I always wanted to be journalist, but you don’t use to have the chance to
remember why. Journalism is not easy, is stressful, not exactly the pathway
to wealthiness, but a matter of vocation. Something that you try to keep
intact as a treasure.
Those days reporting in Colombia gave me the opportunity to remember. And,
after all, that’s why we do what we do. Remember the voices of those female
farmers that were displaced by the conflict and lost everything, who fought
for their lands and their families, for their past -to be, again,
remembered- and their future. Remember the voices of the indigenous, who
were threatened by the violent groups and paramilitaries, and couldn’t keep
their traditions after their contact with the so called “civilization”.
Remember the voices of the afrodescendants, living in one the poorest and
most forgotten places of the country, struggling to survive. Remember the
voices of those girls who ended up in the guerrillas because they didn’t
find another way to escape from the sexual abuse or the precariousness of
Those days we have the chance to give them voice to remember, and then,
don’t forget who we are.