Could a new film hold the key to end­ing Colombia’s 50-year war?

How do you con­struct peace? This is the cen­tral ques­tion of Natalia Orozco’s time­ly doc­u­men­tary When the Guns Go Silent, which opened the 2017 Carta­ge­na Inter­na­tion­al Film Fes­ti­val. It offers an inti­mate look at the peace talks held between the Colom­bian gov­ern­ment and the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Armed Forces of Colom­bia (the Farc) – mak­ing a loud state­ment amid the country’s volatile polit­i­cal climate.

The film opens with the elec­tion of Pres­i­dent Juan Manuel San­tos in 2010. Hav­ing served as defence min­is­ter under his pre­de­ces­sor, Álvaro Uribe, San­tos presided over the government’s hard­line mil­i­tary approach that great­ly weak­ened the Farc and resus­ci­tat­ed an almost law­less nation. At a time when any armistice seemed impos­si­ble, San­tos extend­ed a diplo­mat­ic olive branch dur­ing his inau­gu­ra­tion speech, which broke enough ground to begin secret talks.

Once the news broke, Oroz­co realised that it was her last oppor­tu­ni­ty to tell this sto­ry and lob­bied for unprece­dent­ed access to both sides. Over the next four years, she cap­tured the peace talks, which always seemed ready to crum­ble under the weight of sus­pi­cion and skep­ti­cism. But where­as such talks typ­i­cal­ly lay flat as head­lines, here this excep­tion­al moment unfolds with the momen­tum of a polit­i­cal thriller.

The film, like the war, is not con­tained to one set­ting. It was most­ly filmed in Havana, Cuba, where the nego­tia­tors could escape the charged atmos­phere in Colom­bia. Yet dis­trust and uncer­tain­ty fol­lowed them there. Oroz­co returns to Colom­bia through­out her film, unrav­el­ling the war’s long his­to­ry through archived clips and vis­its to Farc ter­ri­to­ry with­in the dense jun­gles of Colombia’s inte­ri­or. Labelled ter­ror­ists dur­ing the Uribe gov­ern­ment, the Farc have become increas­ing­ly iso­lat­ed, seen only through the media’s fix­a­tion on their vio­lence over that of the gov­ern­ment and its para­mil­i­taries as well as small­er gueril­la groups.

In one unin­ten­tion­al­ly meta moment, the Farc are shown grap­pling with new media tech­nolo­gies, high­light­ing the urgent need for a dig­i­tal strat­e­gy through which to com­mu­ni­cate with a wider audi­ence. As empa­thy and under­stand­ing has hard­ened over the years, Orozco’s por­tray­al of Farc lead­ers and com­bat­ants pro­vides a sig­nif­i­cant oppor­tu­ni­ty for Colom­bians to see the Farc with­out arms, a key step to encour­age their rein­te­gra­tion. This is almost amus­ing­ly accom­plished in the unlike­ly glimpse of one Farc com­man­der and his moth­er watch­ing tele­vi­sion, ami­ably dis­agree­ing over pol­i­tics. Oroz­co man­ages to human­ise the Farc with­out sen­sa­tion­al­is­ing or roman­ti­cis­ing their cause.

Oroz­co traces the war’s unspar­ing vio­lence but cru­cial­ly adopts a neu­tral stance. Her restrained but rumi­na­tive nar­ra­tion con­veys the conflict’s enor­mous toll with­out blame or judg­ment. At the out­set, Oroz­co ques­tions whether cor­rup­tion is the moth­er of all war, or if it is, in fact, indif­fer­ence. Does respon­si­bil­i­ty lie sole­ly with those on screen? ​“The peo­ple” fig­ure promi­nent­ly in the film – as vic­tims and as com­bat­ants, all fight­ing each oth­er. Both sides claim to be speak­ing for the peo­ple, and though Oroz­co makes sure to include some of the engage­ment with vic­tims groups dur­ing the nego­ti­a­tions, their voice remains indistinct.

Despite the his­toric progress made, the film ends on a som­bre note – it was com­plet­ed short­ly after the Octo­ber 2016 ref­er­en­dum, in which the Colom­bian peo­ple nar­row­ly vot­ed no to the signed peace accords, send­ing the Farc and the gov­ern­ment back to the table. At such a crit­i­cal junc­ture, Orozco’s doc­u­men­tary offers a chance for Colom­bians to recon­sid­er the costs of war and peace, and to look past the desire for ret­ri­bu­tion and pun­ish­ment. The hor­rors of the past lay most­ly unplumbed in the film; they’ve been cov­ered else­where, and will con­tin­ue to be. But peace is ulti­mate­ly about the future.

San­tos’ and Farc com­man­der Pas­tor Alape’s atten­dance at this fes­ti­val screen­ing under­lines both their com­mit­ment to main­tain­ing an open dia­logue, and to engen­der­ing a cul­ture of peace as endorsed by the film. As fear gives way to pes­simism, Orozco’s painstak­ing efforts add to the rich vein of Colom­bian cin­e­ma that engages hard truths and, quite pos­si­bly, shows the way forward.