Colombia's Last Guerrillas Ready for War as Hardline President Takes Office

Colombia's ongoing conflict has killed hundreds of thousands and displaced millions; renewed warfare threatens further civilian casualties and displacement.
The only way to win things for the people is through struggle
Yerson reflects on six decades of conflict and the ELN's commitment to armed resistance despite uncertain progress.
Mark

Why does Yerson think the ELN can't achieve its goals through Petro's government, even though Petro was himself a guerrilla?

Mimi

Because Petro, in Yerson's view, was allowed into power by the oligarchy precisely to prevent real change. Land distribution and pension reform are gestures—they don't touch the fundamental structure of who holds wealth and power. The system itself remains unchanged.

Mark

The ELN taxes illegal mining and logging. Doesn't that make them indistinguishable from a criminal organization?

Mimi

Yerson would say no—that they're functioning as a state within their territory, and all states tax commerce. But the distinction matters less than the reality: they're extracting resources from illegal operations, which gives them both money and leverage over the communities they control.

Mark

What does De la Espriella's ultimatum actually mean? Can the ELN realistically surrender?

Mimi

It's not really an offer. The ELN has spent sixty years saying it will only disarm after fundamental political change. De la Espriella is saying that change won't happen and the group has thirty days to accept that. The ultimatum is a pretext for war, not a genuine negotiation.

Mark

Why would young Colombians, especially women and indigenous people, join a guerrilla group?

Mimi

Yerson frames it as a choice for the poor who have few other options. The camp was relaxed, people were dancing—it's a community, a structure, a way to belong and fight for something. Whether that's genuine conviction or desperation or both is impossible to know from outside.

Mark

Is the ELN actually losing ground ideologically, as the region swings right?

Mimi

Yerson insists they're not. He sees the election of rightwing leaders as evidence of deception, not defeat. But sitting in a jungle camp with sixty fighters while a Trump-admiring millionaire takes the presidency doesn't look like winning, no matter what he says.

  • A new Colombian president arrives with a one-month ultimatum — surrender or face military force — shattering years of fragile, stalled peace negotiations.
  • Deep in the Chocó jungle, ELN commanders are drilling fighters armed with AK-47s, drones, and a .50 caliber rifle, openly declaring their readiness to strike cities and countryside alike.
  • The ELN's rejection of reform runs ideological: six decades of struggle have hardened a belief that Colombia's oligarchy will never permit the structural transformation the group demands — not even under a leftist president.
  • A recent car bomb near the Venezuelan border and routine drone attacks signal that the ELN is already moving from posture to action, even before the ultimatum expires.
  • With the United States deepening security cooperation and framing the conflict as narcoterrorism, the coming confrontation risks pulling regional and international forces into an already volatile theater.
  • Millions of Colombians who have already survived displacement and loss now face the prospect of a conflict reigniting with modern weapons, entrenched ideology, and no negotiating table in sight.

For sixty-two years, Colombia has carried the wound of armed conflict — a wound that has never fully closed, only shifted in shape. Now, as a new president takes office with an ultimatum and a promise of force, and as guerrilla commanders in jungle camps speak calmly of kamikaze attacks, the country stands at another threshold between war and the elusive possibility of peace. The ELN, the last significant guerrilla force, does not believe the political system can reform itself from within — and the incoming government does not believe negotiation is the answer. Two irreconcilable convictions are about to meet, and it is ordinary Colombians who will bear the cost.

A boat moves through dark Colombian water. Along the bank, camouflaged figures watch from the trees. Deeper in the jungle of Chocó, a commander named Yerson sits with a rifle across his lap, preparing his troops for war. Colombia's sixty-two-year armed conflict is entering a sharper phase.

On Friday, Abelardo de la Espriella is sworn in as president. A millionaire businessman who admires Donald Trump and once represented accused paramilitary leaders, he has given Colombia's armed groups one month to surrender or face military consequences — ending the 'total peace' approach of his predecessor, Gustavo Petro. The ELN, the country's last significant guerrilla organization, has no intention of complying. 'Where we can go on the offensive, we will,' Yerson told a journalist who traveled into the group's stronghold. 'Attacks in cities, in the countryside, wherever.'

The ELN was born in the 1960s from extreme inequality and political exclusion. While its larger rival, the Farc, negotiated a peace deal and disarmed in 2016, the ELN refused — insisting it would only lay down weapons once Colombia's political and economic system had been fundamentally transformed. When Petro, himself a former guerrilla, was elected in 2022 and promised negotiations, the ELN engaged — then dismissed the effort. 'They handed out lands. They did pension reform,' Yerson said. 'But in the end these are small things.' In his view, the oligarchy had permitted Petro to govern precisely because he would never deliver the deep change the ELN seeks.

In the Chocó camp, roughly sixty fighters — many of them women, indigenous, or Afro-Colombian — carried modern assault rifles, some stamped 'Made in USA,' alongside drones and a .50 caliber sniper rifle. The ELN, numbering around 6,300 members spread across Colombia and Venezuela, finances itself by taxing commercial activity in the territories it controls: illegal gold mining, logging, and cocaine trafficking routes along the San Juan River, where it competes with the Gulf Clan paramilitary organization.

The group has already begun signaling its intent. A car bomb exploded outside a police station near the Venezuelan border, injuring fifteen people. Yerson referenced a 2019 suicide bombing that killed twenty-two at a Bogotá police academy as a measure of what the organization can do. He spoke of similar attacks as a live tactical option — calmly, as if discussing logistics.

Asked whether Colombia was any closer to the ELN's revolutionary goals after six decades, Yerson paused. 'I don't know,' he said. 'But the only way to win things for the people is through the struggle.' As the presidential inauguration approaches and the ultimatum begins its countdown, that struggle is preparing to intensify — and the millions of Colombians who have already paid the conflict's price may soon be asked to pay again.

A boat cuts through the dark water of a Colombian river, and along the bank, figures in camouflage watch from the trees. Deeper in the jungle, in the humid dimness where insects drone and machetes ring against bamboo, a commander of the National Liberation Army sits with his rifle across his lap. His name is Yerson, and he is preparing his troops for war.

Colombia's armed conflict, now sixty-two years old, is entering a new and sharper phase. On Friday, Abelardo de la Espriella will be sworn in as president, and he has made clear what he intends to do: end the peace talks that have dragged on for years and launch a military offensive against the country's last significant guerrilla group. The ELN, as the organization is known, says it is ready. "Where we can go on the offensive, we will," Yerson told a journalist who traveled deep into Chocó, the Pacific department where the ELN maintains one of its strongholds. "Attacks in cities, in the countryside, wherever."

The conflict's roots run deep—back to the 1960s, when extreme inequality and political exclusion gave rise to leftwing guerrilla movements that promised to challenge the state. For decades, the ELN and its larger rival, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, or Farc, waged campaigns that killed hundreds of thousands of people and displaced millions more. The Farc laid down its weapons in 2016 after negotiating a peace deal with the Colombian government. The ELN refused. Its members, the organization insisted, would only disarm once the country's political and economic system had been fundamentally transformed. That condition has never been met.

When Gustavo Petro, himself a former guerrilla, was elected president in 2022, he promised "total peace"—negotiations with all of Colombia's armed groups. But those talks stalled and collapsed. Yerson, speaking from the jungle camp where about sixty fighters—roughly half of them women, many indigenous or Afro-Colombian—were preparing for conflict, dismissed the idea that a leftist president could deliver the changes the ELN demands. "They handed out lands. They did pension reform. They were looking for ways to improve healthcare," he said. "But in the end these are small things." The oligarchy, in his view, had allowed Petro to take power only to pacify the population after waves of inequality protests, knowing he would never undertake the deep structural changes the ELN seeks.

De la Espriella represents something altogether different. A millionaire businessman who admires Donald Trump and once represented accused leaders of a rightwing paramilitary group, he has given Colombia's armed groups a month to surrender or face the consequences. He has promised to deepen security cooperation with the United States and to build mega-prisons modeled on those in El Salvador. The ELN, numbering roughly 6,300 members spread across Colombia and Venezuela, has no intention of complying. The fighters in the Chocó camp carried modern assault rifles—AK-47s and AR-15s, some stamped "Made in USA"—along with a .50 caliber sniper rifle and a drone. They were not hiding their readiness.

The ELN finances itself by taxing every commercial entity in the territories it controls. In Chocó, that means illegal gold mining and logging operations, which line the San Juan River where the group competes for dominance with other armed factions, including the Gulf Clan, a violent paramilitary organization. Yerson acknowledged that the ELN also taxes cocaine trafficking, though he denied direct involvement in the drug trade—a distinction he seemed to recognize would mean little to the United States, which has given its military a new mandate to combat "narcoterrorism" across the Americas. "The question of guilt doesn't matter to the US," he said. "What matters to them are interests."

In recent weeks, the ELN has already signaled its willingness to strike. A car bomb attributed to the group exploded outside a police station near the Venezuelan border, injuring twelve officers and three civilians. Drone attacks have become routine. Yerson pointed to a 2019 suicide bombing of a police academy in Bogotá that killed twenty-two people as evidence of what the group is capable of. "The comrades could go and make kamikaze attacks of that impact," he said, speaking calmly about mass casualties as a tactical option.

When asked whether Colombia was any closer to the ELN's revolutionary goals after six decades of conflict, Yerson paused. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I can tell you that the only way to win things for the people is through the struggle. We've been in the struggle for 62 years, and there will be many more." As De la Espriella prepares to take office and the month-long ultimatum begins to count down, that struggle is about to intensify.

Where we can go on the offensive, we will. Attacks in cities, in the countryside, wherever.
— Yerson, ELN Western War Front commander
We are the only guerrilla group with political principles left standing in Colombia and the world. We will always be something they want to destroy.
— Yerson
Quer a matéria completa? Leia o original em The Guardian ↗
Fale Conosco FAQ