Some people are going to have to fall to clean up what needs to be cleaned.
A decade after Colombia's landmark peace accord with the FARC, Colombians returned to the polls on Sunday to weigh a question that has haunted societies across history: whether enduring violence is better answered through dialogue or force. The election, shaped by the assassination of a candidate at a campaign rally and the steady mutation of armed conflict into new criminal forms, offered three distinct visions of national survival. With a runoff likely in June, the outcome may redefine not only Colombia's internal order but the hemisphere's broader reckoning with how democracies confront armed power.
- A presidential candidate was shot dead at a rally last year, and drone strikes by criminal groups have become routine — the violence Colombians hoped to leave behind has only changed shape.
- The 2016 FARC peace accord, once a symbol of generational transformation, now stands as a contested legacy: armed groups exploited its ceasefires to regroup, leaving many voters feeling that dialogue was weaponized against them.
- Three candidates split the electorate along a fault line between continued negotiation and the kind of iron-fisted crackdowns that dismantled gangs in El Salvador — but at a documented cost in human rights.
- Ordinary Colombians are making agonizing calculations: a seamstress accepts future casualties as the price of order, while a young man outside her shop warns that military force will only multiply the dead.
- No candidate is expected to clear 50 percent, pushing the decisive moment to a June runoff that will also shape Colombia's alignment with Washington and signal to the region how fragile democracies navigate armed conflict.
On Sunday, Colombians entered polling stations to answer a question their country has circled for generations: can violence be negotiated away, or must it be crushed? The vote arrived ten years after a historic peace agreement with the FARC — an accord that promised to end a conflict defining Colombia for decades but instead left a vacuum that criminal groups rushed to fill. Drone strikes have become commonplace. Last June, a presidential candidate was shot dead at a rally. The peace that was signed never quite arrived.
Fourteen names appeared on the ballot, but three candidates defined the contest. Iván Cepeda, a senator aligned with outgoing President Gustavo Petro, championed continued negotiations with remaining armed groups — a 'total peace' strategy that critics say criminals have exploited to regroup and expand. Still, Cepeda carried support from voters who credited Petro's term with real gains: higher wages, broader healthcare, investment in education.
Opposing him were two candidates who looked toward El Salvador's gang war as a model. Abelardo de la Espriella, a lawyer nicknamed 'the Tiger,' surged in polls by promising outsider toughness and hardline tactics. Paloma Valencia, heir to former strongman president Álvaro Uribe's political legacy, offered a return to the military offensive that once battered FARC but left deep civilian wounds. Both had cultivated ties with Donald Trump, positioning themselves within a regional current of aggressive governance.
The stakes were visible on a single Bogotá street. A 57-year-old seamstress said she would vote for de la Espriella despite valuing Petro's healthcare reforms — rural violence had simply become intolerable, and she was prepared to accept casualties as the cost of restoring order. A 26-year-old man standing nearby disagreed: Petro's peace plan had failed, he admitted, but replacing it with military confrontation would only deepen the bloodshed. He planned to vote for Cepeda, believing the conflict could not be solved in a single term and that education and environment mattered for the long arc.
With a first-round majority almost unheard of in Colombian elections, a June runoff appears nearly certain. That second vote will likely determine not just the country's internal direction but its relationship with Washington — and may set a precedent for how a region navigating rising authoritarianism chooses to answer the oldest question in politics: how a society makes itself safe.
Colombians walked into polling stations on Sunday to make a choice that will reshape their nation's relationship with violence itself. The election was framed as a referendum on outgoing President Gustavo Petro's approach to peace, but it was really asking a harder question: after a decade of trying to negotiate with armed groups, should the country double down on dialogue or abandon it for force?
Ten years ago, Colombia signed a historic peace agreement with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known as FARC. The accord was meant to break a cycle of conflict that had defined the country for generations. But the intervening decade has not delivered the stability it promised. Instead, criminal groups have filled the vacuum left by FARC's partial demobilization, launching drone strikes with increasing frequency and turning the campaign season itself into a battleground. Last June, presidential candidate Miguel Uribe Turbay was shot dead at a political rally—a stark reminder that the violence Colombians hoped to leave behind has only mutated into new forms.
Fourteen candidates appeared on the ballot, but the race had narrowed to three. Iván Cepeda, a senator and peace advocate aligned with Petro, led in polling by promising to continue the "total peace" initiative—negotiating with remaining rebel groups in hopes of signing additional agreements. The strategy has largely failed in practice; criminals have exploited ceasefires to regroup and expand their operations. Yet Cepeda and Petro retained substantial support, particularly among voters who valued the progressive policies enacted during Petro's term: wage increases, expanded healthcare, investments in education.
Against Cepeda stood two candidates offering a starkly different vision. Abelardo de la Espriella, a lawyer known as "the Tiger," had gained momentum in recent weeks by positioning himself as an outsider willing to adopt the hardline tactics El Salvador deployed in its war on gangs—methods that reduced gang violence but generated widespread accusations of human rights violations. Paloma Valencia, the political protégé of former president Álvaro Uribe, represented continuity with a previous era of strongman governance. Uribe had ruled from 2002 to 2010 with strong American backing, defeating FARC through a military offensive that exacted a massive civilian toll. Both de la Espriella and Valencia had cultivated relationships with Donald Trump, positioning themselves as aligned with an American president taking a more aggressive stance toward Latin America than any in recent decades.
The choice before voters was not abstract. Maria Eugenia, a 57-year-old seamstress in downtown Bogotá, said she would vote for de la Espriella despite approving of Petro's healthcare improvements. Rural violence had spiraled beyond what she could accept. "Of course, whenever you come down with a heavy hand, there's always going to be debate," she said. "But some people are going to have to fall to clean up what needs to be cleaned." Her willingness to accept casualties as the price of order reflected a calculation many Colombians were making.
But others saw the choice differently. Cristian Morales, 26, stood outside Eugenia's shop and articulated the opposing view. Yes, Petro's peace plan had failed on many fronts, he acknowledged. But abandoning the effort entirely in favor of military confrontation would only deepen the bloodshed. He planned to vote for Cepeda, betting that protecting biodiversity and expanding education mattered more than promises to solve a conflict he believed could not be resolved in a single presidential term. "The solution to this conflict isn't aggressive confrontations," Morales said. "It will only end in more bloodshed."
Unless one candidate secured at least 50 percent of the vote—an outcome extremely rare in Colombian elections—the top two finishers would face a runoff in June. That runoff would likely determine not just Colombia's internal trajectory but also its relationship with Washington and potentially set a precedent for how the region approaches armed conflict in an era of rising authoritarianism.
Citas Notables
The solution to this conflict isn't aggressive confrontations. It will only end in more bloodshed.— Cristian Morales, 26, a voter supporting Cepeda
Some people are going to have to fall to clean up what needs to be cleaned.— Maria Eugenia, 57, a seamstress supporting de la Espriella
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does this election matter beyond Colombia's borders?
Because the US is watching closely. Trump has been pressuring Latin American countries to take harder lines on criminal groups, and two of the three main candidates are explicitly courting his favor. If the hardliners win, it signals a regional shift away from negotiation toward military solutions—and toward closer alignment with Washington.
But hasn't the peace agreement actually failed?
It has, in many ways. Criminal groups exploited the ceasefires. Violence has resurged. But Cepeda and his supporters argue that abandoning dialogue entirely would be worse—that you can't solve a 50-year conflict with four years of military operations. The question is whether voters believe that.
What about the people caught in the middle?
They're exhausted. Some, like Maria Eugenia, have decided that order matters more than the method. Others, like Cristian Morales, fear that choosing force will just perpetuate the cycle. There's no consensus, which is why the election is so close.
Is a runoff likely?
Very likely. Getting 50 percent in a three-way race is nearly impossible. So Colombians will probably vote twice—once on Sunday, then again in June after the field narrows. That gives both sides time to consolidate support.
What happens if the hardliners win?
Colombia likely shifts toward the El Salvador model—aggressive security operations, fewer restrictions on security forces, closer ties to Trump. It's a gamble that force can succeed where negotiation failed. The human rights implications are significant.
And if Cepeda wins?
Then Colombia doubles down on a strategy that hasn't worked yet, betting that refinement and persistence might eventually succeed where initial attempts failed. It's a longer game, but it assumes the country has the patience for it.