Carlos Andrés Ascué Tumbo, known to friends and comrades as “Lobo,” or “Wolf,” was no stranger to the forces that threatened his land and his people. The son of Colombia’s Andes, he belonged to a long line of Indigenous Nasa defenders and was a dedicated educational coordinator and leader. But in a country labeled as the world’s deadliest for environmental defenders, his commitment came at a steep cost. On August 29, 2024, while picking up his daughter from swimming lessons in the village of Pescador, Caldono, Carlos became the 115th social leader killed in Colombia this year, report Tony Kirby, Anna Abraham, and Cesar Quiroz.
For Lobo, leadership was not just about grand gestures but a lifelong devotion to his community. From childhood, he trained with the Indigenous Guard, the Kiwe Thegnas, the unarmed force responsible for defending Indigenous lands in Cauca from illegal armed groups. He grew up learning that the land was more than a resource; it was a living entity, a spirit to be cherished and protected. His comrades remembered how he would patrol the hills in the dead of night, carrying only a ceremonial baton marked by green and white strings. This symbol of identity and resilience was all the Indigenous Guard carried against heavily armed drug traffickers encroaching on their ancestral territories.
The protest in Bogotá that erupted in late August bore witness to the plight of his people. Led by 4,000 Indigenous marchers, the protest demanded state intervention against the rising violence. The rally succeeded, bringing a new decree that granted Indigenous territories greater judicial autonomy—a bitter victory as it came mere days before Lobo’s death.
In life, Carlos fought tirelessly against the coca plantations that fueled violence in Cauca. His resistance made him a target. He openly decried the encroachment of armed groups, filmed the destruction of coca fields, and uploaded the footage online. Soon, anonymous threats followed.
“Carlos’ death was not in vain,” his friend Naer said at the funeral. There, surrounded by members of the Guard and villagers, Carlos was laid to rest as his six-year-old daughter watched. As they chanted “Until when? Until forever!” his people swore to carry forward his legacy—a legacy rooted in defending the ancestral lands that sustain their very being.
