On 10 August at 7.34am, an earthquake struck western Colombia, killing over 300 people and leaving many more homeless. Badly hit was the country’s third-largest city, Cali, where three days earlier President Abelardo de la Espriella held his inauguration, a controversial breach of the constitutional rule that presidents take office at Bogotá’s National Congress. As people frantically searched for survivors in the rubble, the foreign ministry announced the new government’s official recognition of Israeli sovereignty over the occupied Golan Heights, as well as Morocco’s claim to Western Sahara, reversing the policies of Gustavo Petro’s outgoing administration. The timing hardly dispelled the view that de la Espriella’s government will prioritize US and Israeli interests over those of the population. During an emergency press conference that afternoon, de la Espriella was filmed laughing and blowing kisses. ‘We’re facing a national tragedy’, his vice-president reminded him.

Having relocated his inauguration, de la Espriella also intends for the northern city of Barranquilla, where he has family ties, to be a main seat of government. Both moves aim to present his election as a break with established power, which de la Espriella portrays as both the traditional right and a historically brutalized left which, against the odds, entered government in 2022. As elsewhere, de la Espriella’s populist posturing has proved effective. In the June runoff, he beat by a slender margin Petro’s would-be successor, Iván Cepeda, a left-wing senator and human rights activist, son of communist senator Manuel Cepeda, assassinated by paramilitaries in 1994.

De la Espriella’s victory maintains the recent trend of hard-right governments being elected across Latin America, largely untethered from traditional conservatism though representative of the same class interests. Most analysts had expected the Democratic Centre, built on the cult of personality surrounding former president Álvaro Uribe (2002–10), to provide the hard-right challenge to Petro and Cepeda’s Historic Pact: indeed, some on the left expressed optimism that de la Espriella could split the right-wing vote and secure a first-round win for Cepeda. Yet with the Democratic Centre’s candidate, Paloma Valencia, seeking to moderate uribismo’s hardline image to attract centrist voters, de la Espriella outflanked her on the right and conservative voters swung en masse behind the newcomer. The surprise first-round result, in which de la Espriella gained 43.7 per cent of votes in a 13-candidate field, stung both the left and the establishment right.

As with Noboa in Ecuador or Kast in Chile, de la Espriella exploited public anxieties about perceived deteriorating security, pointedly naming the party he founded in 2024, Defenders of the Homeland. Economically, his campaign argued that the anti-fossil-capital policies of the Historic Pact were impacting hard-up households. A promise to oppose abortion and same-sex parenting appealed to conservative religious voters, a sizeable group. Strategically, under Colombia’s proportional representation voting system, de le Espriella’s campaign targeted densely populated urban areas. Turnout was an unusually high 64 per cent, with his 12.9 million votes exceeding the tally of any previous presidential candidate. Though Cepeda won in 18 of Colombia’s 32 regional departments, as well as Bogotá and Cali, his campaign struggled in traditional conservative strongholds, particularly in the north. As the election of Petro showed in 2022, a platform of peace-building, environmental protection and defending social rights attracts strong support in politically and economically marginalized regions such as Cauca and Nariño, but has less traction in large urban areas, where voters are less affected by conflict and state neglect.

As with many self-proclaimed ‘outsiders’, de la Espriella’s rise was enabled by proximity to power. He was born into an affluent family in Córdoba, a conservative heartland. His father was a judge, his mother an heir to a cattle-ranching estate. The couple were prominent players in regional politics – his father would later become a regional manager of Uribe’s successful 2002 presidential campaign, increasing young Abelardo’s exposure to powerbrokers both legal and extralegal. His twenties were spent inviting commanders in the United Self-Defence Forces (AUC), Colombia’s largest paramilitary group, to speak at university forums while campaigning against their extradition, a tactic favoured in certain powerful circles to prevent former associates testifying over elite collusion in atrocities. A 2007 Supreme Court-ordered investigation into Abelardo’s Initiatives for Peace Foundation (FIPAZ) over its paramilitary links was blocked by the Attorney General, a personal friend.

Having relocated to Miami and qualified as a lawyer, de la Espriella defended narco-traffickers and acquired US citizenship. He crafted a flashy style suited to Miami’s Latin conservative milieu – gleaming teeth, immaculate beard, figure-hugging suits. Back in Colombia, he told anecdotes on chat shows about killing cats with fireworks, which he later claimed was a joke when footage resurfaced during the campaign. The misogynistic and homophobic slurs, the authoritarian undertones and his promise to ‘gut the left’ were not disavowed.

Having led the polls in the build-up, Cepeda garnered an unprecedented 12.7 million votes, 1.5 million more than Petro’s winning total in 2022, the margin of defeat under 1 per cent. Yet his campaign made several unforced errors: slow to diversify on social media; overly focused on the converted; Cepeda’s measured persona overshadowed by the firebrand combativeness – a ratings winner – of both Petro and de la Espriella. His strong showing may warrant a re-run in 2030. But for now, the compassionate and dignified Cepeda will have to carry on the fight from opposition.

Petro’s approval ratings are high for an outgoing president, reflective of his government’s notable achievements. Trade unions welcomed a labour reform bill that formalized gig economy and care workers, increased overtime pay, strengthened contracts, mandated salaries for apprentices, cracked down on outsourcing and imposed a 42-hour week. Over half a million hectares of productive land were redistributed to rural families, compared with only 13,000 under the previous administration. A historic demand was addressed with recognition of the rural campesino population as a ‘subject of rights’, providing guarantees over access to land, food production and state investment in communities. The government banned fracking and fossil fuel exploration licences. Internationally, Petro promoted regional integration and autonomy, reopened diplomatic relations with Venezuela and Cuba, and developed South-South trade, with exports to Africa doubling. His stance on Gaza made him a global figurehead of the pro-Palestine movement. Though its legislative advances are under threat – de la Espriella has overturned the fracking ban and plans to expand oil and gas extraction, while the trade unions are braced for an assault on their hard-won gains – the Historic Pact’s strength in congress ought to impede a total reversal.

Yet despite this defiance, the left ultimately failed to ensure continuity in governance. Petro entered office with a mandate for structural change and wealth redistribution but was thwarted by an intransigent political system. His lack of a congressional majority necessitated an early dalliance with the Liberals and Conservatives that collapsed like a house of cards, as the traditional parties baulked at efforts to overhaul the entrenched free-market system and expand public access to vital services. For the country’s first left-wing government, it was a salient lesson in where the centre’s allegiance lies. Petro’s discourse veered left as he sought to energize the Historic Pact’s base, but it ran up against an obstructionist congress, forcing compromises with opponents who diluted or blocked progressive reforms. Given the country’s history of class-based conflict, many powerful sectors never accepted a former guerrilla as president – even one from the more moderate M19 movement who had embraced social democracy.

The Historic Pact’s social reforms sought to redress the country’s steep inequalities – ten per cent of the Colombian population owns around 70 per cent of national wealth – proposing expanded access for working-class and lower-income people in education, healthcare, pensions and worker rights. By the end of Petro’s term, only watered-down versions of the latter two had been passed. Under right-wing pressure, the labour reform bill, while containing important protections of individual rights, was stripped of its guarantees over collective bargaining and the right to strike – fundamental pillars of worker power. When unable to stymie legislation in congress, the right-wing bloc led by the Democratic Centre resorted to the courts: the pensions reform, which provides state incomes for up to three million previously uncovered retirees, and last January’s 23 per cent minimum wage increase are both stalled amid legal challenges (de la Espriella claimed to support the widely popular rise, but few believe he will implement it). Elected amid soaring public expectation – which Petro could never realistically fulfil in the single four-year term permitted under the constitution – the Historic Pact was unable to introduce the material benefits that many had anticipated. Meanwhile, the well-worn accusation of left-wing fiscal carelessness was rolled out, attributing high debt to Petro’s perceived overspending, neglecting to mention the deficit he inherited.

The legacies of conflict also cast a pall. Lasting over half a century and involving the state, Marxist guerrilla groups and right-wing paramilitaries, the conflict left over 400,000 dead and forcibly displaced millions until its partial resolution through the 2016 peace agreement between the Juan Manuel Santos government and the FARC. The Democratic Centre government of Iván Duque (2018–22), bitterly opposed to the FARC peace process, neglected to implement the agreement, leading to power vacuums in large territories formerly under FARC control. Armed groups competed to fill the void, bringing them into collision with one another and with communities opposed to their presence. Judicial attacks on former guerrillas, in violation of the peace deal, and worsening violence caused a minority to abandon the reintegration process and return to arms.

After initial progress, Petro’s ‘Total Peace’ policy of negotiating with armed groups faltered as ceasefires expired and violence escalated, rooted in the fight to control illicit economies and territory. Colombian mercenaries returned from Ukraine and Sudan trained in new techniques such as drone warfare. Inter-group fighting has been particularly damaging, with the clashes in Catatumbo in January 2025 causing Colombia’s largest humanitarian crisis in two decades. The government suspended talks with the ELN guerrillas in response. Activists and former guerrillas are murdered with shocking frequency. Atrocities are once again commonplace. In April this year, a bombing killed 21 civilians on a bus in Cauca. Right-wing rhetoric accuses the left of yielding and insists on the need for a mano dura (iron fist) approach. De la Espriella inherits nine separate dialogue processes – some ongoing, some frozen, some barely begun – and will shut down all of them. He is closing the Office of the High Commissioner for Peace, which coordinates peacebuilding, and the National Protection Unit, which provides bodyguards to those deemed at risk. He will attack the 2016 agreement, particularly its transitional justice chapter – loathed on the Colombian right – which sanctions army abuses as well as those of the FARC.

Petro is adamant the election result was illegitimate, alleging interference by Israeli software company BlackCore, echoing charges made in Scotland, France, Angola and elsewhere. Cepeda argues that de la Espriella’s dual citizenship precludes him from the executive. The new president will not have it easy in congress: he has already achieved the seemingly impossible by uniting the Democratic Centre and the Historic Pact to block his choice for senate president. Keen to preserve its political influence against an upstart challenger, the Democratic Centre successfully positioned its own candidate in the role, and the Historic Pact backed the lesser evil. The Pacto forms the largest congressional bloc, while Defenders of the Homeland’s eschewal of alliances during the campaign – part of the ‘outsider’ routine – may cost it in government. As Petro found, achieving legislative consensus is a thankless task. The former president’s party will seek to deploy the same machinery that thwarted much of its own vision for the country.

The US publicly endorsed de la Espriella’s candidacy, having meddled in the recent Argentinian and Honduran elections. He draws inspiration from other regional hardliners, whether Bukele’s jailing of nearly two per cent of the Salvadoran population or Trump’s bombing of small boats and summary execution of survivors. Foregrounding security and a hyper-masculine image – self-styling as ‘El Tigre’ – de la Espriella pledged to escalate military confrontation with armed groups, build mega-prisons, exterminate drug traffickers and restore diplomatic relations with Israel that had been severed by Petro over the Gaza genocide. The day before taking office, he hosted a three-hour meeting with Israel’s Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar, who welcomed a planned relocation of Colombia’s embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir took time out from storming the Al-Aqsa Mosque to congratulate Colombia’s new government. As with other leaders of Latin America’s far right, unconditional support for Israel has been critical to secure US backing.

Colombia has now joined Trump’s Shield of the Americas alliance – its reward a billion-dollar security package announced hours after de le Espriella was sworn in. Established in March 2026, the alliance aims ‘to stop foreign interference in our hemisphere, criminal and narco-terrorist gangs and cartels, and illegal and mass immigration’. It essentially grants the US free rein, militarily and otherwise, with Latin America’s conservative swing having brought most regional governments on board. Guatemala, Ecuador and Venezuela have acquiesced to US strikes on their territory. On 12 August, Pete Hegseth confirmed joint US-Colombian military operations in Colombia. In July, his underling Joseph M. Humire referred to ‘Plan Patriot 2.0’, a successor to the US-backed Plan Patriot, part of the broader Plan Colombia agreement that greenlit massive human rights abuses by the army under Uribe.

With the US designating opponents ‘terrorists’ (ANTIFA activists) or ‘state sponsors of terrorism’ (Cuban government) and striking fishing vessels allegedly harbouring ‘narco-terrorists’ with impunity, an alarming scenario appears to be unfolding across the Americas. Military actions on land will inevitably impact civilians. What, many now ask, is to restrict Colombia’s far-right, militaristic government from targeting opponents and activists, murdered by the thousands in the 1980s–2000s? Is this how de la Espriella plans to ‘gut the left’? Across Latin America, too little justice has been served for the victims of historic violence orchestrated in Washington. Now, under the Shield of the Americas, the shadow of Operation Condor – the 1970s US-backed programme coordinating regional military dictatorships to kidnap and kill dissidents – begins to reemerge from history.

The earthquake’s epicentre was in San José del Palmar in Chocó department, one of the regions worst impacted by historic state neglect and conflict. Today, over 60 per cent of the Chocoan population live below the poverty line; 30 per cent lack access to clean water. Maternal mortality is three times the national average, life expectancy over a decade lower. Central governments long denied the region a road network or basic services, isolating the majority African-descendent population from the rest of the country. Armed groups filled the vacuum. Like other conflict zones, Chocó voted overwhelmingly – 81 per cent – for Cepeda, whose constructive approach to peace and underdevelopment was the only offering capable of bringing urgently needed social transformation to Colombia’s abandoned peripheries. Twenty-four hours after the earthquake, Interior Minister Rodrigo Lara told TV news he knew nothing about the situation in Chocó, as de la Espriella rejected rescue teams from Mexico, China and Spain on political grounds. In the infancy of Espriellismo, the disaster may come to symbolize the hopes many Colombians had of a future built on inclusion, sovereignty and peace, now turned to dust.

Read on: Forrest Hylton & Aaron Tauss, ‘Colombia at the Crossroads’, NLR 137.