This exhibition includes portrait narratives exploring the life of persons whose loved ones have gone missing due to armed conflict in Colombia. In collaboration with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), artist Benjamin M. Betsalel spent time with family members of missing persons as they told their stories and shared their memories and objects of remembrance.
Each subject is represented by three elements: portrait, object, and narrative; the title of each grouping states the familial relationship of the sitter to the missing person and the missing person’s name and date of disappearance. Example: "Mother of Jose, missing since February 2, 2004." At the request of families, some dates and names have been changed.
photo: Andrés Felipe Cortés Tique, Bogotá, Colombia
photo: Andrés Felipe Cortés Tique, Bogotá, Colombia
photo: Andrés Felipe Cortés Tique, Bogotá, Colombia
photo: Andrés Felipe Cortés Tique, Bogotá, Colombia
Son of Jorge
I have many fond memories of my childhood with my father spending time on the river talking and fishing. By the time I was nine he had taught me how to drive a boat, a skill that many years later helped turn my life around. During those times on the river I learned from him the values of hard work, integrity, and honesty. My parents divorced when I was 12, and although I maintained a good relationship with my father I decided to stay with my mother. Several years later, my father was taken. Those were difficult times. We were displaced. I went to the city to find any work I could. At times I was forced to sleep on the streets and learned the true meaning of hunger. I eventually found consistent work and discovered the role of international human rights and developed an interest in helping victims of the armed conflict. With this knowledge I was able to face threatening situations, stand up for my rights and the rights of those around me. One day I met a humanitarian aid worker who invited me to apply for a job as a boat driver. I only had a third grade education at the time, but to my surprise I got the job. Now I am able to support my family and have completed my high school degree. My hope is to continue my education, to help others who are in a situation similar to the one I was once in, and to honour my father’s lessons of hard work, integrity, and honesty. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]
2 ex wife of Edgar missing since july 10 2013
Edgar was a good man, hard working and responsible. We had a relationship for over 20 years and he is the father of my three children. We used to live on a farm and have such a loving peaceful life, close to nature. Then we were forced to move to the city, which was the beginning of the end of our relationship. However, even after we separated he continued to provide support, buying us food and making sure we never needed to take out a loan for our youngest son’s education. He was like our guardian angel. The children loved him very much and he loved them. Edgar disappeared two years after we separated and has left a complicated hole in my heart. Our separation was not total: I am conflicted within, second guessing myself and feeling guilt. I still keep his reading glasses, as I always used to do for him. I still use the same pots for cooking and think of him every time I prepare red beans, which were his favourite. In a way I still love him, maybe even more now, which makes me very sad. I wish we could go back to the time at the farm when things were simple. I wish I could tell him that I love him and that I am sorry. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]
Mother of Jairo Alexander
When they took my son, they kidnapped my life. He was such an intelligent, noble and good person. I was very proud of him when he finished school and became a nurse. He was always taking care of everyone. A few days after he disappeared, his girlfriend found out she was pregnant with his child. It was heart breaking. His son always wants to go to the airport to wait for his father to return. I too believe that one day he will return. When I feel heartsick I go to visit my grandson. He reminds me so much of Jaro Alexander, and I am so thankful to God to have him in my life. Taking care of him is a distraction, which brings me joy, but also pain. Even though the authorities say that it is very unlikely my son is still alive, I have not yet given up. We still keep a candle burning in hopes he will one day find his way home. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]
Father of Jairo Alexander
I am not a man of many words. Jaro Alexander was our youngest son. I was very proud of him. I miss him so much. When he was young we used to play basketball and football together and go swimming at the pool. We watched many America de Cali football matches and movies on TV. He used to come looking for me at my work. Now the roles have reversed. When he went missing my wife and I let go of our restaurant business and spent almost two years looking for him. He bought this Holland jersey the day before he disappeared. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]
Father of Braulio
My son was a woodworker. The day he went missing he was waiting by the road for a delivery of spare parts for his chainsaw. For many years I did not have proof that he was dead – until last November, when I saw a picture of his body. At that moment I felt strong, as if I had an invisible shield protecting me. But I have no memory of the days that followed. Sometimes I feel I have lost my mind. Sometimes I suddenly start to cry. It is painful to let him go and to forgive. I just want to find his body so he can be properly buried. In the beginning I was obsessed with clearing his name and seeking justice. I left my farm and sacrificed everything I had. I hired a lawyer but he took my money and never worked on the case. He refused to give me back all of the documents I had collected. I was very depressed and contemplated giving up. I was crying in a hotel lobby when a woman approached to comfort me and asked about my story. She convinced me to accompany her to the Attorney General’s Office. Eventually the Organization of American States was able to get back the case file from the lawyer. Since then, the case has been re-opened. That woman was an angel. [acrylic, graphite and charcoal on canvas, 2014]
Mother of Edgar Byron
My son Edgar Byron liked to draw. Once he won an award for his artwork. When he finished school at age 17, he enrolled in the Police Academy to help support our family. But he never lost his interest in drawing. He worked for the police for three years before he was captured. For three months we did not know if he was alive. Then we received a proof-of-life photograph. After that he began to send us letters and drawings so that we would know he was alright. He would tell me not to worry, that he was fine. In 2002 the letters stopped. Once Edgar Byron visited me in a dream and told me that when all the family was together again, he would return. Even to this day I still feel he is watching over our family. The most difficult decision of my life was many years after this, when I finally took the money from the government in compensation for his service… to choose money over the hope that my son was still alive. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]
Brother of Edgar Byron
I was the last person in my family to see my brother. At the time I was still training in the Police Academy. We had just spent six hours together at the airport, talking late into the evening about our family, sipping a few beers, and agreeing we would do whatever it took to support them [the parents divorced when they were very young. That morning, my brother was the last to board the helicopter, all the soldiers’ legs hanging out the side door. As it took off, Edgar Byron looked down at me and gave me a “thumbs up.” Every time I go to the airport or see a helicopter I think of this moment. When I finished the Police Academy and was sent on my first assignment, I sat in the same helicopter seat as my brother did the last time I saw him. Since then, I have seen many of my friends die in battle. I always felt my brother was watching over and protecting me. Finally, several years ago, I decided to stop working for the Police to be closer to my family. I realized that no amount of money could pay for the grief I would cause my mother if I were to have also died trying to support our family. [charcoal on canvas, 2014]
Daughter of Edgar
My father was a man of faith. When we lived on the farm we had a lot of chickens. At one point they were disappearing, getting eaten by some kind of animal that we could not find. So, my father had us come together and pray on the problem. Suddenly a ”tiger” ran into the room, as if summoned by our prayer. When my parents split up, my father went to work to help support the family. Every so often he would fast, not eating for days. He said it was his way of asking for forgiveness for his mistakes. My father always called me “my little witch” because when I was a small girl I did not like to let my mom comb my hair. My hair was very wild and l liked it that way. Even when my parents split up, my father called me every Halloween. He said it was my day. It was our inside joke. Last Halloween was the first time he did not call. (When she told me this story, I asked her if she read tarot cards or coffee cups. She then took my hand and read my palm. After this I was about to pour another cup of coffee when I noticed a message in the coffee cup: there was a heart surrounded in light beside a mountain with a pathway through the sky, leading from darkness into the light.) [graphite on canvas, 2014]
Friend of Fredy Torres
Fredy Torres and I supported rival football teams. We share a son, but it has been a long time since we were together. Thankfully, we were able to transition into friendship. He was a director and teacher at a rural high school where he was very involved with the community, often working on a farm with his students. That September there was a faculty party for the “month of love and friendship.” Three men arrived and demanded to see him. They berated him with accusations, grabbed his computer, handcuffed him, and took him away. It was his mother who went to ask for his release but could never find out what happened to him. Some people said he was dead, others said he was very sick, very thin. Some people said he had been taken for his knowledge of computers. [acrylic and pastel on canvas, 2014]
Son of Fredy Torres
My father did not live with my mother and me. He would always surprise me when he came to town. One time, I was riding on the back of a motorcycle when I suddenly saw him on the sidewalk up ahead. I jumped off the bike even though it was still moving! He caught me in his arms and hugged me for a long time. I miss him so much. He taught me by example to be a strong and good person. Sometimes, when I do something good, I think of him and wonder if he can see me. I wonder if he would be proud of me. [graphite on canvas, 2014]
Mother of Carlos
I have fond memories of visiting Carlos in the countryside, on the farm where he used to work. I would wake up early and go down to the bus station. I would stare out the window, watching veils of mist rise off the mountains, the sun eventually illuminating the countless varieties of green. [charcoal on canvas, 2014]
Sister of Carlos
When I was young, armed actors tried to recruit me. They said I would have lots of money, an education, and a great life. They tried to offer me clothes but I would not accept their gifts. My destiny was not with them. The only thing more important to me than my freedom, is protecting my children. People say they came to the farm where my brother was working and forced him to install devices. Some say he was killed when one was unintentionally activated. But no one knows where his body is. It is very sad because he was a good and honest person, only working there at the farm to try and support his family. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. [acrylic on canvas, 2014]
Mother of Wilfer Vega
Of all my children, it was Wilfer Vega who never liked school. He liked music and football much more! He was always fashion conscious; he loved this denim shirt, which was given to him by my sister who lives in Bogota. He liked money ever since I can remember. Unfortunately, even easy money. I tried my best to teach him otherwise. It was either his surroundings or just his nature. It seems many young kids would rather take risks for easy money than do simple hard work. Perhaps this is why he has disappeared. But maybe I will never know… Life is difficult but I don’t get as sad as I used to. I am not complicated. I try to do things to keep my mind right, such as spending time with family, being in nature, gardening, sewing, making clothes, and being creative with my hands. I have studied courses at SENA in design, woodworking, hair cutting and color, manicure, pedicure, and management. Although my family has been displaced and I have lost my son, I am always looking for new projects to focus on. I try to see each day as a new day. The freedom to be creative with my hands is what helps me endure. [charcoal and acrylic on canvas, 2014]