Colombia and a few of my favourite things

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

I was looking back at previous blog articles — a blogger's version of going through old photos — when I found Introducing "our" Colombia, published in July 2017. In that piece, in an attempt to remind readers there's no "u" in Colombia, each letter from the word Colombia was used to refer to something that represented the country for me.

Now, while many things in that original story still hold, I feel it's time for an update.

Ergo, I present, in Sesame Street style, 'My Colombia 2025'. (Do note, other letters of the alphabet are available to list some of my favourite things in the country, but I have to follow the format here.)

Our Colombian smorgasbord. Tasty and wholesome!

C is for Costeña (and cuajada)

In my earliest days living in Colombia, I was a fan of Costeña lager. While its taste was similar to the more popular Bavaria beers i.e. Aguila and Poker, it stood out from the others thanks to the form in which it came: a 350 ml short-neck, stubby bottle. The rest were in 330 ml long-neck bottles. Costeña was always competitively priced, too.

When Bavaria introduced 750 ml bottles in mid-2012, followed a few years later by litre bottles, the beer company shifted away from Costeña (initially, in some parts of Colombia anyway, 750 ml Costeña bottles had been available but were soon phased out).

The beer eventually disappeared from the tienda fridges. It was only available in 330 ml cans in some supermarkets.

But in late 2023, Costeña came back to liven up the market. OK, the standout stubby 350 ml bottle is no longer available — it's in the standard 330 ml long-neck — but its return in 750 ml bottles is very welcome. It's almost always cheaper than Aguila and Poker, sometimes up to 40 per cent less, and I don't think it's in any way inferior.

Many Colombians seem to agree with me. From my observations, Costeña is growing in popularity in cantinas and tiendas across the country. It is the economy of it, stupid. Why pay more for a similar brew that doesn't really offer anything different?

Another "c" I'm compelled to mention here is cuajada, a fresh cheese made from milk curds.

For most of my time in Colombia, I'd effectively given up on cheese because I felt the quality of most of it was poor while I also found it quite costly, relatively speaking (I was guilty, though, of not shopping around on this one — a rarity for me).

However, while in San José del Guaviare last year, I got into eating cuajada — and continue to do so. As it's practically salt-free and very mild, I find it a refreshing snack, particularly in warmer climes. And at an average of 9,000 COP per pound, it's not badly priced.

O is for oficinas

As a mostly independent operator in these parts (more on that to come), the ability to spend a few hours every day in Colombia's ubiquitous panaderías — cafés-cum-bakeries — is essential for me. They are my offices, oficinas, where I go to read and write whilst sipping on a competitively priced (yes, there's a theme here) tinto (black coffee) and the odd piece of fresh-from-the-oven bread.

'Before, when offered a bowl of soup with hens' feet protruding from it, I'd politely decline whilst silently thinking what sort of savages eat such tripe, or rather entrails and unsightly body parts of fowl to be specific.'

Yes, I could do this in my place of residence. But, as I explained in a previous post, the coffee shop effect is at play. I'm better able to focus in an establishment where people are coming and going and where there's light background noise. Light, that is. Such places do exist in Colombia, at least on occasions.

L is for los Llanos

Los Llanos, Colombia's vast plains and traditional cowboy (and girl) country. More by accident than design — as with most things in my life — over the last few months I've become well acquainted with the mild hustle and bustle of these plains. To be more specific, considering the enormity of the region in question, I've got to know how things roll in the towns of Granada and that of my current abode, San Martín de los Llanos, neighbouring municipalities in the Meta department.

With temperature highs around 30 degrees Celsius, the temptation for an evening ice-cold Costeña beer in one of my preferred cantinas/tiendas is difficult to resist. So, residing here may not be the best for my health. Nor is it good for doing computer work. I've little enthusiasm to turn on my laptop. It's the heat's fault.

Nonetheless, as a man born and reared on a cattle farm, I find the vibe of the place comforting, most of the time. Sure it wouldn't be true cowboy country without the odd drive-by shooting. And I'm warming to the ever-so-pretty tarantulas.

O is for on the road

OK, it would be helpful if there was a "u" in Colombia for the purpose of this exercise. Although, I'm not sure if I even have a favourite "u". Oh wait, of course I do. Former president Uribe. The people's president. Or the paisas president, at least.

'In some ways I feel that the Boyacá department is my spiritual home.'

Sticking to the rules, though, my second "o" is for on the road. This is when I usually feel most relaxed in this land, travelling around it. "B" and "i", below, expand a little more on this.

M is for menudencias soup

A sign, perhaps, of how much I've adapted to life in Colombia. Years ago, when offered a bowl of soup with hens' feet protruding from it, I'd politely decline whilst silently thinking what sort of savages eat such tripe, or rather entrails and unsightly body parts of fowl, to be specific.

Nowadays, I find this pick-and-mix delicacy hearty and wholesome, and, wait for it, competitively priced. It's better than ultra-processed rubbish in any case.

B is for Boyacá and Bogotá's barrios populares

While I'm currently based in los Llanos, in some ways I feel that the Boyacá department is more my spiritual home. One reason for this is that towns in its loftier and thus cooler locations have what I consider a more Irish countryside hue about them. And because of its mountainous terrain, there's more variety to it than the relative sameness of the plains.

For example, the low-lying town of San Luis de Gaceno, in the department's south, has a culture and climate similar to San Martín. Further north and high up in the Andes is the quaint colonial settlement of Güicán, close to one of Colombia's few remaining glaciers. There, goats and sheep are almost as numerous as cattle. Ovines are pretty much non-existent in los Llanos.

What I'll call my Boyacá bromance really got going once life started moving again after the pernicious covid-19 lockdowns. From my base in the far north of Bogotá, within walking distance of the city's northern bus terminal, it was easy for me to escape to the myriad towns further north. And this I happily and regularly did between 2021 and 2023.

As for Bogotá's barrios populares, especially Santandercito in the far north, I feel at home there. Yes, Santandercito and surrounds have their rough edges, yet there's a sense of community that I feel is lacking in other, more affluent neighbourhoods in the capital. Many barrios populares are like small, welcoming towns in a big, impersonal city.

I is for independence

Colombia has allowed me to avoid working a full-time job, save for one uninspiring experience as a copywriter/translator at a marketing agency from December 2018 to January 2020. Thus, I have been able to move around the country pretty much when I want to.

An employer would have to pay me quite an amount of money for me to sacrifice this employment independence, largely economically inactive as I currently am, albeit. As I've said before, I prefer to work with people rather than for people. Or work on my own, when and where possible.

A is for Amazon

Few people in the world haven't heard of the Amazon (no, I don't mean the company, which I've never used). And I'm sure many would love to get the chance to visit it. So, having been on its doorstep for years, it had always been in my plans to go there.

Now while San José del Guaviare, a town I first visited in 2017, is technically in Colombia's Amazon region, it's not in the Amazonas department. And I always felt that I couldn't call time on my days in Colombia without visiting Amazonas.

This, I finally did in 2024. Very loosely following in the footsteps of Roger Casement, I travelled to the indigenous reserve of La Chorrera, which you can read about here. As I say in that piece, I'm in no rush to return to La Chorrera itself. However, it was quite an experience and I wouldn't mind exploring other parts of the Amazon in the months and years to come.

So that's it. My latest spelling out of what C-O-L-O-M-B-I-A means to me. Until the next time.
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The mild rover

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'Oh, the wanderer is back.'

It's a remark often directed at me whenever I return to Ireland. You see, some people in my birth country think that I'm a full-time traveller.

This year Wrong Way has been more of a rover than before.

The main reason for this, I figure, is down to where I've been based: Crazy Colombia.

Irish emigrants in the more popular locations — Australia, Britain, Canada, the USA — live abroad but someone like me is a wild rover, to take from the eponymous song (although I'm unlikely to return with riches similar to those of the oft-remembered, unnamed Wild Rover).

'They think it's all rover'

Now, while at times I think I'd like to rover regularly, the reality is that I've been more fixed than floating when it comes to moving around. Constant changing of my abode within Bogotá over the years doesn't really make me a rover. Yes, mentally I may have never really settled in — and on — Bogotá but my physical time spent there betrays this.

Taking miles travelled as a guide, I wager many so-called settled folk in high-income nations have covered more ground than me since 2012, my first full year in Colombia. Or they've at least flown over more ground than me.

Only this year could I justifiably be called a rover, but perhaps more of a mild one than a wild one.

For starters, I've had no fixed abode in 2024. January was spent with family in Ireland. On my return to Bogotá in February, an acquaintance invited me to stay in his luxurious, spacious apartment. 

March and July also saw me in a salubrious setting in the Colombian capital, apartment-sitting for friends. In between, I had a total of a month, in two separate stints, working in Palomino in the La Guajira department on the Caribbean coast and when in Bogotá I stayed in the box room of an acquaintance's apartment — it was a way of recouping money he owed.

'This current wandering at least provides some relief in these wondering times.'

From February to July, outside of my travels to Palomino, I also visited San Juan de Rioseco, Moniquirá, and Chocontá, as well as double trips to both Pacho and San Luis de Gaceno.

Since early August I've been out of Bogotá, a largely unavoidable four-night return in the middle of that month aside. It started with ten days in Puerto Asís, followed by eight days in La Chorrera. I flew to the latter via San José del Guaviare, which has been my main base for over two months. From San José, I've taken in the nearby towns of El Retorno and Calamar.

I do have a banking matter to attend to in Bogotá before the end of October but I am not at all sure where I'll go after that.

Capital crime

While there are certain things I miss in the capital, when I have no solid reasons to be there, well I don't really want to be there, particularly when it means I have to house-share. (The cost of a private hotel room in the provinces is usually cheaper than getting a basic, unfurnished studio apartment in Bogotá, if one can be found, that is.)

All this time outside of Bogotá represents my longest stint away from the city while remaining in Colombian territory.

It's largely the result of, as one can probably guess, having no steady work mixed with much uncertainty as to my next move. And this is unlikely to change in the coming weeks.

On the whole, I'm largely relaxed about the situation — a bit too relaxed, some may argue. That not having access to a kitchen is one of my main concerns shows that I'm not exactly at breaking point. Being able to cook, to have greater control over what I eat, is important to me, all the same. It would also be nice to truly have my own place, but I will most likely never get to enjoy such a luxury in Colombia.

Whatever about not being able to cook these days, there's a cornucopia of food for thought simmering in my mind. If only I could get a peso for each thought, then I wouldn't have to worry about sourcing gainful employment.

My current wandering at least provides some relief in these wondering times. Being a mild rover has a cathartic side.
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La Chorrera in Colombia's Amazon: Bloody past, insecure present

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

There is a view in certain circles that Indigenous peoples in isolated areas live a largely wholesome and simple life, at one with nature, in stark contrast to us folk in more digitally connected, fast-paced societies — a version of the noble savage idea.

Isolated reserve: There are no roads into La Chorrera but the airline Satena flies there. Arriving by river is also an option, but a complicated one.

This is true in some instances and areas. There are still tribes in existence that continue to shun Western civilisation.

Yet, many indigenous, even those who still live on their native lands far away from the original centres of colonisation of the country in which they now find themselves, have adopted high-income-nation habits — be that for better or for worse.

This is the case for most of those who identify as indigenous that I've encountered in South America.

One might think that the situation would be rather different on a secluded indigenous reserve, an area where the original natives — Who is an original native? — are left to live relatively autonomously from the intruding state.

Green gold

Both the settlement and area of La Chorrera, which the locals call the true heart of the Amazon, is one such reserve.

In terms of its autonomy from Colombia, well there is no state police presence. Filling that void, nominally in any case, is the indigenous guard. The Colombian military does have a base nearby but the soldiers rarely get involved in local affairs even if, at times, their intervention might be welcome.

The people have their own executive committee for internal affairs, with a president, vice president, and certain ministerial/secretarial posts.

As for agricultural self-sufficiency, the Igara Paraná River that flows through the region provides fish, as well as a plentiful supply of water. Most homesteads also have their own poultry, the odd few farm pigs while the ever-retreating wild animals in the surrounding jungle are occasionally hunted, with el blanco (whiteman) guns, of course.

'An elder told me that a commander in a nearby guerrilla group is planning a social cleansing of the area and has a list of those who are considered a burden.'

Root vegetables such as cassava (yuca) and yam (ñame) are staples, alongside plantain and a host of tropical fruits.

The tobacco plant, too, plays a big part in the culture, chiefly in the form of a paste called ambil, almost exclusively taken by men.

Ambil is often consumed alongside the region's green gold, or what some in other parts of Colombia convert into white gold, the coca leaf.

In La Chorrera, coca is ground down — together with a palm tree leaf to soften the bitterness — to a fine powder and consumed in the mouth. The idea is to slowly transform the powder — which has a powdered-milk texture — into a paste in the mouth before ingesting it gradually. This pick-me-upper coca powder is called mambe and its consumption is again a male preserve.

Coca leaves that aren't destined for mambe are sold, currently at 100,000 COP per kilo, to outsiders who, one assumes, use them to make cocaine.

From what I observed and what I was told, cocaine isn't at all popular in the area.

Beer necessities

Yet, what I've been told is growing in popularity — but not grown locally — is marijuana use among the community's younger folk. Elders say this has led to an increase in insecurity.

I did occasionally smell it and noticed some young men a little stoned but I can't say that I felt that unsafe in the settlement, despite warnings from some to keep my wits about me when wandering about. (This is in stark contrast to supposedly dangerous, more easily accessible towns such as Puerto Asís and San José del Guaviare, where inhabitants are quick to talk about how safe they are. Yes, people there could have been trying to lure me into a false sense of security but I never sensed anything untoward — and nothing untoward happened.)

Home comforts: One of the over 100 houses the Colombian government is building and gifting to La Chorrera.

One La Chorrera elder even told me that a commander in a nearby guerrilla group is planning a social cleansing of the area and already has a list of those who are considered a burden. How true that is, I guess time will tell.

The main annoyance I encountered was those who like a beer or six — beer being another product very much not of the region. Some boozers weren't shy about asking — in an aggressive tone at times — el blanco to finance their drinking. (At between 5,000 and 8,000 COP for a 330 ml can of Poker, it's around four times more than what I pay for beer in my preferred watering holes in Bogotá.)

The various winged pests of this jungle outpost were less of a nuisance than these opportunist extortionists.

I had thought that being Irish and, with it, the link to Roger Casement and his efforts in alerting Western powers of the terrible rubber-era genocide of the Indigenous that took place in the region in the early twentieth century might have cut me some slack — I'm not just another blanco. But no. In fairness, most did start referring to me somewhat more affectionately as el irlandés once they got to know me. It's the Peruvians and the British establishment these beer-seekers should be pestering, not me. (See my 2016 post, Remembering Casement's Colombian connection for background.)

'The chuck-it-anywhere approach goes against the narrative that care and respect for the natural environment is one of their chief concerns.'

Now, while I wasn't there long enough to draw any solid conclusions, it did appear to me that it was the men from the more square-faced Uitoto (or Huitoto) tribe who were the annoying drinkers while the rounder-faced Boras seemed far more benign. More research is required. (For the record, the greater La Chorrera area is composed, in the main, of four traditional tribes: the aforementioned Bora and Uitoto, together with the Muinane and Okaina.)

Virtual autonomy

Mentioning tribes might bring one back to this idea of scantily clad Amazon natives. The reserve may like to see and even sell itself as autonomous but the clothing — like the beer, many food items, internet plus free WiFi from the national government, smartphones, televisions, motorbikes, and even the timber for new state-gifted houses — very much comes from outside. Football shirts are particularly popular for the men, as is football in general for all. Indeed, football brings the community together more regularly than any traditional event.

Even at a traditional dance that I had the serendipitous pleasure of attending in the Santa Rosa settlement, a four-hour boat ride upriver from La Chorrera, there was nothing native about the attire. For sure, the dance and refreshments were traditional but the look was more Bogotá barrio than Amazon jungle.

Considering the dance came at the end of a two-day football tournament, let's not be too critical of the lack of effort on the dress front. And respect to the attendees from Puerto Sabalo in the Caquetá department. Theirs was a two-day journey, mixing boat travel with long walks. Despite such endeavours, or perhaps because of them, they won the men's tournament.

Less respect is forthcoming for many locals' rubbish disposal. The chuck-it-anywhere approach goes against the narrative that care and respect for the natural environment is one of their chief concerns. The same goes for the practice of bathing and cleaning clothes in the river with modern soaps and detergents.

This isn't me having a go at them. I'm in no way suggesting that they must return to a more primitive life. (Although this is something I often think I'd like to do, I don't think there are many in La Chorrera who want it.)

It's more a case that it bugs me when some people from afar put such indigenous types on a pedestal, as role models for us modern monsters to follow. Also at play is the mildly aggressive this-is-our-land attitude of a small number of La Chorrera natives.

As pointed out, it's not a truly autonomous indigenous reserve. The sane-headed locals are well aware of this and are very welcoming of unobtrusive visitors. And, as it currently operates, it's unlikely La Chorrera will survive as a functioning entity without attracting the right kind of outside assistance.

Those who want all the whiteman goodies but then act as if outsiders aren't welcome or are merely to be taken advantage of, let's see how they'd do living completely autonomously.

Remember guys, you won't be able to beer or Google your way out of it.

*There are various accommodation options in La Chorrera. Hospedaje Fátima, owned by a lovely elder — abuela as they say — of the same name (Fátima, that is!), is one of the better options. It's 25,000 COP per night for a humble en suite room with WiFi as good as you'll get anywhere. Plus, Fátima is niceness personified!

**A special mention, too, to Marina and her mother Irene who operate as a restaurant/snack food joint. Well worth checking out. Also, Jorge who runs the tienda by the main dock is a very helpful gentleman and a member of the executive committee. I mention these because they run businesses in the settlement but there are other friendly locals who are only too willing to help for no ulterior motive.
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Pacific Puerto Asís

@wwaycorrigan

[For an audio/vlog version of this story, click here.]

'It's a bit "caliente" down there, be careful.'

That was the general response from Bogotá-based acquaintances when I told them I was heading to the town of Puerto Asís in Colombia's Putumayo department, close to the border with Ecuador.

As nondescript as Puerto Asís's urban area is, it takes a hold on one all the same.

Dearth of delinquents

Caliente, hot that is, wasn't in reference to the weather (although, with afternoon temperatures regularly reaching over 30 degrees Celsius and high humidity, it certainly is sultry). No, hot in this context refers to the security situation, as in it's dangerous.

There's nothing too shocking in that. Frontier towns tend to come with a negative reputation. I have, though, been to enough of them in Colombia to know that this label is not always warranted; just don't expect them to feature high in lists of best places to live.

Yet, of the border towns I've stayed in across the world, Puerto Asís ranks as one of the more livable ones — along with Cúcuta. OK, recency bias together with my quite low expectations might be at play in this, however from a safety perspective — often the most pressing concern in such places — Puerto Asís seems almost crime-free.

With the town's population around the 50,000 mark in an area covering roughly six square kilometres — excluding the hinterland, that is — I walked practically every bit of it. Nowhere did I feel unsafe. What's more, none of the residents ever advised me to exercise caution in certain parts, as often happens in other big towns and cities.

'The moto taxi drivers are the most irksome, offering their services by beeping, gesturing and/or calling out 'moto' as they pass by. It's almost as if it's an offence to walk.'

The place appeared delinquent-free. It was even largely devoid of the Colombian-standard, in-your-face wandering street vendors and beggars. (A local tienda bar owner told me that the area has been controlled by non-state actors, hence less obvious delinquency on the streets. Obligatory payments to officially proscribed armed groups come with certain benefits, akin to the days when the IRA allegedly kept drug pushers out of the neighbourhoods it managed in Northern Ireland.)

The most irksome element is the motorbike, or moto, taxi drivers who frequently offer their services by beeping, gesturing and/or calling out 'moto' as they pass one by. It's almost as if it's an offence to walk anywhere or merely stand around. It also seems that the humble bicycle is frowned upon. This is Moto Town, or Motown if you will.

Truck luck

Now, if you ask me what Puerto Asís's unique selling point is, well outside of what I've already described, I struggle to come up with anything. The town itself has no outstanding landmarks and there isn't much on the must-do/visit list.

What's more, the closest water courses, the Putumayo and Cocaya rivers, don't entice one in for a dip. Quite a shame that, considering the heat. Also, the sands on the Putumayo River's banks are inviting, so it's unfortunate its waters don't follow suit.

It's even on the more expensive side when it comes to my BBC (beer, bread, coffee) staples — more expensive than Bogotá's working-class barrios that is. This, though, isn't unusual. Unlike in some other countries, Colombia's capital is cheaper for certain essentials compared to the country's provincial towns. (A special mention to Panadería Mickey, all the same. It offers a decent enough tinto, small black coffee, for a very reasonable 1,200 pesos.)

My most eventful moment was seeing the efforts of a few lorry drivers trying to free a truck stuck in the aforementioned sands of the Putumayo River. The episode did merit a YouTube Shorts video.

Chasing La Chorrera

My visit to Puerto Asís was to use it as a departure point to go by river to La Chorrera, the Roger Casement village as I call it, deep in the Amazon.

Alas, trying to get to La Chorrera from Puerto Asís by boat proved complicated and costly. In fact, it's more straightforward and currently cheaper to fly from San José del Guaviare. From a carbon footprint perspective, the flights might have a bigger impact but I did try to take the more environmentally friendly option. If only the most vociferous climate activists were more like me, eh?

Others may visit or pass through Puerto Asís for similar reasons i.e. to get a taste of the Amazon jungle by boat. And there are more hassle-free places to get to than the isolated La Chorrera. So as a river-port town close to Ecuador and within two days' boat ride of Peru, Puerto Asís is probably an unavoidable town for certain travellers. That it has countless hotels and motels is evidence of that.

Nonetheless, few seem to stay in the town for longer than necessary. A day or two at most.

The nine days I spent in Puerto Asís were less of a ringing endorsement of the place and more a reflection of my current 'wherever I am is my home' state of mind.

However, if I had to base myself in Puerto Asís for an indefinite time, I'd have no complaints about that. I can cope with its caliente air.
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Remembering Casement's Colombian connection

It's fair to say that the name Roger Casement means very little, if nothing at all, for the vast majority of Colombians. There's no surprise in that really, especially considering that in his native Ireland, despite Casement being one of the most written-about figures from the 1916 Rising period, his life isn’t the best known among the masses.

From the 2012 event in La Chorrera, remembering Casement's report (photo from Fucai).

For those completely in the dark, before his more controversial involvement in the Irish republican movement which ended in his execution by the British in 1916, the Dublin-born diplomat carried out what could be described as pioneering work in the field of human rights, both in the Congo and South America.

This is where the Colombian connection comes into play. It was during his time as a British consul in Rio de Janeiro that he undertook an investigation into reports of maltreatment of indigenous tribes by a British-registered Peruvian rubber enterprise, Peruvian Amazon Company (PAC), deep in the Amazon jungle.

In 1910 Casement made the first of two lengthy visits to the greater Putumayo region on the Colombian-Peruvian border where the abuses were taking place. What he found happening there was truly shocking. 

Not only were indigenous forced into unpaid labour by PAC employees, but they were also subjected to severe physical abuse such as the use of pillories, branding and whipping. Thousands were murdered, many at the hands of PAC station chiefs, while indigenous women and girls were victims of rape.

Casement's report of these horrific crimes caused outrage in Britain when the details were made public. It also signalled, in some ways, the beginning of the end for the Peruvian Amazon Company (other, external factors in rubber production also played their part in PAC's eventual collapse). 

Such was the extent and significance of Casement's investigation, he received a knighthood from the King in 1911. Alas, it wasn't enough to save him from the hangman's noose five years later, when he was convicted of treason, sabotage and espionage against the same British Crown for his involvement in the Irish independence struggle.

That tragic end notwithstanding, Casement's heroic work on behalf of the Putumayo Indians is something that has been and continues to be celebrated and remembered. 

For example, in 2012 hundreds of indigenous peoples from the region attended a celebration for the 100th anniversary of Casement's report.

What’s more, Ruth Chaparro, director of Fundación Caminos de Identitad (Fucai), a Colombian NGO working with and for the country’s indigenous, continues to see the importance of Casement’s contribution to highlighting human rights violations. 

She believes the meticulous and dedicated nature of Casement's investigations and reports are a great example to all human rights activists in how to carry out analysis of such abuses and how to ensure reports are rigorous enough to help bring about change.

With that in mind, as this coming 03 August marks the centenary of Casement’s execution, a commemorative event is being held in the village of La Chorrera, deep in the Colombian Amazon. 

It’s being organised by indigenous peoples there in collaboration with the Irish-born barrister, academic and indigenous activist, Brendan Tobin, who for the past ten years has been planning to visit the region.

For Tobin, it's a case of following in Casement's footsteps as he hopes to visit a number of the communities that suffered at the hands of PAC. Tobin sees the trip not just as an opportunity to celebrate Casement’s legacy but more importantly as a chance to highlight the continuing threat to the natives posed by trade and advancement towards modernity. 

The abuses of the rubber industry may be a thing of the past, but the Amazon's indigenous continue to face exploitation in other ways. (Quite pertinent at a time when Colombian officialdom finalises terms to sign a peace deal with the Farc leftist guerrillas.)

Forced labour: Indigenous carrying rubber (photo courtesy of Fucai, Colombia).

To mark the event, Ireland's president, Michael D. Higgins, has been invited to send a letter to the indigenous to be read out at the ceremony, which takes place in the environs of La Chorrera's Casa de Conocimiento (House of Remembrance), the indigenous school on the grounds of what was once the headquarters of the infamous PAC in the region.

Tobin himself hopes to raise enough funds to have a bust erected in honour of Casement in the secluded Amazon outpost. For the moment, as part of the ceremony, he is going to present the locals with a personal copy of The Amazon Journal of Roger Casement, edited by Angus Mitchell, for inclusion in the local library.

Casement may be long gone — with his name tarnished for some due to subsequent actions after his human rights work — yet the good he did for the Amazon's indigenous cannot be merely swept aside. 

As Tobin puts it, Casement serves as something of a focal point around which the people of the Amazon and Putumayo can gather to discuss, share and collectively seek a way to heal from a horrid past that still resonates. The La Chorrera memorial allows another opportunity to do just that.
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For a previous piece on Irish-Colombian links, see With O’Leary in Bogotá.

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