At Nebraska boarding school, search for graves, closure continues
Carolyn Fiscus knows where her aunt, Mildred Lowe, spent her final days.
She knows the 12-year-old Winnebago girl became gravely ill in the winter of 1930 at the Genoa U.S. Indian Industrial Boarding School. She knows Mildred died.
She does not know where her aunt was buried.
It's a mystery Fiscus pondered as she sat in a folding chair beneath the sweltering sun in July 2023 and watched as a small team of archaeologists dug into the hardened Nebraska dirt. They were searching for the graves of children. Fiscus hoped her aunt might be among them.
She prayed, reaching out to Mildred's spirit and the spirits of other children believed to be buried on land that was once a sprawling campus.
The excavation had days to go, but the longtime educator and Ho-Chunk elder said she felt in her heart what the archeological team would soon realize: The children's remains weren't there. The search would have to continue.
Hundreds of children like Mildred were brought to the Genoa boarding school 110 miles west of Omaha during the institution's 50 years of operation. At least 86 are known to have died there — young casualties amid the federally mandated erasure of Indigenous culture. Records show nine students were buried on school grounds. The remains of 37 others were sent home to their tribes. The final resting place of 40 is still unknown.
'It's not just my aunt,' Fiscus told the Flatwater Free Press. 'There are many others that haven't been accounted for.'
In recent years, the U.S. government has acknowledged the troubled history of the schools and joined the nationwide search for those children through its federal boarding school initiative.
But with a new administration in D.C., it remains unclear if the federally-led effort will remain a priority.
The new interior secretary, former North Dakota Gov. Doug Burgum, is reviewing all department programs, including the boarding school initiative launched under President Joe Biden, according to a statement from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Some Native leaders have expressed cautious optimism, noting Burgum's relatively strong record on Native issues as governor.
Any changes at the federal level are not expected to impact the search in Nebraska, which has relied on state and local resources. Those involved remain hopeful as they continue to search for the graves.
With the search ongoing, Fiscus and other descendants face a festering question: What does closure look like when the school's dead remain lost?
The Genoa school was among the largest federal Native American boarding schools built in the U.S. From 1884 to 1934, children from more than 40 tribes were taken by railroad or horseback to the arching sign that still reads today 'U.S. Indian School.' At its peak in 1932, the 600-acre campus housed 599 students who ranged in age from 4 to 22 years old.
Spurred by the discovery of unmarked graves at similar schools in Canada in 2021, the U.S. Interior Department launched an investigation into the nation's boarding school system.
To date, the department has found that at least 18,000 children were taken from their tribes and forced to attend schools founded in the name of assimilation. It also documented nearly 1,000 deaths and 74 gravesites associated with the more than 500 schools. Historians believe that the true death toll is likely much higher.
Records show that diseases such as tuberculosis spread quickly through the schools, greatly contributing to the number of deaths.
In Nebraska, the state Commission on Indian Affairs has led the search effort in partnership with the state archeology department.
For Judi gaiashkibos, the commission's director and a citizen of Ponca Nation, the search has been personal. Her mother was a student at the school.
'It's a buried history. It's a sad story that America doesn't want to fully accept,' gaiashkibos told the Flatwater Free Press. 'So many people who grew up in our country and our state weren't taught any of this history.'
Like many former students, gaiashkibos' mother, Eleanor Josephine Knudsen, didn't share much with her 10 children about her time at Genoa.
Limited firsthand accounts and the loss of records to time make it difficult to fully comprehend what life was like at the boarding school, but some truths are known.
Children were physically abused there. A former teacher named Julie Carroll was one of two school employees to describe the abuse before a U.S. Senate subcommittee in 1929.
'Some of the children were beaten up like dogs until blood flew out of their noses,' Carroll said.
Students were 'loaned out' to work on nearby farms. Some would be stuck on campus for years before returning home. Some would return home only to find they had lost their native language; they were unable to speak with their relatives.
And some never made it back to their families.
Fred Hensley was a student at the Genoa school for eight months when in the spring of 1891 he succumbed to an unknown illness.
The 9-year-old Winnebago boy's body never returned home. According to the school newspaper: 'Funeral services were held Wednesday afternoon … and the little body was laid to rest among the mouldering (sic) remains of his schoolmates who preceded him to the better land.'
Decades after the Genoa school closed, former students would mention the school's cemetery, but no one could quite recall its exact location. Years had passed, and the 600-acre campus was filled in by nearby farms and the town of Genoa. Campus landmarks tumbled and any headstones that once stood were removed or lost to time.
Still, there is ample evidence that a cemetery once existed on the grounds. Its location was marked on a 1899 plat map, and there are references to students, like Fred, whose burials were shared in local newspapers.
State Archeologist Dave Williams gathered plenty of his own evidence before he began to dig at a potential grave site on the outskirts of Genoa in July 2023.
He was guided to that spot by a historic map, a team of cadaver dogs and ground penetrating radar that had revealed four anomalies consistent with the presence of graves, the Omaha World-Herald reported at the time. For nearly two weeks Williams' and his team dug into the sun-baked dirt.
In the end, they didn't find signs of human remains.
'I think we had high hopes because of those pieces of evidence stacking up,' Williams said. 'Then to go in and spend time and not come away with anything is disappointing, but negative data is still data.'
Williams and gaiashkibos shared the results of the dig with the dozens of tribes whose children were taken to the school. There were varying ideas on how to proceed. Some wanted Williams to expand the search area and keep digging. Others wanted the team to look for more archival evidence before conducting another excavation.
Geophysical surveys will continue, and a specialized cadaver search dog team will again assist with the search.
'We need to locate the cemetery so we can work toward protecting it, and maybe bring a little closure to the descendants,' Williams said.
Closure is difficult to define.
On Oct. 25, President Biden spoke before a crowd at the Gila River Indian Community in Arizona and for the first time in U.S. history acknowledged the devastation of the schools. He called the country's federal boarding school era 'a sin on our soul.'
'The federal Indian boarding school policy and the pain it has caused will always be a significant mark of shame,' Biden said. 'A blot on American history.'
Whether that work will continue remains to be seen. In a statement sent to the Flatwater Free Press, the Bureau of Indian Affairs said Burgum, the new head of the Interior Department appointed by President Donald Trump, is currently reviewing all programs at the department.
'The Department of the Interior and Bureau of Indian Affairs remain committed to our trust responsibilities of protecting tribal treaty rights, lands, assets, and resources, in addition to its duty to carry out the mandates of federal law with respect to American Indian and Alaska Native tribes and villages,' the statement read.
Tribal leaders in Burgum's home state have been publicly supportive of his new role.
'Governor Burgum understands Indian country and the challenges we face,' David Flute, secretary of the South Dakota Department of Tribal Relations, said in a November statement to the North Dakota Monitor.
A few days before Biden issued his apology, James Riding In considered what it means to move forward as a boarding school descendant and Pawnee citizen.
The Arizona-based professor is an author, advocate and board member of the Genoa Indian School Digital Reconciliation Project. While his relatives didn't attend the Genoa school, Riding In feels connected to Genoa. The location is Pawnee homeland.
'This whole idea of reconciliation – it might be a good concept, but is it just like an apology being issued for past wrongs?' Riding In asked. 'To me, reconciliation should have greater meaning.'
That greater meaning should translate into systemic change, such as land restorations, Riding In said.
To gaiashkibos, locating the school cemetery is a move toward closure, and she has facilitated every step of the search. She watched as Williams and his team used ground penetrating radar to narrow in on an excavation site. She laid a bundle of sage on the damp October ground in 2022, marking the spot where a search dog indicated the possible presence of human remains. She toured an old dairy barn that once belonged to the school and touched the names of former students carved into the century-old wood.
'(Finding the graves) also is a tribute to honor those who suffered at the hands of this failed policy to assimilate and 'kill the Indian,'' gaiashkibos said. 'Those children were the last little soldiers to die. I'm committed to finding the warriors, those children.'
Fiscus is still searching for the grave of her aunt Mildred. Records show the girl's body was sent back to her tribe, but Fiscus has found no evidence that Mildred was buried on Winnebago ground. Another record indicates Mildred's body was taken to an Omaha funeral home, adding to the mystery.
Despite the uncertainty, Fiscus said she found her own form of closure that summer day at the excavation in 2023.
'I feel like she's on her way home,' Fiscus said of her aunt. 'Back to the ancestors.'
The Flatwater Free Press is Nebraska's first independent, nonprofit newsroom focused on investigations and feature stories that matter.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
6 hours ago
Bolivia will choose a new president but environmental activists see little hope of progress
BOGOTA, Colombia -- Bolivia's upcoming presidential election will mark a shift from nearly two decades of socialist rule, but many Indigenous and environmental leaders doubt it will bring progress in stopping deforestation, fires or pollution in the Amazon. The Oct. 19 runoff pits centrist Sen. Rodrigo Paz against right-wing former president Jorge 'Tuto' Quiroga — two contenders promising change but rooted in an economic model critics say has long fueled environmental damage in one of South America's most biodiverse nations. The Amazon spans nine countries and plays a crucial role in absorbing carbon and regulating climate patterns worldwide. Approximately 8% of the Amazon is in Bolivia. Scientists warn that deforestation is pushing parts of the forest toward a tipping point where it could shift into savanna. The election feels like a choice between two threats, according to Ruth Alipaz Cuqui, coordinator of the Indigenous alliance CONTIOCAP and a member of the Uchupiamona community. She said governments of all stripes have ignored Indigenous well-being. 'Agreements are signed, commitments are made, laws and decrees are passed, but in the territory there is absolutely nothing applied," she said. Quiroga's campaign told The Associated Press he would tighten controls on forest fires, promote sustainable agriculture, expand biofuel production, and encourage reforestation to curb high deforestation rates. He also calls for using carbon and green bonds — tools to raise money to fund conservation efforts. Paz's team did not immediately respond to a request for comment. Evo Morales — Bolivia's first Indigenous president — often invoked Pachamama, the Indigenous concept of Mother Earth as a living being that sustains life, and rose to power by championing Indigenous rights and environmental protection. But his socialist governments also expanded exports of soy, beef, gas and minerals to fund social programs. And his administration allied with agribusiness and ranching elites, loosened land-clearing restrictions and promoted infrastructure projects that opened new frontiers in the Amazon. Bolivia is one of the Amazon basin's fastest-deforesting countries. Forest loss spiked in 2019, when Morales eased burning rules and legalized agricultural clearing, fueling massive wildfires that wiped out nearly a million hectares (about 3,860 square miles). The destruction has continued as cattle ranching, soy farming, logging and mining push deeper into Indigenous lands. In 2024, fires scorched more than 10 million hectares — about 38,600 square miles, or roughly the size of Iceland — and Bolivia recorded the world's second-highest tropical primary forest loss after Brazil, according to Global Forest Watch. Vincent Vos, a Dutch-Bolivian researcher based in the Amazonian department of Beni, said communities are confronting overlapping crises. 'Santa Cruz has already lost 68% of their water reserves… we've got 30% less rainfall than a decade ago,' he said. 'Our fish is really completely contaminated by mercury already and people are really suffering from high levels of mercury poisoning.' While environmental issues have not been a central focus of the campaign, both candidates have outlined some proposals. Paz has proposed a $15 billion 'green government' funded by carbon credits, which can be generated from projects like forest-planting that aim to reduce emissions; tighter controls on agricultural burns and a crackdown on illegal gold mining. Quiroga vows to make Bolivia a leader in decarbonization, protect parks, restore fire-hit ecosystems, and expand agriculture 'appropriately' — a stance critics warn could still spur deforestation. Nick Fromherz, a Bolivian-based adjunct professor at Lewis & Clark Law School in Portland who specializes in Latin American environmental law, said both candidates have spoken broadly about fighting wildfires and managing the agricultural frontier. But they've offered few solutions to less visible crises like mercury contamination from gold mining, he said. Mercury, widely used in gold mining, flows into rivers and contaminates fish, a dietary staple for Amazonian communities. Studies have found alarmingly high mercury levels in people living along Bolivian rivers, echoing concerns across the Amazon basin. For Stasiek Czaplicki, a Bolivian environmental economist who has studied forest policies, the danger lies not only in policy direction but in the state's ability to enforce protections. He said Quiroga 'would be worst for the institutions that defend the environment.' He cited proposals to end collective Indigenous land titles — opening them to private sales — and to expand soy and cattle production in the east. Critics warn those moves would accelerate deforestation and weaken agencies tasked with curbing it. Fromherz said environmental concerns are still viewed as secondary in Bolivia's politics, even as they shape the lives of millions. For Vos, the gap between rhetoric and reality is measured in disappearing rivers, vanishing fish and poisoned communities. 'People are really suffering,' Vos said. Alipaz says years of unmet commitments have left the Amazon´s communities doubtful that the election will bring significant change. 'What happens to us is that we are stripped of our territory, poisoned with smoke and mercury, and also deprived of the means of life such as water, soil, and food,' Alipaz said. 'The life of Indigenous peoples in Bolivia has gone from bad to worse. We will continue defending. It's not just our lives, it is our very existence that is at stake.' ___
The Hill
7 hours ago
- The Hill
Bolivia will choose a new president but environmental activists see little hope of progress
BOGOTA, Colombia (AP) — Bolivia's upcoming presidential election will mark a shift from nearly two decades of socialist rule, but many Indigenous and environmental leaders doubt it will bring progress in stopping deforestation, fires or pollution in the Amazon. The Oct. 19 runoff pits centrist Sen. Rodrigo Paz against right-wing former president Jorge 'Tuto' Quiroga — two contenders promising change but rooted in an economic model critics say has long fueled environmental damage in one of South America's most biodiverse nations. The Amazon spans nine countries and plays a crucial role in absorbing carbon and regulating climate patterns worldwide. Approximately 8% of the Amazon is in Bolivia. Scientists warn that deforestation is pushing parts of the forest toward a tipping point where it could shift into savanna. The election feels like a choice between two threats, according to Ruth Alipaz Cuqui, coordinator of the Indigenous alliance CONTIOCAP and a member of the Uchupiamona community. She said governments of all stripes have ignored Indigenous well-being. 'Agreements are signed, commitments are made, laws and decrees are passed, but in the territory there is absolutely nothing applied,' she said. Quiroga's campaign told The Associated Press he would tighten controls on forest fires, promote sustainable agriculture, expand biofuel production, and encourage reforestation to curb high deforestation rates. He also calls for using carbon and green bonds — tools to raise money to fund conservation efforts. Paz's team did not immediately respond to a request for comment. Environment has paid a price for economic policies Evo Morales — Bolivia's first Indigenous president — often invoked Pachamama, the Indigenous concept of Mother Earth as a living being that sustains life, and rose to power by championing Indigenous rights and environmental protection. But his socialist governments also expanded exports of soy, beef, gas and minerals to fund social programs. And his administration allied with agribusiness and ranching elites, loosened land-clearing restrictions and promoted infrastructure projects that opened new frontiers in the Amazon. Bolivia is one of the Amazon basin's fastest-deforesting countries. Forest loss spiked in 2019, when Morales eased burning rules and legalized agricultural clearing, fueling massive wildfires that wiped out nearly a million hectares (about 3,860 square miles). The destruction has continued as cattle ranching, soy farming, logging and mining push deeper into Indigenous lands. In 2024, fires scorched more than 10 million hectares — about 38,600 square miles, or roughly the size of Iceland — and Bolivia recorded the world's second-highest tropical primary forest loss after Brazil, according to Global Forest Watch. Vincent Vos, a Dutch-Bolivian researcher based in the Amazonian department of Beni, said communities are confronting overlapping crises. 'Santa Cruz has already lost 68% of their water reserves… we've got 30% less rainfall than a decade ago,' he said. 'Our fish is really completely contaminated by mercury already and people are really suffering from high levels of mercury poisoning.' Campaign hasn't centered on environmental issues While environmental issues have not been a central focus of the campaign, both candidates have outlined some proposals. Paz has proposed a $15 billion 'green government' funded by carbon credits, which can be generated from projects like forest-planting that aim to reduce emissions; tighter controls on agricultural burns and a crackdown on illegal gold mining. Quiroga vows to make Bolivia a leader in decarbonization, protect parks, restore fire-hit ecosystems, and expand agriculture 'appropriately' — a stance critics warn could still spur deforestation. Nick Fromherz, a Bolivian-based adjunct professor at Lewis & Clark Law School in Portland who specializes in Latin American environmental law, said both candidates have spoken broadly about fighting wildfires and managing the agricultural frontier. But they've offered few solutions to less visible crises like mercury contamination from gold mining, he said. Mercury, widely used in gold mining, flows into rivers and contaminates fish, a dietary staple for Amazonian communities. Studies have found alarmingly high mercury levels in people living along Bolivian rivers, echoing concerns across the Amazon basin. For Stasiek Czaplicki, a Bolivian environmental economist who has studied forest policies, the danger lies not only in policy direction but in the state's ability to enforce protections. He said Quiroga 'would be worst for the institutions that defend the environment.' He cited proposals to end collective Indigenous land titles — opening them to private sales — and to expand soy and cattle production in the east. Critics warn those moves would accelerate deforestation and weaken agencies tasked with curbing it. Local costs, global consequences Fromherz said environmental concerns are still viewed as secondary in Bolivia's politics, even as they shape the lives of millions. For Vos, the gap between rhetoric and reality is measured in disappearing rivers, vanishing fish and poisoned communities. 'People are really suffering,' Vos said. Alipaz says years of unmet commitments have left the Amazon´s communities doubtful that the election will bring significant change. 'What happens to us is that we are stripped of our territory, poisoned with smoke and mercury, and also deprived of the means of life such as water, soil, and food,' Alipaz said. 'The life of Indigenous peoples in Bolivia has gone from bad to worse. We will continue defending. It's not just our lives, it is our very existence that is at stake.' ___ The Associated Press' climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at
Time Magazine
11 hours ago
- Time Magazine
Ending Colombia's Cocaine Conflict Hinges on Unconventional Talks
This article is a co-production with Amazon Underworld, a journalistic alliance covering crime trends throughout the Amazon Basin. A small motorized boat streaks across the San Miguel River—the natural frontier between Colombia and Ecuador—carrying Jairo Marín, a man in his early fifties, light-skinned and battle-scarred, who is also known as Popéye. He is on his way to meet one of his mobile units of heavily armed combatants as his organization prepares for what could be either a path to peace or an escalation of conflict. Earlier this year, Marín, a guerrilla commander born in the Colombian Amazon, became the chief negotiator of the Comandos de la Frontera, which he describes as a '21st century guerrilla organization.' The armed group controls tens of thousands of acres of coca plantations and has gained significant political leverage as President Gustavo Petro's Administration scrambles to secure agreements with armed groups critical to advancing Colombia's broader peace talks and anti-narcotics efforts. Negotiations with the administration, however, are more urgent than ever. Petro has less than a year in office to secure a deal. Meanwhile, coca cultivation is soaring, reaching a record 625,000 acres in 2023 and the U.S. government is threatening to cut military aid and cooperation programs for not meeting anti-drug standards. Time is running out. It seems a narrow path to peace runs through the Colombian Amazon and hinges on working with, not against, the very groups that control drug trafficking and profit from violence. Sporting military fatigues, rubber boots, and a Galil rifle slung across his shoulders, Marín commands an army of at least 1,200 armed combatants scattered across the region—an amalgam of former Colombian Armed Revolutionary Forces (FARC) members, soldiers, paramilitaries, and fresh recruits often from local Indigenous communities enticed with monthly pay. 'We control many things, yes, things that the State with its military and police forces cannot do. We can do it,' he says during an interview near the border. To his south lies the protected area of the Cofán Indigenous people in Ecuador; to his north, in Colombia, stretches a sea of coca—a plant with many cultural and medicinal uses but which is the base ingredient for cocaine. Colombia's protracted internal conflict has evolved from an ideological guerrilla warfare that began in the 1960s into violence increasingly driven by criminal enterprises fighting for control over illicit economies, a shift that has fundamentally complicated the U.S.-backed drug war. Sophisticated transnational networks now control coca-rich regions, prioritizing business goals rather than political influence. The government and the guerrilla groups operate as parallel states that regulate movement of people, punish rule-breakers, and defend against competing armed groups while controlling local populations through coercion and extreme violence. The Comandos and the cocaine business In Putumayo, arguably the Amazon Basin's most conflict-ridden area, over 123,000 acres of coca flourish along borderlands where groups like the Comandos evade crackdowns by crossing into Ecuador and Peru, operating freely across borders without seeking sovereign power. Cocaine from the tri-frontier region reaches Pacific Coast ports in Colombia and Ecuador, but also travels along rivers toward Brazil, both a consumer and transit route to growing markets in Africa and Europe. In 2016, a peace accord between the government and the FARC was adopted. The FARC demobilized the following year as part of the agreement. But after surrendering their weapons, over 500 former members were assassinated. Marín, a former Colombian Armed Revolutionary Forces commander who joined the guerrilla group at age 13 in the 1980s, remembers this moment—and what it ushered in. 'We're going to unite, we're going to begin, we're going to arm ourselves because we cannot let ourselves be killed. That's how this organization began,' Marín says, explaining how a group of 16 people got together in 2017, ultimately forming the Comandos de la Frontera in 2020, filling the power vacuum left by FARC's departure and the State's failure to provide security. Now, the Comandos' regional expanse severely affects local populations, with community representatives sharing stories of recruitment of minors, targeted assassinations, and disappearances, and describing their control as suffocating. Violence is rarely reported to authorities, who are distrusted by local communities. The Comandos embed themselves in villages by recruiting members and pressuring community authorities. 'The enemy had gotten into our house and we didn't realize it,' explains an Indigenous community leader, who requested anonymity for safety reasons. Marín and the rest of the Comandos leadership, often locals themselves, call themselves 'regionalists' and claim to represent rural and State-abandoned communities. They have formed an agenda of what they call 'territorial transformations,' arguing they are willing to give up the coca economy and stop being an armed movement if the State can grant them security guarantees and provide locals with legal livelihoods and rural development investments. A last opportunity for peace under pressure The cocaine economy is the main fuel for Colombia's war economy, which has recently also seen a surge in illegal gold mining. Never before has so much coca been grown in the country and even with increased drug seizures, Washington D.C. under President Trump threatens decertification from its annual anti-narcotics cooperation due to a lack of effort in fighting illicit drugs. This could mean Colombia would miss out on hundreds of millions of dollars in military and police aid, thereby weakening its response capacity to drug trafficking and could ultimately result in the U.S. lobbying against Colombia receiving loans from international institutions such as the World Bank and Inter-American Development Bank. With limited time remaining in office, several peace dialogues have been aborted, rural violence exacerbated, and Petro's administration faces dim prospects for achieving anything beyond minimal agreements that would barely impact the country's spiraling drug production. But, on the frontlines of peacebuilding are those who know that small victories might turn the table. 'At least in the dialogues with [the Comandos], we have agreed on the need to overcome the predominance of illegal economies linked above all to coca and illegal mining in those territories,' says Armando Novoa, a spectacled, slick-haired Bogotá-based lawyer who represents the State at the negotiation table with the guerrilla structure that includes the Comandos. 'This is what we have called the economic transformation of the territory or the transition from illicit economies to licit economies,' he explains. 'Of course, security and dialogue must go hand in hand. It's not just dialogue; it's also about having an intelligent public security presence in the territory. But that presence shouldn't rely solely on armed repression against communities to counter coca cultivation.' Coca crop substitution If it were up to many of the coca crop farmers, a transition to legal food crops would grant them an exit from cycles of violence surrounding the drug trade. 'Coca brings violence, deaths, all kinds of problems, you know? So that's also why we want to start transforming things,' says a coca crop owner in rural Putumayo, who requested anonymity for their security. In their drug lab, buyers purchase coca paste on site, while potential food crops lack market access due to poor roads that increase transport costs and damage produce during the journey. Many farmers hope to build legal livelihoods but need land titles, loans, and markets for their products. Past attempts at crop substitution failed due to bureaucratic hurdles, missing funds, and flawed agricultural projects. However, according to Gloria Miranda, Colombia's crop substitution director, this time will be different with aligned peacebuilding and drug policy. 'The coordination between drug policy and 'total peace' policy is fundamental,' she explains. 'The state must recover control through more than just armed force. Military power is only one dimension of control. We're building legitimate state presence through social policies and non-violent means.' In contrast to previous coca crop eradication efforts that faced sniper attacks and landmines from other groups, the Comandos now claim to allow substitution programs to proceed. 'We view the progress of the substitution program very favorably, precisely because the armed group is not opposing it. In fact, the armed group is willing to let the program proceed without confrontation, violence, or threats,' Miranda says. The window for success is closing fast with presidential elections in 2026, and crop substitution projects and partial agreements yet to materialize. Petro needs immediate results before his presidency ends and a potentially less peace-friendly president takes power—a fact not lost on the Comandos. 'If we don't reach at least some minimum agreements, some partial agreements, well we'll go as far as we can [in the process],' Marín clarifies, indicating his willingness to continue peace negotiations even with a possible next right-wing government. Fidgeting with the safety clip of his gun, Marín, just a few hundred meters from Ecuador's border—a quick escape away—says: 'Our policy since we were formed is that we are not going to attack the state,' he says. 'But if they attack us, we'll defend ourselves.'
