On a humid Tuesday afternoon in Bogotá, the Colombian Senate chamber crackled with the familiar static of political theater. Paloma Valencia and Abelardo de la Espriella, faces set in that peculiar blend of defiance and calculation unique to seasoned legislators, stood their ground against Senator Iván Cepeda’s renewed challenge to debate the nation’s direction. Their response—“Semanas atrás se le había retado”—wasn’t merely a rebuttal. it was a linguistic time capsule, sealing weeks of simmering tension into a single, dismissive phrase. Yet beneath the surface of this latest spat lies a deeper fracture in Colombia’s democratic discourse, one where performative confrontation has begun to eclipse substantive policy negotiation, leaving citizens questioning whether their representatives are solving problems or merely staging them for consumption.
This isn’t just another episode in the long-running feud between Centro Democrático hardliners and the Historic Pact’s progressive wing. It’s a symptom of a system where debate formats—once crucibles for national reckoning—have devolved into televised spectacles, optimized for soundbites rather than solutions. When Valencia accepted Cepeda’s debate challenge via Caracol Radio days earlier, proclaiming she was “lista para un debate real,” the phrasing itself revealed the paradox: in demanding authenticity, they inadvertently highlighted its scarcity. Real debate requires more than willingness; it demands shared rules, mutual respect for facts, and a collective commitment to outcomes beyond victory. What we’re witnessing instead is the ritualization of dissent, where opposing sides treat each other not as interlocutors but as foes to be vanquished in the arena of public opinion.
To understand why this moment resonates beyond Bogotá’s Bolívar Square, we must examine how Colombia’s political discourse has evolved since the 2016 peace accord. The agreement didn’t just finish five decades of armed conflict; it fractured the country’s ideological landscape, creating new fault lines where none existed before. Former FARC combatants transitioning into politics confronted entrenched elites unwilling to cede ground, while victims’ groups demanded accountability that threatened powerful interests. This ideological realignment didn’t happen in a vacuum—it collided with the rise of digital campaigning, where algorithms reward outrage over nuance. A 2023 study by Universidad de los Andes found that Colombian legislators’ social media posts containing partisan rhetoric received 3.2 times more engagement than those discussing policy details, creating structural incentives for confrontation over collaboration.
The Valencia-Cepeda dynamic exemplifies this troubling shift. Consider their history: Valencia, elected in 2018 on a platform of defending Álvaro Uribe’s legacy, has consistently opposed Cepeda’s human rights advocacy, particularly his work documenting paramilitary violence. Cepeda, meanwhile, has built his career on challenging impunity for state-linked actors—a stance that puts him directly at odds with Centro Democrático’s narrative. Their exchanges in plenary sessions have become so predictable that Senate staffers now joke about setting watches to them. Yet this predictability masks a dangerous erosion: when lawmakers anticipate conflict as inevitable, they stop preparing substantive arguments and start rehearsing performances. The result? Critical discussions on land reform, transitional justice, and economic inequality get buried under layers of procedural point-scoring and personal barbs.
What makes this particularly consequential is Colombia’s current inflection point. With Gustavo Petro’s presidency navigating its third year amid stalled reforms and declining approval ratings, the Senate’s role as a stabilizing force has never been more vital. Yet instead of bridging divides, figures like Valencia and de la Espriella often amplify them. Take their recent criticism of Cepeda for allowing former FARC commander Ciro Ramírez to attend Senate sessions—a move they framed as provocative but which actually complied with Constitutional Court rulings guaranteeing former combatants’ political participation. By framing legal compliance as “burla y provocación,” they undermine public trust in institutions designed to manage post-conflict transitions.
To break this cycle, we need more than appeals to civility; we need structural reforms to how legislative debate functions. Look to Germany’s Bundestag, where strict time limits and mandatory cross-party committee work prevent discussions from devolving into monologues. Or consider Canada’s House of Commons, where opposition days force the government to defend policies on terms set by critics—creating accountability without theatricality. Colombia could adapt such models: imagine Senate rules requiring that 30% of debate time be dedicated to joint fact-finding missions with civil society experts, or penalties for legislators who repeatedly invoke parliamentary immunity to avoid substantive engagement.
The stakes extend far beyond Senate decorum. When citizens watch their leaders trade barbs instead of building consensus, they don’t just become cynical—they disengage. Voter turnout in Colombia’s 2023 local elections fell to 41%, the lowest in two decades, with youth participation particularly abysmal. This isn’t apathy; it’s a rational response to a system that feels rigged for spectacle rather than service. As political scientist María Emma Wills Obregón noted in a recent interview with El Espectador, “When politics becomes performance, citizens stop seeing themselves as participants and start viewing themselves as an audience—and audiences don’t change the channel; they turn off the TV.”
Notice signs of resistance, still faint. A bipartisan group of senators recently proposed creating a “Deliberation Caucus” modeled after similar initiatives in the European Parliament, where members would undergo training in active listening and conflict resolution before participating in floor debates. Though still in its infancy, the effort recognizes that debate isn’t just about speaking—it’s about creating conditions where listening can occur. As Senator Andrea Padilla, one of the caucus’s architects, told us in a confidential briefing: “We’re not asking politicians to like each other. We’re asking them to remember that the person across the aisle isn’t their enemy; they’re the necessary counterpart in solving problems neither can fix alone.”
The Valencia-Cepeda exchanges will continue, as they must in any vibrant democracy. But Colombia deserves better than a political culture where the most heated exchanges reveal the least about governing. Until our legislators treat debate not as a weapon to wield but as a craft to master—one requiring humility, preparation, and genuine curiosity about opposing views—they’ll keep winning arguments while losing the country’s trust. The next time Valencia declares herself “lista para un debate real,” let’s hope she means it—not as a challenge to her rivals, but as a promise to the Colombians watching, waiting for their representatives to finally start solving problems instead of just performing them.
