Miguel Uribe’s wife, María Claudia Tarazona, holds 5-year-old Alejandro as he waves to the Presidential Guard at the end of the funeral mass. Photo: Richard Emblin

Bogotá’s skies wept on Wednesday morning as the casket of Miguel Uribe Turbay left the National Capitol, crossing Plaza de Bolívar toward the Catedral Primada. Thousands watched in silence — in the square, on balconies, and before giant screens broadcasting the funeral mass. Then, a simple wooden coffin, draped with the national colors, began moving slowly toward the Cathedral at the rythmn of the Presidential Guard.

As the light rain began to disipate, the 39-year-old presidential candidate and Senator was receiving a state funeral few in recent Colombian history have witnessed. A state funeral befitting of man, who in the hearts of many, was not only deserving of the presidential sash, but someone who woud have restored security to the country with the presidential oath.

The casket of Senator Miguel Uribe crosses Bogotá’s Plaza de Bolívar. Photo: Richard Emblin

Inside, the Bogotá Philharmonic Choir filled the air with Vivaldi’s Gloria, its solemn harmonies marking the entrance of the man who, just two months earlier, was gaining momentum to the become the presidential frontrunner in the 2026 general elections.

But Miguel’s dream of leading his fellow citizens toward a more secure and prosperous future ended tragically on June 7, when he was shot, three times, at close range, by a teenage gunman.

At the front of the Catedral Primada was María Claudia Tarazona, his widow, carrying five-year-old Alejandro – with the same mischievous hair and boyish smile as his father. The youngster moved carefully from his mother’s arms to those of his aunt, María Carolina Hoyos, before stepping toward his father’s casket. Smiling, he placed a white rose on the polished wood coffin. When it slipped, he picked it up and placed it again.

Outside, white balloons floated above Bogotá’s most famous square, a fragile contrast to the grief and innocence inside.

“Miguel was a passionate man,” María Claudia remarked from the front of the Cathedral, her voice breaking only twice. “The love he gave me will last for the rest of my life.” Her daughters, who had accepted Miguel as a second father, stood behind her, crying silently. “There must be no space for vengeance,” she added, even as her children – like Alejandro – became the newest sons and daughters of Colombia’s violence. Then her composure gave way: “Love of my life… thank you for your smile that lit up my soul… I will love you every day until I meet you again in heaven. I will keep my promise to give Alejandro and the girls a life full of happiness. My beautiful love, thank you for your sacrifice for Colombia. I will love you for the rest of my life.”

The service reached one of its most searing moments when Miguel Uribe Londoño, father of the slain senator, recalled the country’s cruel symmetry. “Thirty-four years ago, war took my wife, Diana Turbay. In this same church, I carried Miguel in one arm and Diana’s coffin in the other. Today, 34 years later, this absurd violence takes from me that same boy, now a good man, a loving father, and a brave leader. Today we had to tell my grandson Alejandro that his father has been killed.”

His words turned from grief to defiance: “We have no doubt where the violence comes from, no doubt who promotes it, no doubt who allows it. We must stand up and say: no more, no more, no more. Our historic responsibility as Colombians is to unite, despite the horror, to defeat the darkness that seeks to bring us to our knees. They silenced Miguel, but they cannot silence the millions of Colombians crying out for change.”

As the funeral ended, the casket was carried out through the Cathedral’s main doors into the gray light of the square. Then, over the hush, the first notes of El Guerrero rang out – a heart-wrenching ballad performed by Colombian composer Yuri Buenaventura in Uribe Turbay’s honor.

“The warrior raised his hand toward infinity,” the song began, its lyrics rising above a  crowd of dignities, including three ex-presidents. “These tears are the laughter of the tomorrow that awaits me. The warrior, riding among the clouds, has taught me that earthly prisms are nothing compared to my people, who from their very soul will be free.”

From there, the cortege made its slow journey to Bogotá’s Cementerio Central – the city’s oldest resting place – followed by an ebb and flow of mourners carrying white roses, the tricolor flag, and heavy weight of a nation that, once again, has to bury the promise of its future.

A family torn apart, a nation in grief. The Uribe Turbay legacy has been marked by political violence. Photo: Richard Emblin