This is a translation of the letter written by Ingrid Betancourt (Franco-Colombian politician, ex-presidential candidate & anti-corruption activist, held hostage by the FARC – Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) to her mother (Yolanda Pulecio) and released by the Colombian government at the end of November 2007 after having been seized (along with the video showing a thin and frail Ingrid) from arrested FARC rebels. (Links to translations at the end of page / traducción en fin de página / traduction en fin de page).
“Rainy morning, like my soul, jungles of Colombia, Wednesday, October 24, 8:34 AM
My adored and divine mother of my soul.
Every day I wake up thanking God that I have you.
Every day I open my eyes at 4:00 AM and prepare myself to be wide awake to hear your message on La Cantera de las 5 [a radio program]. . . . Every day, you ask me how my life is. I know that [John Frank] Pinchao [a police officer who escaped from the FARC in May, after 9 years of captivity] gave you many details, and I bless him and thank him for having told you everything.
Well, things have gotten harder for us since Pinchao's escape. The measures became more extreme, and this has been terrible for me. They separated me from the people with whom I had relationships, affinity and affection, and they put me in with a very difficult group of people.
Mamita, I am tired, tired of suffering, I have been - or tried to be - strong. These almost six years of captivity have shown me that I am not as resistant, nor as brave, intelligent or strong as I had believed. I have had many battles, I have tried to escape at several opportunities, I have tried to maintain hope, as one keeps one's head above water. But Mamita, now I have given up. I want to think that one day I'll get out of here, but I know that what happened to the diputados [eleven provincial legislators, held hostage since 2002, who were killed in June], which hurt me greatly, could happen to me at any moment. I think this would be a relief for everyone. . . .
Mamita, this is a very hard moment for me. They are asking for proofs of life at point-blank range, and here I am writing to you with my soul laid out over this paper. I am in poor shape physically. I have not been eating. My appetite is blocked. My hair is falling out in large quantities. I have no desire to do anything. I think that last one is the only good one: not wanting to do anything. Because here in the jungle, the only response is "NO". It is better, then, not to want anything, to be free, at least, of desires. . . .
It has been three years now since I asked for an encyclopaedic dictionary in order to read something, learn something, keep the intellectual curiosity alive. I continue to hope that, at least through compassion, they shall provide me with one; but it is better not to think of it. Every little thing is a miracle, even hearing you each morning; as the radio is very old and broken.**
I want to request from you, sweet Mamita, that you ask the children to send me three messages a week. . . . Nothing exceptional, just whatever crosses their minds and that which they may wish to write. . . . I need nothing more than to be in contact with them. This is the only vital, exceptional, indispensable fact; the rest no longer matters to me. . . .**
Give my blessings to my children, the three of them; Sébastien, Mela and Loli, so that they may be accompanied with every step that they take. Tell them that they are my source of joy in this harsh captivity. . . .***
Everything here has two sides to it: Joy comes with pain, happiness is sad, love cures and opens new wounds – to remember is to live and to die anew. . . .***
Well, as I said, life here is not life. It is a gloomy waste of time. I live, or survive, in a hammock hanging from two poles, covered with mosquito netting and a tarpaulin overhead, which serves as a roof, and which allows me to think that I have a house. I have a shelf where I keep my equipment – that is my backpack with clothes and a Bible that is my only luxury. Everything is always ready in case we have to run off. Here nothing is one's own, nothing lasts, uncertainty and precariousness are the only constant. At any moment they give the order to pack and one sleeps in any hole, hanging in any site, like any animal. Those moments are especially difficult for me. . . .
My hands sweat and my mind is misty, I end-up doing things at half the normal pace. The steps are a suffering since my equipment is very heavy and I cannot carry it. Everything is stressful, I lose my belongings or they take them from me, such as the jeans that Mélanie [her daughter] offered me for Christmas and which I was wearing when they captured me. The only thing I have managed to keep is the jacket, which has been a blessing as the nights are freezing and I have had nothing else with which to cover myself. . . .**
I used to make the most of each time I bathed in the river. As I am the only woman in the group, I must go almost completely clothed: Shorts, shirt and boots. Hence, I bathe as our grandmothers once did. Before, I used to enjoy swimming in the river but now I haven’t the breath for it. I am weak, I resemble a cat faced with water; I, who loved the water so – I no longer recognise myself. . . . Since they separated the groups, I have lacked the interest and the energy to do anything. I stretch now and again since the stress blocks my neck which hearts a great deal. With stretching exercises, splits and such, I manage to relax my neck a little. . . . **
I try to be quiet, to speak as little as possible in order to avoid problems. The presence of a woman amid prisoners who have been captive for eight and ten years is a problem. I hear RFI and BBC a bit, I write only a little because the notebooks accumulate and carrying them is torture. I have already burned about four of them. And when they search us, they also take away what one most wants to keep. . . . Each day, less and less of myself remains. Everything is hard, that is the reality. . . .
It is important that I dedicate these lines to those who are my oxygen, my life. To those who keep my head above water, who do not allow me to sink into forgetfulness, into nothingness and despair. . . .**
Give my blessings to my children, the three of them; Sébastien, Mela and Loli, so that they may be accompanied with every step that they take. Tell them that they are my source of joy in this harsh captivity. . . .***
Everything here has two sides to it: Joy comes with pain, happiness is sad, love cures and opens new wounds – to remember is to live and to die anew. . . .***
I felt as though I were smothered, that I couldn’t breathe. I nearly went mad on my father’s death. I never knew how it happened, who was with him, whether he left me a message, a letter, or a blessing. Yet, with the years, what has alleviated my torment is the thought that he died trusting in God and that one day I shall be there to hug him. Of that I am certain. . . .***
I did not hear any messages [from the outside] until they kept me with Lucho, [hostage Sen. Luis] Eladio Pérez, on August 22, 2003 (his daughter's birthday). We have been very close friends, but they separated us in August. But during all that time he was my support, my shield, my brother. . . .
For years I could not think of my children, due to the horrible pain of not being with them. Today, I can hear them and feel more happiness than pain. I look for them in my memories and I support myself with the images that I keep in my memory of each of their ages. On each birthday, I sing them "happy birthday." I ask them to let me make a cake. Before, they let me and I made something in order to mark the date. But in the past three years, whenever I ask, the answer is no. Even if they bring a cookie or the usual food of rice and beans, I pretend that it is a cake and I celebrate their birthdays in my heart. . . .
My Melelinga [daughter, Mélanie] – my springtime sun, my princess of the swan constellation, she whom I love so much, I want to tell you that I am the proudest mother on this earth, . . . and if I had to die today, I would depart satisfied with life thanking God for my children. . . .* I am happy to hear about your Masters in New York. It is exactly what I would have advised you, however listen; it is very important that you do your PhD. In the present world, in order to breath, higher qualifications are vital. . . . I could not tire myself by insisting that Loli [her son Lorenzo] and Méla do not give up their studies until completing their PhDs. I would like Méla to promise me that. . . .**
Mélanie, I always said you were the best, far better that I – a sort of better version of what I would have liked to be. That is why, with the experience I have gained through life and the perspective the world has afforded me from a distance; that I ask you, my darling, that you prepare yourself to attain the summits.**
My Lorenzo [son], my Loli Pop, my angel of light, my king of blue waters, my chief musician who chants for me and enchants me, master of my heart, I want to tell him that since he was born until today he was the source of my joys.* All that comes from him is like a balm to my heart, all comforts me, all sooths me, all gives me pleasure and placidity. . . .** I was finally able to hear his voice, several times this year. I trembled with emotion. It is my Loli, my child, but there is already another man in this child’s voice.* A man’s hoarseness, like that of Papa. . . . The other day, I cut out a photo from a newspaper that had arrived here by chance. It was an advertisement for a perfume by Carolina Herrera “212 Sexy Men”. On it one sees a young man and I said to myself: “My Lorenzo must be like him”. And I kept it. . . .**
Life is before you, aim for the highest peaks. To study is to grow; not only from what one learns intellectually, but also from human experience, from those close to one who feed one emotionally and thus provides one daily with greater self control and which spiritually provides a one with a stronger character at the service of others – where one’s ego is reduced to its smallest form of expression and where one grows with humility and moral force. Each goes with the other. That is the meaning of living, to grow in order to serve. . . .**
To my Sébastien [her ex-husband Fabrice Delloye’s son, from a previous marriage], my little prince of astral and ancestral voyages. I have so much to tell you! First, that I do not want to leave this world without him knowing, for sure and certain that I have not two but three children in my soul. . . . With him, there are years of silence that I need to undo and which weigh too heavily upon me since my hostage taking. I have decided that my favourite colour is the blue of his eyes. . . . If I were never to leave here, I write this to you so that you keep this in your soul, my adored Baboon, so that you understand what I understood when your brother and sister were born – I have always loved you as the son you are and that God gave to me. The rest is but formality. . . .**
I know that Fab [ex-husband Fabrice Delloye] has suffered a great deal due to me. May his sufferance be soothed through the knowledge that he has been the source of peace for me. . . . Tell Fab that it is against him that I lean, on his shoulders that I cry, that he is my support who enables me to continue smiling despite the sadness, and that his love renders me strong. It is because he sees to my children’s needs, that I may cease breathing without life hurting quite so much. . . .**
To my Astrica [sister Astrid], so many things that I know not where to begin. First of all, to tell her that her “feuille de vie” saved me during the first year of being a hostage, through the year of mourning Papa’s death. . . . I need to talk with her of all these moments, to take her in my arms and to cry until the well of tears that my heart holds runs dry. In all that I do in the day, she is the reference. I always think “that, I did with Astrid when we were children”, or “that, Astrid did better than I”. . . . I have heard her several times on the radio. I feel a great deal of admiration for the impeccable manner in which she expresses herself, the self-control of her emotions. I hear her and I think “I want to be like that”. . . . I imagine how Anastasia and Stanis [Astrid’s children] are doing. How it hurt me when their drawings were taken from me. Anastasia’s poem read “by a lucky streak, by a magic spell or through a gift of God, in three years or three days, you shall return among us”. Stanis’ drawing was of a helicopter rescue: I asleep and he as the saviour.**
To Juanqui [husband Juan-Carlos]. . . . I know this separation is cruel and difficult, I understand everything and I love him as on the day we lay counted the shooting stars together, lying on the beach. . . .
Mamita, there are so many people whom I want to thank for remembering us, for not having abandoned us. For so much time we have been like the lepers at the dance, we hostages aren't a "politically correct" subject, it sounds better to say that one must be strong against the guerrillas, even if some human lives are sacrificed. Against this, silence. Only time can open consciences and elevate spirits.
I think of the generosity of the United States, for example. This generosity is not the product of wealth in land, resources, etc., but the product of the generous souls of the leaders who moulded that nation. When Lincoln defended the black slaves' rights to life and liberty, he also confronted many Floridas and Praderas. Many economic and political interests that were considered to be superior to the life and liberty of a handful of black people. But Lincoln won, and left in that nation's collective consciousness the priority of human life over any other interest.
In Colombia we still have to think about where we come from, who we are and where we want to go. I hope that some day we will have that thirst for generosity that lifts peoples from nothingness toward the sun. When we are unconditional in our defence of our people's life and liberty, that is to say when we are less individualist and more in solidarity, less indifferent, more committed, less intolerant and more compassionate . . . then I believe that that day we will be the great nation that we all wish that we were.
This generosity is still sleeping in our hearts, but our hearts have hardened and weigh so much that they do not allow for higher feelings. But there are many people whom I would like to thank, because they are contributing to the awakening of our spirits and to making Colombia greater. I can't mention them all, President Alfonso López [1974-1978, who worked for a humanitarian accord and died earlier this year] and, in general, all of the Liberal Party ex-presidents. But President López because his death has been especially painful for us. I have also regretted not being able once again to embrace Hernán Echavarría [a businessman and philanthropist who died in 2006], from whom I learned so much, and to whom I owe so much. This must be the moment to express to him my admiration and deep affection. To the families of the [assassinated] diputados, of Juan Carlos Narváez, C. Alberto Giraldo, C. Alberto Barragán, Alberto Quintero, A. Charry, Nacianceno Orozco, Rufino Varela, Héctor Fabio Arismendi, Ramiro Echeverri, John Jairo Hoyos, Edison Pérez. I have each of them in my prayers and I don't forget them for one minute, as a homage to life, what is left in me and what belongs to them.
Mamita, they're coming for the letters. I'm not going to be able to write everything I wanted. To Piedad [Córdoba] and to [Hugo] Chávez, all of my affection and admiration. Our lives are there, in their hearts, which I know are large and brave. To President Chávez, I want to tell him so many things, and above all, how I enjoy his spontaneous and generous manner, when I hear him on the radio on Aló Presidente [Chávez's weekly radio show]. I was touched when the niños vallenatos [a Colombian children's musical group] came to sing to him. It was a sublime moment of tenderness and brotherhood between Colombians and Venezuelans. Thank you for your interest in a cause that is ours, and that is not very high-profile because another's pain, when it is expressed in statistics, doesn't interest anyone. Thank you, President.
Thanks as well to Álvaro Leyva [a former senator and government minister who has sought to keep peace efforts alight by maintaining periodic contact with the guerrillas]. He was close, but the forces working against the freedom of this handful of forgotten people are like a hurricane that wants to topple everything. They are not interested. His intelligence, his nobility and his persistence have given many something to reflect upon, and here, more than just the freedom of a few crazy people condemned to live in the jungle, it is a matter of being conscious of what it means to defend the dignity of human beings. Thank you, Álvaro.
Thanks to [Bogotá Mayor] Lucho Garzón for his commitment, his compassion, his generosity and his persistence. Here also the fireflies lit up the jungle when the concert took place [the Bogotá city government has hosted musical concerts in favour of a humanitarian accord]. Here too we sang with voices of hope.
Thanks to [Opposition Senator] Gustavo Petro for remembering us with photos [illegible] and in his speeches and every time he can. And the same to so many friends who help us with their commentaries of support and encouragement, from the Polo [Democrático, the political party to which Garzón and Petro belong] and the Liberal Party, thank you to all for not forgetting, for not being resigned to the forgetting about the hostages. . . .
My heart also belongs to France. . . . Since the beginning of this kidnapping, France has been the voice of wisdom and love. She has never given up, she has not accepted the passage of time as the only solution, she has never wavered in defence of our right to be defended. When the night is darkest, France has been the beacon. When asking for our freedom was frowned upon, France was not quiet. When they accused our families of doing harm to Colombia, France gave them support and counsel. . . .
President Sarkozy has assumed leadership over deep changes in France. I am convinced that the power of his convictions and the nobility of his feelings will enlighten hearts and minds. I know that what we are living through is full of unknowns, but history has its own timeframes and President Sarkozy is standing on the meridian of history. With President Chávez, President Bush and the solidarity of the whole continent, we may be able to witness a miracle.
For many years I have thought that while I remain alive, while I keep breathing, I have to keep maintaining hope. Now I don't have the same strength, now it is a lot of work for me to keep believing, but I want you to feel that all that you have done for us has made a difference. We have felt like human beings. Thank you.
Mamita, I have many things to say to you, to explain to you that I haven't had news of Clara [Rojas, Betancourt's 2002 running mate who was taken hostage at the same time, and who has had a child while in captivity] and her baby. Ask Pinchao to give you details. He will tell you everything. . . .
I know that you have had contact with the mother of Marc Gonsalves [one of the three U.S. citizen hostages]. He is a very special person, of a great human quality. Tell her to send messages on La Carrillera, they hear that program. I believe that we all do. I am now with another group, but I love Marc very much, please tell Jo that her son is well.
Well, I don't want to say goodbye. May God allow this to reach you. . . .
For always and forever. Your daughter.
Ingrid Betancourt"
Translation provided by Adam Isacson, (Analyst, Centre for International Policy, Washington D.C..
* except for these passages, which are from the Herald Tribune article (see below).
Link to the original article where this translation was published in The Washington Post:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/17/AR2007121701220.html
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/17/AR2007121701220.html
*Herald Tribune article containing a few small translated excerpts:
Follow this link for the excerpts in Spanish – extractos de la letra en Castillano:
http://www.semana.com/wf_InfoArticulo.aspx?IdArt=108098
http://www.semana.com/wf_InfoArticulo.aspx?IdArt=108098
**Translation by myself [H de C] from the French published edition of this letter.
***Translation based on excerpts published in The Times UK, 06/04/2008.
Exraits en français de la lettre d’Ingrid addressée à sa famille: http://agirpouringrid.com/Extraits-de-la-lettre-d-Ingrid.html
Photo: H de C
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