Gun Used in Shooting Colombian Presidential Candidate Traced to Arizona
South American
country's top police officer said Monday.
Speaking at a press event, Gen. Carlos Fernando Triana of the Colombian National Police said, 'According to the verification carried out by the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, within the framework of international cooperation, the firearm was purchased on August 6, 2020, in Arizona, United States, that is, it was purchased legally.'
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Los Angeles Times
28 minutes ago
- Los Angeles Times
Violent guerrillas are taking Colombia's children. Unarmed Indigenous groups are confronting them
CALDONO, Colombia — When Patricia Elago Zetty's 13-year-old son went missing in Colombia's conflict-ridden southwest, she didn't hesitate. Elago and five fellow members of the Indigenous Guard trekked across mountainous terrain to confront the guerrillas they suspected of taking her son and another teenager to bolster their ranks. When the unarmed Guard members reached the guerrillas' camp, about 30 fighters stopped them at gunpoint. After a tense wait, a tall commander stepped out from a gate, and Elago said she had come for her son. The commander said he would 'verify' whether the boy was there. After about an hour of negotiations and radio calls, five more guerrillas arrived with her son Stiven and the other boy. When she saw Stiven, Elago said, it felt like her soul returned to her body. 'He hugged me and said, 'Mom, I never thought you'd risk so much,'' she said in an interview with the Associated Press. 'It was a victory.' Rescue missions like Elago's have intensified for the Indigenous Guard of the Nasa people, which formed in 2001 to protect Indigenous territories from armed groups and environmental destruction such as deforestation and illegal mining. Since 2020, as armed groups tightened their control of Nasa territory to expand illicit crops like marijuana and coca, those guerrillas have ramped up their recruitment of the region's children by dangling offers of cash and protection. Over eight days reporting in the Cauca region, the AP spoke to more than 20 young people affected by the recruitment as well as several families grappling with the same threat. Some youths had escaped, others were rescued, and a few chose to remain with the groups. Colombia has endured more than half a century of internal conflict fueled by inequality, land disputes and the drug trade. Leftist guerrillas, right-wing paramilitaries and criminal groups have fought for control of territory — with rural, Indigenous and Afro-Colombian communities caught in the crossfire. A 2016 peace deal ended the war with the country's largest rebel group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC, but violence never fully stopped. Since the accord, child recruitment has been driven mainly by FARC dissident groups who rejected the peace process. The ELN, a Marxist guerrilla force active since the 1960s, and the Clan del Golfo, Colombia's largest drug-trafficking gang, also forcibly recruit minors. Violence hangs heavy over the region. During AP's visit, two former FARC combatants who laid down arms under the peace deal were gunned down near Caldono. At the same time, families reported the disappearance of several youths — believed to have been recruited. This is the climate in which the Guard, known as Kiwe Thegnas in the Nasa Yuwe language, now works. For the Nasa, coca holds deep cultural, spiritual, and medicinal significance. Its exploitation to produce cocaine is seen by many as a distortion of a sacred plant — one that fuels violence and environmental destruction. Members of the Guard carry 'bastones de autoridad' — sacred staffs symbolizing moral leadership and collective responsibility. The staffs are often adorned with the traditional Guard colors of red and green — which represent blood and earth — and emblems. Elago, 39, had a small photo of her son on hers. Steeped in spirituality, the staff is believed to offer protection from harm, giving Guard members the courage to confront armed groups. Yet more than 40 Guard members have been slain since the peace deal, according to Colombia's Indigenous Council of Cauca (CRIC), a longstanding organization representing Nasa and other Indigenous communities. 'They carry guns — we carry staffs. The staff represents our life, our courage,' Elago said. 'They've aimed their rifles at us … pressed them to our chests, to our heads.' Elago said the rebels her group confronted three years ago expressed respect for the Guard but claimed the boys had joined voluntarily, which infuriated her. She said Stiven had left home the day he went missing to collect wages he was owed for farm work near a coca-growing area controlled by FARC dissidents. She said she challenged them: 'You talk about respecting Indigenous people, but you're killing our youth. What respect is that?' One rebel told her he'd never seen a mother speak so boldly. But another warned: 'Take care, mamma. You already smell like formaldehyde,' a chemical used to preserve dead bodies. Not all rescues are successful. Eduwin Calambas Fernandez, coordinator of Kiwe Thegnas in Canoas, an Indigenous reserve in northern Cauca, described leading a 2023 attempt to bring back two teenagers recruited through Facebook. They met with commanders, only to find the 15- and 16-year-old boys did not want to return and were considered by the armed groups to be old enough to decide for themselves. Calambas said that the main armed faction in his area has declared it will no longer return recruits 14 or older to their families. Children are lured with promises of cash, cosmetic treatments, or food for their families, according to Indigenous Councils Association of Northern Cauca, or ACIN. Once inside the camps, many suffer physical abuse, political indoctrination and sexual violence — especially girls. 'Once in, it is very difficult to leave,' said Scott Campbell, the United Nations human rights chief in Colombia. ACIN has documented 915 cases of Indigenous youth recruited there since 2016, some as young as 9. ACIN has warned of a sharp increase lately, with at least 79 children recruited between January and June. Colombia's Ombudsman's Office confirmed 409 cases of child recruitment during 2024, up from 342 the year before, with over 300 cases alone in Cauca, one of Colombia's poorest departments. Campbell called the Colombian government's response 'ineffective and untimely,' noting a lack of consistent state presence and failure to partner with Indigenous authorities on prevention. ACIN said the government has left armed groups to fill the void by providing roads, food and other basic services in remote and neglected areas. Colombia's Family Welfare Institute, or ICBF — the main agency protecting children — told AP it funds community programs and Indigenous‑led initiatives that have contributed to 251 children leaving armed groups in the first half of 2025. The ICBF insists it is working with Indigenous authorities and pressing armed groups to uphold a ban on recruiting minors. From her classroom high in the mountains, Luz Adriana Diaz watches children arrive each morning under the shadow of a conflict they're too young to fully grasp. Her small school in the village of Manuelico — reachable only by a winding road from Caldono — is surrounded by dense forest and coca fields planted and patrolled by armed groups. Banners promoting the Dagoberto Ramos front of the FARC — one of the most violent factions in Cauca — hang along the roadside. 'Since 2020, it's been very sad — threats, recruitment, killings … living in the middle of violence,' Diaz said. Diaz has spent 14 years teaching across the Caldono municipality, but says only in this village, surrounded by coca, has the presence of armed groups felt so constant. Teachers 'work with them breathing down our necks,' she said. The Indigenous Guard has stepped up patrols outside the school to discourage recruiting. Diaz says the armed group members have come to the school to buy food, borrow chairs and interact casually with staff. 'We can't say no,' she said. 'I've had to be very careful.' Several former students, some as young as 11, are now in armed groups, she said. Some left quietly. Others were taken. One young woman who recently fled FARC dissidents, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, said she joined the armed group at 16 not because she was forced but to escape family problems. She said she mainly cooked, organized supplies and cleaned weapons. She was afraid at first but was not mistreated. She eventually fled after a change in commanders left her fearing harsher treatment or being moved to a faraway region with an increased threat of combat. Now she works with a local initiative that supports families trying to prevent their children from being recruited. She warns teens about the risks of joining armed groups. As for the parents, she said: 'I tell families they need to build trust with their children.' Fernández, a woman in her mid-30s who asked to be identified only by her last name for fear of reprisals, was 12 when armed men came looking for her in her rural Cauca community. Terrified, and with no clear way to say no, she joined the ranks of the FARC. In the years that followed, she said she endured rape, psychological abuse and starvation and saw brutal punishments against those who tried to escape. Her escape, three years after being taken, came by chance. One night, a commander sent her to charge a cell phone. Instead of returning, she hid for days in a nearby home, protected by civilians who risked their lives to shelter her, before fleeing the region. Now, raising three children in a village near Caldono, she watches and worries about her eldest son, now 12. 'Young people are so easily fooled … they're shown a bit of money or a cell phone, and they think that's just how life works,' she said. 'Then they're sent into combat zones where so many children die.' Grattan writes for the Associated Press.
3 hours ago
Violent guerrillas are taking Colombia's children. Unarmed Indigenous groups are confronting them
CALDONO, Colombia -- When Patricia Elago Zetty's 13-year-old son went missing in Colombia's conflict-ridden southwest, she didn't hesitate. Elago and five fellow members of the Indigenous Guard trekked across mountainous terrain to confront the guerrillas they suspected of taking her son and another teenager to bolster their ranks. When the unarmed Guard members reached the guerrillas' camp, about 30 fighters stopped them at gunpoint. After a tense wait, a tall commander stepped out from a gate, and Elago said she had come for her son. The commander said he would 'verify' whether the boy was there. After about an hour of negotiations and radio calls, five more guerrillas arrived with her son Stiven and the other boy. When she saw Stiven, Elago said, it felt like her soul returned to her body. 'He hugged me and said, 'Mom, I never thought you'd risk so much,'' she said in an interview with The Associated Press. 'It was a victory.' Rescue missions like Elago's have intensified for the Indigenous Guard of the Nasa people, which formed in 2001 to protect Indigenous territories from armed groups and environmental destruction such as deforestation and illegal mining. Since 2020, as armed groups tightened their control of Nasa territory to expand illicit crops like marijuana and coca, those guerrillas have ramped up their recruitment of the region's children by dangling offers of cash and protection. Over eight days reporting in the Cauca region, the AP spoke to more than 20 young people affected by the recruitment as well as several families grappling with the same threat. Some youths had escaped, others were rescued, and a few chose to remain with the groups. Colombia has endured more than half a century of internal conflict fueled by inequality, land disputes and the drug trade. Leftist guerrillas, right-wing paramilitaries and criminal groups have fought for control of territory — with rural, Indigenous and Afro-Colombian communities caught in the crossfire. A 2016 peace deal ended the war with the country's largest rebel group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or FARC, but violence never fully stopped. Since the accord, child recruitment has been driven mainly by FARC dissident groups who rejected the peace process. The ELN, a Marxist guerrilla force active since the 1960s, and the Clan del Golfo, Colombia's largest drug-trafficking gang, also forcibly recruit minors. Violence hangs heavy over the region. During AP's visit, two former FARC combatants who laid down arms under the peace deal were gunned down near Caldono. At the same time, families reported the disappearance of several youths — believed to have been recruited. This is the climate in which the Guard, known as Kiwe Thegnas in the Nasa Yuwe language, now works. For the Nasa, coca holds deep cultural, spiritual, and medicinal significance. Its exploitation to produce cocaine is seen by many as a distortion of a sacred plant — one that fuels violence and environmental destruction. Members of the Guard carry 'bastones de autoridad' — sacred staffs symbolizing moral leadership and collective responsibility. The staffs are often adorned with the traditional Guard colors of red and green — which represent blood and earth — and emblems. Elago, 39, had a small photo of her son on hers. Steeped in spirituality, the staff is believed to offer protection from harm, giving Guard members the courage to confront armed groups. Yet more than 40 Guard members have been slain since the peace deal, according to Colombia's Indigenous Council of Cauca (CRIC), a longstanding organization representing Nasa and other Indigenous communities. 'They carry guns — we carry staffs. The staff represents our life, our courage,' Elago said. 'They've aimed their rifles at us … pressed them to our chests, to our heads.' Elago said the rebels her group confronted three years ago expressed respect for the Guard but claimed the boys had joined voluntarily, which infuriated her. She said Stiven had left home the day he went missing to collect wages he was owed for farm work near a coca-growing area controlled by FARC dissidents. She said she challenged them: 'You talk about respecting Indigenous people, but you're killing our youth. What respect is that?' One rebel told her he'd never seen a mother speak so boldly. But another warned: 'Take care, mamma. You already smell like formaldehyde,' a chemical used to preserve dead bodies. Not all rescues are successful. Eduwin Calambas Fernandez, coordinator of Kiwe Thegnas in Canoas, an Indigenous reserve in northern Cauca, described leading a 2023 attempt to bring back two teenagers recruited through Facebook. They met with commanders, only to find the 15- and 16-year-old boys did not want to return and were considered by the armed groups to be old enough to decide for themselves. Calambas said that the main armed faction in his area has declared it will no longer return recruits 14 or older to their families. Children are lured with promises of cash, cosmetic treatments, or food for their families, according to Indigenous Councils Association of Northern Cauca, or ACIN. Once inside the camps, many suffer physical abuse, political indoctrination and sexual violence — especially girls. 'Once in, it is very difficult to leave,' said Scott Campbell, the United Nations human rights chief in Colombia. ACIN has documented 915 cases of Indigenous youth recruited there since 2016, some as young as 9. ACIN has warned of a sharp increase lately, with at least 79 children recruited between January and June. Colombia's Ombudsman's Office confirmed 409 cases of child recruitment during 2024, up from 342 the year before, with over 300 cases alone in Cauca, one of Colombia's poorest departments. Campbell called the Colombian government's response 'ineffective and untimely,' noting a lack of consistent state presence and failure to partner with Indigenous authorities on prevention. ACIN said the government has left armed groups to fill the void by providing roads, food and other basic services in remote and neglected areas. Colombia's Family Welfare Institute, or ICBF — the main agency protecting children — told AP it funds community programs and Indigenous‑led initiatives that have contributed to 251 children leaving armed groups in the first half of 2025. The ICBF insists it is working with Indigenous authorities and pressing armed groups to uphold a ban on recruiting minors. From her classroom high in the mountains, Luz Adriana Diaz watches children arrive each morning under the shadow of a conflict they're too young to fully grasp. Her small school in the village of Manuelico — reachable only by a winding road from Caldono — is surrounded by dense forest and coca fields planted and patrolled by armed groups. Banners promoting the Dagoberto Ramos front of the FARC — one of the most violent factions in Cauca — hang along the roadside. 'Since 2020, it's been very sad — threats, recruitment, killings … living in the middle of violence," Diaz said. Diaz has spent 14 years teaching across the Caldono municipality, but says only in this village, surrounded by coca, has the presence of armed groups felt so constant. Teachers 'work with them breathing down our necks,' she said. The Indigenous Guard has stepped up patrols outside the school to discourage recruiting. Diaz says the armed group members have come to the school to buy food, borrow chairs and interact casually with staff. 'We can't say no,' she said. 'I've had to be very careful.' Several former students, some as young as 11, are now in armed groups, she said. Some left quietly. Others were taken. One young woman who recently fled FARC dissidents, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of retaliation, said she joined the armed group at 16 not because she was forced but to escape family problems. She said she mainly cooked, organized supplies and cleaned weapons. She was afraid at first but was not mistreated. She eventually fled after a change in commanders left her fearing harsher treatment or being moved to a faraway region with an increased threat of combat. Now she works with a local initiative that supports families trying to prevent their children from being recruited. She warns teens about the risks of joining armed groups. As for the parents, she said: 'I tell families they need to build trust with their children." Fernández, a woman in her mid-30s who asked to be identified only by her last name for fear of reprisals, was 12 when armed men came looking for her in her rural Cauca community. Terrified, and with no clear way to say no, she joined the ranks of the FARC. In the years that followed, she said she endured rape, psychological abuse and starvation and saw brutal punishments against those who tried to escape. Her escape, three years after being taken, came by chance. One night, a commander sent her to charge a cell phone. Instead of returning, she hid for days in a nearby home, protected by civilians who risked their lives to shelter her, before fleeing the region. Now, raising three children in a village near Caldono, she watches and worries about her eldest son, now 12. 'Young people are so easily fooled … they're shown a bit of money or a cell phone, and they think that's just how life works,' she said. 'Then they're sent into combat zones where so many children die.'
Los Angeles Times
3 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
This patented device creates bespoke underwater photos. Now it faces Trump's Brazil tariffs
In the heady circles where global economists and academics offer their opinions, President Trump's whopping 50% tariff on goods from Brazil will do only 'limited' harm to the economy of the South American giant. In the terrestrial places where JR deSouza makes a living, the levies enacted last week hit a lot harder. 'It has caused me a lot of lost sleep,' said deSouza, whose company, Outex, makes underwater camera housings, manufactured in plants in Brazil and in Long Beach, San Fernando and Downey. DeSouza is a married father of two who lives in La Cañada. He had a winning career in product management and marketing with companies like TiVo, Disney and DreamWorks Animation, before he founded Outex 15 years ago. The 54-year-old grew up in Brazil and came to the U.S. in high school to pursue a swimming career, which led him to the University of Tennessee and the Brazilian Olympic team. On the Rose Bowl masters swim team in Pasadena, he's the amiable teammate who has a kind word for everyone, even the flounderers who swim in his wake. In creating Outex, deSouza combined his passion for the water (he also surfs and snorkels) and photography, which he picked up from his father. He told me his company has sold tens of thousands of Outex devices, mostly to professional photographers, but also to serious amateurs, who want to take pictures in and around the water. The devices can even be used with mobile phone cameras. They get strong ratings online for flexibility, durability and picture quality. Then came Trump and his tariffs, which have thrown entrepreneurs worldwide into a dither. The charges against Brazilian goods are among the highest the president has imposed. Trump generally asserts that his tariffs hit countries that 'looted' the U.S. with unfair trade practices. But America maintains a trade surplus with Brazil. The president levied the high tariffs, instead, because Brazil's former leader and his ally, Jair Bolsonaro, has been put on house arrest and accused of plotting a coup for attempt to overturn the last presidential election. (Sound familiar?) Trump calls the case against Bolsonaro a 'witch hunt.' DeSouza doesn't want to get into those politics. He just wants to assure that his business weathers the tempest, knowing that Trump frequently has shifted tariffs, with little warning. The exact levy on Outex housings is hard to calculate, because of the company's complex net of supply and assembly across two nations. The businessman said it's possible he could shift more of his operation to the U.S., but would take time and considerable planning. 'It's very difficult for businesses, especially ones selling directly to consumers, to absorb a 50% price increase overnight,' deSouza said. He's doing his best 'to absorb some of it with our manufacturing and assembly partners here in the United States and in Brazil,' but ultimately he will have to pass some of the cost on to customers. 'We may have to lay off some workers and cut growth expenses to preserve the business and navigate through it.' He's feeling forgotten amid the global hubbub, but hoping someone in the government can help small business people like him. 'Big corporations can afford lobbyists and lawyers and, you know, people who are focused on gaming the system,' he said. 'Smaller businesses don't have the same resources. They are just trying to make a product and deliver value.' DeSouza became an American citizen years ago. 'I want what is best for the United States and for small business,' he said, 'Right now, the ambiguity and complexity is wreaking havoc.' Today's great photo is from Times photographer Christina House outside a Pasadena hotel where Sydney, a handsome but skittish dog, helps Eaton fire evacuees heal. Jim Rainey, staff writerDiamy Wang, homepage internIzzy Nunes, audience internKevinisha Walker, multiplatform editorAndrew Campa, Sunday writerKarim Doumar, head of newsletters How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@ Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on
