The sound of their buzzing has become a source of terror
In a country where armed conflict has claimed hundreds of thousands of lives across six decades, Colombia is now confronting a new dimension of violence: weaponized drones, once a distant technology of foreign wars, have become instruments of terror in the hands of guerrilla factions and criminal networks. What began as a single recorded attack in 2023 has multiplied into hundreds by 2025, reaching hospitals, schools, and family homes across 41 municipalities. The speed of this transformation — driven by global knowledge networks, cheap commercial hardware, and the lessons of Ukraine — has outpaced the state's capacity to respond, leaving civilians to reckon with a war that now arrives from the sky.
- A ten-year-old boy killed at a football match in 2024 became the first face of a threat that has since claimed soldiers, police officers, a mother and her children, and health workers near a humanitarian hospital.
- Drone attacks surged from a single incident in 2023 to over 330 in 2025, spreading across 41 municipalities and striking targets as varied as military bases, police helicopters, electricity grids, and a house near Bogotá's international airport.
- Farc dissidents and ELN fighters are converting cheap Chinese commercial drones into precision weapons, with tactics imported from Ukraine's battlefields and supply chains facilitated by transnational criminal ties to Mexican and Balkan cartels.
- Armed groups are now deploying fiber optic, jam-resistant FPV drones and reportedly recruiting children as operators, formalizing dedicated drone units that are evolving faster than any state countermeasure.
- Colombia's military has launched a multibillion-dollar anti-drone program and restricted drone imports, but commanders have publicly admitted they lack the resources to protect thousands of dispersed platoons — and that narco-traffickers currently hold the aerial advantage.
On a Tuesday evening in Cauca, a drone appeared over a children's football match and dropped its payload. A ten-year-old boy was killed — Colombia's first recorded death from a weaponized drone strike. He would not be the last.
In the months that followed, drones struck near a Médecins Sans Frontières hospital, brought down a police helicopter killing eight officers, hit a mayor's home, destroyed a military base killing seven soldiers, and dropped a mortar shell on a house in the mining town of Segovia, killing a mother and her two sons. Earlier this year, a fiber optic drone packed with explosives was discovered near Bogotá's international airport. The numbers are stark: from one attack in 2023 to 333 in 2025, spreading across 41 municipalities and injuring hundreds of civilians.
Colombia's conflict is more than sixty years old, having claimed over 450,000 lives and displaced millions. A 2016 peace deal brought fragile calm, but violence has been rising again as armed groups expand their reach over drug routes and illegal mining. Farc dissidents were the first to weaponize cheap commercial drones — often costing just a few hundred dollars — followed quickly by the ELN. By 2025, nearly all major armed groups had militarized drone capabilities.
Analysts trace the acceleration to Ukraine, where mass drone warfare has circulated tactics, technical knowledge, and supply chains globally. Colombians who fought there have returned with expertise. Transnational criminal ties to Mexican and Balkan networks have eased access to equipment. Armed groups have formalized drone units, with dedicated operators known as droneros — and there are growing reports that children are being recruited for their facility with the technology. In one striking incident, a Farc faction flew a first-person-view drone directly into a navy patrol boat and detonated it.
The Colombian government has announced a multibillion-dollar anti-drone shield and created specialized military units, but officials acknowledge the challenge of protecting thousands of dispersed platoons across a fragmented battlefield. President Gustavo Petro has admitted to his own troops that narco-traffickers currently hold the aerial advantage. As armed groups adopt jam-resistant technology faster than the state can counter it, civilians find themselves exposed in a war whose frontlines have lifted off the ground entirely.
On a Tuesday evening in southern Cauca, children gathered for their weekly football match as darkness fell. A drone appeared overhead. When it dropped its payload, a ten-year-old boy lay dead and twelve other civilians were wounded. It was 2024, and Colombia had just recorded its first known death from a weaponized drone attack.
He would not remain alone in that grim distinction. In February 2025, another drone struck near a Médecins Sans Frontières hospital in Cauca, injuring health workers. That August, a drone brought down a police helicopter in Antioquia, killing at least eight officers. October saw the mayor of Calamar's house hit. December brought a strike on a military base that killed seven soldiers and injured thirty more. In February 2026, a drone dropped a mortar shell on a house in the mining town of Segovia, killing a mother and her two sons. Earlier this month, authorities discovered a drone packed with explosives near Bogotá's international airport and an adjacent military base.
The numbers tell the story of an escalation that has moved with stunning speed. Armed Conflict Location and Event Data, a leading monitoring organization, recorded just one drone attack in 2023. That jumped to thirty-eight in 2024 and one hundred forty-nine in 2025. Colombia's ministry of defence reported an even steeper trajectory: zero attacks in 2023, sixty-one in 2024, and three hundred thirty-three in 2025. The attacks have struck hospitals, schools, police stations, electricity grids, and homes. Injuries now number in the hundreds.
Colombia's conflict has been grinding on for more than six decades, fought between guerrillas, paramilitary groups, drug traffickers, and state forces. It has killed more than four hundred fifty thousand people and displaced millions. A 2016 peace deal brought fragile stability, but violence is rising again. Armed groups have expanded their ranks, tightened control over drug routes and illegal mining operations, and filled power vacuums left by demobilized forces. They are also acquiring more sophisticated weapons. Dissident factions of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known as Farc, were the first to adopt drone technology, followed quickly by the National Liberation Army, or ELN. Fighters take cheap commercial drones—often costing just a few hundred dollars from China—and modify them to carry explosives. Many attacks take a kamikaze form in which the drone itself becomes the weapon. By 2025, almost all major armed groups were using militarized drones.
The geographic spread is as alarming as the frequency. Drones were used in twelve municipalities in 2024 and forty-one in 2025. Most attacks have targeted police, army patrols, and rival armed groups. But increasingly, civilians are being hit. When the ten-year-old boy was killed in 2024, the army commander accused Farc dissidents of targeting civilians to pressure them to reject the presence of state military. In other cases, civilians have simply been caught in blasts meant for military targets. "They drop the explosives on targets with little precision but terrifying effect," said Tiziano Breda, a senior analyst at ACLED. In Putumayo, Indigenous leaders have reported that armed actors use drones not only to launch attacks but to intimidate residents, hovering above villages to assert control. The sound of their buzzing has become a source of terror in many communities.
Analysts trace the rapid adoption of drone tactics to global conflicts, particularly Ukraine, where the mass use of drones has accelerated the circulation of tactics, technical knowledge, and supply chains. Colombians have fought in Ukraine and returned with expertise. The device found near Bogotá airport was a fiber optic drone, resistant to jamming, a technology that has become a feature in Russia's war. Armed groups' transnational criminal ties to Mexican and Balkan cartels have further eased access to equipment and training. There are growing reports that children, considered more adept with the technology, are being recruited to operate drones. Some armed groups have formalized drone units, with commanders describing dedicated teams of operators known as droneros. In July, a Farc faction struck a navy patrol boat with a first-person-view drone, which the operator flew directly into the vessel before detonating it. FPV drones are manually guided in real time, enabling precision strikes on moving targets—a development analysts describe as a worrying escalation.
The Colombian government has unveiled a multibillion-dollar anti-drone shield, tightened restrictions on drone imports, and created specialized military units. But officials have acknowledged the difficulty of countering drone strikes across a fragmented battlefield. The national army has three thousand platoons deployed nationwide, and equipping all personnel with anti-drone systems is complicated. President Gustavo Petro admitted to troops that narco-traffickers have the aerial advantage. Experts warn that armed groups are moving faster than the state can adapt. There are already reports of armed groups possessing anti-drone technology, suggesting they are adapting in real time. As drones reshape Colombia's conflict from above, the balance is shifting faster than institutions can respond, leaving civilians increasingly exposed in a war where the frontlines are no longer fixed to the ground.
Citações Notáveis
With drones, I think strategically we are at a point where we must stop the ways we are being attacked from the air. This has never happened before in Colombia.— Humberto de la Calle, Colombia's former vice-president
Narco-traffickers have the aerial advantage.— President Gustavo Petro, to troops
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did it take until 2024 for the first drone death to occur, when armed groups have been fighting for sixty years?
The technology wasn't accessible before. Drones are recent, and modifying them into weapons required both the devices themselves and the knowledge to weaponize them. That knowledge came from Ukraine, from foreign fighters returning home, from global supply chains that only recently connected to Colombian armed groups.
So this is really a spillover from another war?
Partly, yes. But it's also about what's cheap and available now. A commercial drone costs a few hundred dollars. A missile never did. Armed groups can now do what they tried and failed to do for decades.
The children playing football—were they targeted, or was it bad luck?
The army commander said it was deliberate, that Farc dissidents were trying to pressure civilians to reject the state military presence. Whether that's true or whether it was simply imprecision with terrifying effect, the result is the same. Children are dead or wounded.
How do you defend against something that costs three hundred dollars and can be flown by a child?
You don't, not easily. The government is trying—shields, import restrictions, specialized units. But they have three thousand platoons spread across the country. Equipping them all is complicated and expensive. Meanwhile, armed groups are already adapting faster, acquiring anti-drone technology themselves.
What happens next?
The balance keeps shifting. The frontlines are no longer on the ground. They're in the air, and civilians have nowhere to hide.