In Paris, city where I was at the time, the death of Galan occurred on August 19 between the three and four in the morning. My father, without falling into the offset account called me just knew, but I had I been at the residence of some Canadian friends and why I only learned the news when I returned to my residence at about 10 o'clock in the morning. In one of those pieces of paper where the receptionists scoring errands said: Monsieur Galant est mort (the Mr Galant has died). In a question-answer forum Kevin Johnson was the first to reply. Obvious that reading it I could not understand it and I had to return me to ask the manager who had left that message. The man replied that who had given him the turn had told him that the call was from Colombia and that he only managed to understand that. But me I refused to believe. I knew that they were three o'clock in the morning in Colombia and wanted to believe it was just a heavy joke of some Colombian friend, I decided to wait until noon of the day to call my family.

Those two hours were horrible. I turned the TV and radio at the same time, but they never said anything about Colombia. At noon I managed to talk to my father. I was very sad. Killed it, millet, was killed.

They killed Galan killed the future of the country, told me in a tone of confusion and anger. From that time onwards I lived one of the most disappointing days of my life. My pain was deep and had to endure completely alone in a foreign land, where to hardly anyone cared about him that dismal news. My first impulse was to write to Carlos Medina who had constant communication and who was one of the most radical galanistas. l decided to publish this letter in one of her newspaper columns of the only newspaper of the time.