In a climate of fear, even a fake threat carries weight.
FARC dissident front 'Carolina Ramírez' distributed pamphlets summoning hotel entrepreneurs to meetings, raising extortion fears among business owners in Mocoa. Multiple armed groups clash over narcotic trafficking control; at least 19 bodies recovered from recent combat in Puerto Guzmán municipality, including one civilian.
- Carolina Ramírez front distributed pamphlets summoning hotel owners to meeting on November 28th outside Mocoa
- At least 19 bodies recovered from combat in Puerto Guzmán municipality between rival armed factions
- Violence driven by competition for drug trafficking routes and coca cultivation zones between Putumayo and Nariño
- Public hearing held November 28th in Bogotá to address human rights violations and implement dialogue initiatives
Armed FARC dissidents in Colombia's Putumayo department are intimidating hotel owners through threatening pamphlets citing mandatory meetings, amid ongoing violent clashes over drug trafficking routes that have killed at least 19 civilians.
In Putumayo, a department in southern Colombia gripped by weeks of armed conflict, a new threat has emerged that cuts directly at the region's already fragile economy. A pamphlet circulated through social media this week, allegedly signed by the Carolina Ramírez front—a dissident faction claiming ties to the disbanded FARC—summoning hotel owners and business operators to a mandatory meeting on November 28th outside Mocoa, the departmental capital. The summons arrived amid an atmosphere of terror, and business leaders immediately feared what it portended: extortion demands, protection rackets, the familiar machinery of armed groups squeezing money from those with anything left to squeeze.
The timing was not coincidental. For several weeks, Putumayo has been convulsed by combat between rival armed factions fighting for control of drug trafficking corridors and coca cultivation zones that straddle the border with Nariño. The Carolina Ramírez front has been locked in fierce clashes with a group called the Comandos de Frontera. In just the past week, the violence claimed at least nineteen lives—bodies recovered by community members and authorities from combat zones in Puerto Guzmán municipality, particularly in the rural areas of Los Pinos and Las Delicias, more than three hours from Mocoa by road. At least one of the dead was a civilian farmer, according to the municipal mayor, Edison Mora. The armed groups claim higher casualty figures among their own ranks, but the ground truth is grimmer and more indiscriminate.
Authorities are still verifying whether the pamphlet is authentic. Police commanders have noted inconsistencies with other documents known to have been issued by the same armed group, suggesting the threat may be a forgery—someone exploiting the region's terror to extort money themselves. Yet another pamphlet, this one attributed to the Urías Rondón front, named specific police officers by name and accused them of collaborating with paramilitary groups. Colonel Roberto Marín, the police commander in Putumayo, told reporters his unit is investigating the document's authenticity. The uncertainty itself is a weapon: in a climate of fear, even a fake threat carries weight.
The violence in Putumayo is not new, though it has intensified. Representative Andrés Cancimance, who has been organizing a public hearing on human rights violations in the department, noted that the region has been deteriorating for months. A mobile protection unit was installed weeks ago. The Ombudsman's office has issued multiple alerts. Yet the situation has only worsened. On November 19th, eighteen people were killed in what authorities described as a massacre. The underlying cause, according to President Gustavo Petro, is straightforward: armed groups fighting over narcotics routes and control of illegal crop cultivation in a region where state presence is minimal and profit margins are enormous.
On November 28th, Cancimance and other leaders traveled to Bogotá to present evidence of the human rights crisis before a public hearing. They sought participation from the defense minister, Iván Velásquez, the Ombudsman, the prosecutor general, and the interior ministry—the full apparatus of national government. The goal was not merely to document suffering but to demand concrete action: a ceasefire, dialogue mechanisms under the government's "Total Peace" initiative, and binding commitments to protect civilians caught between warring factions. The Red de Derechos Humanos, Putumayo's human rights network, framed the ask plainly: design real measures that prioritize life itself, and guarantee that this will not happen again.
What remains unclear is whether the government can deliver. Putumayo's geography—remote, jungle-covered, porous borders—has always made it difficult to govern. The drug trade has made it profitable to ignore. And now, with multiple armed groups competing for the same territory and the same revenue streams, the region has become a pressure cooker. Hotel owners waiting for November 28th to arrive did not know if they would be summoned to a shakedown or if the whole thing was a hoax. Either way, they were trapped. The hearing in Bogotá would proceed. Whether it would change anything on the ground remained to be seen.
Notable Quotes
Putumayo urgently needs Total Peace to begin implementation through dialogue tables. We will seek a ceasefire and concrete commitments so the community stops being caught in the crossfire of armed group territorial disputes.— Representative Andrés Cancimance
We have been living like this for months. A mobile protection unit was installed, the Ombudsman has issued alerts, and the situation does not stop—it worsens.— Representative Andrés Cancimance
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would armed groups bother with hotel owners specifically? They're not moving drugs or growing coca.
Hotels are cash businesses. They're also nodes in the local economy—they move money, they have owners with resources, they're visible. If you control the hotels, you control information flow, you can monitor who's coming and going, and you have a steady revenue stream through extortion. It's about dominance, not just profit.
The pamphlet might be fake. Does that make it less dangerous?
In some ways, it makes it worse. A fake threat in a climate of real violence is almost as effective as a real one. Business owners can't afford to ignore it. They have to assume it's real, which means the threat works whether it's authentic or not. And it sows confusion—people don't know who to fear or trust.
Why is the government's "Total Peace" initiative relevant here?
Because Putumayo is a test case. The new president campaigned on dialogue with armed groups instead of military confrontation. But dialogue requires that groups have something to negotiate about and incentives to stop fighting. When groups are making money hand over fist from drug trafficking, and the state has barely any presence on the ground, what leverage does dialogue actually have?
One of the dead was a civilian. How does that happen in a drug war?
Because there is no clear front line. These aren't armies facing off across a border. They're armed groups moving through rural communities, fighting in villages and farmland where civilians live and work. When you're a farmer in Los Pinos or Las Delicias, you can't leave. You're in the middle of it.
What does the hearing in Bogotá actually accomplish?
It creates a record. It forces the government to acknowledge the crisis publicly and commit to specific actions. It gives local leaders and human rights groups a platform to demand accountability. Whether it translates to protection on the ground depends on whether the government can actually project power into those remote areas—which has always been the hard part.