Colombia

Okay, first things first: it’s not all rebels, drug lords and lawlessness. It’s not. You meet a Colombian who’s just been getting along for the last forty years, and you see what lovely, lovely people they are. Yes, you see Colombia in the news and you’ll hear about the FARC or about the war on drugs or about kidnappings, hostages, human rights abuses… It’s a bleak recent history. But there’s more to Colombia. There are films, there’s art. And—there are poets. Oh, and my favourite story about Colombia comes from an Australian poet, who visited as a guest of a poetry festival. She described a rather jolty landing on her plane trip into the country. As the plane eased onto the tarmac (rather bumpy, but no harm done) the locals burst into applause. She was told that every time a plane lands safely—which is, after all, the vast majority of the time—it’s still seen as a minor miracle. I thought this was wonderful. Of course, when I’ve asked Colombians I’ve met in my own travels if it is true, I’ve been told more than once that they never heard of the phenomenon. Maybe the applause came because it was such a bumpy landing? Either way, I like the story.

20 July is Independence Day in Colombia. Obviously, their independence is from Spain: on 20 July 1810 they declared independence. It took just over nine years for independence to be recognised: 7 August, 1819.

Colombia has been inhabited for thousands of years—it’s believed there were societies around present-day Bogotá around 10,000 BCE. These societies, in the first millennium BCE, developed political systems that, with the exception of the Incas, were the most complicated in South America. But then our old friend Columbus came along, and the Spaniards decided to conquer the region. Wars and, of course, disease, dramatically reduced the indigenous population.

Rebel movements, obviously, are not new to Colombia—rallying for independence is, until it’s achieved, considered a rebel movement. At least by the coloniser… And from the time of conquest, the locals were pretty keen on getting their autonomy back. While early attempts were “put down” (now there’s a euphemism) swiftly, the 1810 movement was successful. Simón Bolívar played a role in this success, and became the first president of the new country.

When I was in Panama a month and a half ago, I met a guy who was about to embark on an adventure: he was taking a boat through the Panamanian San Blas archipelago—an autonomous region that the indigenous Kuna govern—on to Cartagena in Colombia. I haven’t heard how the trip ended up, but it sounded amazing.

Oh, and let’s not forget Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Or Shakira. In fact, let’s invite them both to a tea party.

In the mean time, how about a poem? Here’s an “Invocation” by Alvaro Mutis from the Anthology of Contemporary Latin American Literature 1960-1984.


Invocation

Who convoked these characters here?
With what words were they called?
Why have they been allowed to use the time
and substance of my life?
Where are they from and where does the anonymous
destiny that made them parade before us
take them?

Lord, let forgetfulness gather them.
Quiet their impertinent pain,
give rest to their impure souls.
Let them find peace within it.

I don’t know, in truth, who they are,
nor why they came to me
to share the brief instant of the white page.
They are vain people,
and liars besides.
Lucky that their memory begins to vanish
in the merciful nothing
that will house us all.
So let it be.

—Alvaro Mutis
translated by Roberto-Selim Picciotto
from Anthology of Contemporary Latin American Literature 1960-1984