On a tense Saturday afternoon in Bogotá, the political climate of Colombia took a dangerous turn. Miguel Uribe Turbay, a senator from the Centro Democrático party and a declared pre-candidate for the 2026 presidential elections, was seriously wounded in a targeted shooting. The attack, which occurred in a middle-class neighborhood of Fontibón, left Uribe Turbay in critical condition, following two complex neurosurgical operations at Fundación Santa Fe.
The shocking assault sent ripples through the already volatile political atmosphere, where polarization and historic tensions often flare into open confrontation. The immediate arrest of two suspects, including a 14-year-old allegedly hired to carry out the hit, and a reward of 3 billion pesos announced by Defense Minister Pedro Sánchez, show the high-stakes nature of the case. But beyond the criminal investigation, Colombia finds itself once again grappling with the deeper, more systemic issue of political violence.
How did political leaders react to the assassination attempt?
President Gustavo Petro swiftly addressed the nation at an emergency Peace and Security Council meeting. Expressing solidarity with the Uribe Turbay family, he linked the attack to Colombia’s enduring legacy of political killings, referencing his own family’s suffering and a lineage of assassinated leaders like Luis Carlos Galán and Carlos Pizarro.
Petro’s message called for a “politics without violence in a society without violence,” emphasizing unity while hinting at potential flaws within the senator’s own security detail. Yet his appeal was met with fierce backlash. Vicky Dávila, a fellow presidential hopeful and former Semana editor, accused Petro and his online supporters of fostering a climate of hate, directly implicating them in the attack’s motivation. U.S. Senator Marco Rubio echoed this sentiment, blaming the “leftist rhetoric” for escalating political tensions.
Other conservative voices like economist Juan Daniel Oviedo emphasized the rise of hatred in Colombian society, implicitly criticizing Petro’s administration. This pattern of politicized blame underscores a larger narrative: that violence is being weaponized in the run-up to the presidential race.
What is the broader political context surrounding the attack?
The assassination attempt occurred during a critical phase of Colombia’s political transformation. Petro’s progressive government, the first of its kind in nearly 200 years, is navigating a series of ambitious reforms in labor, health, taxation, and the judiciary, while promoting the idea of a Consulta Popular (referendum) to bypass congressional deadlock.
These reform efforts have faced staunch resistance from a conservative-dominated parliament. Just days before the attack, a judge ruled in favor of the government’s right to call a referendum after a chaotic congressional session led by Conservative Senator Efraín Cepeda. The ruling removed a major roadblock to Petro’s legislative agenda, intensifying the political stakes.
This backdrop of legislative upheaval and a looming national vote provides fertile ground for strategic political disruption. As Petro noted, Colombia’s history is riddled with political assassinations used to sabotage change—from the murder of Gaitán in 1948 to the extermination of the Unión Patriótica. The question is whether Uribe Turbay’s shooting will become another pawn in this turbulent narrative.
Is Colombia reliving a cycle of political violence?
Colombia’s political history is deeply intertwined with violence. The term violentología—the academic study of violence—was coined to dissect the root causes of its persistent internal conflict. From the Bogotazo uprising after Jorge Eliécer Gaitán’s assassination in 1948, to the paramilitary era and the ongoing threats against peace deal signatories, violence has long been a tool of political strategy.
Notably, President Petro himself has survived multiple assassination attempts, as has Vice President Francia Márquez. In a cruel irony, at the time of the attack, Miguel Uribe was encouraging citizens to arm themselves. Meanwhile, another candidate, Santiago Botero, called for deadly force against protestors and floated the idea of reinstating the death penalty.
These incendiary declarations contrast starkly with the narrative that blames government rhetoric for rising violence. They point to a deeper, more uncomfortable truth: the use of physical elimination as a means to settle political scores is not new in Colombia, and neither is the manipulation of such events for electoral advantage.
This tactic is not confined to Colombia. In recent years, Latin America has witnessed similar patterns. The 2023 assassination of Ecuadorian candidate Fernando Villavicencio, reportedly orchestrated by organized crime, shifted electoral dynamics and helped catapult Daniel Noboa to the presidency. His widow later accused the state prosecutor of pressuring her to blame ex-president Rafael Correa, a tactic echoed by conservative media.
With Colombia heading toward crucial elections and the government pushing a referendum that could realign power, the stakes are enormous. Who truly benefits from chaos? Who profits from demonizing reformers or paralyzing state efforts? And ultimately, why would a government with high approval ratings and strong grassroots support sabotage its own political momentum by attacking an opponent who poses little electoral threat?
