Miguel Uribe: When the risk of politics is your life
On August 11, at 1:56 in the morning, Miguel’s eyes closed forever. With him, a light that had resisted for two months was extinguished. Since that attack, his life had become a symbol: millions of Colombians followed each step of his fight as if the pulse of the nation depended on it. And for a brief moment, amid the noise of the world, the entire country stood still. From all political sides, regardless of differences, there was a moment of silence—of reflection and unity—in the face of a shared wound.
Today, we have lost Miguel Uribe: the strongest voice the Colombian ‘right’ movement had projected toward the 2026 elections. Young, with clear ideas, firm convictions, and an energy that unsettled those who feared change, he was murdered by a 14-year-old boy manipulated by those who feed on intolerance.
Two months of rumors, theories, and doubts have not altered the essential truth: this is a wound that cuts deep. A wound because it extinguishes a life that embodied the best of a generation still believing Colombia can be different. A wound because violence stole from his son the same thing it stole from him when he was just four years old, repeating the cruel cycle that so many families in this country know by heart. It hurts because his absence takes us back to a past we thought was behind us—a past of leaders silenced by bullets, of names that became symbols of what must never happen again: Gaitán, Galán, Guillermo Cano, Diana Turbay—his mother—and now, Miguel.
Miguel Uribe and Diana Turbay, his mother.
Colombia’s cry today is clear: justice. Justice that does not remain in statements or promises, but strengthens institutions, shuts the door on impunity, and protects every human life as a non-negotiable value. Miguel was killed because his murderers knew impunity was possible. That certainty—that killing would have no consequences—is a disease that corrodes the soul of our nation. If we want to heal, we must eradicate it.
We must make impunity in Colombia not only improbable, but unthinkable. This is not about “who he was” in terms of surname, status, or education, but about “who he was” in essence: a man who believed in building bridges, not digging graves; who saw politics as service, not as a trench. Miguel embodied the possibility of disagreeing without destroying, of debating without annihilating. But in Colombia, doing politics can cost your life. And when democracy becomes a mortal risk, we are no longer facing ideological disagreement, but a broken system that refuses to protect those who uphold it.
That is the true gravity of the matter: a State incapable of ensuring the safety of its political actors not only fails its people—it opens the door to a dictatorship of violence. This assassination must be a turning point—a wake-up call to leaders who for years have squandered their legitimacy on slander and personal attacks instead of building consensus and solutions. Colombian politics cannot remain a battlefield where slander and polarization are the preferred weapons. Every time we choose contempt over respect, we dig the grave of our democracy a little deeper.
Miguel Uribe is gone. But his death forces us to look Colombia in the eye and ask: will we be a country that allows its best voices to fade in silence, or one that chooses to rise and ensure they can never again be silenced by bullets?
Let Miguel’s life not become just another statistic. Let his name be a living pledge that, in this land, truth, justice, and dignity are not negotiable. Let this not be the end of a story, but the beginning of a nation that refuses to bury its hope.
The bulletproof vest is useless
the nine-millimeter pistol is useless
the Colt ‘Caballito’ 48 is useless
the mini-Uzi is nothing but scrap metal
the only thing that matters is life, brother.
— Patricia Ariza
