FILE/Handout
Colombia stands in the shadow of Washington’s looming deadline, once again caught in the glare of a decades-long struggle that has defined its relationship with the United States: the anti-narcotics certification process. By September 15, the White House will decide whether Colombia remains a reliable partner in the war on drugs, a designation that carries billions of dollars in military and development assistance.
On paper, Colombia’s performance is paradoxical. Authorities seized record quantities of cocaine – some 850 tonnes in 2024, nearly double the figure from five years ago. Yet coca cultivation has simultaneously soared to more than 250,000 hectares, the highest since the United Nations began keeping track. To U.S. officials, the numbers tell a troubling story: more cocaine is leaving Colombia than ever before.
The certification process, a relic of the drug wars of the 1980s, has always been as much about politics as statistics. This year it unfolds against a backdrop of deteriorating security inside Colombia and a souring relationship between Bogotá and Washington. President Gustavo Petro, a leftist who has sought to reframe the drug debate around social inequality and rural poverty, is openly skeptical of militarized U.S. strategies. President Donald Trump, by contrast, has hardened his stance, pressing Latin American governments to stem the flow of narcotics northward and bristling at Petro’s criticism of U.S. military deployments near the Venezuelan coast.
Tensions nearly boiled over earlier this year, when Colombia resisted accepting U.S. deportation flights. The standoff escalated into a rally of messages on social media, and rupture that underscored the fragility of a partnership long considered one of Washington’s strongest in the hemisphere.
Into this climate of mistrust stepped Colombia’s Defense Minister, Pedro Sánchez, who in recent weeks has sought to defend the country’s record. Touring Putumayo, one of the most conflict-ridden departments along the border with Ecuador, Sánchez staged a symbolic act: shovel in hand, he joined local farmers in uprooting coca bushes. Surrounded by soldiers, helicopters, and heavily armed units, he delivered a stark warning. “To decertify Colombia is to reward the criminals and the narcos,” he told reporters. He then added: “If the United States withdraws certification, the traffickers win and the nations lose. Certification is a symbol of cooperation, of alliance, of trust – but also of the capabilities we need to act with greater force.”
Sánchez’s message reflects Colombia’s dual reality. It is, by his own account, perhaps the country that “pays the highest price” in the drug war, with soldiers and police killed in eradication efforts that pit them against both cartels and guerrilla factions. Just last week, two soldiers were badly burned when a member of the FARC dissidents tried to set them alight during an anti-narcotics operation. For Sánchez, such sacrifices demand recognition, not censure, from Washington.
Petro, however, tells a different story. Since taking office in 2022, he has argued that the traditional war on drugs has failed, perpetuating cycles of violence without addressing why poor farmers turn to coca cultivation in the first place. His government has promoted rural development programs meant to provide alternatives to illicit crops. To Washington, though, Colombia’s failure to meet eradication targets looks like retreat.
Amid this uncertainty, two local leaders – Medellín’s Mayor Federico Gutiérrez and Cali Mayor Alejandro Éder – are in Washington to meet with members of Congress about certification and bilateral relations. Their trip drew an immediate rebuke from Petro, who accused them of overstepping constitutional bounds. “These mayors are not authorized to represent Colombia. The Constitution is clear,” he posted on X.
The Colombian Embassy in Washington echoed the criticism, lamenting that local officials were “politicizing a matter of fundamental importance” for partisan gain. But the mayors, both vocal critics of Petro, were undeterred. Gutiérrez defended the mission as an act of local responsibility. “I travel to Washington as mayor of Medellín,” he wrote. “I will not speak for the national government, but for our city, our people, our economy, and our security.” Éder, for his part, framed the trip in broader terms: “Regardless of certification, we must strengthen the bilateral relationship,” he told a Colombian radio station.
The last time Colombia was decertified, in 1996, the decision reverberated for years. President Ernesto Samper’s government, accused of receiving Cali Cartel money, lost Washington’s trust; Samper himself had his U.S. visa revoked. That episode weakened Colombia at a time of rampant cartel violence and left scars on bilateral relations that took decades to heal.
A similar rupture today would come amid mounting insecurity. Illegal armed groups have regained strength, rural communities are under siege, and the assassination of opposition senator Miguel Uribe in a recent attack has shaken the political establishment. For Colombia, the question of certification is not merely symbolic—it could shape the country’s ability to contain its gravest security crisis in a decade.
As September 15 approaches, Colombia waits for Washington’s verdict. To some, like Minister Sánchez, decertification would mark a victory for criminal mafias. To others, like Petro, the process itself reflects an outdated strategy that ignores the human costs of an endless war. Either way, the decision will test not only the resilience of a bilateral relationship, but also the credibility of a security partnership that hangs in the balance.
