" Heaven, I'm in heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...". This old Fred Astaire tune plays in my head as our bus slips through the Amazon Basin in the state of Putumayo, Colombia. The song helps me to center myself as I descend into a pit not unlike that of Dante's Inferno. I am about to witness a hell of fear and terror the likes of which I have never witnessed before.

            Twenty other North Americans are with me on a delegation sponsored by Witness For Peace & School of the Americas Watch. We will see up close the horror of "Plan Colombia", a $1.3 billion (and counting) plan presented as a "war on drugs" but is actually a war on the poor of Colombia.

            For starters: 1/2 of Colombia's 40 million people live in absolute poverty earning less than $500.00 per year. Colombia's unemployment rate hovers at 20% while 57% of the population is underemployed. The wealthiest 10% of the population control 55% of all of Colombia's resources. Colombia averages 1 massacre per day. Last year there were 425 massacres. Terror reigns.

             Looking out the window, our bus travels into the heart of Putumayo, the heart of darkness,which produces 70% of Colombia's coca. Putumayo is also rich in oil deposits. A pipe line runs the length of the state.

            It soon becomes clear why the desperately poor Colombian campesinos are growing coca. These small farmers have been marginalized, pushed off productive farm land. They lack basic necessities of life. Everywhere is poverty. Everywhere is coca. Small plots dispersed around food crops of banana & yucca.

            Descending into hell: We meet with campesinos in the town of Santa Ana. It is raining as we sit under a sheltered cock fighting ring. They tell us, "We are being fumigated to death, The airplanes-come-and spray everything." The most difficult, most heart rendering request: "Take our humble words to the US Government. Tell them to stop the fumigation, stop Plan Colombia."And what can I say? Will my government listen to their plea? Does my government, any government, listen to campesinos? I am paralyzed as to how to respond. I am shamed. I know that in my country there are many interested, who use this "War on Drugs" as a pretense to further their "plan" to acquire the oil, coal, natural gas, gold , and gems that are Colombia's. There cannot be any way of getting to these resources without first removing the indigenous, Afro-Colombian, and campesinos-from their land. These people are being fumigated. They are being terrorized by para-military, (often times with the blessing of the Colombian Army) and guerrilla groups. Colombia today has over 2 million displaced people who flee to the cities in record numbers, abandoning their land. This is no accident. This is the "Plan".

Fumigated Yucca Field

The displaced people we met with call themselves "walking ghosts."

            Because there are no government institutions, no intra-structure, no markets for food crops, (Colombia now imports coffee), the campesinos have often times no choice but to grow coca. The campesinos' in this town tell us "we do not want to grow coca but we need to live" and "the government promises us material aid but does not deliver." Some campesinos sign a "Social Pact" promising not to grow coca. The government in return promises to give material aid. Unfortunately the aid does not come. At best the campesinos may get pigs or cows but these animals have died because they were not vaccinated. Other times chickens may be delivered but no chicken wire to house them. A non-governmental agency is suppose to allocate monies for alternative crops. Only 10% of monies promised have been dispersed. The campesinos are left disillusioned. They simply say, "They want us off the land." Some in despair join a guerrilla or para-military group intensifying a forty year civil war.

             Descending further into hell we visit a second town, where the paramilitaries carry out human rights abuses that send shivers of fear & terror the likes of which I have never felt. The people in this town have been gutted, beheaded and thrown into the river. Their crime; being accused of sympathizing with the guerrillas who at one time occupied their town. When we get off the bus we are greeted by a member of the para- military with gun on hip who asks us why we are there. After some negotiations he lets us proceed to a school building where people await our presence. They are too afraid to speak of para-militaries or guerrilla forces, too scared to speak of 32 of their loved ones murdered, the 14 disappeared, too terrorized to speak for the disemboweled, and the beheaded thrown into the river, too terrorized to ask us to stop sending guns to Colombia, guns that will ultimately be used against them. There is a law of silence in Colombia that states "a closed mouth captures no bullets". We are mute ourselves. If we ask the wrong questions we can put the whole town in danger. There are spys everywhere and no where.

            The people do speak of fumigation; "We are a peaceful people.The state has abandoned us." "The planes fumigate us without discrimination. They fumigate our food. Our pasture lands are destroyed. We have to import our food from Ecuador." "We cannot be blamed for wanting to survive".

.              These mothers speak of their children who have sores and rashes all over their bodies. They bring forth their children who range from infants to 12 years of age. The mothers lift their children's clothing to show the horror of "Plan Colombia". Yes, our tax dollars at work as I listen to a litany of horror: "Our children have rashes that come and go. They have headaches, high fevers, respiratory problems." I am filled with outrage and shame as tears bum my face. Tears that cannot wash away the guilt. No, I think, not in my name. We rush to take pictures, to document the horror. The American people would surely say "enough" if they could see these children and hear their mother's plea. And yet I wonder. Representatives of the US Embassy in Bogota tell us that fumigation planes will be back in December of 2001. Can we stop them in time. Will US citizens say "not in my name." As we are about to leave a woman holds our gaze and says, "your coming here is a risk to us but we know you will advocate for us." Yes, I think, but who will hear?

             Deeper into the Inferno, we visit the people of Las Vagas. One hundred and fifty people come out to plead with us. They speak of lost crops, sick animals, and sick children. Their expectation is crushing. They see us as ambassadors of the US Government. I want to flee. Can the horror get much worse, I try to center myself: "Heaven, I'm in heaven & my heart beats so that I can hardly Speak..."

            Next ring in the Inferno is the fourth town we visit. We meet in a school yard which is adjacent to farm lands. Yes, they sprayed over the school and the school garden which provides food for the students. The mothers show us the rashes and sores which dot the inside of their children"s mouths & soles of their tiny feet. There's blood on the moon?

            "Going down," care to come along? Next level is the the fifth town. We are in the sanctuary of the town church. The poor speak to us in coded words about the terror they feel. Five thousand have fled due to fumigation and from "outside forces." One brave woman says; "Although the oil is taken out of our land we have no roads, no health care, no education." As these humble people testify from the altar of thanksgiving, para-militaries are parked right outside the church doors. Guns at the ready. Yes, they are watching and listening. I think. "Will some of these brave and determined people who speak from the altar be sacrificed tonight?"

            The priest from this parish meets with us later. His eyes dart with worry and fear. He speaks in riddles, for another priest from this parish was murdered for speaking out against the repression of the people. His words: "People of faith don't give up easily and many people feel humiliated for what your country has done to them." We say good-bye. I can taste the fear.

            These four days in Putumayo feel like an eternity. "It's time to get out of town." but what of those left behind? I am transfixed as I look into the cauldron of what is surreptitiously called "Plan Colombia" and I think I have reached the bottom of this inferno. But there is a worm turning and it says one more level friend. Ah, yes our visit to the US Embassy in Bogota, Colombia. Command central where the short term goal for Colombia is to fumigate and the long term goal is getting at Colombia's resources. It's about "Free Trade" the "World Bank" and the "Inter-national Monetary Fund". We are ushered into a mini auditorium. We measure our questions. A woman who is in charge of "human rights" policy in Colombia states that there are few physical effects from fumigation. I wonder if she would feel the same way if these fumigating planes flew over her house, her yard, her children's school.

            Another representative speaks to us of the positive effects once "Plan Colombia" takes hold. How Colombia can enter into the Free Trade Agreement. An agreement whose primary goal is to guarantee security for foreign investment. This agreement will supersede the powers of local governments to serve the needs of the poor. There are no measures to protect human rights or the environment. Our speaker smiles away the contradictions.

            We also listen to a Colonel from the US Army who speaks to us of guerrillas, paramilitaries, the Colombian military and the need to bring stability even if it means the introduction of more weaponry in a country awash in blood. Yes, he says with pride "the14 Blackhawk and 25 Huey helicopters will be arriving soon." He also noted that there are 11 fumigating aircraft and another 14 on the way. The Colonel agrees that the campesinos and the indigenous people are caught in the middle, but the "Plan" must continue.

            And now I am at the bottom of the pit where a cold fire burns. I know now the end result of "Plan Colombia." I know who will disappear, who will be raped, who will be tortured, who will die. It's Dante's Inferno with a touch of Dr. Strangelove. Transfixed I ascend from this pit.

            Afterword: Back home I till my garden and I cannot forget. The words, they come bubbling out of my mouth, "Heaven I'm tn heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak..." all the while tears of rage and terror streak down my face.

P.S.: Please write our Congressional Delegation. Ask them to end the fumigation. Ask them to stop the funding of "Plan Colombia". Ask them to support the peace initiatives that respect human rights and address social and economic issues. Request more funding for substance abuse treatment and prevention programs here at home.