Thousands of miles from Bogotá, in the frozen trench lines of eastern Ukraine, Colombian accents have become a familiar sound of war.

Between 1,000 and 2,000 Colombian nationals are currently serving in the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, according to recent investigations, while as many as 7,000 have passed through the country’s defence forces since Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022. Their presence has turned Colombia into the single largest source of foreign fighters in Ukraine’s war effort – and estimated 25% – and an unexpected human bridge between two distant conflicts.

What might once have been dismissed as a story of mercenaries and combat-tested veterans has evolved into something far more complex: a shadowy window into the globalization of military labor.

Many of those arriving in Ukraine have witnessed close-hand Colombia’s internal conflict, which for more than six decades has forged one of Latin America’s most experienced armed orces. Trained in counterinsurgency, reconnaissance and irregular warfare, Colombian fighters bring a skillset that has proven adaptable to the grinding, attritional combat of the Donbas.

Ukrainian commanders have taken notice. In some units, Colombians have made up a majority of infantry personnel, valued for their endurance and battlefield discipline. Their roles range from trench warfare to fortification building and increasingly to drone operations, a defining feature of the war.

Yet their journey to the frontlines is rarely driven by ideology.

A steady stream of Colombian soldiers leaves active service each year, often in their late 30s or early 40s. While formal reintegration programmes exist, many veterans struggle to transition into civilian life. Salaries drop sharply after retirement, and the domestic private security sector is saturated. For some, Ukraine offers an economic lifeline.

Combat pay of between US$3,000 and US$5,000 a month – several times the average Colombian wage – is supplemented by signing bonuses and compensation packages for families in the event of death. The contrast is stark enough to turn war into a viable, if perilous, form of employment.

“Colombians understand the risks … yet they still come,” one Ukrainian officer involved in recruitment told local media.

The legal and political framing of these fighters remains contested. In December 2025, the Colombian Congress ratified the United Nations convention against mercenaries, a move backed by the leftist government of President Gustavo Petro.

Under the Convention’s definition, however, most Colombians serving in Ukraine are not considered mercenaries. They are formally integrated into Ukraine’s military structures, receive equal pay to local troops and operate under state command rather than private contracts.

Even so, President Petro has cast the phenomenon as a form of exploitation, warning of the risks faced by citizens drawn into distant war, including the conflict in south Sudan.

Those causes are visible not only in Colombia’s labor market but also in Ukraine’s evolving military structure. As the war has dragged on, Kyiv has reorganized its foreign units, integrating international volunteers into larger brigades to improve coordination and access to heavy weaponry. The shift has further embedded foreign fighters – Colombians among them – into the core of Ukraine’s defensive operations.

The human cost of this integration has been steep. Estimates from the Atlantic Council claim that between 300 and 550 Colombians have been killed in Ukraine since 2022, making them the foreign nationality with the highest number of combat deaths. In Kyiv, Colombian flags now appear among the growing patchwork of memorials to fallen soldiers – a quiet testament to the war’s global reach.

Despite the losses, recruitment has continued. Military analysts say the phenomenon reflects deeper structural failures. Colombia’s decades-long conflict produced a large pool of highly trained personnel, but the transition to civilian life has lagged behind. Skills honed in war have limited application in the formal economy, leaving many veterans in a precarious position.

This dynamic has fed what some researchers describe as a transnational market for military labor, operating in the grey zones of international law. Fighters move between conflicts not necessarily out of allegiance, but out of necessity – carrying their expertise with them.

The implications extend beyond Ukraine. Security analysts warn that the eventual return of battle-hardened veterans, particularly those trained in emerging technologies such as drone warfare, could pose risks if criminal organizations seek to absorb their skills.

For now, however, the flow continues in one direction.

On a recent winter evening in Kyiv, a Colombian veteran reflected on the reality behind the headlines. “Tell Colombians not to come,” he said quietly. “More die than return.”

It is a warning that captures the paradox at the heart of this story: a war that is both distant and deeply connected, drawing in those for whom the frontlines are not just a cause, but a last resort.

In that sense, the presence of Colombians in Ukraine is not an anomaly. It is a signal – of how modern conflicts intersect, and of how the consequences of one war can echo, years later, in another.

The Colombian government temporarily closed last week PNN Tayrona National Natural Park following threats against park staff and escalating violence between rival armed groups fighting for control of drug trafficking corridors along the Caribbean coast.

The shutdown, announced on Feb. 17 by Parques Nacionales Naturales de Colombia, was described as a preventive measure to protect visitors, local communities and officials.

“The National Government announced the temporary closure of PNN Tayrona as a preventive measure to protect the lives and safety of visitors, communities, and officials, and to ensure their security,” the agency said in a statement.

Tayrona, located near the city of Santa Marta in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, is one of Colombia’s most visited protected areas, drawing as many as 750,000 visitors annually. Known for its white-sand beaches and dense tropical forest, the park is a pillar of the tourism economy in the Magdalena department.

The closure comes amid an intensifying turf war between the Conquering Self-Defense Forces of the Sierra Nevada (ACSN) and the Gaitanist Army of Colombia (EGC), better known as the Clan del Golfo, a criminal organization designated as a terrorist group by the United States.

Authorities say the immediate trigger for the crisis was a Feb. 11 operation to dismantle unauthorized constructions within the protected area, including houses, bathrooms and hiking trails built without state permission.

According to the parks agency, the demolitions prompted threats on social media directed at park personnel. Tensions escalated on Feb. 16 when local residents blocked employees from entering the park. Officials said individuals then began charging tourists for access and allowing entry without formal registration, effectively taking over certain administrative functions.

“This created a situation that prevents a minimum level of security from being ensured within the protected area,” authorities said.

While the government has not formally attributed responsibility for the threats, the timing of the closure has drawn attention to the deteriorating security environment in northern Colombia. Recent confrontations between the Clan del Golfo and the ACSN in nearby municipalities, including Aracataca, have led to forced displacements and heightened fears about the stability of the region.

Colombia’s Ombudsman’s Office has previously warned of the presence of both groups in and around Tayrona, citing risks ranging from extortion to sexual violence. The violence, analysts say, reflects a broader struggle for control over strategic drug trafficking corridors extending into the departments of Cesar and La Guajira.

Yet the official narrative has been complicated by contrasting statements from government negotiators engaged in talks with the ACSN.

Mauricio Silva, the government’s chief negotiator in a socio-legal dialogue with the ACSN, said the decision to close the park was driven largely by climatic and preventive considerations. While acknowledging the existence of security risks and territorial control by armed groups in parts of the Sierra Nevada, Silva said it would be inappropriate to assign criminal responsibility without completed judicial investigations.

“One thing is to recognize the delicate security situation in the territory, and another is to point to specific perpetrators without proof,” Silva said, underscoring the government’s cautious position amid ongoing negotiations.

Local tourism operators have also questioned the link between the closure and the armed conflict. Some community leaders argue that the dispute stems in part from longstanding grievances over how ticket revenues are managed. They contend that funds collected by the central government are not sufficiently reinvested in infrastructure and local development within the park and surrounding communities.

The crisis has exposed deeper tensions over who exercises effective authority in one of Colombia’s most emblematic tourist destinations. Indigenous communities, national authorities and armed groups all operate in the broader Sierra Nevada region, where state presence has historically been uneven.

Although tourists in Tayrona have generally been insulated from direct violence — with armed groups preferring to profit indirectly through extortion, drug trafficking and prostitution — the park’s closure has raised concerns that the conflict could increasingly disrupt legitimate economic activity.

For the department of Magdalena, where tourism  depends on Tayrona as key source of revenue, the shutdown represents both a security and economic setback. Hotel operators and tour agencies in Santa Marta have reported cancellations since the announcement, though officials have not provided a timeline for reopening.

The government has said the closure will remain in effect until minimum security conditions can be guaranteed. Meanwhile, the dispute underscores the fragile balance between conservation, tourism and public saefty in a region where armed actors continue to expand their territorial control.