Peace has long been elusive in rural Colombia – Black women's community groups try to bring it closer each day
It's been almost nine years since Colombia celebrated a landmark peace agreement between one guerrilla group and the government, and three years since President Gustavo Petro vowed 'total peace.' But in reality, the country's decades-long internal conflict continues – making it one of the oldest in the world.
Violence surged in early 2025, the most intense uptick in years. Fighting between two armed guerrilla groups in the northeastern Catatumbo region killed dozens of people and displaced tens of thousands more. Since the largest armed group – the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known as FARC – signed the 2016 peace accord, more than 400 signatories have been killed. Meanwhile, more than 1,200 social leaders and human rights defenders have been assassinated.
We often define peace as the absence of war. The problem with thinking about peace and war as an all-or-nothing binary, however, is that it obscures the violence that takes place in 'peaceful times.' For Colombians, that paradox is nothing new. In many communities most affected by the violence, thinking about a 'post-conflict era' feels utopian.
As a Colombian researcher who has collaborated with Afro-Colombian leaders for over a decade, I have noticed that emphasizing peace talks and accords erases the historical violence that is still present, especially for racial minorities. Colombia has the largest Black population in Spanish-speaking Latin America. In Chocó – a region on the Pacific coast where I conducted my research – Afro-Colombians form a majority.
Communities there are contending not only with the contemporary conflict, but also ongoing challenges from the legacies of slavery, colonialism and extractive industries. Many residents, particularly women, work together every day to try to bring peace and justice within reach.
Colombia has been mired in war for over six decades, as legal and illegal armed groups across the political spectrum fight for territories and resources. The conflict is estimated to have killed around 450,000 people and displaced around 7 million.
Black and Indigenous communities have disproportionately suffered the brunt of the war – especially in rural areas, where their lives and territories have been threatened by armed groups and companies alike. In Chocó Department, the site of my research, the region's remoteness and biodiversity have attracted illegal groups and practices like drug trafficking, as well as mining and other types of resource extraction that threaten traditional livelihoods. Mercury from industrial mining poses an additional danger to people's health and the environment.
Black rural communities in the Pacific lowlands, where most of Chocó is located, have a legal right to collective ownership of their territories and to be consulted about development plans. In reality, land grabs and targeted killings over illegal crops, mining and other extractive practices have become the norm here, as is true throughout rural Colombia.
The conflict has intensified racism and gender hierarchies, with Black women, particularly activists, especially vulnerable. Vice President Francia Márquez Mina, for example – who has won awards for her activism against illegal mining – survived an attack near her home in the nearby department of Cauca in 2019. She and her family have received other threats on their lives since then.
Even in 'postconflict' times, peace is a challenging task. It requires social change that does not happen overnight. Rather, it is the accumulation of tiny sparks in people's daily commitments.
In my book 'Postconflict Utopias: Everyday Survival in Chocó, Colombia,' I write about how Black women's organizations care for their territories and communities. The 'comisionadas,' for example, belong to one of the largest such groups in Colombia, called COCOMACIA. These women travel the Atrato River and its tributaries to lead workshops about the organization, as well as territorial rights and women's rights.
Everyone in the community is welcome to participate in dialogues about issues such as women's political participation, land ownership and related legislation. Comisionada María del Socorro Mosquera Pérez, for example, wrote a song to share the importance of Law 1257, a landmark 2008 law against violence and discrimination against women.
In her story for the research project that I discuss in my book, 'Mujeres Pacíficas,' comisionada Rubiela Cuesta Córdoba says it best: 'The best legacy that one leaves to family and friends is resistance.'
One focus of these women's groups' work is the Atrato River itself. Since 2016, the same year of the peace accords, Colombian courts have recognized the river as a legal person, with rights to protection, conservation, maintenance and restoration.
The river is a source of food and transportation between many basin communities where potable water, electricity and other amenities are scarce. But it is also intertwined with politics and spirituality. Pilgrimages like 'Atratiando,' a trip along the river and its tributaries that has taken place multiple times since 1999, highlight that there is no life without the river. Participants travel through areas where paramilitaries and guerrillas are active, showing solidarity with vulnerable communities.
COCOMACIA's comisionadas are part of many other organizations – highlighting how survival is not only intertwined with lands and rivers, but other regions and countries. The struggle for women's rights has led the comisionadas to collaborate with other organizations, creating wider networks of care. These include La Red Departamental de Mujeres Chocoanas, a feminist coalition of women's organizations in Chocó; La Ruta Pacífica de las Mujeres, a feminist movement of 300 organizations from across Colombia; and Women in Black, an anti-militarism network with members in over 150 countries.
Their solidarity is a reminder that peace and justice are a collaborative, everyday effort. As Justa Germania Mena Córdoba, leader of the comisionadas at the time, told me in 2012: 'One cannot change the world by herself.'
This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Tania Lizarazo, University of Maryland, Baltimore County
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Tania Lizarazo does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
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USA Today
an hour ago
- USA Today
Do you often complain about the state of our country? Here's how to change it.
Do you often complain about the state of our country? Here's how to change it. | Opinion If you've been complaining about the state of our country, we dare you to make your commitment to others as big as your complaints. That's how change begins. Show Caption Hide Caption How far did the US fall in the world happiness rankings? The U.S. has dropped to its lowest spot yet on the World Happiness Report. The Nordic countries still dominate the top of the list. From headlines to social posts, it's easy to think our nation is coming apart at the seams. We are divided along so many lines – not just red and blue, but urban and rural, White, Black and Brown, young and old, longtime citizen and new arrival, straight, queer and trans, college-educated or not. Yet behind the noise, a quiet American revolution is taking root. Across the country, Americans are showing up for their neighbors – whether they are alike or not. In a small Appalachian town, LB Prevette was beaten and left in the woods as a teen because she was gay. She left her hometown for Nevada to find her people, only to realize her true community was still back in North Carolina. If everyone who is different leaves, she wondered, how will people learn to see beyond their differences? Today, she co-owns a popular and welcoming bar on Main Street where people of varying beliefs, identities and backgrounds gather to share drinks and stories and find community. There's a quiet revolution happening in public libraries. For Shamichael Hallman, the library was one of the first places where he met people from different walks of life – across faiths, neighborhoods and income levels. Years later, he helped lead a multimillion dollar renovation of Memphis' oldest library, transforming it into a vibrant community hub. Today, it's a place where people aren't hushed upon entry – they gather in the café, at dance performances, in podcast studios and in honest conversations guided by a diverse staff. This spirit is rising in workplaces, as well, where coworkers who feel isolated or divided are showing up for each other. Staff at the 92nd Street Y (92NY) in New York City were in need of space to reflect in the lead-up to the last election. They launched a program called "Share Our 92NY" as part of their existing "Share Our America" initiative to get to know each other in conversations that were personal rather than political. The result was a greater sense of belonging, purpose and connection at work. In today's environment, these quiet actions are revolutionary. They rebel against a culture that tells us to strive for ourselves instead of treasuring relationships and the community. They defy the social algorithms that reward attacking others and promoting ourselves. They refuse to divide the world into 'friends' who think like us and 'enemies' who don't. And they embrace local action over national outrage. Opinion: I wrote a book on finding joy. Even now, it's easier than you think. How do you break the cycle of loneliness? Start with trust. At a time when national politics are bitter, families and workplaces are divided, and former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy warns of a loneliness epidemic affecting half of American adults ‒ and two-thirds of Generation Z ‒ we are finding hope. As leaders of organizations dedicated to healing our frayed social fabric, we see a shift happening in cities and towns, on the coasts and in the middle of the country. People are showing up where they live and taking simple actions to solve issues, cement bonds and build trust. We find hope in the thousands of people signing up and lighting up our nation on the Social Trust Map from the Aspen Institute's Weave: The Social Fabric Project. In those who have explored stories of people creating connection, like those of LB and Shamichael, in cities from Baltimore and Milwaukee to Chicago and Los Angeles, and in small towns like Taylor, Nebraska, and Washougal, Washington. The map shows the strength of trusting behaviors, trusting intentions and trusting spaces in every neighborhood in the United States, so people can build off those strengths to foster connection and trust with neighbors. They use resources from the Share Our America Toolkit, created by the Belfer Center for Innovation and Social Impact, to find simple actions they can take ‒ from hosting a block party to starting a conversation at work. Rainn Wilson, the actor and author, reminds us in his book "Soul Boom" that the many problems facing our nation and the world are not essentially political. They are cultural and spiritual. When we live competitively, striving for ourselves and demonizing those who disagree with us, we cut ourselves off from the joy we find in community and in friendships with those who are different. Opinion: No civility, no democracy? These writers say it's vital we talk to each other. Americans want to connect with people different from them In a recent survey, 56% of Americans said they want to connect with people who are different from them. Two-thirds believe they can learn something valuable from those interactions. When we pull away from each other, we miss out on the security we feel when we build a community where everyone thrives and has what they need. We lose the pride and belonging that comes with solving problems together. America has a long history of people coming together in mutual care and support. From Benjamin Franklin's creation of the first volunteer fire department in 1736 to Clara Barton's founding of the American Red Cross in 1881, our history is built on this foundation. 92NY was founded in the 1870s and is one of many institutions ‒ like social clubs, business cooperatives, service groups and modern mutual aid societies ‒ that have given America the label of 'a nation of joiners.' With Share Our America and Weave, we're working to move this quiet American revolution out of the shadows. On June 11, we're convening Share Our America: The Summit, a streaming event spotlighting the grassroots people weaving us together again and thought leaders like Rainn Wilson, New York Times columnist David Brooks and "Dirty Jobs" host Mike Rowe. So join the revolution. Say hello to someone you see often but don't know. You'll both feel better for it. Invite a neighbor for coffee or tea. You'll find shared interests you would have never guessed. Join a group or give your time to a nonprofit building relationships and trust where you live. Simple actions can make our country strong. If you have been complaining about the state of our country, we dare you to make your commitment to others as big as your complaints. That's how change begins. Quietly. And together. Frederick J. Riley is the executive director of Weave: The Social Fabric Project at The Aspen Institute. Rebekah Shrestha is the executive director of the Belfer Center for Innovation & Social Impact at the 92nd Street Y New York. USA TODAY's parent company, Gannett, is the exclusive media sponsor of Share Our America: The Summit.


Boston Globe
an hour ago
- Boston Globe
‘Our moment to evolve': A nonprofit that launched after George Floyd is now navigating a DEI backlash
Related : But racism wasn't the only crisis gripping the country in those days. There was also COVID-19. And when the face masks started to come off in 2022, McCreary saw how society was ready, even eager, to move on from both Floyd and the pandemic. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up It was a familiar, vicious, cycle for Black America — progress, followed by painful setbacks. There was emancipation, then Jim Crow laws; the Civil Rights Act, then a generation of men jailed in the War on Drugs; equal opportunity laws, then a Supreme Court striking down affirmative action in college admissions. Advertisement Shellee Mendes, a mother of three, raised her sign during the March Like A Mother for Black Lives rally in Boston on June 27, 2020. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff And now America has gone from electing its first Black president to having a White House that is openly dismantling diversity, equity, and inclusion. The New Commonwealth Fund hasn't been immune to the sea change. The group is shifting how it raises money, depending less on corporations and more on individuals. And just after the November election, the nonprofit removed the 'Racial Equity and Social Justice' part of its name from its website. Advertisement McCreary made this decision after counterparts around the country began receiving physical threats because of their work. She worried about the safety of her staff and people at other local organizations they work alongside. She wanted to set an example of how the organization could stay committed to racial equity while also practicing self-preservation. 'What we haven't done is we haven't changed our mission,' she said. From its headquarters in an industrial part of Roxbury, NCF provides about $3 million a year to nonprofits that are lifting communities of color, whether it be through justice reform or the arts. Since its launch, NCF has given out 448 grants to more than 250 organizations in Massachusetts, over $16.3 million in all. And even as the very idea of eliminating racial inequities feels under attack, the five-year anniversary of Floyd's death came at a time when organizations like NCF see their work as more essential than ever. 'How do we convince folks that this is the work for the long haul?' McCreary pondered. 'This is not a moment. This has to be a movement.' At first, Damian Wilmot wasn't as shaken by Floyd's murder as he had been by the Martin was the unarmed Black teen shot and killed in Florida by a neighborhood watch volunteer, George Zimmerman, who thought he looked suspicious. His death was the worst nightmare for every Black parent of a teenager. Advertisement 'I sort of saw my son in him,' said Wilmot. But when Floyd was killed, it was Wilmot's children doing the worrying. Floyd, who was killed by a white Minneapolis police while handcuffed, was 46 years old, and well over 6 feet tall. A mural dedicated to, from left, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Trayvon Martin and Ahmaud Arbery behind the Power Circle Barbershop in Tampa. Octavio Jones/For The Washington Post Wilmot, with a similar build, had just turned 50 at the time. His children saw Floyd in him. 'Daddy, it's not safe for you,' his son and daughter warned. Floyd's murder sparked discussions for Wilmot, both at home and at work as an executive at Vertex Pharmaceuticals, about what can be done to make sure no Black person dies like that again in police custody. 'Every company was making these proclamations about supporting social justice and doing something, but candidly I didn't think anyone really knew exactly what to do,' recalled Wilmot, who today serves as board chair of NCF. Vertex, like so many other corporations and organizations, issued a public statement vowing to fight racism and committed But Wilmot and other Black leaders in Boston wanted to do more. They called each other daily, and soon a group was regularly convening by Zoom. They felt a need to talk, to organize, and to use their hard-won collective power to do something they could call their own. It was a Advertisement A June 2020 photo of some of the founders of the New Commonwealth Fund. From left to right, Rodney Pratt, Malia Lazu, Damon Hart, Pamela Everhart, Quincy Miller, and Dr. Myechia Minter-Jordan. Suzanne Kreiter The prospect of starting their own nonprofit to end systemic racism was energizing. 'We all agreed, yes, but let's do it together ... and let's lead this,' Wilmot recalled. The money began to pour in, with initial commitments of $20 million, which has grown into about $45 million today. From the get-go, NCF wanted to disburse the money to grassroots organizations in sums that would be transformative for them. One of the first recipients was Today, Elevated Thought has 17 full-time staffers, with new programs and a budget three times as large as it once was. Marquis Victor, founder and executive of Elevated Thought, poses for a portrait in the visual arts apprenticeship space at his Lawrence nonprofit. Danielle Parhizkaran Similarly, NCF has been critical to supporting emerging nonprofits like 'We've had a really, really successful start as an organization, and NCF is one of the anchors of why that was possible,' said Ariel Childs, executive director of Vital CxNs, which so far has received about $667,000 from NCF. NCF's launch generated national headlines and inspired Black leaders in other cities to start similar foundations, such as the Advertisement It didn't happen overnight, and NCF saw today's challenges coming. McCreary engaged four law firms to review the nonprofit's grant-making processes and assess whether they could withstand legal challenge, especially after the activist who sued Harvard to overturn affirmative action in college admissions began targeting organizations engaged in racial equity work. NCF's lawyers concluded its work would pass legal muster because its mission is focused on eliminating racial inequities, but not at the exclusion of other groups. Makeeba McCreary, president of the New Commonwealth Fund. Jonathan Wiggs/Globe Staff For Eastern Bank's Miller, an NCF founder and board member, the legal threats underscore why the organization matters more than ever. He's confident it can weather the backlash against DEI — with a staff of 12 and millions of dollars committed. But smaller nonprofits focused on racial justice work don't have that luxury and could use NCF's help. Corporate support has slowed to a trickle, and there's only so much private money to go around, even as the needs keep growing. 'The work in 2025 is more important than the work in 2020,' Miller said. 'I don't even think it's close.' If anything, he views this moment as a chance to adapt. 'We have to evolve and change to keep supporting this work just like companies during COVID had to evolve and change,' Miller added. 'This is our moment to evolve.' Shirley Leung is a Business columnist. She can be reached at
Yahoo
2 hours ago
- Yahoo
Sean Penn Criticizes Plan to Remove Harvey Milk's Name From Navy Ship
The U.S. Navy is reportedly preparing to rename the USNS Harvey Milk, a Navy support ship christened in honor of the assassinated gay rights icon, an order that comes directly from Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth. Now Sean Penn and screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, who both won Oscars for the 2008 biopic Milk, are hitting back at the plan. 'This is yet another move to distract and to fuel the culture wars that create division,' Black told The Hollywood Reporter. 'It's meant to get us to react in ways that are self-centered so that we are further distanced from our brothers and sisters in equally important civil rights fights in this country. It's divide and conquer.' He continued, 'These guys are idiots. Pete Hegseth does not seem like a smart man, a wise man, a knowledgeable man. He seems small and petty. I would love to introduce him to some LGBTQ folks who are warriors who have had to be warriors our entire life just to live our lives openly as who we are.' Penn responded more tersely: 'I've never before seen a Secretary of Defense so aggressively demote himself to the rank of Chief PETTY Officer.' The Defense Department's announcement coincided with the beginning of Pride month, which is not a coincidence. The Defense Department source who spoke with said the decision to rename the ship during Pride month was an intentional choice. According to a memo obtained by CBS News, the choice to rename the ship was part of an effort to reestablish 'the warrior culture' within the military — a particular fixation of Hegseth. Milk was not only one of the most prominent figures in the gay rights movement in the '70s and '80s, he was also a Korean War veteran. He was ousted from the Navy in 1955 after being accused of engaging in then-banned homosexual activities. He was elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in 1977 — the first gay man elected to the position — after years working as an activist and leader of the Castro neighborhood's growing gay and lesbian community. As city supervisor, Milk worked closely with former Democratic California Sen. Dianne Feinstein, then also a city supervisor. Milk was assassinated along with former San Francisco Mayor George Moscone in 1978 by disgruntled former supervisor Dan White. Milk begins with Milk's arrival in San Francisco and follows his political ascendancy, leading up to his assassination. The film was written by Black and directed by Gus Van Sant, and eventually earned eight Oscar nominations. Penn won Best Actor for his portrayal of the leader and activist while Black won Best Original Screenplay. Rolling Stone's Peter Travers called the movie 'a total triumph, brimming with humor, heart, sexual heat, political provocation and a crying need to stir things up, just like Harvey did. If there's a better movie around this year, with more bristling purpose, I sure as hell haven't seen it.' He added, 'That Harvey's questing spirit not only lives but soars in this movie is a gift from Sean Penn, who plays him for real instead of for show.' Speaking to The Hollywood Reporter, Black suggested taking inspiration from Milk himself. 'Harvey Milk is an icon, a civil rights icon, and for good reason,' Black said. 'That's not going to change. Renaming a ship isn't going to change that. If people are pissed off, good, be pissed off — but take the appropriate action. Do what Harvey Milk had said we need to do, and it's about bringing back together the coalition of the 'us'-es that helps move the pendulum of progress forward. Stop the infighting and lock arms again. That's what Harvey would say.' More from Rolling Stone Late-Night Hosts Take Aim at Trump's Feud With Musk: 'Blew Up Faster Than a SpaceX Rocket' Yes, the Trump Admin Is Still Very Much Attacking Abortion Rights GOP Bill Would Legalize DOGE and Let Trump Dismantle Everything Best of Rolling Stone The Useful Idiots New Guide to the Most Stoned Moments of the 2020 Presidential Campaign Anatomy of a Fake News Scandal The Radical Crusade of Mike Pence