The last families of Voces del Secuestro

For the past 24 years, in the wee hours of every Sunday morning, the radio program Voces del Secuestro could be heard across Colombia, reaching its deepest jungles and its most remote mountain ranges. Families of the country’s kidnapped, who once numbered in the tens of thousands, would call into the show to broadcast messages to their missing loved ones. The host, Herbin Hoyos, was inspired to start the show after his own kidnapping, when a fellow captive asked him why, as a journalist, he never covered the kidnapped. Hoyos has become a polemic figure, rallying his supporters against the recent peace deal with the FARC rebels.

About a year ago, when I was still freelance, photographer Juan Cristobal Cobo and I began work on a story about the last families still calling into the show. About 20,000 of the people whose relatives called were eventually freed – ransomed or rescued. Others have been confirmed dead, but another 3,000 remain missing. Many survivors have said the show comforted them in their worst moments – knowing their family was thinking of them, fighting for them. Some kidnappers, like the FARC, encouraged captives to listen to the show – it helped keep them calm and prevented reckless escape attempts.

Juan and I wanted to talk to those who still believe they may be reaching a living loved one. Many families have given up over the years, telling the college-aged interns who staff the show that it hurts too much to keep believing. But about two dozen relatives were still regular callers until the show abruptly ended this past weekend.

We sat with two of those families during our reporting – the first were high school sweethearts Rafael and Myriam Mora, who sit next to each other in their spotless Bogota apartment when they call.

The Moras’ son Juan Camilo disappeared in January 2006, when he was 27, leaving behind a wife and young daughter. People are uncomfortable when they try to talk about him, but the show has been a kind of therapy, something they can do every week without fail. They both keep notebooks of the messages they’ve read on the show, so Juan Camilo can read them all if he ever comes home.

“I heard a song today that made me think of New Years 2005, when you danced with your daughter,” Myriam says into the phone. “Don't lose faith. I’ll pass you to Dad.”

“I miss you so much son, I wish you were here,” Rafael says, crying, before thanking the show’s staff for sacrificing a long weekend to broadcast.

Myriam told us calling was an act of love – that they have never considered stopping. The Moras - a university professor and an insurance worker - think their case has gotten some attention because they’re from a certain social class. “What about the people who turn up at rallies with just one ripped photo?” she asked.

We also spent an evening with Leonor Carreño, who calls with messages for her younger brother Jorge, a one-time security official. She always make an herbal tea from scratch before the show comes on – basil, chamomile, mint – boiled on the stove of her narrow brick house on the northern fringe of Bogota, the walls lined with family photos. She is certain Jorge is alive.

“Soon we’ll be together as a family again,” she says into her giant cordless. “Sending a message is a relief, finally I can sleep.”

Both the Moras and Leonor were in the studio on Sunday morning for the show’s last broadcast. They were on one after the other, all lamenting the loss of the platform the program has given to families like them. There is comfort in knowing the last families were together for the end – in the studio instead of in their homes, chilled by the coming dawn.

For a program focused on giving a voice to the voiceless, Voces del Secuestro was never afraid of silence. The show aired from midnight to 4 a.m. and it was not uncommon for callers to fall asleep while on hold. There were often pauses as family members composed themselves - sighs, sniffles, coughs, a bit of gentle static crackling. Quiet grief, carried for too long.

We were never able to find a firm buyer for this story, which tells you a lot about how uninterested most media outlets are in covering the disappeared. Rafael, Myriam and Leonor let us in in the hope it would keep the stories of their loved ones alive. Let’s do that for them.