She had always been so strong and determined, and it was upsetting to watch her falling apart. I even believe that she wanted to die. She grew from being a role model for me to someone who represented death.
Her demands also cost her much of the goodwill that had been accorded her by fellow Colombians. Days later, faced with mounting public outrage, Betancourt dropped the lawsuit. Now, with the publication of her memoir, she has set out to clarify her actions and present her own version of what happened in the jungle during those six and a half years. The book should dispel any lingering rumors about her bonding with her captors. But its unflinching portrait of her mental anguish, and of the behavior of her fellow captives, is unlikely to lay to rest the controversy surrounding her.
As the weeks turned into months, and then into years, Betancourt writes, she veered from hope of imminent freedom to paralyzing boredom to the depths of despondency. She formed a tight emotional bond with Lucho, a Colombian congressman who had been reduced in captivity to a ragged, aged, sickly figure. She passed the time reading the Bible, embroidering, and listening to her shortwave radio, her only link to the outside world. She mourned the death of her father, was distressed by the thought of her two children growing up without her, and found emotional sustenance in the messages of love and encouragement she received from her mother, broadcast on a Colombian radio station. She was stricken with a succession of jungle diseases, including malaria and leishmaniasis, a potentially lethal, worm-borne parasite that causes massive skin ulcers, and was treated with a series of painful abdominal injections. She survived forced marches through heat and drenching rainstorms and journeys upriver deeper into the Amazon, jammed for days with fellow prisoners beneath tarpaulins, overcome with nausea from the exhaust of the outboard motors. She had to deal each day with the petty cruelty, arrogance, and sadism of FARC commanders.
While Betancourt singles out FARC commanders for particular scorn, some of her sharpest criticisms are aimed at her fellow hostages. She portrays Clara Rojas, the political aide who wrote harshly of Betancourt in her own memoir, Captive, as a manic-depressive who broke under the pressure of captivity. Betancourt says Rojas physically struck her, and endangered them both by freezing up in a panic during an escape attempt. As she sees it, the arrival of the three Americans at a camp for high-value prisoners in October 2003, nine months after their drug-surveillance plane stalled and crash-landed next to a FARC patrol, spiked tensions higher.