, but can elucidate the experience of IDP women by sharing it here and hopefully publishing a book on my findings after I complete my research term. Please interact with my postings to help me discuss and expand my research in forums other than those available to me in Colombia, and would appreciate any feedback readers might have.