During the weekends rebels buy the cocaine produced locally, the test and weight the products and pay in cash according to the quality. Feb 19, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
Nickenson Jean Vyles, 9, at his aunt’s house in Port-au-Prince. A large number of Haitians who have lived abroad for years have been deported to a country in crisis that they barely recognize. Mr. Vyles, his son Nickenson, and about 300 other Haitians who landed on Sunday, September 20, were the first of about 14,000 migrants the country’s authorities hope to deport in the next three weeks. Living in Panama, she took her nine-year-old son, who was in fourth grade, out of school and began what was to be a three-month journey. They crossed several countries, crossed rivers and spent time in a Mexican prison and then in a dusty ditch near the Del Rio International Bridge. After four days of detention in the U.S., he was told by an officer who spoke Spanish that they would be sent to a less crowded place and then released. The next thing he knew, they were put on a plane to Haiti. A country Nickenson does not know.
Colombian President Gustavo Petro meets with Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro at the Miraflores palace in an effort to restore relations between the two countries.
Two crises converge on the dangerous land bridge known as the Darien Gap: the economic and humanitarian disaster unfolding in South America and the bitter fight over immigration policy in the United States. The United Nations says there are currently at least 103 million forcibly displaced people around the world, a record number that is only expected to rise. By 2022, at least 250,000 people will cross the Darien, mostly Venezuelans, nearly double last year and nearly 20 times the annual average between 2010 and 2020. At least 33,000 of the people who made the crossing in 2022 are minors. Some parts were so inaccessible that when engineers built the Pan-American Highway in the 1930s, connecting Alaska to Argentina, only one major stretch remained unfinished: a 66-mile roadless stretch called the Darien Gap. Migrants made their way through the jungle with their belongings stuffed in plastic bags, their babies in their arms, and their children holding hands. It is unclear how many made it and how many did not.
Luis Miguel Arias, 28, takes an exhausted break with his daughter Melisa, 4, while climbing a hill in the Darien Gap between Colombia and Panama. Luis Miguel crossed the Gap with his two children, his wife, and a friend. After more than six months on the road, he arrived in the United States.
Thousands of migrants during their jungle journey to cross the Darien Gap between Colombia and Panama.
A group of migrants stop on a hill on the second day of the Darien Gap trek to view the route ahead.
During several days of hiking, Gabriel Infante, center, wearing red shorts, held the hand of 6-year-old Francheska López. Although she was not his daughter, he helped her during the hike and sang children’s songs to keep her entertained during the long walks through Darien Gap.
Yhoana Sierra screams after falling into a mountain of mud. The next day, Yohana was bleeding and said she thought she had lost her baby.
Yordy José Chino sat on a rock by a river while kissing his nephew Matias Smith Sanchez, the just one-month-old baby, as he crossed the Darien Gap trying to reach the United States.
A father carries his son on his shoulders as he climbs a steep hill in the rain and covers him with a plastic tarp to protect him from the water.
Eva Alexandra and her daughter Brexymar trying to cross a muddy field in the jungle.
A group of people share the last sip of water from a muddy bottle as they climb up the Banderas slope to Darien Gap.
A Haitian boy is walking alone in the middle of the jungle. The group he was crossing the jungle with has advanced at a faster pace and now he must catch up with them.
Angel carries Sarah as they traverse some muddy logs on the mountain of death. Sarah was separated from her mother Alexandra for three days and is helped by Angel to reach the camp, where mother and daughter are reunited after several days of anguish.
Joseph Sulbarán, 28, from Los Teques, Venezuela. Traveling with his brother Wilson Aguilar, 24, at the top of Death Hill to the Darien Gap.
Romina, a woman from Ecuador, lies down to rest exhausted during the Darien Gap crossing.
Jheymmi Jhennifer Bastidas Tapia tending to the wounds on 15-year-old Hamleisy Ortega’s feet after days of walking in mud and water to cross the Darien River.
Hamlet Ortega begins to cry on the banks of the Tacartí River after running out of food and water after walking for several days through the jungle with his three daughters, Adriannys, 8, Hamleisy, 13, and Hamleisy, 15, trying to cross the Darién Gap between Colombia and Panama.
A human chain of migrants crossing the Tacartí River at the Darién Gap, helping each other to avoid drowning in the fast-moving waters after several days of trekking through the jungle between Colombia and Panama.
Eight-year-old Sebastián Colmenares cries as he listens to a speech by an indigenous leader in the community of El Abuelo, the first indigenous village the migrants encounter after crossing the Darién Gap between Colombia and Panama. Behind him, his 10-year-old brother, Juan Colmenares, and his mother, Enlgymar Galinde, also cry with mixed feelings after leaving the jungle.
Hundreds of migrants in the community of Canan Membrillo, just outside the Darien Gap, lining up for the boats that would take them to Puerto Limon, Panama.
Zaid Rojas, 4, and his mother, Yusneidy Rangel, 23, gathered, driven in trucks by Senafront to the migrant reception point in San Vicente, Panama.
A woman rests in the Panamanian government-run San Vicente migrant camp in Meteti, Panama,
Jonnyret Rondón, Renny Joel Velia, Brandon José Hernández and Jeanmir Sair Tremaria at the Lajas Blancas migrant reception camp in Metetí, Panama, after crossing the Darién Gap.
People carrying their phones at the San Vicente migrant reception camp in Meteti, Panama, after crossing the Darien Pass.
Armed gangs have taken greater control of the streets, terrorizing poor neighborhoods and causing thousands of people to flee, even kidnapping school children and church pastors in the middle of their services. Poverty and hunger are increasing, and many accuse members of the government of enriching themselves while failing to provide even the most basic services to the population. Crime, kidnapping, gangs, security: these words spewed from Haitians across the capital as dignitaries paid their respects to the president who died on Tuesday and his successors took over. Even as rival politicians made claims and counter-claims to replace Moïse, residents continued to protest in the streets, often because they were certain that their new leaders, whoever they were, would not care about them. In the months before his assassination, President Jovenel Moïse adopted a series of measures to combat drug and arms dealers. Some authorities believe that he was assassinated for this reason. The assassination left a political vacuum that exacerbated the turmoil and violence that has plagued Haiti for months, threatening to plunge one of the world’s most troubled nations further into anarchy. Haiti may now be a major drug route to the United States, but no one knows for sure why the country has become so difficult to police. US security forces.
A woman shouts at a public demonstration by supporters of President Moise after his assassination. Demonstrators lined the streets of Turd du Nord, the hometown of assassinated President Moise.
Riots and blockades in the streets of Cape Haitian the day before the funeral of the assassinated president Jovenel Moïse. The whole country is under enormous tension and there are outbreaks of violence and anger in different places.
A demonstrator with his face covered by a T-shirt during the disturbances in Cap-Haïtien.
A policeman draws a gun while his partner searches for suspicious elements inside a car. After the assassination of President Moise, there have been several raids on the streets of the country in search of the assassins.
Haitian police search for a man’s body in the street. The police fired when the motorcyclist tried to make evasive maneuvers and thought he might be one of the suspects in the assassination of the president. The nights in Petionvile are tense, the streets are empty and the population lives in fear after the assassination of President Jovenel Moise in his residence.
Martine Moïse, Jovenel Moise’s widow, and her son Jovenel Moïse Jr. beside the president’s coffin during the funeral in the city of Cape Haitian.
View of Port-au-Prince during the power cuts in the days following the assassination of President Jovenel Moise.
Protests in Peru: 50 dead and a challenge to democracy A little over a month after the ousting of the president, the persistent demonstrations and rising death toll are exacerbating the widespread disillusionment with the political system. Roads blocked with huge stones and broken glass. Entire cities closed because of mass protests. Fifty families mourning their dead. Calls for the installation of a new president, a new constitution, a completely new system of government. Promises to take the fight to Lima, the capital. The authorities warn that the country is heading toward anarchy. A protest hymn is shouted in the streets: “This democracy is no longer democracy. Since Castillo was removed from office, at least 50 people have been killed, 49 of them civilians. Some have been shot in the chest, back and head, which has led human rights groups to accuse the army and police of excessive use of force and indiscriminate shooting at protesters. In Juliaca, dozens of people were injured last week during clashes with police, and the city’s public hospital is full of people recovering from their injuries. Inside, at the foot of many beds, there are small cardboard boxes collecting money to help with medical expenses.
The road to Juliaca, where 19 people were killed by police bullets during a day of protests against the government of Dina Boluarte.
Demonstrators gather in the streets of Juliaca to protest the killing of civilians. Prosecutors have said they will investigate the civilian deaths, but it is unclear what results might be achieved.
Mourners gathered around Brayan’s coffin. A clash between protesters and police on January 9 marked the deadliest day since the ousting of President Pedro Castillo.
Asunta Jumpiri beside the coffin of her son, Brayan Apasa, 15, who was shot in the head during the protests.
The streets of Juliaca are blocked by protests, mobility has been affected, and with it the markets and livelihoods of some of the inhabitants of this city in southern Peru. The protests against the government and in solidarity with the murdered civilians continue.
The protests have rocked Colombia for months, with thousands of people taking to the streets in major cities, demonstrators blocking major highways, and police responding, on several occasions, with lethal force. As of June 6, at least 46 people had been killed, according to Colombia’s Ombudsman’s Office, a government agency that tracks allegations of human rights violations. However, Human Rights Watch and other organizations say the number of victims is probably higher. Hundreds of people were reported missing amid the protests, and the national prosecutor’s office said on May 24 that authorities were searching for 129 of them. Students, teachers, health professionals, farmers, indigenous communities and many others joined together in the streets. Colombia is one of the most unequal countries in the world. A 2018 report by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development said that it would take 11 generations for a poor Colombian to approach the average income of their society, the highest figure among 30 countries analyzed. The Colombian police were a force created for war, and now they have found a new one – on the streets of Colombia’s cities, where police are accused of treating civilian protesters as enemies on the battlefield.
Police and hundreds of protesters clash in the main square of Bogota, Colombia, in a demonstration against proposed tax reform.
A riot trooper surrounded by a red smoke grenade in front of the congress building. Police and protesters clashed in Bogotá, Colombia, at a demonstration over a proposed tax reform proposal. Demonstrations over a pandemic linked tax reform proposal have turned into a nationwide protest against rising poverty, unemployment, and inequality.
A police officer fires tear gas in Bogota during protests that left at least 24 dead and 87 missing.
A person injured by ESMAD lies on the ground while volunteers provide first aid to the wounded. The country’s national police, one of the few in the Americas under the command of the Ministry of Defense, responded with force. This exacerbated the anger. At least 46 people have been killed as of June 6, according to Colombia’s Ombudsman’s Office, a government agency that tracks allegations of human rights violations. But Human Rights Watch and other organizations say the death toll is likely to be higher.
Anti-government demonstrators take shelter behind makeshift shields in the streets of Bogotá. Demonstrations have filled the streets of major cities for more than a month and at least 46 people have been killed. President Iván Duque announced that he would push for police reform.
A Colômbia assinou um acordo de paz histórico há mais de sete anos. Mas o vácuo de poder está alimentando o surgimento de novos grupos armados que disputam o controle do comércio de drogas. Em 2016, milhares de combatentes das FARC depuseram suas armas. Mas, em muitos lugares, o governo nunca chegou. Em vez disso, em muitas áreas rurais da Colômbia, os assassinatos, o deslocamento e a violência voltaram e, em algumas regiões, a situação agora é tão ruim ou pior do que antes do acordo. Massacres e assassinatos de defensores de direitos humanos aumentaram desde 2016, de acordo com as Nações Unidas, e o deslocamento continua chocantemente alto, com 147.000 pessoas forçadas a fugir de suas casas somente no ano passado, de acordo com dados do governo. Isso não se deve ao fato de as FARC, como uma força de combate organizada, terem retornado. Em vez disso, o vácuo territorial deixado pela antiga insurgência e a ausência de muitas reformas prometidas pelo governo desencadearam um pântano criminoso à medida que novos grupos se formam e os antigos sofrem mutações em uma batalha pelo controle das crescentes economias ilícitas. Embora muitos colombianos chamem esses novos grupos de “dissidentes”, uma referência aos combatentes das FARC que rejeitaram o acordo de paz, sua composição é mais complexa. Em alguns deles, ex-inimigos – rebeldes, soldados e paramilitares -, bem como novos recrutas e membros do crime organizado, uniram-se em torno da atração por um salário.
Colombia signed a historic peace agreement more than seven years ago. But the power vacuum is fueling the rise of new armed groups vying for control of the drug trade. In 2016, thousands of FARC fighters laid down their arms. But in many places, the government never came. Instead, in many rural areas of Colombia, killings, displacement, and violence have returned, and in some regions, the situation is now as bad or worse than before the agreement. Massacres and killings of human rights defenders have increased since 2016, according to the United Nations, and displacement remains shockingly high, with 147,000 people forced to flee their homes last year alone, according to government data. This is not because the FARC, as an organized fighting force, has returned. Instead, the territorial vacuum left by the former insurgency and the absence of many promised government reforms have unleashed a criminal quagmire as new groups form and old ones mutate in a battle for control of growing illicit economies. Although many Colombians call these new groups “dissidents,” a reference to FARC fighters who rejected the peace agreement, their composition is more complex. In some of them, former enemies – rebels, soldiers, and paramilitaries – as well as new recruits and members of organized crime have united around the lure of a paycheck.
Rebels from Comandos de la Frontera disembarking in a small town in Putumayo. Feb 6, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
Pamela´s husband kis her, both are members of Comandos de la Frontera in Putumayo. Feb 6, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
A rebel sitter by a tree while getting serum at a clandestine rebel camp. Feb 19, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
A rebel carrying two big bottles of Coca Cola inside a clandestine camp. Feb 18, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
A rebel showing a landmine in a rebel camp. Feb 19, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
A rebel takes a bath in the Putumayo river. Feb 18, 2021. Federico Rios Escobar for The New York Times.
