Hostage Nation

by Victoria Bruce

  As Trinidad’s second trial opened with a new jury, which both Tucker and Kohl hoped would be swayed by their arguments, the fact that Pinchao had been covertly brought to Washington, D.C., by the prosecutors was a poorly kept secret. It was rumored among the Colombian press corps covering the trial that Kohl had brought Pinchao to testify that Trinidad had visited the American hostages regularly. So it was quite a surprise that when it came time for Pinchao’s testimony, and Kohl asked whether he had seen Trinidad in the hostage camps, Pinchao shot his answer back to the prosecutor with an emphatic “Nunca” (“Never”). In addition, Pinchao’s testimony portrayed the FARC as a highly organized military force, a description that attorney Paul Wolf thought was helpful to Tucker’s argument that the Americans were prisoners of war. As in the first trial, Trinidad himself took the witness stand to tell the tale of his entry into the revolutionary army, while testifying for his own defense. He appeared composed and spoke with an intense precision.

  Trinidad, knowing his words would be reported in the news and reach the FARC Secretariat, also made it clear to those in the courtroom, that he did not want to be an “obstacle” to any prisoner exchange. He said that he was thinking of those in captivity on both sides, not just the FARC guerrillas in jail, and that a prisoner exchange would be a step toward peace. As in the first trial, Trinidad remained a difficult witness for Kohl and repeatedly turned Kohl’s loaded questions into long back-and-forths filled with political overtones. “Basically,” wrote attorney Paul Wolf, “it looked like Kohl kept trying to get him to admit he was a hostage-taking terrorist, and Trinidad was making the point that if Kohl would stop interrupting him like that, he could explain everything.” At one point, a frustrated Kohl posed a question that seemed ridiculous considering the circumstances: “You don’t want to go to jail now, do you?” the prosecutor demanded. Trinidad replied calmly, “Whatever the reality is, I will take it and be strong. In this case, concretely, my word is under oath. I respect this court. I respect Judge Lamberth. I respect the jury. I respect the lawyers. I respect the government representatives here, and the public. And most of all, I have self-respect. Here I am telling the truth.”

  After the closing arguments, one juror asked to be excused from the case because she felt that her religious beliefs made it impossible for her to judge Trinidad. Sara, a twenty-nine-year-old alternate juror, replaced her. Sara had attended the entire trial and had been keenly interested in the case. She was absolutely sure that Trinidad was not guilty of kidnapping the Americans. So she was greatly surprised when deliberations began and she realized that all of the other jury members were convinced of Trinidad’s absolute guilt. In a small, claustrophobic-feeling room, heated deliberations began. Sara says she felt under attack as her fellow jurors tried to convince her that Trinidad was guilty. After four days of deliberations, Sara was incredibly conflicted. She decided that since Trinidad had gone to Quito to try to negotiate for a humanitarian agreement, perhaps he had played a very small role in the hostage situation. But she told the rest of the jury she wasn’t ready to convict him for conspiracy. Anxious to reach a verdict, the foreman sent a note to the judge, asking for clarification: “How large a role must one have in a crime to be convicted of conspiracy?” “Judge Lamberth answered back that no matter how small a role Trinidad played, participation is participation. The judge also emphasized that the role could be intentional or unintentional. And to me, there was no evidence that showed his intent,” Sara says. She and the other jurors debated the degree of Trinidad’s role and his intention, but, Sara adds, “I felt like, since I had admitted to the other jurors that he had a very small role, I had to follow the rules and return a guilty verdict for conspiracy.” Kohl had fought to convict on four other counts, but those counts were based on the charge that Trinidad had taken part in the actual kidnapping and provided material support to terrorists, something that Sara was adamant there was no evidence for. The jury returned a guilty verdict on the one count of conspiracy to commit hostage taking, and a mistrial was called on the four other counts. The announcement of the verdict was a great success for the prosecution. But in the jungle, at the headquarters of the FARC leaders, it was actually a victory as well—two trials, five counts each, and only one conviction. Marulanda and the Secretariat leaders were quite ignorant of the American justice and political system, and even though Trinidad had been convicted, they still believed that somehow, under the table, they could negotiate an exchange of Trinidad and Sonia for the three Americans.

  On July 9, 2007, when the verdict was announced, attorney Paul Wolf was among the observers who were stunned by Kohl’s comments afterward to the press. “After the final verdicts came the surprising announcement by prosecutor Ken Kohl,” wrote Wolf, “that if the FARC were to release the three Americans within the next two months, he would seek a reduced sentence for Simón Trinidad.” Many trial observers and members of the press felt that Kohl had made an offer to the terrorist group, but in a 2008 interview, Kohl would defend his comments: “In the end, I didn’t care much about Trinidad. We all wanted Marc, Tom and Keith to be released. What I said after the sentencing and what the [U.S.] Ambassador elaborated on in Colombia, was that when the defendant commits a crime of hostage taking, one of the factors that a sentencing judge must consider is the length of time the victims have been held, and a longer term will be imposed based on how long you’ve held the hostage. So if the FARC had unilaterally released Marc, Keith and Tom, and they appeared at the sentencing, it would have been a factor that the judge was required to take into consideration. That’s not any concession to the FARC, that’s the law. There was no bargaining with the FARC. It was just explaining publicly how our sentencing works.”

  Kohl never again publicly mentioned that a unilateral release of the Americans by the FARC could have reduced Trinidad’s sentence. Under the radar of the media and perhaps many in the U.S. government, a different offer was made. Jorge Enrique Botero, who had made his way back to Bogotá after the trial, received a call from Trinidad’s public defender, Robert Tucker. “Perhaps because the prosecution realized there was no way the FARC was going to release the Americans, Tucker told me that if I could get a meeting with one of the FARC commanders, I should let them know that Simón’s sentence could be lighter if the FARC would give proof-of-life images of the gringos. I was stunned because after all, this ‘bargain’ must have come from Ken Kohl, and the bottom line was that I felt it amounted to negotiation with terrorists. I began to wonder if this was the whole strategy of the U.S. in the beginning—to convict Trinidad and then negotiate with the FARC to release the gringos by offering a lesser sentence?” The idea seemed preposterous and contradictory to the stated policy, but contacting Raúl Reyes with a message from Trinidad’s public defender would be a great opportunity to try to get permission for an interview with the hostages, Botero realized.

  As Trinidad waited in solitary confinement for his November 2007 sentencing hearing, and Botero made contact with the FARC, a strange series of events cast Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez in a starring role in the Colombian hostage drama. The controversial populist leader had become a nightmare for Washington, with his unending oil reserves and vocal hatred for President Bush—which he often expounded upon during his weekly television program, Aló Presidente. And it was on one of these Sunday broadcasts, in August 2007, that a flashy left-wing Colombian senator named Piedad Córdoba appeared on the program and asked for the Venezuelan leader’s help in her country’s hostage crisis. It may have been at that moment that a lightbulb snapped on for Chávez: What could be better than a theatrical media blitz showing American hostages released into the arms of Hugo Chávez?

  Chávez wasted no time in holding a press conference, where he announced his intentions to negotiate a hostage release. In September, he invited the families of the Americans (including Patricia Medina and her twin sons) to come and meet with him in Venezuela. Behind the scenes, Chávez demanded that the guerrillas produce proofs of li
fe of the hostages and deliver them directly to him, something Chávez expected would give him even more clout in the negotiation process, make a big media splash, and especially incense George W. Bush’s government. Rumors abounded that Chávez might actually be buying the hostages out of captivity for as much as fifty million dollars. However the relationship was blossoming, FARC high commander Manuel Marulanda and the FARC Secretariat were delighted to have the recognition and involvement of their rich leftist neighbor. It was a direct affront to the Colombian government. An infuriated Uribe could do little to stop Chávez without appearing to impede the release of the hostages, and so he grudgingly sanctioned Chávez’s participation. To keep a Colombian presence in the process, Uribe gave Piedad Córdoba a green light to make contact with FARC commanders and begin negotiations for a humanitarian exchange.

  Córdoba had high political aspirations and knew it would be great for her career to be the one to finally put an end to the hostage situation. But she had a very personal reason to want the hostages released, as well. In 1999, she had been taken hostage by the AUC paramilitary group. Córdoba says that after she exposed several military commanders for being involved in many human rights violations, “military and paramilitary forces agreed to act against me. The order was to kidnap and kill me.” The public outcry to release the well-loved senator was tremendous. Horacio Serpa, a former minister of the interior, who had been involved in many peace negotiations, asked the AUC leader, Carlos Castaño, to take him captive in her place. Two other Colombian congresspeople met with Castaño to push for Córdoba’s release, “but the paramilitaries told them to forget about me because their purpose was to kill me,” Córdoba says. “That same day Báez [one of the paramilitary commanders] came to talk to me, almost to say good-bye, to tell me that he had asked Castaño for permission to see me because he wanted to meet me before they shot me. We talked for a couple of hours. He tried to convince me to change my ideas, not to attack them anymore, and maybe they would change their decision to kill me. I told him that I was not going to change my views about them or about what was happening in the country.” Finally, due to fierce political pressure, including a demand for her release from U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan, she was released. “Castaño himself told me, ‘I’m going to have to let you go because I can’t stand the pressure from my friends in the Colombian government,’” she says.

  In her new position as hostage negotiator, the first thing Córdoba did was contact Jorge Enrique Botero. She knew that Botero was an expert at navigating FARC pathways, and she needed all the advice the seasoned reporter could give her. From 2004 to 2006, Botero had tried to distance himself from the hostage stories. He had become acquainted with Córdoba when he was covering the trial of President Ernesto Samper. “So when I heard her on the radio, saying she wanted to work on the topic of the hostage exchange, to work with both sides, I called her and told her I was doing a book about guerrillas in jail,” Botero says. “I took her to the Buen Pastor jail twice, and we began to work together.” One of the first trips they took together was to visit Raúl Reyes, the FARC Secretariat member and spokesperson who was based near the border between Colombia and Ecuador. Botero had been to see Reyes numerous times, but this trip was like no other he had ever taken. Usually, Botero traveled under the radar, trying his best to blend in and not arouse suspicion. But Córdoba was an extremely flamboyant woman. She often wore bright African head wraps and boldly patterned tunics or body-hugging blouses over her robust bosom. She was rarely seen without enormous false eyelashes and sparkling eye shadow. In the jungle, she toned down her look with a green turban and matching green velvet running suits, but she was still impossible to miss—especially in remote villages where Córdoba was well known and well loved. “It was like traveling through the jungle with a Hollywood celebrity,” Botero says. But since Córdoba had received Uribe’s blessing to negotiate for the hostages, Botero knew he would get coveted inside information by acting as the senator’s personal press corps. Córdoba and Botero traveled from the jungle, where they met with Raúl Reyes, to Caracas to meet with Hugo Chávez. They even made trips to Washington, D.C., where several U.S. congresspeople were trying to rally support for a humanitarian exchange.

  Botero had passed along Tucker’s message to Raúl Reyes that proofs of life could help lower Trinidad’s sentence, but the proofs were already in the works; Hugo Chávez had requested them to present to French president Nicolas Sarkozy on an upcoming visit, sending FARC commanders into a frenzy to comply. However, the logistics of producing and delivering proofs of life were complicated. As quickly as possible, a plan was devised, and in late October 2007, more than four years after they had last sent messages to the outside world, Ingrid Betancourt, Marc Gonsalves, Keith Stansell, Thomas Howes, and twelve other prisoners found themselves in front of a video camera. Several of them were allowed to write letters as well. Luis Eladio Pérez was not happy when they came to remove his chains and told him to speak in front of the video camera. “I wanted to be with the chains on,” Pérez wrote. “And I told them, ‘Be men. Film me as you have me, like an animal. Don’t be ashamed to show the world your behavior.’” Stansell, Howes, and Gonsalves also demanded that they be filmed in the chains they were forced to wear, but the guerrillas didn’t allow it. Pérez convinced many of the hostages not to speak on camera, which he believed would impede what the guerrillas were trying to do. “It was to pressure the guerrillas, because what were they going to negotiate; what were they going to show the world if all of us refused to give them a proof of life?” wrote Pérez.

  The videos, photos, and letters were put in an envelope and given to a young guerrilla sympathizer, who was instructed to take them to Bogotá. To ensure that the girl would guard the package with her life, the guerrillas told her that it was full of cash. She was told that once she got to Bogotá, she was to make contact with another FARC member, who would travel from Venezuela to meet her and take the package. But the transfer never happened. Colombian agents had picked up the trail of one or possibly both of the women. The women arrived in Bogotá completely unaware that they were being followed. When the two met on a busy street in Bogotá to exchange the package, they were slammed facedown on the pavement and the envelope was confiscated. The Colombian government immediately released the videos to media around the world. What the government did not do—for a change—was verbally condemn the FARC for acts of terrorism. If they wanted proof of the FARC’s atrocities, the videos spoke volumes. The image of Ingrid Betancourt was most shocking. She appeared emaciated, her skin gray and stretched over bone, and her hair hung to her waist. Even more heartbreaking was a long letter to her mother, Yolanda Pulecio. It seemed that after almost six years in captivity, the former senator, who had survived a hunger strike and numerous death threats, was totally and completely shattered.

  Betancourt told her mother that she was in poor physical heath and mentally numb. Her hair was falling out, and she could not eat. She said her life in captivity was not a life at all, but, rather, a dismal waste of time. “Here nothing is one’s own,” she wrote. “Nothing lasts, uncertainty and precariousness are the only constant.” Her sole luxury was a Bible, and her only lifeline to the outside world came in the form of radio messages, sent mostly from her mother and her children. Hearing about her children, she said, was the only thing that made her happy. She asked her mother to give a message to her husband, Juan Carlos Lecompte, who, although he continued working for her liberation, rarely left her messages on the radio. “Tell him to be at peace with himself and with me. That if life gives us the opportunity, we will come out fortified from this test,” she wrote.

  Betancourt’s letter had been leaked by someone in the government and published by the Colombian press. Her mother was outraged. El Tiempo reported that Pulecio was considering legal action against the prosecutor’s office. But the letter created a firestorm, and a new light was shone on the horrors of captivity. Many left-leaning intellectuals who had once been sympa
thetic to the FARC were aghast at the hostages’ treatment. In France, the push to do something for Betancourt intensified as it was rumored she was near death. In front of the Hôtel du Ville (Paris’s town hall), a campaign portrait of Betancourt had been hanging since February 2005, but in December 2007, a six-foot image of Betancourt in captivity replaced the smiling photo, and an electronic device ticked away the days of her captivity.

  In three separate videos, the American hostages seemed to be doing much better than Betancourt, and the images provided some solace for their families. Keith Stansell stood completely still, his arms still muscular, his haircut neat as a marine’s. The camera microphone picked up jungle sounds in the background as Stansell glared icily toward the camera, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, chiseled jaw clenched. In a separate video, Marc Gonsalves looked down at the ground, his hands behind his back, revealing a receding hairline and swatting at a fly on his neck. Of the three Americans, only Thomas Howes spoke to the camera. Pérez says that it was because Howes, who was plagued by health problems, had little hope of making it out of captivity alive. “Hi, Mariana, I’m sending you this video on the twenty-second of October, 2007. I was very proud to hear your voice on the radio a short time ago. I love you very much,” Howes said. “You and the boys. Please send my best to the family. I’ve got a letter for you. And a will, and a last testament that I’m going to give. Hopefully it’ll get passed to you. Again I love you very much, Mariana. To my company, thank you very much for taking care of our families, and I ask that you please continue to do so. Thank you.”