Once you name your opponent a narco-terrorist, debate is no longer the logical next step.
In the months before Colombia's 2026 presidential election, candidate Abelardo de la Espriella has chosen words that do not merely criticize but erase — calling opponents narco-terrorists and criminals in a country that knows, from long and painful experience, how quickly political language can become political violence. His rhetoric reflects a deeper fracture between left and right that has made the ordinary grammar of democracy — compromise, concession, coexistence — feel increasingly foreign. Observers at home and abroad are watching not just a campaign, but a temperature gauge on a society still carrying the wounds of its own history.
- De la Espriella is not debating his opponents — he is labeling them subhuman, using words like 'narco-terrorists' and 'drug addicts' that historically precede not argument but elimination.
- His appeal to Honduras's president for international support signals that he has reframed this election as an existential war requiring outside intervention, not a domestic contest of ideas.
- The polarization between the left-wing Pacto Histórico and right-wing candidates has grown so severe that the shared language of electoral politics — accept the result, negotiate, move on — is losing its authority.
- International observers and regional leaders are monitoring closely, aware that dehumanizing rhetoric, once normalized, gives permission to supporters who may act on what their candidate has implied.
- Colombia's history of paramilitaries, armed conflict, and politically motivated violence means the stakes of inflammatory campaign speech are not theoretical — they are measurable in lives.
Abelardo de la Espriella has been reaching for words that do more than criticize — they erase. Calling political opponents "drug addicts," "criminals," and "narco-terrorists," he is not engaging in debate so much as declaring his rivals unworthy of one. As Colombia moves toward its 2026 presidential election, this escalating language is raising serious alarms among those who understand what such rhetoric can unlock.
The danger is not merely symbolic. In a country shaped by decades of internal conflict, paramilitaries, and violence woven into the fabric of political life, the words a candidate chooses function as a temperature reading. Once an opponent is named a narco-terrorist rather than a rival politician, the implied next step is not negotiation — it is removal. De la Espriella has also called rival Cepeda a coward while simultaneously seeking international backing from Honduras's president, framing the election not as a democratic contest but as an existential struggle requiring foreign support.
The polarization driving this moment runs along a deep fault line. The left-wing Pacto Histórico and right-wing candidates like de la Espriella have drifted so far apart that the ordinary language of democratic politics — compromise, acceptance of outcomes, coexistence — seems to have lost its hold on both sides.
International observers are watching carefully, and their concern is grounded in pattern recognition: inflammatory rhetoric, once it becomes normal, creates conditions in which a supporter may feel justified acting on what a candidate has only said in words. De la Espriella's campaign may be calculating that fear and grievance will translate into votes. But the cost of normalizing dehumanizing language in a country still healing from political violence may be paid long after the ballots are counted.
Abelardo de la Espriella has been using language that strips his political opponents of their humanity. He calls them "drug addicts," "criminals," "narco-terrorists"—words chosen not to describe but to dehumanize, to make them something less than people worth listening to or negotiating with. As Colombia heads toward its 2026 presidential election, this escalating rhetoric is setting off alarms among observers who have watched what happens when political speech turns this sharp.
The language matters because it creates permission. Once you have named your opponent a narco-terrorist rather than a politician you disagree with, the logical next step is not debate. It is removal. It is force. In a country with Colombia's history—decades of internal conflict, paramilitaries, drug trafficking organizations that have shaped politics through violence—the choice of words in a campaign is not merely symbolic. It is a temperature reading.
De la Espriella has also called his rival Cepeda a coward, demanding he debate while simultaneously using language that suggests debate itself is beneath the level of the threat he believes Cepeda represents. He has appealed to the president of Honduras for international support, framing the Colombian election not as a domestic political contest but as a struggle requiring foreign intervention. These moves suggest a candidate who sees the election not as a choice between two visions but as an existential conflict.
The polarization runs deep. On one side sits the Pacto Histórico, a left-wing coalition that has been gaining support and sees itself as representing a break from Colombia's traditional power structures. On the other side are right-wing candidates like de la Espriella, who frame the left as a threat to the nation itself. The gap between these two visions has become so wide that the normal language of politics—compromise, negotiation, the acceptance of electoral outcomes—seems to have lost its grip.
What makes this moment particularly fragile is that both sides are watching. International observers are paying attention. Regional leaders are monitoring. The concern is not abstract: it is that inflammatory rhetoric, once normalized, can create the conditions for violence. A supporter who has heard his candidate describe the opposition as narco-terrorists may feel justified in taking action. A political operative may see violence as a logical extension of the battle being waged in words. History shows this pattern repeating.
De la Espriella's campaign is betting that this language resonates with voters who feel threatened, who believe the country is being stolen from them, who see the left as an existential danger. Whether that bet pays off electorally remains to be seen. But the cost of this rhetoric—the normalization of dehumanizing language in a country still healing from political violence—may be paid long after the votes are counted.
Citações Notáveis
De la Espriella has characterized his political opponents using dehumanizing language rather than engaging with their policy positions— Campaign rhetoric documented in Colombian media
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does the language a candidate uses matter so much? Isn't it just politics?
Because in Colombia, words have preceded bullets. When you call someone a narco-terrorist instead of a political opponent, you're not just insulting them—you're removing them from the category of people you negotiate with. You're placing them in the category of threats to be eliminated.
But surely voters can distinguish between campaign rhetoric and actual calls for violence?
Some can. But not all. And more importantly, the rhetoric creates permission. It tells supporters that extreme measures are justified. It tells paramilitaries and armed groups that there's political cover for action. In a country with Colombia's history, that distinction between words and violence gets very thin very fast.
De la Espriella is asking for international support. What does that signal?
It signals he doesn't believe the election will be decided fairly within Colombia's borders. He's internationalizing the conflict, which suggests he sees this as bigger than a normal electoral contest. That's a dangerous frame because it implies the stakes are so high that normal democratic rules might not apply.
The Pacto Histórico is gaining support. Does that make de la Espriella's fears legitimate?
Legitimate as a political concern, perhaps. But not as justification for dehumanizing language. You can oppose a political movement without calling its supporters drug addicts. The moment you do, you've crossed from politics into something else.
What happens next?
That depends on whether this rhetoric stays in the campaign or whether it bleeds into the streets. Right now, observers are watching to see if either side crosses from words into action. The election itself will be a test—whether the losing side accepts the result or whether they've been primed by months of inflammatory language to reject it.