Medellín: How a murder capital became a power-child of innovation
Barbara J. Miner photo
Homes in the hills of Medellín, Colombia, sit above electric escalators that people use to zig-zag up the hilly topography.
Barbara J. Miner photo
This 1.7-mile gondola
system is an integral part of the city’s mass transit system; the
gondolas can transport more than 3,000 people an hour.
Barbara J. Miner photo
A free escalator system
zigzags up a neighborhood’s steep hills in Medellin, Columbia, climbing
the equivalent of a 25-story building.
Bob and I turned to each other, wondering, "Are we nuts?"
A few weeks later, we travel to Comuna 13, once considered Medellín's poorest and most dangerous neighborhood. We use Medellín's bike-share system (which is free) to get to the metro. We pay about 70 cents to take the metro to Comuna 13, then another 40 cents to take a bus to a free escalator system that zigzags up the neighborhood's steep hills, climbing the equivalent of a 25-story building. Later, we ride up a 1.7-mile gondola system, which has cut travel time from more than an hour to less than 10 minutes. An integral part of the city's mass transit system, the gondolas can transport more than 3,000 people per hour.
Medellín was the first city in the world to use gondolas for public transit, and also the first to use escalators in a residential neighborhood. Its mass transit also includes a metro, dedicated bus lanes and, beginning recently, light rail. Expansions are planned, in particular in gondolas and light rail.
Bob
and I think back to Wisconsin, where one of Gov. Scott Walker's first
acts was to reject the federal government's $810 million subsidy for
high-speed rail. It's impossible not to ask why Medellín, in a
supposedly "developing" country, is so far ahead of urban centers in the
economically powerful United States — and light years ahead of
Milwaukee.A focus on poor neighborhoods
It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon — every day seems like spring in Medellín, where daytime temperatures hover in the 70s the entire year. Carolina Andrea Ramírez, a high-energy 34-year-old single mother of Afro-Indigenous descent, is taking us on a tour of Comuna 8 in the city's eastern hills.Medellín, whose 2.4 million residents make it Colombia's second largest city, has 16 Comunas, or sections of the city. Comuna 8, with a population of about 135,000 people, is one of the poorer sections.
Ramírez was born in Comuna 8 and lived on the streets from the age of 14 to 28. About a year ago, she formed a local nonprofit, Corazón de Leon (Heart of the Lion), which focuses on "providing another option than drugs for young people," in particular, art and music.
We meet Ramírez beneath the construction of the new gondola system. We walk up, the roads giving way to stairs, which give way to dirt paths. Before long we enter a greenbelt area with "eco-parks," playgrounds, organic garden plots and a cobblestone-like path to the top of a hill known as Pan de Azúcar (Sugar Bread), which has one of the best views of Medellín.
The projects are part of El Jardín Circunvalar, loosely translated as The Circular Garden, which in turn is part of a green belt being built in Medellín's hills. As we walk, I try to think of a similar, multifaceted project in a poor Milwaukee neighborhood, especially a publicly funded and controlled project. I can't.
The projects in Comuna 8 reflect what is termed "social urbanism" in Medellín, which refers to comprehensive, holistic public projects that link public transit to green space to libraries, cultural projects, parks, sports facilities, schools and day care centers.
These efforts have drawn international recognition, including a 2013 "Green Prize" from the Harvard Graduate School of Design and a 2012 "Innovative City of the Year" award from The Wall Street Journal and Citi. But what makes Medellín stand out is that its most ambitious projects have been in poorer neighborhoods.
Government-sponsored websites invariably explain the city's projects in glowing terms. I was interested in the perspective of Ramirez, a neighborhood activist.
"Everything in Medellín is very complicated," she begins. Echoing a widely held belief in a country infamous for political corruption, she believes that all politicians "are rats." The difference, she says, "is that in Medellín the rats are also doing good things."
Asked for specifics, she mentions improvements in education, in day care centers for working mothers, in public parks, in the gondola that is being built. But it's not just that, she adds. Her experience living on the streets taught her the importance of believing in a better future. "Now," she says, "there is more hope."
"I am a Fajardista"
When Pablo Escobar was killed in 1993, Medellín was in disarray. Besides the violence, the city was sharply segregated. Entire neighborhoods were considered "no-go zones," dangerous for residents and visitors alike. There was a growing consensus that Medellín, an industrial and economic linchpin of the entire country, had to change.
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A charismatic professor and journalist turned politician, Fajardo was elected as part of a civic movement independent of the major parties. His status is partly due to the pace of change during his mayoral term from 2004 to 2007, before he went on to become governor of the state of Antioquia for two terms.
Most important, Fajardo and his civic movement disrupted the normal way of doing business in Medellín. They weren't interested in showcasing architecture or splashy projects designed to give Medellín a new international image. They saw architecture, design and innovation as tools of social transformation.
Upon taking office, Fajardo highlighted three main problems: inequality, violence and a culture of corruption. He pledged a commitment to education, transparency and anti-corruption, and the importance of public spaces and civic involvement.
"Our most beautiful buildings must be in our poorest areas," Fajardo noted.
Interestingly, Fajardo spent formative years in Madison, graduating from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with a doctorate in mathematics in 1984. It was a time when The Wisconsin Idea — "that education should influence people's lives beyond the boundaries of the classroom" — was still honored and protected, and the university's worldwide reputation remained intact.
Some of the many projects initiated during Fajardo's administration include rebuilding the city's Botanical Gardens (which are free); building and renovating public schools; expanding public parks and plazas; completing and extending the gondola system; and developing library parks, which combine libraries with green space, a concept that has since spread to other Latin American countries. Many of the projects were developed with input from publicly funded community councils.
From bullets to books
In Medellín's San Javier district, up the hill from the metro station in Comuna 13, is a library park "Parque Biblioteca Presbítero José Luis Arroyave," named after a priest gunned down by paramilitary forces in 2002. Murals give way to a winding path and green space, which give way to an organic garden, sculptures and, at the top, the library.But Comuna 13 has a darker history. In a country where military/paramilitary/rebel/gang/drug violence is common, the neighborhood is the site of Colombia's most infamous military invasion of an urban area — Operation Orion, in 2002.
That fall, Colombia's conservative president ordered a military offensive to oust leftist rebels. Thousands of soldiers and police attacked, supported by armed helicopters and paramilitary forces. The area's roughly 100,000 residents were caught in the cross-fire.
No one knows exactly how many people died but figures range upward of 70 people. The paramilitaries also "disappeared" people suspected of leftist sympathies. Estimates of "disappeared" civilians range as high as 300.
Today, Comuna 13 is home to not only the library park but also the metro, gondola, escalators and increased social, education and cultural services. Street-level murals at the base of the library park speak to the neighborhood's history. The art is stunning and the messages are clear. "No more military intervention," says one mural. "We are Comuna 13, where memory and life are present," says another.
Comuna 13 is just one example of how the Medellín of 2015 is significantly different from the Medellín of 1995. Foreign investors have taken note. Adding to Medellín's history as an industrial center, the city's tech sector is now the third largest in Latin America.
Some critics have dismissed Medellín's changes as window-dressing that leaves basic structures intact. Yet there is no denying the progress and the disruption of business as usual. And at a time when privatization and public dollars for private projects dominate government initiatives across the globe, Medellín is an anomaly.
As Bob and I read news reports out of Madison during the fall, we were discouraged by the continued attacks on Wisconsin's traditions of open government, a strong public sector and a vibrant university system. We took solace in Fajardo's Wisconsin connections.
As we would sometimes joke to each other, "The Wisconsin Idea, Latin America style, is alive and well in Medellín."
Barbara Miner is a Milwaukee-based writer and photographer. This opinion is adapted from an article in the December-January issue of The Progressive.
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