Ultra-right candidate Abelardo de la Espriella won 10.3 million votes in the first round of presidential elections in Colombia. But Julia Zulver and Priscyll Anctil Avoine warn that an 'iron fist' security approach carries significant risks for Colombian democracy
In the night of 31 May, Colombian presidential candidate Abelardo de la Espriella made an impassioned speech. From behind bulletproof glass, he pounded his chest and vowed We are going to punish Colombia’s enemies. Abelardo had just won nearly 44% of the vote in the first round of the presidential elections, and on 21 June will now face a run-off in the second round against left-wing Iván Cepeda.
Sporting an Abelardo Presidente baseball cap and Colombian soccer jersey, the presidential hopeful bore an uncanny resemblance to another Latin American leader: Nayib Bukele of El Salvador. Bukele, elected in 2019, is a man for whom Abelardo has publicly professed admiration.
The two share more than a physical resemblance. Abelardo has modelled his political career on Bukele’s mano dura (iron fist) politics that he claims have made El Salvador 'the safest country in Latin America'. He promises to crack down on criminality, build mega-prisons in the jungle, and abandon peace negotiations with paramilitary groups.
But what risks come with this iron-fist approach?
Colombia will soon celebrate the tenth anniversary of its 2016 peace agreement with the Revolutionary Armed Force of Colombia–People’s Army (FARC-EP). Since the agreement, however, neoparamilitary groups have proliferated. Some guerrilla groups either never disarmed or have rearmed, and coca crops have increased. Frighteningly, 1,956 social leaders and 480 ex-FARC-EP militants have been assassinated. War has resumed in Catatumbo, Cauca, the Caribbean coast, and Valle del Cauca.
Armed groups have consolidated rapid territorial gains, made their ways of working more complex and developed weapon technologies at pace. In this volatile context, Abelardo has promoted a discourse of militarised masculinity that advocates for a return to 'total confrontation'. He has pledged to track down criminals, to emulate Bukele in building mega-prisons, and to abolish peace negotiations.
Colombians are disillusioned with widespread insecurity, leaving some hungry for radical change
Abelardo's electoral victory came as a surprise to some. But this is not the first time that Colombia has turned to iron-fist politics. The politics of fear was also key to Álvaro Uribe Vélez’s democratic security in the early 2000s.
However, votes for 'The Tiger' – as he styles himself – far outstripped those for Paloma Valencia, leader of the country’s right-wing Centro Democrático. Colombians are disillusioned with the total peace strategy and menaced by widespread insecurity. Capitalising on this, Abelardo's Trump-inspired anti-establishment discourse and aggressive plans for the country’s criminals resonated with ordinary voters.
Abelardo has distanced himself from the right-wing political elite. Instead, he claims to represent the nunca (never) – 'those who have never lived off the breast (la teta) of the state, those who have never played clientelism (politiquería)'.
He promises patriarchy, patria, and protection through his Tiger's roar.
Over in El Salvador, Bukele's iron-fist policies continue to draw support. His New Ideas party promised radical change for a country that at one point suffered one of the world's highest homicide rates. In Colombia, Abelardo is hoping to emulate Bukele's success with a similar approach.
After his election, Bukele declared a State of Exception, arresting over 90,000 alleged street gang members. He reviewed the State of Exception 51 times. And in 2025, Bukele’s government scrapped presidential term limits, allowing him to rule in perpetuity.
The self-professed 'world’s coolest dictator' enjoys an approval rating allegedly above 90%. He frequently posts on X, where he highlights his connections to right-wing politicians like Donald Trump.
However, there is a high cost to so-called security under Bukele’s iron-fist policies.
Bukele and his government are targeting and silencing journalists and members of civil society who question his rule. In May 2025, his government arrested human rights lawyer and activist Ruth López, who openly criticised the human rights abuses taking place under the State of Exception. Members of feminist organisations have been forced into exile after brutal online violence, doxxing, and threats to their physical safety.
Bukele's government has imposed brutal crackdowns on journalists and activists who question his rule
Bukele has convinced Salvadorans that without gangs there will be no violence. But while his crackdowns may deter street violence, women and children still suffer within the family and at the hands of the soldiers and police who roam their neighbourhoods. Mothers of incarcerated sons must simultaneously earn a living for their family, and pay protection money to ensure the safety of their children inside prison.
Young men – particularly poor, dark-skinned men – fear being arrested simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and accused of gang affiliations.
In the name of ‘security’, Bukele has amassed unchecked power. And while many Salvadorans now say they can move freely through their neighbourhoods without fear of gang violence, the government’s elimination of due process, freedom of speech, and freedom of association should worry everyone.
Bukele’s use of extreme securitisation to justify the rollback of human rights thus comes with remarkably high costs.
The Bukele model has a dangerous, violent underside. So too would Abelardo’s proposed vision for Colombia.
A populist version of mano dura would be tragic for Colombian democracy and the 2016 peace agreement. It would also likely prolong the protracted armed conflict.
A populist version of the iron-fist politics implemented in El Salvador would only prolong the armed conflict in Colombia
Women, Indigenous, and Afro-descendant communities across Colombia have long argued for a downscaling of securitisation and the demilitarisation of peace. Beyond party politics, their work in high-risk contexts for human rights has shown that the promise of 'crackdown' has only fuelled violent conflict. Collectives such as Madres del Catatumbo, at the frontlines of defence of their territories, have denounced such violence.
Indeed, election demographic maps show that people living in conflict zones were more likely to vote for Abelardo’s challenger, left-wing Iván Cepeda. Such people have long suffered the consequences of a militaristic approach to 'peace' and 'security': a deepening of violence and mass violations of human rights.
On 21 June, Colombians return to the ballot box. And if The Tiger wins, Colombia must brace itself for the swift erosion of human rights in the name of security.
