Narco Culture: Misconceptions of Colombia through the American Media Lens

The Lasting and Tainted Legacy of Pablo Escobar

By Luisa Clark

I have lived with the Colombian narrative being synonymous with drugs and a name in particular, Pablo Escobar, the deceased kingpin of the Colombian cocaine trade who still takes center-stage in it’s modern-day narrative. In its wake, Narco culture has become the stereotype of suppression for Colombians at home and those living abroad and narcotics resonate fear-mongering for foreigners looking to visit all that this country has to offer. With this essay, I seek to analyze the romanticized Narco culture presented by the Netflix series Narcos and break through the veil of appropriation to reveal the true Colombia. I look to El Patron del Mal- a Colombian produced series - as a polarizing contrast to the portrayal of Colombian narco culture in Narcos and abandonment of historical fact and authenticity for ratings.

As a Colombian-American, growing up I had to have a thick-skin when introducing myself to new people. It would have been easier for me to hide behind my ethnic ambiguity and pale complexion; I would have avoided many awkward interactions. As soon as I revealed myself to be Colombian, baffled looks and questions would soon follow. Most of the statements that left peoples lips were ignorant and blatantly stereotypical with drugs and kidnappings at the center of their discourse. In hindsight, I can’t put the blame solely on those strangers but, more so the environment of the United States and what they saw in the media about my country. I wasn’t fazed by the American media because I was fortunate enough, through the many summers I lived with family, to know Colombia first hand. I had the primary sources of my family and the lives they lead throughout the era of Pablo Escobar. Their words are telling to the terror of a nation: of families displaced, bombings by hitmen, the killing of 107 innocent civilians in an airplane, and many politicians and journalists who were silenced by death for speaking against narcotics and drug lords. But this is not the Colombia I have witnessed and the survivors of this time in our history aren’t damnified by their circumstances. They don’t blame their current lives with the past and this is the reason I see Colombia through a wider scope. My picture isn't as zoomed in as foreign culture who catch only a sliver of reality.

Fetishizing Narco Culture

Introducing myself today, I am confronted with a broader sense of intrigue to the Narco culture that neither my family nor I have participated in. A new generation of Colombians have to defend the authenticity of Colombian culture against the popularity of narco culture in American media. Shows such as Telemundo’s, The Queen of the South (2011), El Señor de los Cielos (2013) and Netflix’s Surviving Escobar: Alias J.J. (2017) paint the picture of marginalized people overcoming tough circumstance through the guidance of drug lords and of narco culture. The prime example of this wave of popularity however, is the Netflix series Narcos (2016). The show perpetuates the life of Pablo Escobar -one of the most recognizable and controversial figures to Colombia’s recent past- and appropriates the historical reality into a tale of excess and dramatized action for foreign audiences.

With the lush landscape of the Medellin mountains in the opening scene of the series, words establish the opening act, Magical realism is defined as what happens when a highly detailed, realistic setting is invaded by something too strange to believe.There is a reason magical realism was born in Colombia. (S1:E1 Descanso) This brings into play the literary device of magical realism ever- present in Colombian author Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s work; its the essence of his writing. Narcos intends to relate the magical realism to the real-life of Pablo Escobar and narcotics which need no exaggeration. Garcia Marquez’s work stems from the almost unbelievable realities faced by developing countries and that of his own reality in Colombia. Although, the consequences of Pablo Escobar and narco culture seem too “magical” to believe, it is in fact the documented realities - removed from fantastical action sequences and dramatization of these events- that make Pablo Escobar’s story that emblematic and fascinating even long after his death in 1993. The wrongdoing of “magical realism” in the context of Narcos comes when a Netflix drama can be considered an authoritative source on Colombia., and in this way, the appropriated departure from the truth is deemed to be the fact of reality.

Latin Cutural Appropriation

Latin America has often times been the subject of foreign allure and intrigue popularized by the “magical realism” that Gabriel Garcia Marquez and many other authors made popular through literature. But magical realism, though a grand escape to the ordinary, has hurt authentic culture in this way. In The Havana Habit, author Gustavo Firmat’s description of the Latin South as the realm of the senses, a bazaar of bodily gratification reflects Carmen Miranda's sensual portrayal of the Cuban woman in the film, Week End in Havana (1941). Her costumes exemplify the subdued sexual motif ever-present in the film and denote edible connotations- evidenced by the bright colors and fruit atop her head- and transform her from person to sculptural object. With Carmen Miranda - who is of Portuguese origin - at the forefront of Cuban identity, however, this film demonstrates America’s blatant disregard of the Cuban reality and Latin culture as a whole. Author Gustavo Firmat speaks of foreign assimilation through the notion of an atmosphere as he notes that,Spanish loses its denotative function and becomes ambient, aromatic, like those breezes that whisper ‘te quiero’. I see this ring true when Miranda’s character sings "Rebola a Bola" in Portuguese at the Cuban nightclub, her rendition immediately bewildered me, a Spanish speaker, and took me out of any authentic experience I could've had. The actual gibberish that takes over by the end of the song is just ambient noise that has no true connection to the Cubano flavor the film wanted to emulate. This same reaction reverberates as I hear actor Wagner Moura speak Spanish with the same disregard for authenticity. Although the production value and cinematic value is powerful, the Netflix series misses the mark with the basic context of language and accent. As a Colombian, I can distinguish the Paisa accent from miles away. Wagner Moura enacts a slurred speech that shares more with a drunkard than with one of the wealthiest man of the narcotics trade. To the untrained ear, his attempt at Spanish goes unnoticed because subtitles provide English translation but, to Colombians, it mirrors the same disregard of authenticity witnessed in Carmen Miranda’s nonsensical language towards the end of her song in Week End in Havana. Miranda is not Cuban and Moura is not Pablo Escobar.

A point of absolute departure in this series is the authenticity of Pablo Escobar as it relates to language. Wagner Moura, the actor who portrays Escobar in the series is of Brazilian-origin. The only audience able to distinguish the blatant change is those who’ve lived with the image of Pablo Escobar in their minds or those who lived the story “en carne propia" Its a transformation that takes away the authenticity of the story by having a Portuguese actor portray a very well-known figure with a distinguishable accent. “Tuyo" The theme song of Narcos -written and performed by Rodrigo Amarante- plays like a romantic tango and doesn't ring true to Colombian culture and music. The song oozes with Brazilian flare, sensual, melodic and slow- the only saving grace and similitude was the Spanish language. The lyrics speak of “being the fire that burns your skin, the water that quenches your thirst. The castle, the tower I am.” This romanticized introduction to the magical lifestyle of Pablo Escobar entrances the viewer to fall in love with narco culture and the lifestyle of glamour as portrayed by the sexualizing of Colombian women on screen and the footage of Pablo Escobar living his best life on the Hacienda Napoles. The song ends with “Tuyo sera…Tuyo sera…” translating to “yours it will be…yours it will be”. I see this introduction as an open invitation to partake in this lifestyle without measuring the consequences.

Taking Control of our Narrative

Contrary to the appropriation of Pablo Escobar under the American lens, Pablo Escobar: El Patron del Mal (2012), a wholly-Colombian production, preceded the better-known Netflix adaptation. This telenovela produced and broadcast by the Colombian network Caracol, brought Pablo Escobar back to life through the portrayal of Colombian actor Andres Parra. The amount of detail brought to the role by Parra demonstrated the importance to authenticity demanded by the story of the controversial figure that was Pablo Escobar. This production differentiated itself by stating the series as the most ambitious production ever produced in Colombia. Based on complete journalistic facts and real life testimonies of the people that were involved with his evil genius, this series portrays the life of Pablo Escobar. Having watched the series, the use of historical media coverage ties the overall story of Pablo Escobar.

Also, the theme song unlike “Tuyo” is called “La Ultima Bala/The Last Bullet”. It is a spoken-word rap by Yuri Buenaventura - a Colombian musician-embellished with trumpets and the influence of Salsa but, apart from the rhythm, it’s lyrics speak to the rising up of the Colombian people through dire adversity. People are killed, but their souls are not.” My country does not fall, trip or slip. It stands up, and wipes its face. These lyrics speak closely to the realities of appropriation and rising above stereotypes. That despite the corruption and bloody terror Colombia experienced; it rises above the violence. May this story not be erased from your mind. In honor of our dead who fell vilely. This media production seeks to break the chain of repeating the same mistakes of the past. The opening title sequence leaves a profound impact on the viewer by stating,Quien no conoce su historia esta condenado a repetirla. which reads as a warning to the tale of Pablo Escobar and reverberates James Baldwin’s sentiments in his essay Stranger in the Village when he says, People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them. Until the Colombian people rise above their past, they are prisoners of the narco culture perpetuated by outside media. By creating their own series about Pablo Escobar and narco culture, Caracol and Colombia as a whole, have taken the first step out of oppression by exposing the truth of the deep wounds left behind by decades of turmoil.

Through my analysis of narco culture, I don’t seek to undermine the realities of a civil war that has raged Colombia until recent years. The civil war with guerrilla groups and sub sequential drug war perpetuated by Pablo Escobar have had lasting effects on the view of Colombia to the outside world. Colombia is a country rising above stereotypes and prejudice through the ongoing peace treaty with the FARC and the flourishing relationships set forth in the Obama administration through Plan Colombia. Obama spoke of Colombia as, a country that was on the brink of collapse is now a country on the brink of peace.Narcotics is an issue that still looms large over the people of Latin America but, shouldn’t be the center of its narrative. Colombia has more to offer than cocaine and a figure of the dark past of the country shouldn’t be the only story portrayed to the world.