I Much Prefer FARK myself

From the January issue of Harper's magazine:

From the diaries of Tanja Nijmeijer, a twenty-nine-year-old Dutch woman who joined the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) in 2002 while on a trip. The diaries were found last summer when the Colombian army raided the guerrilla camp where Nijmeijer was stationed. Translated from the Dutch by Geoffrey Garrison and Wies Ubags.

JULY 21,2006
Two comrades in our unit have AIDS—perhaps even more. Nobody here uses condoms. The infected girl doesn't understand what it means. She told me the news with a big smile. Her boyfriend doesn't seem to care either. Everyone fucks so much here that the whole unit will probably go to hell. Fortunately, my little Indian is healthy, because he was still a virgin—twenty-five years old! He was ashamed and never told me, but I suspected it from the start. Of course, I've turned him into a god of sex. I only hope he didn't get the taste for it and doesn't now get laid by other women.

NOVEMBER 22, 2006
I'm really disappointed in my comrade Karel. He's caught an STD from his girlfriend, who everyone knows fucks everyone. That fucking bitch is from the other side, I'm 99 percent certain. She's probably been sent to destabilize the leadership of this unit. I'm not the only one who thinks so.

NOVEMBER 24,2006
I'm tired. Tired of the FARC, tired of the people, tired of living together, tired of never having anything for myself. It's worth it if you know you are fighting for something, but I don't actually believe in the cause anymore. What kind of organization is this when some have money, cigarettes, and candy, and the rest have to beg—only to be snubbed? It has been like this ever since I came here, and nothing ever changes. A girl with big tits and a pretty little nose can tear apart a leadership that has been working together for years! We have to work all day long while the commanders talk bullshit! I'm sick of being babbled to about being a Communist, being honest, being economical, being obedient, while watching how hypocritical the commanders are. They are merciless when someone criticizes them. And then there's my case: I'm training with Karel, supposedly for a city mission, but I know I'll never get out of this jungle. I want out of here, or at least out of this unit. But I'm stuck, like some sort of prisoner. I want to be in a combat unit. Instead, I have to keep watching, exercising, talking, and listening to others making a fuss. What's more, I feel useless. There's no way out anymore.

APRIL 13, 2007
Here, wives of commanders know everything and can give orders. They are allowed to have children. They even have beautiful clothes and shampoo. It doesn't seem fair. What will it be like when FARC has power? The commanders' women will have silicone tits, drive Ferraris, and eat caviar. Right now a commander's wife has underwear with lace still left, and, if you are lucky, you can get it if she doesn't throw it away first. I wonder if deep down they are ashamed. I should be glad that I'm not like that, that I don't care about nice things or power. But it hurts to see these things. I'm sad.

APRIL 15, 2007
I met such a nice boy—very innocent, unworldly, and kind to me. We were together for three days, but he was sent away to fight, and I'm alone again. I need a lover so I don't feel so alone and useless. All I do is keep watch, make beds, chop wood, and cook. And I sense more and more aversion to me. These people are envious and underhanded. They say it's from their “Indian blood”—they're proud of it. They make ambiguous comments, play tricks, stalk people—it's really fucked up.

JUNE 9, 2007
I'm bored and hungry. The enemy is nowhere to be seen, so for the umpteenth time we have to study FARC documents and repeat what has been explained thirty times. Things like: Why you have to be disciplined, or, Why you must not fall asleep when you're on guard. Aahh! The only thing I can do is remember that these things are a consequence of my choice to be here. I knew from the start this would not be a challenge intellectually.

JUNE 14, 2007, MORNING
Sometimes I dream about my mom and I wake up crying. Always the same question: Would I have been happy if I had stayed with my family in Holland? I don't think so. This jungle is my home. The FARC is my life, my family.

JUNE 14, 2007, EVENING
Today I was allowed to accompany a commander as a “guard.” The commanders go somewhere and make silly jokes, smoke, and buy us chips and soda, for which we're supposed to be grateful. I thought about my comrades here, the ones who carry food on their shoulders all day long and never even get a bag of chips from the commanders. Sometimes I don't feel like obeying orders-orders from sexist men who will punish me if I don't do as they say. I would like to return to Dutch society for a while—no sexists, no people assuming they know everything better than I do. What peace.