Leaving FARC

Independent on Sunday:

Yandri Gonzalez sits in a café, sipping at a can of fruit juice, pondering a question about her time as a soldier in one of the world's most notorious armed guerrilla groups. The 21-year-old is petite and timid, with a measured demeanour. She rarely makes eye contact, preferring to look at her hands when she speaks. But occasionally she will shoot a sharp glance that offers a glimpse into the world of violence and mayhem she was thrust into at the age of 13.

"My uncles and aunts belonged to the guerrillas. Then my brother enlisted and I started feeling lonely. I wasn't brought up by my family, as my mother abandoned my brother and me when I was a baby, so it was easy for me to join."

Until last December, Gonzalez had spent more than seven years of her young life living in the jungle as a soldier in the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, perhaps better known by its acronym, Farc. A Marxist-Leninist guerrilla organisation heavily involved in the country's ongoing civil war since the 1960s, its principal stated aim, which it shares with Colombia's other main guerrilla group, the National Liberation Army (ELN), is to overthrow the Government.

Gonzalez's "schooling" involved learning Farc ideology for three years before being sent into combat. "When I was in school, from 13 to 15, I carried an R-15 rifle, then I was given a 5.56mm Galil assault rifle. I kept it for one year and then I was given my AK-47," she says, almost proudly, reeling the weaponry off with militaristic precision. "Then I became a soldier – and I fought. I had to walk every day, I had to work and set up camp. Every now and again they would send me off to fight."

Her enemy on any given day could range from the Colombian National Army to right-wing paramilitary organisations... even other leftist guerrilla groups. As a girl, she was treated no differently than her male counterparts; at times, even worse: "Sometimes you would be shouted at [because you're a girl] and told you're useless or weak. It depends on the commander." Many other women report being raped and abused by their superiors. "In the end, you see so many terrible things, so many things happen – so much bloodshed," says Gonzalez, "that you get tired of that life."

She is not alone in her thinking; just as Gonzalez did in December, many of her former comrades are leaving Farc and handing themselves in to the authorities, spurred by a Government-incentivised demobilisation process, through which it hopes to finally defeat the organisation for good. However, faced with a Colombian public that is sceptical about the guerrillas' reasons for laying down their guns, those who do leave the jungles are finding that their new lives are just as challenging as the years they spent as rebels.

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In a process known as "reinsertion", the Government is now trying to reintegrate into society many of these battle-hardened militia, as well as Farc and ELN deserters, in a remarkably ambitious but controversial plan that has drawn as many detractors as advocates. About 50,000 former members of outlawed guerrilla and militia groups are being re-educated in schools and colleges; practical job training, psychological support and a reinsertion package – costing about 400,000 pesos (£140) a month – are also available. The Government believes it is a model that in years to come will be recognised and implemented in other areas of civil conflict – the Philippines has shown interest and coalition forces in Afghanistan will doubtless be paying attention.

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There is much more.

The FARC is a shrinking force in Colombia and many of its leaders have fled to Venezuela and Ecuador. It has tried to assert itself by alliances with other terrorist groups in Europe and elsewhere even selling dope to al Qaeda in Africa. All of these groups now have an air of desperation in their attempt to survive counterinsurgency operations in their base areas.