Living History: Women in a Warzone
Using an interview with Suzanne Blanc, this essay dives into the violent history of 1990s Colombia - with a specific focus on the experience as a woman.
In the 90s, Colombia was involved in a violent conflict. Many different groups were at play, including the National Liberation Army (ELN), the Colombian Army, and paramilitary groups. The ELN, a Marxist guerrilla group, wanted to overthrow the government and implement a socialist regime. They engaged in kidnappings, bombings, and attacks on infrastructure.
The Colombian Army at this time was attempting to stop the bleeding and keep the rebels at bay. This resulted in numerous conflicts between them and the ELN. However, the situation became increasingly complicated due to the rise of paramilitary groups. These paramilitaries were initially formed by landowners and businesses to protect themselves from guerrilla extortion but evolved into powerful militias that often colluded with the Army.
The paramilitaries and the Army both targeted the ELN, but their actions also led to widespread human rights abuses, including massacres of civilians suspected of supporting guerrillas.
Suzanne Blanc worked for the International Committee of the Red Cross: they attempted to protect civilians who were caught in the conflict by enforcing international laws of war. She was a young Swiss woman coming into a warzone with zero combat experience. This provided an extra challenge in her experience, but it also ended up being her strength.
Here is Suzanne Blanc’s story:
“I worked in a town in the north of Colombia, where the Red Cross office was based. I worked for the international committee of the Red Cross, first in Rwanda, then in Bosnia, and finally in Colombia.
My job, as someone working for the Red Cross, a neutral organization, was to maintain good relations with the army, the paramilitaries, and the ELN communist guerrillas. The problem, though, was that we didn’t always know where each group was. The guerrillas weren't stationed anywhere; we had to find them in the jungle. We had to be careful, in order to make sure our Red Cross vehicle wasn't followed by the Army, who could then track us and then attack the guerrillas. There was an agreement with the Army not to follow us, but it was extremely complicated, because we had to inform them of our routes to avoid landmines, which they had placed.
Every Monday morning, I would head off alone with my driver in the Red Cross car to a little village in the middle of nowhere. I would stay there the whole week in a hotel room. First thing in the morning, family members of kidnapped people would line up outside my hotel room. Every day, from seven in the morning to seven at night, people came to me with life-and-death stories of their kidnapped loved ones, asking for help. It was too much to bear. It was really a tough scenario. Colombia was psychologically and physically difficult. The climate was incredibly hard—really, really humid. Psychologically, it was tough because my organization, the Red Cross, was the only international organization working there. There was no one else. I always felt very alone. It wasn’t like in Bosnia or Rwanda where we worked in big teams. Colombia was my last mission. I was burned out.
This was a difficult political context because it was during the civil war in Colombia, involving three different parties. The international aid we provided had complex implications. On one side were the guerrilla forces, represented by an organization called ELN, inspired by communist ideology, particularly by Che Guevara. Another group was the paramilitaries, the extreme right, who did the dirty work for the Army.
The guerrillas kidnapped people they suspected of working for the paramilitaries or those they thought they could get a lot of ransom money from. It wasn't our mandate to negotiate for the hostages' release. We just wanted to transmit messages from the hostages to their families to let them know they were alive and in good health. If there was a negotiated release, we ensured it went smoothly.
Guerrilla commanders were always very polite with me and my Colombian driver. But it was tricky. For instance, one evening, a guerrilla chief invited me to stay overnight for a party, which required sensible decision-making on my part. Obviously, I could not do this. I had to be careful. Being a woman in this situation requires you to be alert at all times.
My stories, though, often involved the paramilitaries, who were extremely violent. They killed, tortured, and left bodies in the streets as a sign of their power.
I was in contact with a paramilitary chief in the village, who accused his childhood friend of being a traitor and working for the ELN guerrillas. To avoid a killing, I decided to mediate. This meeting happened around midnight at the paramilitary chief’s house. It was a tense moment as I entered with the accused friend, thinking it could either work or fail disastrously.
Inside, it felt like a scene from a film, with armed men around the table. I had to explain the situation in Spanish, which wasn't my first language. Despite my fear, we spoke for an hour. Surprisingly, both men agreed to a truce, and the accused friend was still alive when I left Colombia a few months later. If he had been killed, I wouldn't have forgiven myself.
The paramilitaries and guerrillas didn't care about international humanitarian law. The guerrillas had their own system of justice, which they enforced through their courts.
Strangely, being a woman in such a macho environment was an advantage. They didn't see me as a threat and were much more fearful of men, allowing me to navigate the complexities more effectively. They almost didn’t take me seriously, being a woman. This may have saved my life.”