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The Asociación de Mujeres Afro por la Paz (Association of Afro Women for Peace-AFROMUPAZ) is an organization of displaced Afro-Colombian women now based in Bogotá. The organization represents a differential brand of feminism in the face of historical and ongoing violence and provides community, support, and employment opportunities for dozens of women and their families. Its "feminism with a woman's body and face" is part of the landscape of popular feminism in the region, but its specific social location and its actions cannot be understood without a deliberate and critical understanding of race.

La Asociación de Mujeres Afro por la Paz (AFROMUPAZ) es una organización de mujeres afrocolombianas desplazadas ahora radicadas en Bogotá. La organización representa un tipo distinto de feminismo frente a la violencia histórica y continua, y ofrece oportunidades comunitarias, de apoyo y de empleo para decenas de mujeres y sus familias. Su "feminismo en cuerpo y cara de mujer" es parte del panorama del feminismo popular en la región, pero la comprensión de su ubicación social específica y acciones requiere de un acercamiento deliberado y crítico de la cuestión racial.

Bogotá is the capital of Colombia and, with more than 11 million inhabitants in the metropolitan area, has been a hub of internal migration due to displacement during the country's 52-year conflict. Victims of guerrilla groups, paramilitary organizations, state forces, and criminal gangs fled to the city from all parts of the country. Despite the signing of a peace accord between the government of Colombia and the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia guerrillas in 2016, security dynamics are worsening, and society's most vulnerable continue to face ongoing violence. This article shows how a group of victims of displacement uses a popular feminist mobilization strategy to overcome the triple problematic of healing from past violence and trauma, resettling in an unknown space, and confronting present vulnerabilities. It goes on to point out, however, that their intersectional feminism is inextricably linked to their racial identities as Afro-Colombian women.

The following pages examine the case of the Asociación de Mujeres Afro por la Paz (Association of Afro Women for Peace-AFROMUPAZ), which was founded in 2000. In the midst of a hostile environment, María Eugenia Urrutia established an organization for women who, like her, had fled from their homes on Colombia's Pacific Coast and arrived in Bogotá with no personal ties or social links. The organization now represents the central community, support network, and employment opportunity for dozens of displaced Afro-Colombian women and their families. Because the women of AFROMUPAZ are clear that their project for gender justice is based in their Afro-Colombian identity, the article will examine the ways race and culture (and to a degree, class) guide their actions and practices and influence their mobilization around a differential gender identity. It posits that AFROMUPAZ's strategies and goals can be partially understood as belonging to the broad spectrum of popular feminism but that any examination of the organization is incomplete without understanding that its particular feminism is inextricably tied to participants' racial identities. It argues that the study of "popular feminism" must critically engage with understandings of race and ethnicity to accurately describe the specific types of mobilization taking place.

At the time of the research, the organization had been examined in detail in the context of structural racism and sexual violence only once (see Marciales Montenegro, 2015). This article will describe and explain AFROMUPAZ's mobilizational strategies to see how it achieves its goals of protecting displaced Afro-Colombian women from further victimization and providing them with a healing space to cope with the violence suffered in the past. The article proceeds as follows: First, the context overview paints a picture of Colombia's "geographies of terror" and explains that violence is suffered differently depending on gender and race. Second, it outlines the research methodology and introduces the fieldwork site and interlocutors. Third, it looks at the theories of popular feminism and Afro-Latina feminisms and posits that AFROMUPAZ exists somewhere between the two, neither purely engaging in class critique nor adopting the more radical rhetoric of other Afro-Colombian feminist groups. Next, it describes the history, activities, and experiences of AFROMUPAZ in detail, drawing links between their quotidian strategies and popular feminism. Finally, it returns to the argument that while AFROMUPAZ can be considered a popular feminist organization, this categorization is useful only insofar as it critically engages with the gendered and racialized identities of its participants.

Gendered and Racialized Geographies of Terror

Colombia's decades-long armed conflict has left over 8.1 million people displaced ( Unidad para las Víctimas, 2021). To understand the experiences of displacement and resettling in a new city, I use Oslender's (2008: 77) "geographies of terror" framework for studying the "impact of terror and its spatial manifestations on local populations." Oslender examines the case study of Colombia's Pacific Coast region to "set an agenda for approaching terror as a complicated set of spaces, emotions, practices, movements, and materialities" (84). Once we understand the intersecting ways in which people experience the conflict in this region, we can begin to examine the dynamics of resistance of its various social movements.

Oslender describes the 1990s as a "time of hope," particularly because of the recognition of Afro-Colombians as an ethnic minority in the country's 1991 Constitution (2007b: 754; 2008: 86). In late 1996, however, the Colombian army, in conjunction with paramilitary groups, began an offensive against guerrilla forces in the region, leaving civilian casualties in its wake. Local communities were caught in the crossfire, "sandwiched between fighting groups" (Oslender, 2008: 89). Thus began the phenomenon of massive forced displacements of hundreds of thousands of civilians. At the same time, powerful economic groups began to expand their mining and palm-oil operations, often on land collectively held by local populations. Community leaders who spoke out against this were disappeared and killed by paramilitary forces ( Asher, 2017; Oslender, 2004). Scholars suggest that there were strategic economic interests in forced displacement ( Escobar, 2003; Marciales Montenegro, 2015; Oslender, 2007b; 2008). In this way, the Pacific Coast of Colombia went from a "peace haven" to a "geography of terror."

Geographies of terror are gendered, although these experiences are not always documented or analyzed. For example ( Meertens, 2001: 134),

Women continue to be a military objective insofar as they form part of the "indiscriminate acts" of terror against the civilian population. . . . Sexual violation also continues to be a practice of war, although largely undocumented. Just like the "indiscriminate acts," it constitutes a subterranean form of gender violence. . . .

Women are victims and survivors of displacement and uprooting in the first place as widows of rural violence, heads of household suddenly expelled toward the cities; in the second place as spouses, when the effects of violence and uprooting and the necessities of survival touch them differently from men; and in the third place as leaders whose experiences of participation and organization help them to forge new life projects, individual and collective, in the city.

An analysis of the gendered impact of the geographies of terror, then, can be broken down into two key moments: "that of destruction of lives, possessions, and social ties and that of survival and reconstruction of the life project and of the social fabric at the place of arrival" ( Meertens, 2001: 137). This article looks to the latter and asks how women use popular feminist strategies of resistance to transform geographies of terror into safe places.

Being Afro-Colombian is a fundamental facet of these women's identity and, moreover, has shaped the dynamics of the violence they have suffered during the conflict and continue to suffer today. Crenshaw (1991) was one of the first academics to discuss the importance of intersectionality, especially with regard to identity politics. She notes that racism and sexism do not exist on "mutually exclusive terrains" and that there is a need for separate consideration of the "intersectional identities . . . [of] women of color" (1991: 1243). The "elision of difference in identity politics is problematic, fundamentally because the violence that many women experience is often shaped by other dimensions of their identities, such as race and class" (1242). The literature on race, ethnicity, and multicultural citizenship in Latin America highlights severe "racial inequality and discrimination against Afro-Latinos and indigenous populations" despite legal measures that prohibit it ( Hooker, 2005: 285). Hooker (2008: 282) emphasizes that "racial discrimination is a major cause of these inequalities in the living conditions between white and Afro-descendant Latin Americans."

With regard to the Colombian conflict, we know that women have been differentially impacted ( CNMH, 2017; Meertens, 2001; 2010; 2012; Oslender, 2008; Zulver, 2018a), and Marciales Montenegro (2015) has argued that black women have been further targeted for both their sex and their race. For her, the violence suffered by the women of AFROMUPAZ should be analyzed as part of a colonial discourse about "race," "women," and "Black women" and their position as participants in a social, sexual, and racial hierarchy. Her argument is that sexual violence against the women of this organization (both in Chocó and then in Bogotá) is an expression not only of gender-based violence but also of structural racism.

This intersectionality is in fact recognized by the Colombian state. For example, a report by the Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica ( CNMH, 2017: 294) highlights the fact that sexual violence against Afro-Colombian women perpetuates practices of domination that have existed since the colonial period. Hegemonic discourses about Afro-Colombian women represent them as "inferior human beings, uncivilized . . . savages" ( CNMH, 2017: 297), automatically placing them in contexts in which they are socially discriminated against, economically excluded, and likely to be victimized by armed conflict. The 2011 Victims' and Land Restitution Law created a Victims' Unit to provide comprehensive social, economic, cultural, and environmental compensation (collective reparations) to collective victims ( Unidad para las Víctimas, 2017), and Afro-Colombians are specifically mentioned as requiring differential treatment. AFROMUPAZ has spent years negotiating and working with various institutions of the state in order to develop a specific package of reparations for its members.

Finally, this intersectional experience of violence is identified by Afro-Colombian women's organizations themselves. For example, Laó-Montes (2016: 11) describes the employment by Afro-Colombian feminists in a high-level forum of

a critical radical decolonial feminist analysis of the problem of femicide [in the conflict] as the product of regimes of domination founded on the entanglement of modes of accumulation of capital by dispossessing people from their territories, with a racist culture that denies importance to Black lives, combined with forms of patriarchal violence aggressively executed over bodies of Afrodescendent and Indigenous women.

The women of AFROMUPAZ come from the coast, and after their initial experiences of violence, arriving in Bogotá as displaced persons was further overwhelming, stressful, and insecure. Meertens (2001: 140) suggests that the "rupture of social fabric at the family and neighborhood level has produced the sensation of being adrift: like a boat with no harbor." Victims of displacement recount having called distant relatives or people from their home towns who had already set up a new life in Bogotá in the hope of staying with them until they could find their own housing. They recall how difficult it was to arrive in a new city with few relatives, far from home, with no job prospects. They talk about the racism they encountered in the city; as black women they were often unable to find work or even rent a house. It was in this context that Urrutia saw the need to establish an organization that offered a welcoming community, the ability to heal the emotional scars of past abuses, protection against ongoing revictimization, and a source of fair employment.

Methodology

This article is based on 10 months of fieldwork with AFROMUPAZ, from January to October 2017. The organization is located in Usme, a locality in the south of Bogotá. It is made up of about 70 families, primarily headed by women who have between two and five children each, and is engaged in three main activities: psychosocial healing programs based on traditional practices, providing economic security through a series of small business ventures, and legally denouncing past and present acts of violence committed against members of the organization. At the time of research, it had its headquarters in a rented house that served as a meeting place, a source of employment, a day care center, and a space for psychosocial healing. Usme is far from a safe neighborhood and is home to many criminal gangs engaged in the trafficking of drugs, weapons, and people, but the office's central location is easy for many displaced women to reach on a daily basis.

Twenty-seven in-depth, semistructured interviews were conducted with both leaders and rank-and-file members of the organization, and they are complemented by many hours of participant observation of the daily workings of the organization, the behind-closed-doors deliberations of its leadership, and open organization-wide meetings. Because of the context of violence and the sensitive nature of the issues discussed, the article omits names to protect participants' anonymity. María Eugenia Urrutia permitted her name to be used; most of our discussions about AFROMUPAZ's brand of feminism come from a series of interviews with her.

Feminism "With a Woman's Body and Face"

The salience of the category "popular feminism"-what Lebon (2016) calls "class-inflected gender struggles"-is called into question in examining organizations whose collective identities are inextricably linked to race. The category itself is somewhat broad; outlining the history of the term, Maier (2010: 35-36) says, During the decade of the eighties, small groups of feminists, originally from the left of the political spectrum, formed the first associations dedicated to addressing the specific needs of women from the most vulnerable strata of urban society. Committed to social justice and convinced that the secret to a mass women's movement in Latin America lay in the intersection of gender and class, popular feminists saw the women of the neighborhood organizations through the lens of gender-consciousness solidarity and with prospects of growing the movement. . . .

The methodologies used by popular feminists rested on the shared identification, systematization, analysis, and comprehension of women's personal experiences as the source of collective knowledge about the meaning of gender, which then served as the reference for the development of political agendas based on a gender-class perspective.

Lebon (2010: 12-13) says that the new millennium and its critiques of entrenched neoliberal agendas allowed a new set of popular feminisms (including black women's feminisms) that did not easily fit within the professionalized feminist projects or feminist nongovernmental organizations to become more dynamic within the larger women's movement. Despite this, understandings of popular feminism often remain blind or neutral when it comes to critical engagement with intersecting identities such as race, even though many participants in popular feminist organizations are women of color.

Alvarez (2009: 177) observes that feminism in Latin America today has been "'sidestreamed' . . . spreading horizontally into a wide array of class and racial-ethnic communities and social and cultural spaces." Groups of working-class, Afro-descendant, indigenous, and/or lesbian women have "translated and radically transformed some of [feminism's] core tenets and fashioned 'other feminisms' that are deeply entwined . . . with national and global struggles against all forms of inequality and for social, sexual, and racial justice" (182). While "sidestreaming" offers the possibility of intersectional analysis, there is utility in preserving the specifically class-based perspective offered by popular feminism. AFROMUPAZ engages in activities that readily fall under the umbrella of popular feminism, particularly in that way they seek to meet women's practical interests and needs, but its members discuss their own brand of feminism as one with cuerpo y cara de mujer ("a woman's body and face"). Examining this organization, then, produces critiques not only of gender and class inequalities but also of inequalities between women and between racial and social groups, thereby "expanding the scope and reach of feminist messages" (Alvarez, 2009: 182). It further allows us to critically engage with what a popular feminism lens continues to render salient when it comes to the intersections between racialized gender and class.

Writing about differential feminist movements in the United States, Sandoval (2000: 60) says, "U.S. Third World feminism rose out of the matrix of the very discourses denying, permitting, and producing difference. Out of the imperatives born of necessity arose a mobility of identity that generated the activities of a new citizen-subject and that revealed yet another model for the self-conscious production of resistance." For her, Third World feminism is a "model for oppositional political activity and consciousness in the postmodern world." This seems to fit AFROMUPAZ's feminism. When I asked Urrutia if she considered the organization "feminist," she said, "Yes, but a differential feminism. We defend ourselves in the body and face of a woman-from our breasts to our vaginas! We will defend ourselves as women- from our makeup to our high heels. . . . I don't want to hide my body. I don't hide my bottom or my breasts" (interview, Bogotá, March 2, 2017). In my field notes, I wrote that there was a slightly uncomfortable feeling when I asked this question, and Urrutia became somewhat defensive in answering it. She continued: "AFROMUPAZ doesn't subscribe to the kinds of feminism where you wear suits. Sometimes we have disagreements with suit-wearing feminists. These women judge me for wearing colorful dresses or braids or makeup and looking sexy. But I am free-if I want to be a queen with a beautiful body, I will be."

There is a tension here between what Urrutia considers feminism and what she seems to think of as a more traditional or Western liberal definition implicit in the question. In referring to "suit-wearing feminists" she seems to be talking about a formalized or institutionalized feminist project with which she does not identify herself or the organization. Indeed, because I am of European descent, there is a chance that she is expressing skepticism of traditionally white middle-class feminist projects (i.e., that I am the kind of feminist who might wear a suit and this is not AFROMUPAZ's understanding of feminism). Finally, given our different positionalities, she may also have been referencing a class distinction.

Beyond being distinct from more "traditional" feminism, Urrutia's brand of feminism is tied up with racial identity. While at first glance her talk of colorful dresses, braids, and makeup may seem to make reference to an ethnicized feminity or sexuality (perhaps consistent with body politics), my research with the organization reveals that she is referring to a specifically race-based identity that she is not willing to compromise. Waylen et al. (2013) discuss body politics and "the way that gender intersects with race and ethnicity, sexuality . . . class [and] . . . other categories or axes of difference to illustrate that bodies are at intersections of different identity markers and powers." For the women of AFROMUPAZ, these practices (clothing, makeup, and hairstyles) are ways of remembering the way they dressed and behaved in their communities before they were displaced; it is also a powerful reminder of the conflict actors that tried to take away their agency over their own bodies. While these features are performances of (heteronormative) gender and sexuality, they can also be considered acts of resistance to structural racism. An interview with a member of an Afro-descendant feminist organization expanded on this point: "It might seem like a minor or subtle thing to talk about hair or about skin, but this is something that we are continually judged for in our daily lives, and this generates ongoing racism" (interview, Bogotá, August 13, 2018). Members of AFROMUPAZ describe the links between their appearance and their ability to freely express their racial identities; one interviewee discussed being offered employment on the condition that she remove her braids and change her hairstyle: "I had to start denying my heritage to get a job. I straightened my hair. My integrity suffered" (interview, Bogotá, February 28, 2017).

There are ongoing debates about the roles of femininity and performances of heteronormative gender and sexuality vis-à-vis the pursuit of feminist goals (see Coole, 2013; Lind, 2013). Given the racial and racialized history of violence suffered by Afro-Colombian women over the years, however, this is a key element of their feminism. Elman (2013) notes that particular experiences of sexual violence "reflect and shape women's subordination and mobilization against that subordination." Indeed, as noted above, hegemonic discourses about Afro-Colombian women's bodies from the colonial era onward hypersexualized them in a way that permitted and perpetuated sexual violence during the conflict. Reclaiming femininity and sexuality, then, can be seen as a way of reclaiming physical integrity and personal agency. Feminism is performed and represented "with a woman's body and face."

Latin American women's movements have a long tradition of questioning and contesting hegemonic (particularly Western) ideas of feminism (and what constitutes feminist behavior and action) (see Alvarez, 1999; Cabnal, 2010; Gargallo Celentani, 2012). Gargallo Celentani (2012: 132) notes that women from different walks of life-particularly indigenous or Afro-Latina women-may have multiple and intersecting concepts of "empowerment," "women's rights," or "feminism(s)": "There exist important lines of women's thinking that act in favor of women to better their life conditions but reject . . . calling themselves feminists." She explains that they may not want to project an ethos of "man-hating," see "feminist NGOs" as imposing projects that do not include their community/ancestral practices, or reject the idea of "hegemonic feminism as a political movement" (125, 129). Perhaps the most appropriate of these reasons for rejecting "feminist" labels is that an intersectional identity based in race is by its very nature mixed. Given the oppression that the women of AFROMUPAZ have faced as a function of being black women during Colombia's civil conflict, they are reluctant to isolate themselves from the larger movement of Afro-Colombians (men and women) who have also suffered racially based violence.

Urrutia does not flatly reject the label but rather qualifies it within her own understanding of the term. In calling herself a "differential feminist," she espouses gender equality and seeks gender justice without abandoning the traditional cultural symbols of femininity of her community and her upbringing. With Sandoval (2000: 196), then, we can see that her feminism "represents the opportunity to engage in social praxis through the constant surveying of social powers and interjection in them by a new kind of politicized citizen-warrior." For example, when she talks about braids and colorful clothes, she is referring to styles that are tied to her identity and positionality as a black woman from the Pacific Coast. As noted above, given her experiences of sexualized violence, these acts are also tied up with a recovery of feminity and sexuality. She understands that flaunting her sexuality and engaging in traditionally gendered roles (for example, child care and cooking, which notably are included under the umbrella of "popular feminism") may not fit within some definitions of "feminism." From a popular feminist perspective, however, many women from the "popular" classes attribute value to these activities and link these in a positive way to their identities as mothers and women. For Urrutia, this is not counterproductive to the pursuit of gender equality.

These tensions are consistent with those of Afro-Colombian feminist movements more broadly. As Laó-Montes (2016: 10, 12) observes, "the new generation of Afro-Colombian feminism is bringing sexual politics to the forefront of the politics of Black liberation" and "cultivating dynamic racial and sexual politics, their most critical and radical sectors actively advocating for a decolonial politics of liberation." Instead of contesting gendered divisions of labor, these women celebrate the ability to participate in domestic tasks and expressions of femininity and sexuality. What may seem like body politics is really "a rising political culture, which includes hair and dressing styles as sort of political performances" (9). With regard to AFROMUPAZ, we have seen that women's experiences of violence and oppression rest in their identities both as women and as black women.

The areas in which they operate-psychosocial healing, social safety nets, collective reparations, and cultural activities-are, broadly speaking, consistent with those of popular feminism: in the absence of state support and the presence of systematic violence, women take it upon themselves to meet the practical needs of their community. What also becomes apparent, however, is that all of these activities fundamentally include a connection with Afro-Colombian heritage, traditions, wisdoms, and understandings. Alvarez and Caldwell (2016: vi, quoting Pons Cardoso, 2014) write of "Amefricanidade," an epistemology that enhances the visibility of Afro-descendant feminisms, "thinks from within" those decolonial histories of struggle, and pursues "an interconnected approach to racism, colonialism, imperialism, and its effects." They note that Afro-descendant feminisms have advanced "radical re-imaginings of not only 'mainstream' or hegemonic Latin American feminisms, but also of race, gender, sexuality, democracy, health, development, cultural production, generation, citizenship, and other issues and ideas that are central to feminist theory." Indeed, an interview with a young Afro-descendant member of the Colectiva Matamba (quoted in Zulver, 2018b: 380) highlights her disagreements with "white feminists" who uncritically criticize gendered divisions of labor:

Feminism is a political movement that fights for social equality. But when Black women have never [properly] been understood as women, I can't buy into this understanding. When white women were asking to be in the streets, my ancestors were already in the streets, working for free as slaves. What type of freedom does white feminism include? We understand femininity differently. We live our femininity differently. We resist differently.

Another member framed her group's activism in the context of structural racism emanating from Colombia's era of slavery ( Zulver, 2018b: 380):

We have had lots of struggles with white feminists in the past. They only defend what they consider women's rights. For example, women's right to work. But Black women have always had to work. Maybe Black women would prefer to be in their own houses, taking care of their own children, but they can't because they have to take care of other people's children.

Simply employing a popular feminist lens would show that the women of AFROMUPAZ engage in gendered activities such as cooking, sewing, and child care in the absence of a state that takes care of their needs. The addition of an intersectional perspective, however, highlights that these women are engaging not only in a class critique but, given their long history of subordination (beginning in the colonial/slavery era and continuing throughout Colombia's armed conflict), in a race critique.

In this sense, AFROMUPAZ operates in what Laó-Montes (2016: 6) calls the "boom" of Afro-Latin American feminisms that emerged in the context of the region's political pink tide: "One of the most important developments in feminist theory and politics in the region is the rise of Afrodescendent and Indigenous feminisms with explicitly intersectional perspectives-that ethnic-racial, gender, class, and sexual oppression articulate and inform one another." He further links Crenshaw's (1991) language of intersectionality to a "radical political culture growing across the region that relates social justice to gender democracy, respect for sexual diversity, ethnic-racial equity, and ecological harmony" (7).

AFROMUPAZ falls somewhere between a popular feminist movement and a radical Afro-descendant feminist movement. Its activities neither are entirely consistent with the gender-class perspective offered by popular feminism nor share the radical and transformational aspirations of some other Afro-descendant feminist organizations. Rather, it straddles the two categories. The rest of this article will show the utility of employing both class- and race-based lenses to understand and analyze AFROMUPAZ in the wider context of gendered violent pluralism in Colombia.

Navigating Experiences of Terror and Resistance

The women of AFROMUPAZ are the victims of multiple and continuing acts of violence. After being displaced from the Pacific Coast, many of them traveled to different parts of the country and experienced secondary and tertiary acts of displacement before arriving in Usme. Members of the organization talk about revictimization. The experience of living in Usme exposes them to further dangers, both related directly to the conflict and as a function of living in a socioeconomically marginalized neighborhood. Moreover, being part of an organization of women puts an additional target on their backs: "We have been threatened for being part of AFROMUPAZ. We leave the building and they threaten us. . . . We are afraid, but this also gives us strength. It makes us stronger" (Sandra and Paula, interview, Bogotá, June 23, 2017).

Urrutia is herself a survivor of displacement and multiple incidents of sexual violence. Originally from San Juan in the Department of Chocó, in 1998 she was raped by paramilitaries while her former partner and her child were forced to watch. With only a suitcase, she brought her family to Bogotá and established AFROMUPAZ as a way to help women in similar situations. She was one of the organizers and participants of the invasion of the Red Cross buildings in Bogotá by displaced families (see El Tiempo, 2002; Pinilla, 2000). The Afro-Colombian women present decided that they wanted differential representation that understood their situations as both Afro and women: "They said, no, we don't want to be lumped in with all the women or with all the Afro-Colombian people" (interview, Bogotá, September 25, 2017). Urrutia was the obvious choice and was elected leader. When she left the Red Cross building she began to organize with other women, working together for the specific needs of Afro-Colombian women who had been displaced by the conflict.

In 2010 (10 years after founding the organization), she and another member of AFROMUPAZ were kidnapped from the office in Usme by paramilitary successors and repeatedly sexually abused over the course of a week. She was told that she was being abused this way as punishment for encouraging other women to denounce the crimes they had suffered ( Gómez Carvajal, 2015; Moloney, 2014). After being released, she found comfort in singing the ancestral songs of her childhood in Chocó. Through experiences of violence and pain she generated a strategy for confronting and resisting both past and present violence.

These experiences of historical and ongoing violence are AFROMUPAZ's raison d'être. It sees a need to overcome the pain of the past while also protecting women from contemporary dangers and risks. Urrutia's primary focus is the creation of an identity of survivorship. She speaks out against calling women "victims" and encourages a celebration of the experience of having survived violent acts. A quilt that hangs in the downstairs meeting room at the AFROMUPAZ house, the product of one of the house's programs, features phrases such as "We Build Peace," "Cultural Diversity," "Afro Women," "Healing," and "The Town of the Survivors" ().

Psychosocial Healing

The Huerta al Perejil (Parsley Garden) program developed by Urrutia and the women of AFROMUPAZ is named after a song from the Chocó region and seeks to recover the "ancestral roots" of the community that have been damaged through displacement. In her introduction to the organization's book on the subject, Urrutia says, "[This process] begins with the recognition of the historical, economic, social, and cultural inputs that our black communities have given to this country and the understanding that from this foundation we can create a healthy and peaceful society" ( AFROMUPAZ, 2014: 10). AFROMUPAZ tries to foster a sense of collective identity by drawing on shared cultural and ancestral traditions. In doing so, it "reconstructs the social and communal fabric" of the Afro-Colombian community in a new city. Using a narrative of cultural wisdom and ancestral traditions, it invites women displaced by the conflict to reassociate themselves with their backgrounds and thus become united by a shared heritage-one that was specifically targeted during the conflict-in addition to their shared experiences of pain.

AFROMUPAZ aims to carry out activities that allow "a path of healing for the women in which the feeling of estrangement and isolation generated by displacement is transformed thanks to the recovery of ancestral roots that contain a shared memory that was previously silenced by the violence" ( AFROMUPAZ, 2014: 10). The process of collective identity creation can be understood as a form of resistance against violence. The Huerta al Perejil program employs dance, song, theater, and relaxation exercises to allow participants as part of a 14-step "individual and collective comprehensive healing process" that includes reflection, remembrance, and forgiveness. It is important to note the collective element of this process. In completing the steps of the program, the survivor is engaging in an exercise that dispels the idea that she is alone in her pain and stresses that she is part of a community of women who have also suffered. In creating a shared identity of survivorship, AFROMUPAZ builds a solid base for resistance, reconstruction, and political training. According to Paula, "What gives a person the strength to erase all of this is the knowledge that it's not just one person but many together" (interview, Bogotá, June 23, 2017). In creating this alternative psychosocial healing program, AFROMUPAZ calls attention to the fact that the government programs are not tailored to the specific needs of Afro-Colombian women and that a differential understanding of the violence they have suffered for their identities as black women is essential for their emotional healing.

Social Safety Net

Another part of Urrutia's vision for AFROMUPAZ was creating a social safety net for displaced Afro-Colombian women. The experience of arriving in Bogotá, often widowed and with children, was socially isolating for these women (see Meertens, 2001). Moreover, as discussed above, the social dynamics of racism made it hard for them to obtain employment or even rent a place to live. Seeing these dynamics and having experienced them herself, Urrutia decided to create a space-both physical and emotional-for women to come together and gain the benefits of community solidarity. She realized that AFROMUPAZ needed to create not only a safe space for women to share their emotional burdens but also a safe place free from racism where women could earn a living. As a result, AFROMUPAZ became not only an organization but also a business: "Women have to generate their own resources-this actually serves to prevent violence! Women are then going to be less willing to accept violence. We do not allow for a narrative of inequality in AFROMUPAZ. This makes your mind poor. . . . We do not talk about victims, we talk about survivors" (interview, Bogotá, March 2, 2017).

The AFROMUPAZ house is home to an industrial kitchen that women use to bake coconut biscuits, chontaduro cake, and other sweets. They import the ingredients from Chocó and use traditional recipes. In addition, they receive training in catering and hire themselves out to cook for and serve food at events. When the kitchen is not being used for cooking, they make beauty products such as soaps and creams that they sell at markets. Upstairs they have sewing machines, and they design and produce clothing and jewelry typical of the Chocó region. All of the women of AFROMUPAZ are expected to participate in these activities (according to their skills); this becomes a member's "day job." Interviewees express their satisfaction at being able to work in a safe environment with their friends, away from racism and discrimination. The profits from the sale of these products do not yet allow the women to earn a wage, but this is the goal. At the time of research, the profits pay the bills and the rent on the house. Every day, however, the women prepare a hot lunch for themselves and their children. Moreover, the attic of the building has been converted into a day care center so that the women do not have to worry about child care while they are at work.

In this effort AFROMUPAZ is comparable to other popular feminist organizations in Latin America such as the comedores populares in Peru and Bolivia (see Blondet and Montero, 1995). When the state does not meet the material needs of vulnerable women, they are prone to take things into their own hands. Whether the long-term results of this self-sufficiency are desirable, however, is questionable ( Schroeder, 2006). Although these activities seem to fit within traditional understandings of "women's work," interviewees express their satisfaction at being to able to maintain their cultural and ancestral practices, which they do not see as incompatible with their gender objectives.

The "housework" performed by Afro-descendant women must be considered in terms of the long trajectory of slavery and ongoing structural racism. Certain feminists' fight for the right to leave the confines of the home to participate in the labor market does not adequately address or problematize the fact that black women have been forced to work outside their homes for centuries. As discussed by interlocutors above, if an Afro-descendant woman chooses to engage in child care and cooking, this decision must be framed in terms of an understanding of what these actions mean culturally and historically as well as from a class-based perspective.

Collective Reparations

Beyond internal benefits, AFROMUPAZ has also called on the institutions of the state to help displaced Afro-Colombian women. Since 2015 the organization has been receiving collective reparations. Urrutia is pragmatic about the organization's demands. She stresses that any campaign that the Victims' Unit or the Mayor's Office devises with AFROMUPAZ needs to bring about change, and she recognizes the need to maintain a balance between the scope of the reparations program and the needs of the organization. She points out that the women of the organization were acutely aware of the window of time in which it was possible to convert their demands into practice: "We were able to take advantage of the willingness of the government to negotiate and advance" (interview, Bogotá, May 11, 2017). In outlining their demands in the form of a plan developed in conjunction with the Victims' Unit, however, the women accepted that there would be specific issues that would not be negotiable at that moment but others on which they could move forward: "In what we could not [negotiate], we said, 'Let's put it aside and wait and see. In what we can [negotiate], let's advance!" (interview, Bogotá, May 11, 2017). For example, they knew that they were unlikely to receive wages for work in the kitchen or money to pay the rent on their house, but if they requested supplies and equipment that could help them increase the outputs of their business this would generate funds to pay the rent and eventually to provide them with wages.

Cultural Activities

Finally, AFROMUPAZ engages in a series of public strategies-cultural fairs and open days-that educate and showcase Afro-Colombian culture for the Colombian public in order to reduce racist stigma. At the time of my research, it was planning its sixth cultural fair. Previous events had involved music, dance, and song and the exhibition of culinary and artisanal products. Usually held in public spaces like the Plaza de Bolívar, these fairs look to use cultural diversity to promote healing. According to Urrutia, they allow the organization to create "stages of peace." AFROMUPAZ is founded on the belief that the recovery of cultural traditions can bring about healing, and the cultural fairs are an opportunity for sharing this with the public ( Secretaría Distrital de la Mujer, 2015).

Open days are a new strategy in the AFROMUPAZ repertoire. In June 2017, the organization advertised an open day for various state institutions with which it works to come and learn more about its cultural heritage. The garage doors were opened, and the main meeting room was used to display all the different products and food items created by the organization. Other open days were designed for the neighbors. Yasmina explains that in order to build social cohesion in the neighborhood, it is imperative that the neighbors understand what the women of AFROMUPAZ are doing (interview, Bogotá, June 31, 2017). By sharing music and food with the community, the organization demonstrates the benefits it provides to local Afro-Colombian women. It hopes to create bonds of trust with the neighbors that will prevent further violence and victimization of members. Opening its doors to the public not only allows the community to get to know the strategies of AFROMUPAZ but also establishes it as a legitimate social actor in the neighborhood. Celebrating being women and being Afro-Colombian in a public space is an act of resistance to those who have systematically tried to silence them throughout the conflict.

Conclusion: Racialized Identities and Popular Feminism

Alvarez (1999: 184) locates feminisms as inhabiting an "expansive, polycentric, heterogeneous, discursive field of action which spans a vast array of cultural, social, and political arenas." In Colombia's geographies of terror, feminist action is circumscribed by high risk. AFROMUPAZ advocates gender justice by actively resisting the racialized sexism that is intensified by conflict. It also, however, engages in activities that meet the practical needs of its constituents.

The activities that AFROMUPAZ undertakes, including cooking, sewing, and child care, are broadly consistent with popular feminism. With that said, the organization's feminism "with a woman's body and face" is a feminism intrisincally tied to its members' racial identities. Thus it represents an interesting critique of race-blind or race-neutral popular feminist theorizing. As can be seen in Urrutia's reticence to uncritically identify as a feminist, the willingness of the women of AFROMUPAZ to subscribe to a feminist identity is contingent on the inclusion of race in its definition. Members draw on identities both as women and as Afro-Colombian women to shape an understanding of their environment and create strategies of resistance against violence.

While the case of AFROMUPAZ has highlighted popular feminism's blindness to certain intersectional dynamics of Afro-descendant mobilization, it has also reinforced its capacity to call attention to the gendered struggles of displaced women and the intersections of racialized gender and class. Their struggles to feed themselves and their children, find employment, and generate income may not immediately appear to be feminist concerns, but they are in fact tied up with gendered processes and are therefore key to understanding women's resulting mobilization. Afro-Colombian women are economically marginalized and continue to be discriminated against, and their livelihood struggles (practical interests) are intrinsic to their pursuit of gender justice (strategic interests).

In contrast to the Afro-Colombian feminist collectives discussed by Laó-Montes (2016) and Vergara and Arboleda (2016), AFROMUPAZ does not position itself as having paradigm-shifting goals. Indeed, the women of AFROMUPAZ openly take part in activities that are consistent with popular feminism. They provide food for themselves and their children, create small businesses to generate financial resources, and even engage in psychosocial healing practices to recover from past and ongoing traumas. Their activities have a gendered dimension: at first glance, cooking, child care, sewing, and beauty-product-making seem to fall within binaries about what women's work looks like. However, these activities are less about their gendered roles in the community than about celebrating their Afro-Colombian identities, including a recovery of identities and activities that they were denied throughout a history of slavery and then of armed conflict. Understanding AFROMUPAZ's actions as an expression of popular feminism results in an incomplete understanding of the spaces that it occupies, the strategies it employs, and the societal criticisms it puts forward. Locating the organization within the larger landscape of Afro-Colombian and, indeed, Afro-Latina feminisms makes its raison d'être clearer. AFROMUPAZ, then, highlights the need for a reconstructed or intersectional understanding of popular feminism. Laó-Montes's (2016: 16) observation that "decolonial feminism and intersectional analyses and methodologies are rising and shining, involving a radical critique of the coloniality of power along with a multifaceted politics of liberation" can be taken as a call to develop the ways in which we study women's organizations in the region more broadly.

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Julia Zulver is a Marie Skłodowska-Curie Research Fellow at the University of Oxford's School of Global and Area Studies and the Instituto de Investigaciones Jurídicas at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Her doctoral thesis examined women's mobilization in Latin America with a focus on Colombia and aimed to test and refine the parameters of high-risk feminism. This research was supported by the Commonwealth Scholarship and a Social Sciences and Research Council of Canada Doctoral Fellowship. The author thanks the women of AFROMUPAZ for their time and willingness to participate in this project. She also thanks Leigh Payne, Jonas von Hoffmann, Janet Conway, Nathalie Lebon, and the other reviewers for their thoughtful comments and suggestions.

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Asociación de Mujeres Afro por la Paz: Feminism with the Body and Face of a Woman - Julia Margaret Zulver, 2021

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The Asociación de Mujeres Afro por la Paz (Association of Afro Women for Peace-AFROMUPAZ) is an organization of displaced Afro-Colombian women now based in Bogotá. The organization represents a differential brand of feminism in the face of historical and ongoing violence and provides community, support, and employment opportunities for dozens of women and their families.

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Feminist Political Movement Organizes for Change in Colombia

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Feminist Political Movement Organizes for Change in Colombia

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2021-#39 Estamos Listas supports feminist candidates for public office and is taking action to end violence against women in Colombia.

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The last thing that Pamela Lorduy remembers from June 8, 2019 was having an argument with her boyfriend at the time. The following day, she woke up in hospital. She had broken her pelvis in six places, three ribs, four vertebrae, her tibia, fibula, heel bone, ankle, sacrum, and humerus bone.

Lorduy, now 29, believes her ex-boyfriend of 14 years pushed her off the ninth-floor balcony of the home they shared in Envigado, a town south of Colombia's second-largest city, Medellín. Envigado is in the department of Antioquia, home to the country's most dangerous municipalities for women.

The year of Lorduy's attempted murder, one Colombian woman became a victim of violence at the hands of her partner or ex-partner every 13 minutes, according to Sisma Mujer, an organization that works with victims of gender-based violence.

Today, the administrative analyst still suffers from chronic pain, limited mobility, depression, and anxiety, while her ex-partner-after spending 540 days in preventive prison-now walks the streets a free man, having exceeded the legal timeframe for pre-trial detention. His trial is yet to take place.

In 2020, more than 90 percent of family violence cases against women in Colombia remained in the "inquiry" stage, and only seven percent went to trial, according to Sisma Mujer.

"The justice system in this country doesn't work," Lorduy said.

Marta Restrepo, a member of Colombia's first nationwide feminist political movement, Estamos Listas, believes that the existing justice system fails women. "The feminist presence on the interior of the justice system ... is practically absent," she said.

In its current form, according to Restrepo, "the state is occupied by those who insist on maintaining women in a position of subordination and maintaining men in a position of impunity."

Estamos Listas, or "We're Ready," is a grassroots movement born in Medellín in 2019 building a feminist democracy by redistributing power and wealth and achieving justice for women. One of its main priorities is to combat violence against women in Colombia. Estamos Listas is currently endorsing Francia Márquez and Angela Robledo, two progressive feminist precandidates who will run in next year's presidential elections.

Feminists in Colombia, Restrepo believes, are at an inflection point. Responding to the state's failure to serve them, they have spent years building alternative political worlds through independent, non-governmental organizations. But not engaging with the political system means patriarchy still defines the state.

"What Estamos Listas has proposed to Colombia and its feminists is to occupy the state," Restrepo said. "We see no other alternative."

The organization recently decided to expand its current base of 800 active members nationwide. They hope to recruit a diverse range of women from another 120 municipalities across Colombia to join the movement. As Estamos Listas is not connected to a political party, the movement is currently collecting a list of signatures to gain representation in the Colombian Senate as an independent political movement.

April 5, Estamos Listas held the country's first National Feminist Convention, inviting precandidates Márquez, a human rights and environmental activist, and Congresswoman Robledo. Instead of Colombia's largest cities such as Bogotá or Medellín, they chose Honda, Tolima, for the event-a small town in central Colombia that connects the country's peripheral departments, to reflect their aim of decentralizing politics.

Márquez is a well-known social leader from a village in Cauca, a victim of Colombia's half-century-long armed conflict, and the winner of the 2018 Goldman Environmental Prize. Robledo is a congresswoman, previously for the center-left Green Alliance in Bogotá and was the running mate of leftist candidate Gustavo Petro in the 2016 presidential elections.

Márquez will be running independently for president, through the political movement Soy Porque Somos (I am because we are). Robledo will be running with the center-left Hope Coalition, comprised of the Green Alliance, and five other centrist and leftist politicians. Although the two women will compete against each other for the presidency, they both, along with Estamos Listas, share a common goal: to feminize the state.

Through their endorsement of Márquez and Robledo's presidential candidacies at the National Convention, Estamos Listas formed part of a "pact" of progressive female politicians and the Colombian feminists who will vote for them.

This social and political pact, explained Restrepo, will give citizens the ability to advance structural change. "And this is only possible if we remove this minority from political power," she said.

Since Dora Saldarriaga became the Estamos Listas representative for Medellín's city council in 2019, the movement has pioneered campaigns to track down disappeared women, support the families of feminicide victims, and reduce soaring levels of violence against women.

Their members, or "militants," wear purple neckerchiefs to identify themselves around the city. They fight to change the unequal power dynamics between women and men in all areas of society and put women's lives at the political center, as opposed to economics or private property.

According to Restrepo, the movement's manifesto focuses on recognizing the gradual decline of the state, acknowledging the political and economic value of reproductive and care-orientated work, defending life, and opposing the anti-rights agenda.

"The advancement of an anti-rights agenda is a fundamental nod to those backward political sectors who want us to retreat in what we have earned through years of fighting, not only for women, but also for sexual and gender diversity, and for the groups historically deprived of power in our country-Afro-Colombians, Indigenous people, rural farmers, and the working class," Restrepo said.

The women who experience the highest levels of violence in Colombia are racialized, explained Márquez in an interview.

"As an Afro-descendant woman, I want to aim for the precedency and vie for a position that has been a place of privilege for white men," she said. "I represent the voices of some women who, although they don't stand out in feminism, are taking action against the injustice we live through in society."

Violence Against Women in Colombia

According to Colombia's Feminicide Observatory, so far in 2021 there have been 106 feminicides. The United Nations defines feminicides as homicides of women killed by gender violence. Last year, there were 630 feminicides, an increase of more than 10 percent from 2019. However, the ethnicity of the victim was only specified in 125 cases during 2020.

Restrepo believes the "tremendous deficit" in information systems for reporting these crimes is due to state corruption and a lack of coordination between government agencies, which often restrict access to these databases.

In Colombia, violence against women also goes underreported because it is normalized, dissuading women from speaking out, explained a recent Sisma Mujer report. State institutions often stigmatize or revictimize women, meaning they refrain from telling their stories out of fear.

"I feel a responsibility to raise my voice for the other women who couldn't raise theirs," said Lorduy. "I'm raising mine for me and for all of them."

Like in Lorduy's case, the majority of violence against women happens in the home, and according to Sisma Mujer, mostly at the hands of a partner. For Adriana Benjumea, Director of Corporación Humanas Colombia, a research center that works to defend women's rights, these numbers are a cause for concern because the home should be a safe space for women.

While women were confined to their homes during the pandemic, violence against them worsened. From March 2020 to February 2021, calls to Colombia's domestic violence helpline increased by approximately 85 percent.

In a recent report on the impact of the pandemic on women across the world, the United Nations attributes this increase to five factors: security, health and money worries, cramped living conditions, isolation with abusers, movement restrictions, and deserted public spaces.

But in Colombia, Benjumea believes prevention fell short. "During the pandemic, the Colombian government was late in generating a rapid response to reports of violence against women," she pointed out.

In Latin America, the pandemic has also set back women's participation in the labor market by a decade, according to the United Nations.

"This sector of society ... is the weakest link in the chain," said Benjumea. "They're the women who used to work in domestic service and were laid off, the sex workers unable to work during the pandemic, the female informal workers," she reeled off the list.

City Councilwoman Saldarriaga believes the only way to remedy the gender pay gap is through political determination. Márquez hopes to drive this change.

"Economic empowerment driven by public policies that put care for life at the center is a priority," Márquez said.

But before she can do this, Márquez believes she must heal the wounds of Colombia's armed conflict first. "Armed conflict has served as a distraction for the state to avoid concentrating its actions on its basic purpose," she said.

Restrepo of Estamos Listas says that it is significant that two women will run for president and Colombian feminists must rally behind them. Estamos Listas is hoping to build the necessary political and strategic unity to overcome the barriers to a woman being elected.

"It will be the biggest ever bet to change the hegemonic power structures," said Saldarriaga, reflecting on the prospect of a feminist presidency. "It would be the first time that two women ... would change the discourse of war that we have heard for so many years for a discourse of life, one which structurally modifies inequality."
Sophie Foggin is a freelance journalist based in Medellín, Colombia covering human rights, politics, and gender issues in Latin America.

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Feminist Political Movement Organizes for Change in Colombia

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The last thing that Pamela Lorduy remembers from June 8, 2019 was having an argument with her boyfriend at the time. The following day, she woke up in hospital. She had broken her pelvis in six places, three ribs, four vertebrae, her tibia, fibula, heel bone, ankle, sacrum, and humerus bone.

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In these five podcasts, the women participants intertwine, through their voices and spirit, taking us on different journeys.  

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In these five podcasts, the women participants intertwine, through their voices and spirit, taking us on different journeys.  

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2021- #21

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ICIP premieres a series of podcasts featuring Colombian women in exile and the diaspora - ICIP

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L’ICIP and Alharaca Ràdio Feminista present ‘Semillantes’, a series of five podcasts about Colombian women in exile and the diaspora.

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ICIP premieres a series of podcasts featuring Colombian women in exile and the diaspora

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One of the most important places where protest music is helping protesters change society is Colombia.

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One of the most important places where protest music is helping protesters change society is Colombia.

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2021- #17

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Feid-ing in: Colombia, Latin America are riding a wave of protests — and protest music

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This is the second of two reports on a potent new synergy between protests and protest music in Latin America, from Cuba to Colombia, San Juan to Santiago.

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2021- #25

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Karol G, the Bichota of reggaeton succeeds in a male-dominated world

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Reggaeton singer Karol G released new album and talked about the difficulties of being a woman in the most sexist music industry.

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10 Afro-Colombian artists you should know about

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10 Afro-Colombian artists you should know about

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2020- #27

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Few songs evoke Colombian pride like Grupo Niche 's salsa classic "Cali Pachanguero." The moment the song's opening trombone intro plays in a room full of Colombians, chairs and tables get pushed to the side, the space turns into a makeshift dance floor and a sing-along breaks out.

So what if the song is a love letter to the city of Cali? The entire country embraced Cali's unofficial anthem as its own and felt national pride when a snippet of the song played during this year's Academy Awards.

"Cali Pachanguero" - normally a staple at Colombian Independence Day celebrations taking place this time of the year - was written by the late Jairo Varela. The salsa legend co-founded Grupo Niche with Alexis Lozano, giving it a name - "Niche" - that is used to refer to dark-skinned people. Varela is one of many Afro-Colombians who've shaped music in a country known as "the land of a thousand rhythms." Not many others, however, have achieved the same level of mainstream success.

Breaking through in the industry has historically been an uphill battle for Afro-Colombians. But artists such as Varela's Grupo Niche, Lozano's Orquesta Guayacan, Toto La Momposina, Leonor Gonzalez Mina and, more recently, ChocQuibTown - which includes Varela's niece Gloria "Goyo" Martinez and nephew Miguel "Slow" Martinez - have led the charge and served as inspiration for others.

With the Black Lives Matter movement extending across the globe, it seems appropriate that this July 20, we celebrate Colombian Independence Day by highlighting Afro-Colombian artists, both veterans and newcomers you might not know, but should.

Lido Pimienta: This Barranquilla-born experimental singer now residing in Toronto marches to the beat of her own tambor alegre. Pimienta proudly celebrates her roots by blending Colombian styles such as porro and cumbia with electronic and orchestral production. But don't think the queer daughter of Afro-Colombian and indigenous parents won't confront her native country for its prejudice and corruption, as heard in her sophomore album, Miss Colombia. That defiant album, by the way, is on the short list for the 2020 Polaris Music Prize - a prestigious best Canadian album award that Pimienta won in 2017.

Mr. Black El Presidente: Shakira may have introduced the rest of the world to champeta's dizzying footwork at this year's Super Bowl. But the genre - born in Colombia's Atlantic coast and influenced by African rhythms such as soukous and highlife - is part of Colombia's long musical heritage. Once shunned by many in the country for being too risque and low-class, it has seen increasing acceptance thanks to artists like Mr. Black, credited with helping steer the champeta ship the last 20 years as it became more accepted. These days the self-proclaimed "Presidente del Genero" enjoys legend status and a fan base that extends overseas.

Mabiland:Her soulful voice and jazz-infused sound has earned her comparisons to Amy Winehouse and Erykah Badu, but make no mistake: Mabiland is a true original. The LGBTQ neo-soul singer and rapper is a versatile breath of fresh air, alternating between singing, rapping and spoken word in her music. And while Mabiland does tend to focus on love, personal growth and female empowerment, she can also turn up when needed, as shown by her feature on Crudo Means Raw's viral dembow track "La Mitad de la Mitad."

Willy Garcia:You may have heard Garcia's voice before and not even know it. He was a member of Grupo Niche from 1994 to 2002 and then formed the critically-acclaimed salsa duo Son de Cali with Grupo Niche bandmate Javier Vasquez. Son de Cali earned a best salsa/merengue album Grammy nod for Creciendo and saw three songs reach the top 10 of Billboard's Tropical Airplay chart. Garcia spent most of the last decade establishing himself as a solo artist but did reunite with Vasquez for a Son de Cali tour earlier this year.

https://youtu.be/E2AiK8RzHaU

Herencia de Timbiqui:Backed by the folkloric sounds of the marimba and cununos (a type of drum), this all-male ensemble founded in the remote Pacific coast town of Timbiquí honors the region's idiosyncrasies and musical traditions and fuses them with elements of rock and pop. Fans of Netflix's La Niña may recognize Herencia de Timbiqui's nostalgic "Te Invito" as the Colombian drama's intro theme.

Kevin Florez:Traditional champeta was given a slight makeover when Florez arrived on the scene and combined champeta's tropical sound with rap. The Cartagena native's hits "La Invité a Bailar" and "Con Ella" ushered in the subgenre known as champeta urbana. Florez anointed himself "El Rey de la Champeta Urbana."

Profetas:This male-female duo's well-traveled brand of hip-hop and reggae is finding a following outside of Colombia. Pablo Fortaleza, nephew of late-salsa singer Piper Pimienta - and bandmate Antombo Langangui, who arrived in Colombia by way of the Central African Republic when she was 10 - make melodic tropical hip-hop that renders language barriers irrelevant. Together they've performed at international festivals such as SXSW and Glastonbury.

Buxxi: Life hasn't been the same for Buxxi ever since he released "Como Tu No Hay Dos" in 2011. The high-tempo reggaeton bop took off in Latin America and beyond; it was famously a locker room anthem for Spanish soccer club Real Madrid, and the official video has nearly 40 million views on YouTube to date. Buxxi's club-friendly singles "Vuelve" and "Te Quiero Conmigo" followed, as did collaborations with J Balvin, Zion & Lennox and ChocQuibTown.

Mauro Castillo:Born in the salsa capital of the world, this Cali native has helped continue the city's musical tradition with his ageless voice and knack for the trombone. Castillo began his career with stints in various bands, most famously Grupo Niche, and then soon after enjoyed success as a solo artist thanks to his salsa ode to unrequited love, "Viene Y Se Va." (The added exposure from his TV role on the novela El Joe, La Leyenda didn't hurt, either.) In May, Castillo released Idilios, an album he says was made during quarantine in just two weeks.

Allow Julián Salazar, Bomba Estereo's ex-guitarist, and Franklin Tejedor, a former drummer for the long-running San Basilio de Palenque ensemble Las Alegres Ambulancias, to introduce you to the unlikely world of "techno palenque." The multi-racial duo invented the term to describe Mitu's experimental electronic music, which set out to replicate the sounds of the Pacific coast jungles using synthesizers and tambor alegre. These danceable beats are occasionally accompanied by vocals in Palenquero - the creole language spoken in Palenque, said to be the first free town in the Americas - and Spanish.

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In Honor of Colombia's Independence, 10 Afro-Colombian Artists You Should Know

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Few songs evoke Colombian pride like Grupo Niche 's salsa classic "Cali Pachanguero." The moment the song's opening trombone intro plays in a room full of Colombians, chairs and tables get pushed to the side, the space turns into a makeshift dance floor and a sing-along breaks out.

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Attention about silent reggae artists about death of Floyd get fact checked that their entire genre is based on African roots

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Attention about silent reggae artists about death of Floyd get fact checked that their entire genre is based on African roots

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2020-#19

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Gloria "Goyo" Martínez, of the genre-bending hip-hop trio ChocQuibTown. (David Micolta)

When artists across the music industry began speaking out against racial injustice following George Floyd's death at the hands of Minneapolis police, "King of Reggaeton" Daddy Yankee and Calle 13 rapper Residente were among them. But many of reggaeton's biggest stars stayed conspicuously silent.

There was nothing from Bad Bunny, the charismatic Puerto Rican rapper and outspoken LGBTQ ally who was a visible ( and audible) figure in the protests that led to the resignation of Puerto Rico's governor. Fans called out others for tone-deaf posts: Colombian breakout Karol G tweeted a photo of a dog with black and white spots, tweeting in Spanish that it was "the perfect example" of how beautiful white and black looks together. J Balvin included the Black Lives Matter hashtag alongside a video of himself dancing with a Black woman.

Those messages highlighted the growing dissonance between reggaeton's origins in poor, marginalized communities in Puerto Rico and Panama and the genre's contemporary and increasingly global image. Reggaeton and its offshoots - including Latin trap - grew out of Black music genres including reggae, dancehall and rap. Reggaeton is inherently Black and inherently political: poverty, racism, police violence and the genre's own criminalization were persistent themes in the genre's early days, anchored by Afro-Latino pioneers including Tego Calderón, Ivy Queen and reggae en Español legend El General.

The clumsy platitudes from some of reggaeton's chart-topping stars failed to honor that legacy and overlooked the systemic racism experienced by Afro-Latinos. And it wasn't just fans who took note of the erasure: Gloria "Goyo" Martinez, lead singer of the Afro-Colombian hip-hop trio ChocQuibTown, shared an emotional open letter via Billboard, lamenting some of the uninformed statements she had seen on social media.

"[Saying] that we are all equal negates racism and discrimination," Goyo wrote in Spanish. "I read superficial messages that allow people to keep saying something that is not true." Her letter also referenced Anderson Arboleda, a 24-year-old Afro-Colombian man who died in May after a Colombian police officer allegedly struck him on the head with a baton.

The discourse reflected issues that extend beyond the music industry: namely racial politics in Latin America and the Caribbean, where the notion of a national, multiracial identity - mestizaje - has long been emphasized over individual race. Fans and critics have for years urged reggaeton, now overwhelmingly dominated by White or light-skinned Latinos, to acknowledge and honor its Black roots. The backlash to the reggaeton community's uneven response amid a heightened movement around racial justice brought that desire into renewed focus. It marks a pivotal moment for the once-underground genre, which has become a force in contemporary pop music.

Amid the scrutiny in early June, J Balvin and Karol G apologized for their posts and pledged to educate themselves. Bad Bunny emerged from a social media hiatus to share a "lyrical statement" with Time Magazine and later commissioned "Black Lives Matter" to be painted on murals across Puerto Rico. Reflecting on the criticism in a recent New York Times Magazine profile, the rapper admitted he had only recently begun to grasp the disparities that Afro-Latinos - including icons like Calderón - have faced in the music industry.

That's largely because the industry is structured in a way that allows White artists to thrive, says Katelina Eccleston, a reggaeton scholar who explores the genre's history on her website, Reggaeton con la Gata.

"If you look at the hiring and the talent in all levels in the industry, it's just lacking diversity," Eccleston says. "And that translates into the decision-making."

Take this year's Super Bowl halftime show, for example. For all the gains made by putting Latin music at the center of the marquee event where Bad Bunny and J Balvin performed alongside headliners Jennifer Lopez and Shakira, the show did little to reflect the full diversity of Latin culture.

And while Afro-Latino artists are gaining visibility in the industry, Eccleston says it's limited: " When we look at the artists who are singing this very Black music, Black women are missing completely."

In early June, Eccleston, an Afro-Panamanian Boston native, penned an op-ed for the Latin culture site Remezcla, arguing that as purveyors of "one of the genres most indebted to Black music and culture," more reggaeton stars should have been ready and wiling to speak out about systemic racism. She soon found herself on a group chat with artists, publicists and other tastemakers from the Latin hip-hop community, a brainstorm that helped yield the Conciencia Collective, an alliance of industry insiders and executives hoping to raise awareness around racial injustice and other issues.

The collective has united the community in responding to an important moment in history, says Goyo, one of the artists spearheading the effort. As its first initiative, the collective paired with We Are Mitú to host a series of YouTube conversations called Conciencia Talk, covering such topics as mental health, police brutality and White privilege.

Goyo knows these discussions can be fraught. She made headlines back in June for her pointed response to Karol G, using the "Tusa" singer as an example of an artist profiting off Black culture while understanding little about racial disparities.

Amid the raw emotions surrounding Floyd's killing, "a lot of people took it as me trying to make her feel bad," Goyo says in Spanish, noting her intention was simply to educate. "Sometimes we make a mistake and we don't have anyone to say 'listen, you're wrong on this.' Human beings are always growing."

ChocQuibTown has long celebrated both parts of their Afro-Latin identity. In 2010, four years after their indie debut, the group won a Latin Grammy for " De Donde Vengo Yo, " a joyful homage to their native Chocó, a predominantly Black department on the Colombia-Panama border. "We have problems but we are happy," they chant in the song, which name-checks the area's rich biodiversity and culture but also notes that racism and internalized self-hatred are prevalent.

"Before [Floyd's death], we were always wanting to have these conversations and there was almost never space for that," says Goyo. "It's not talked about."

This year, some of the most poignant statements against systemic racism and police violence have come from Afro-Latinos who are charting innovative paths in reggaeton and Latin trap - and are perhaps more visible than ever in the genre's pop era.

Just weeks after Floyd's death, emerging Puerto Rican rapper Rafa Pabón released "Sin Aire" ("Without Air"), a piercing freestyle that references Floyd and other victims of police killings. In the music video, Pabón lies on the ground with an officer's knee against his neck. His eyes remain fixed on the camera as he raps: "Le temo más a un policía que a un criminal / No me llega aire pa' respirar señor oficial" (I fear a cop more than a criminal / I can't breathe, Mr. Officer).

In July, Myke Towers released "Michael X," in which he channels Malcolm X. "Orgulloso de ser negro, la gente sabe como soy," Towers raps. "Que en paz descanse George Floyd" (I'm proud to be Black, the people know how I am / Rest in peace, George Floyd). The Puerto Rico native (born Michael Torres) told Grammy.com he felt a responsibility to speak out "as a Latin artist who has been heavily influenced by Black culture."

Sech wears his support for "Black Lives Matter" - literally, with a hoodie featuring the phrase - in the music video for the "Porfa" remix, a star-studded collab featuring J Balvin, Maluma and Nicky Jam, among others, released in July. In an interview with The Post, Sech said the hoodie was a subtle but enduring way to show support. "It's a little thing but, everybody, when they see the video now, tomorrow - in one year - they can remember: Black Lives Matter."

Before he attracted the attention of producer (and fellow Panamanian) Dimelo Flow a few years ago, Sech worked in the construction and food service industries. Seeing Floyd and other victims of police violence, Sech says, "I feel like that's me. Or that could be my brother."

Along with his sometime collaborator Ozuna, Sech has become one of the most visible Afro-Latinos in reggaeton - and critics say his Panamanian roots evoke reggaeton's early influences. He burst onto the scene last year with the post-breakup ballad "Otro Trago," an R&B-tinged track that topped the Hot Latin Songs chart, and has teamed up with heavyweights including Daddy Yankee, Bad Bunny and Nando Boom, a pioneering reggae en Español singer.

Lito MC Cassidy, an Afro-Puerto Rican rapper who rose to fame as one half of the '90s duo Lito y Polaco, said he's particularly encouraged by Sech's ascent. He recalls going to TV appearances where makeup artists would try to alter his appearance and that of other Black musicians. To see an artists with similar features climbing the charts, Lito says, "I was clapping, like ... 'you made it!' "

The rapper credits fans and social media, in part, for helping to move the genre forward, beyond an implicitly White image. "People are talking and choosing what they like," Lito says. "So, I think this is the best opportunity to make a change. But it has to be consistent."

Eccleston, of Reggaeton con la Gata, sees potential progress in the discussions and initiatives that have happened this year. But "there needs to be more diversity in the talent, period," she says. "I don't feel great always having to mention Sech every time we're talking about diversity."

Daddy Yankee's 2004 hit "Gasolina" became the first reggaeton song to be nominated for a Latin Grammy award, making way for the genre's evolution on the pop charts. But the annual awards show has had a tenuous relationship with the reggaeton community.

Latin Grammys 2020: 5 things you missed, from Bad Bunny's performance to Pitbull honoring front-line workers

A number of artists, including Yankee and J Balvin, skipped the Latin Grammys in 2019 in protest of the annual award's show perpetual snubbing of reggaeton, particularly in the top categories. "Si no hay reggaeton, no hay Latin Grammy" (Without reggaeton, there is no Latin Grammy), artists shared on their platforms.

The social media campaign, which prompted the Latin Recording Academy to add a reggaeton category, echoed criticism that Black U.S. artists have also directed at the Recording Academy, but seemed to ignore the unsettling racial subtext of relegating reggaeton to the ceremony's few urban categories.

That isolation played out in a debate-provoking way last year when Spanish phenom Rosalía cleaned up at the awards show, winning album of the year (the first woman to do so in 13 years) and best contemporary pop vocal album for her acclaimed pop-flamenco fusion debut "El Mal Querer," and urban song of the year for her reggaeton duet with J Balvin, "Con Altura." The collab beat Sech's "Otro Trago" in the latter category, leading many fans to bemoan the Latin Recording Academy's missed opportunity to honor - as Mic put it - "one of reggaeton's brightest stars."

How Rosalía brought flamenco to the VMAs - and into the genre-bending world of modern pop

For some, her success highlighted the ease with which White artists can experiment with so-called urban genres and be celebrated for it. Similar criticism revolved around "Despacito," a Yankee-featured track that took Luis Fonsi, a decidedly Latin pop star, to the top of the Billboard 100 for a record-setting 16 weeks.

When the Latin Grammy nominations were announced in September, with Bad Bunny, Ozuna and Balvin dominating the top categories, the Associated Press dubbed it a reggaeton redemption. None of them triumphed in top categories at last week's ceremony, though they were honored in various urban categories.

Residente won song of the year for "René," a stirring, nearly eight-minute reflection on his mental health struggles. A favorite of the Latin Recording Academy, the socially conscious Calle 13 frontman started his career in reggaeton and still collaborates in the space.

"Art wasn't created to 'make history' or set records," the rapper said in his acceptance speech from Puerto Rico. "Art is created for us to reflect on everything that affects us, it's created to make us feel free and to say what we feel without fear."

"Tonight, I see a lot of talent, but I also see a lot of fear," he added.

Six months after the conversations prompted by this year's protests, there are small strides to celebrate. Bad Bunny recently hosted Ivy Queen - a feminist icon - on the remix for "Yo Perreo Sola," about a woman who finds freedom in dancing alone. "He made space for me and gave me my flowers while I'm still alive to enjoy them," she told Entertainment Weekly before the ceremony, where she performed as part of a tribute to salsa legend Héctor Lavoe. " I'm still overwhelmed by it all."

And ahead of the telecast, Goyo became the first Afro-Latina to be honored as one of the Latin Grammy's leading ladies of entertainment alongside Selena Gomez, lawyer Angela N. Martinez and journalist Maria Elena Salinas - visibility she knows will mean a lot to her fans of all backgrounds.

Conversations this year have opened a dialogue and given the industry "the opportunity to listen and to become familiar with some areas that Latin music maybe hasn't explored, always trying to show or sell one idea of being Latino," Goyo says. "But we are all Latino, and we are diverse."

It's time SNL books a musical act who performs exclusively in Spanish. Bad Bunny would be a good start.

Today's Headlines The most important news stories of the day, curated by Post editors and delivered every morning.

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Reggaeton needed a racial reckoning. Afro-Latinos are leading it.

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When artists across the music industry began speaking out against racial injustice following George Floyd's death at the hands of Minneapolis police, "King of Reggaeton" Daddy Yankee and Calle 13 rapper Residente were among them. But many of reggaeton's biggest stars stayed conspicuously silent.

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The four-day online event will bring together artists and musicians from across Latin America and Africa along with activists, social leaders, and civil society representatives. 

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The four-day online event will bring together artists and musicians from across Latin America and Africa along with activists, social leaders, and civil society representatives. 

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2020-#22

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International Center for Transitional Justice

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Bogotá, November 20, 2020- ICTJ and the Movement of Latin American Hip Hop Expressions (MELAH) have joined forces to cohost the third International Hip Hop Encounter, which will take place virtually this week from November 25 to November 28. The four-day online event will bring together artists and musicians from across Latin America and Africa along with activists, social leaders, and civil society representatives. The festival's theme is the role of hip hop music and culture in uncovering truth, preserving memory, and resisting violence and oppression and will include a live concert streamed online, prerecorded music recordings and videos, a virtual art exhibition, and themed panel discussions and working sessions.

Across Latin America and around the world, the COVID-19 pandemic and the restrictions implemented to curb its spread have not only exposed but exacerbated economic and social inequalities deeply rooted in historical injustices and exclusion. Meanwhile, the cultural sector including the live music industry have been all but brought to a standstill since March. In these challenging times, it is more important than ever to support and to strengthen cultural groups such as MELAH.

Created by Revista Cartel Urbano in 2017, MELAH offers Latin American hip hop artists a platform to exchange experiences as well as opportunities to share their music and other expressions of hip hop culture. The network also reaches out to marginalized neighborhoods to engage young people and inspire them to focus on their education and future, get involved civically, and actively improve their lives and communities. Today, more than 100 artists, social leaders, and entrepreneurs from all over the world belong to the network. MELAH has organized music and cultural festivals in Mexico City, Havana, Bogotá, and Medellín, convening artists, activists, changemakers, and members of the public for a celebration of music and culture and an exchange of ideas on the challenges and issues relevant to the hip hop movement and society in general.

ICTJ advances justice in societies emerging from conflict or repression and grappling with massive human rights abuses, helping them to break the cycles of violence and abuse and lay the foundations for peace, justice, and inclusion. As part of its mission, ICTJ frequently collaborates with youth activists and artists to help amplify their voices, increase their civic engagement and participation in transitional justice processes, and ensure they know the truth about their country's past and actively shape the national narrative.

Artists at the festival will perform music and discuss the role hip hop culture can play in building peace, strengthening democracy, and uncovering the truth about past violations and ensuring victims are never forgotten. Guests include Colombian musicians La Etnnia, Jhonpri MC Systema Solar, Ruzto, and Specktra de la Rima; artists from across Latin America, such as Apolonia (Venezuela), Malena D' Lesio (Argentina), Rafuagi (Brazil), and Nakury (Costa Rica); and musicians Mj Martialo of Impact Positif from Côte d'Ivoire and Awa Bling from the Gambia, both countries where ICTJ works. They will join other artists, activists, and civil society representatives in online panel discussions, which will be simultaneously translated to English, French, and Spanish. MELAH will also launch the #ArteEnResistencia virtual art gallery, featuring street protest art from all over Latin America.

Audiences can view a livestream of the event on ICTJ's Spanish-language Facebook page at facebook.com/elictj.

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The Movement of Latin American Hip Hop Expressions and ICTJ Cohost an International Hip Hop Festival on Truth, Memory, and Resistance

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Bogotá, November 20, 2020-ICTJ and the Movement of Latin American Hip Hop Expressions have joined forces to cohost the third International Hip Hop Encounter, which will take place virtually this week from November 25 to November 28. The four-day online event will bring together artists and musicians from across Latin America and Africa along with activists, social leaders, and civil society representatives.

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Graffiti in the Colombian capital uncovers stories of corruption, indigenous suffering and government-sanctioned killing.

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Graffiti in the Colombian capital uncovers stories of corruption, indigenous suffering and government-sanctioned killing.

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2020-#16

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In Bogotá, the soft blue eyes of Diego Felipe Becerra gaze out from a gritty building flanked by high-rise apartments.

On August 19 2011, the 16-year-old street artist was painting a mural of Felix the Cat, his signature motif, on an underpass along Avenida Boyacá when the police arrived. The young grafitero, nicknamed Tripido, tried to run away - graffiti was technically illegal in the city - but he was shot dead.

It was later reported that the officers involved had fabricated an elaborate story with fake witnesses, and forced a bus driver to testify that Becerra tried to stage a robbery. A gun was also allegedly planted on the scene. It appeared to be the latest case of a "false positive", whereby Colombia's police killed innocent citizens, tampered with the crime scene to make it seem to be legitimate combat, and claimed the rewards of killing a gangster.

In the years after Becerra's death, events snowballed. Thousands took part in marches to demand justice, and street artists defied the ban by painting messages across the city. As a result, the municipality decriminalised graffiti in Bogotá, and the striking, impressionist mural of Becerra is a pointed reminder of state violence in Colombia's capital.

"Graffiti has been around in Bogotá since the '60s," says Ana Villa, a street artist and political science PhD student at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia. "But that was such an important moment for the scene here. We actually won. It showed that we could change things by ourselves."

Ever since then, tag-style graffiti, inspired by '60s US working class communities and hip hop culture, and mural-style street art, influenced by the art of the 1968 Paris protests, have blossomed as a form of political thought and critique writ large on the walls of Bogotá. According to Villa, there are now between 4,000 and 5,000 grafiteros in the city.

The works raise a broad range of problems, including the long-standing suffering of Colombia's indigenous peoples, government-sanctioned mass killings, the privatisation of healthcare, the corruption of the narco-state, and Bogota's dizzying inequality. But all, in their own way, constitute a rewriting of the state narrative.

"The graffiti here is often painted in a way to disguise the politics," says Bill Rolston, a former professor of sociology at Ulster University, who wrote a study about the street art of Colombia in 2017. "If you walk by quickly you might just notice the colours, but actually there's a serious message there. It's a clever disguise, but quite deliberate."

Toxicómano, a stencil collective, deal with themes that are anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist. One bold work features several portraits of Colombia's most maligned: indigenous women and rural workers, above a background of bright red and orange shapes. Pineapples that look like grenades represent the war that has for decades ravaged the countryside; assault rifles are turned into dollar signs in a blunt reference to the money-making militia.

"It's a way to open the mind of someone else," says Juegasiempre, who was one of the artists to paint the mural. "Art in the street is much more open to people than it is in a gallery or a book, which can be elitist. The street is a space of freedom and democracy."

The fleeting kiss of two homeless drug addicts from Bogotá is the subject of a 10-storey-high mural created by Vértigo Graffiti. Known as "The Kiss of the Invisibles", it is based on a photograph that became famous for its depiction of hope in the face of desperation. Their bodies intertwine for more than 100 feet, lips locked tightly.

"This is about respect and dignity for everyone," says Camilo Fidel López, who founded the group. "By changing our daily habitat, we can change society."

But Bogotá's graffiti has played its part in even the most pressing politics of today. Over the past few months, the city has been rocked by hundreds of thousands of bogotanos protesting tax reforms, privatisation, and the right-wing government's attempts to block a historic peace agreement that would end a decades-old civil war. Even old ladies joined in the protests, filling entire neighbourhoods with the sound of cacerolazo, the act of loudly bashing kitchen pots as an act of dissidence.

During the peak period last November, an 18-year-old named Dilan Cruz, who took part in a protest march to demand better access to education, died after being hit on the head with a gas canister fired by riot police, bookending the authorities' habit for murdering teenage boys. "Dilan didn't die, Dilan was killed," was chanted through the streets.

Now his name is found all across the city, in portraits, spray-painted signs and on small stickers bearing the words: "Dilan Cruz. They serve as an alternative history to that of the Colombian state, for everyone to see and to never forget."

Follow Peter Yeung on Twitter. Enjoyed this article? Like Huck on Facebook or follow us on Twitter.

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Bogota's street artists are rewriting the state narrative

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In Bogotá, the soft blue eyes of Diego Felipe Becerra gaze out from a gritty building flanked by high-rise apartments. On August 19 2011, the 16-year-old street artist was painting a mural of Felix the Cat, his signature motif, on an underpass along Avenida Boyacá when the police arrived.

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The leaders have not only learned for themselves; they have shared their knowledge, ideals, and struggles. 

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The leaders have not only learned for themselves; they have shared their knowledge, ideals, and struggles. 

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2020- #15

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"[To be a woman leader] is to love and defend our
culture, land, race, identity.
It is to defend who we are."
- Claudia Rincón, Colombian leader

© UN Women / Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

In a context like Colombia's, the work of imagining, dreaming and even creating processes of transformation so we can live in worlds that are decent, just, careful, and affectionate is worthy of admiration.

That is precisely what women leaders and human rights defenders in Colombia are building, bit by bit, through their alternative life projects-an attempt at achieving feminist realities in their territories. The leaders celebrate differences, protect their territories, and make claims on behalf of those suffering from State neglect, a long and painful conflict, and a system based on multiple forms of exclusion. Their weaving together of other possible worlds of meaning occurs in the midst of a context of oppressive forces that threaten them for raising their voice, persecute them for defending their rights and, in many cases, even take away their lives. Nonetheless, the women human rights defenders in Colombia persist in their struggles.

The leaders have not only learned for themselves; they have shared their knowledge, ideals, and struggles. They are sought out by others who have not received an institutional response to their losses, shortages, pain or needs, fundamentally because they raise their voice on behalf of those whose voices are not being heard. Let us not forget that their claims derive from worlds clamouring for joy and coexistence; theirs is a struggle in defence of peasant, indigenous, and Afro-Colombian communities and the preservation of their collective knowledge, traditions, cultures, and roots.

So, it is imperative that we remember all of their work defending agriculture, the right to land, the environment and the animals, as well as the campaign to eradicate and replace illicit crops. Let us name out loud their resistance to the mega projects, their confrontations with mining companies, and their demands for prior community consultation and participation. Let's join our own voices with theirs as they take a critical stance, claim their communities' political participation, defend the cause of the victims, and struggle every day to build peace.

All of these struggles share the common challenge of asserting that the murder of a woman leader is not only a politically motivated crime and a femicide, but also an attack against an entire community. It is an act which deeply affects the social movement and debilitates organizing work. As people are terrorized, the very foundations upon which communities were claiming rights and women were making their voices heard are destabilized. The murder of women human rights defenders is an attempt to erase both the history of women's struggle for life and the territorial resistance movements.

We would like to pay tribute to each one of the more than 50 women leaders who have been murdered in the last four years. However, we will commemorate their lives through the stories of five human rights defenders. We have pieced together their remembrance through contributions sent by their families and friends.

Like many women human rights defenders in Colombia, Cristina Bautista Taquinas was working together with her community toward the dream of unity among the Indigenous peoples and for the right to live on their ancestral lands. As a governor and authority figure of the Nasa de Tacueyó (Cauca) Indigenous reserve, she fought to build a livable community and decent living conditions for peasant and Indigenous women. She was tireless in her fight for the security of the Indigenous Guard, for peace and for the rejection of the presence of armed groups in their territory. Let us never forget her voice or the words she left us just one day before her assassination:

"If we stay quiet, they kill us, and if we speak, they kill us, too. So, we speak."

Paula Andrea Rosero's voice was another one clamouring for justice, whose vital force was grounded in her hope of seeing real democracy in Colombia. As a lawyer, rights defender, and official of Samaniego (Nariño), she worked to defend women and fearlessly denounced corruption in the Lorencita Villegas Hospital, the same place where she died after an attempt on her life. In response to her murder, we join our voices with her fellow activists:

"It is an attack on life itself. Not just on the life of one official, but an attack on the soul, on the spirit of an entire people who feels frustrated"
-Ever Santander

Another visionary whose life we wish to commemorate is Yamile Guerra. She was a lawyer from Santander who, like many families in Colombia, fought to defend the right to land. Yamile did important community work as an environmentalist and woman human rights defender of the Santurban Páramo.

She led a legal process against foreign-owned mining operations which were destabilizing the ecosystem and contaminating it through gold mining on their territory.

Let us remember Doris Valenzuela, an Afro-descendant activist. She worked in a community organization of people affected by paramilitarism; denounced the impact of mega projects in her region and the complicity of the State; raised her voice against the recruitment of children; and denounced the existence of casas de pique ['chop houses' where torture occurs] in her region.

Doris left the country to protect her life. But the distance was not far enough to save her from violence against women, as she was murdered by her own partner.

Another woman who fought to defend the rights of Afro-descendant communities was Maritza Quiroz Leiva. She was a human rights defender, peasant, and Afro-Colombian from Santa Marta.

Maritza was a "courageous leader, fighter, strong woman and pacifist who on many occasions represented us at the departmental and even the national level [...], where she was always fighting for the benefit of rural people and especially rural women"
-María Ángela Salas, representative of rural women

Given her experiences of having been displaced, Maritza developed and led several initiatives. As a member of the National Afro-Colombian Authority (ANAFRO), she imagined a world where she and other women of the region could live on the land, farm, and live in peace.

We are thinking of them

We are thinking of them and of all the women leaders who are continuing the fight, having gained consciousness, from their respective ethnic, political, cultural, and identity locations and from their work, of their selves and the social problems facing their communities.

© McKay Savage / Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

Let us remember them as women who searched for solutions for their families, territories, and communities and, in the process, learned to defend life itself. Not because the State had given them the tools to do so, but because out of their own tenacity they built scenarios of possibility-ways of inhabiting their territories, defending their resources, feeding their communities, and defending the rights of the most vulnerable. Therefore, remembering and celebrating them is also an act of resistance, one that embraces and names them in the hopes of continuing their legacy.

May the realities they dreamed of become worlds of meaning and a life worth living in the Colombian territories.

This article was written from a polyphony of voices who are denouncing the grave situation facing women human rights defenders in Colombia. Documents consulted include reports by: Pacifistas, Pares, Oxfam, ECLAC, Humanas, Deutsche Welle, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Front Line Defenders, USAID, BBC, CEDAW, IACHR, Asuntos del sur, Somos Defensores, Marcha Patriótica, Sisma Mujer, CAPAZ, National Network of Women Human Rights Defenders of Colombia, CeroSetenta, Codhes, Report of the UN Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights defenders in Colombia.
Visit the Tribute gallery

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Women leaders and human rights defenders in Colombia: A legacy of dreams, struggles and affection that we will not silence

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"[To be a woman leader] is to love and defend our culture, land, race, identity. It is to defend who we are." - Claudia Rincón, Colombian leader [scald=5984:sdl_editor_representation] In a context like Colombia's, the work of imagining, dreaming and even creating processes of transformation so we can live in worlds that are decent, just, careful, and affectionate is worthy of admiration.

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Colombian artist and feminist activist, has expressed her criticism of violence against women in an exhibition titled "Girls Out Loud"

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Colombian artist and feminist activist, has expressed her criticism of violence against women in an exhibition titled "Girls Out Loud"

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2019- #13

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Valeriana Grajales, a Colombian artist and feminist activist, has expressed her criticism of violence against women in an exhibition titled "Girls Out Loud". Taking place at Grobak Art Kos at Hysteria art space in Semarang, Central Java, the exhibition will be held until May 31.

"I believe if we fight for women's rights, we'll fight for the rights of the whole of humanity," Grajales told The Jakarta Post on Saturday, May 18.

Valeriana Grajales, an artist and feminist activist from Colombia, discusses her artworks at the 'Girls Out Loud' exhibition at Grobak Art Kos at Hysteria art space in Semarang, Central Java, on Saturday, May 18. (JP/Bambang Muryanto)

Grajales is currently participating in the Indonesian government's Darmasiswa scholarship program and has stayed in Semarang for eight months to learn about Indonesian culture, including batik. She is displaying her batik works, drawings and images printed on fabric at the exhibition. Aside from feminism, Grajales' artworks also explore Indonesia's tropical climate, which is similar to Colombia's.

Visitors can watch a video of Grajales as she paints murals in public spaces, including one in Nongkosawit district in Semarang.

Rohmad, a resident of Nongkosawit district who came to the exhibition, said the locals were fond of her works there. "Her presence can encourage those of us that are conservative to discover new insights," Rohmad said.

Read also: 'My body is not mine': Indonesia Without Feminists group starts online campaign

One of Grajales' artworks, I protect you, You protect me, is a drawing of a woman nestled inside a red circle that was digitally printed onto sublimated silk fabric. Through the artwork, she said she hoped people would be encouraged to protect women because women would protect them in return.

Her feminist perspective started to develop after witnessing the challenges women face in her country. Grajales also saw inequality between women and men during her travels. "There are many problems related to women, but I think violence against women is the most serious [issue]," she said.

Visitors look at artworks by Valeriana Grajales. The artist focuses on feminist perspectives in her exhibition. (JP/Bambang Muryanto)

Meanwhile, the curator of the exhibition, Purna Cipta Nugraha, expressed hope the showcase could help develop the art scene, inspire other young female artists in Semarang and foster a discussion about Grajales' feminist perspectives. "As far as I know, artists in Semarang barely discuss feminism, perhaps they're afraid it will go against the norm," Purna said.

Girls Out Loud is being held at Hysteria art space, one of the few art spaces in Semarang. It is hoped the space will boost the enthusiasm of local artists and help develop the community. (wir/mut)

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'Girls Out Loud': A message about feminism from Valeriana Grajales

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Valeriana Grajales, a Colombian artist and feminist activist, has expressed her criticism of violence against women in an exhibition titled "Girls Out Loud". Taking place at Grobak Art Kos at Hysteria art space in Semarang, Central Java, the exhibition will be held until May 31.

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Colombian Women Are Saying ‘Yes, We Can’

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Colombian Women Are Saying ‘Yes, We Can’

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2019 -#40,
Colombia’s culture of machismo has created a backlash in the form of a new women’s political movement.

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MEDELLÍN, Colombia-In a concrete house on the side of a mountain in Medellín, María Aurora del Consuelo Flores Torres, 53, stitches the hem of a tiny girl's aquamarine dress as a group of women coo over her lacy gloves and star-adorned veil. Just outside, dogs bark, young men shout aggressively, and obscene music blasts on the radio, but it feels far away from the safe space Flores has created in her home in Comuna 2, the violent neighborhood where she has lived and worked as a tailor for nearly 40 years.

Flores was only a baby when her father was killed in the fighting that has plagued Colombia for decades. She suffered violence at the hands of her family in Medellín and ran away to live on the street, where she was repeatedly assaulted and raped. Flores eventually married, but the abuse continued after her husband developed a drug addiction. "Violence is not a joke. My youngest daughter ... was the product of a rape by my husband," Flores said. One night, Flores' husband was murdered, leaving her a widow with four young children. She had to learn how to support and protect herself, and soon she began immersing herself in local politics and grassroots activism. Her goal: to end violence against women.

This is how Flores became a volunteer and member of Estamos Listas, or "We're Ready" in English, the first women's political movement to run for city council in Medellín. Estamos Listas began as a social movement in 2016, after Colombia voted against a proposed peace referendum to end half a century of civil war. Decades of bloody violence in Colombia have forced women and girls to endure systematic murder, displacement, harassment, and rape. The burden of the conflict has fallen heavily on women: according to U.N. data, Colombia has the 10th highest femicide rate in the world. Estamos Listas' platform aims to change this by addressing issues of violence, femicide, poverty, and other hardships facing women in Colombia.

MEDELLÍN, Colombia-In a concrete house on the side of a mountain in Medellín, María Aurora del Consuelo Flores Torres, 53, stitches the hem of a tiny girl's aquamarine dress as a group of women coo over her lacy gloves and star-adorned veil. Just outside, dogs bark, young men shout aggressively, and obscene music blasts on the radio, but it feels far away from the safe space Flores has created in her home in Comuna 2, the violent neighborhood where she has lived and worked as a tailor for nearly 40 years.

Flores was only a baby when her father was killed in the fighting that has plagued Colombia for decades. She suffered violence at the hands of her family in Medellín and ran away to live on the street, where she was repeatedly assaulted and raped. Flores eventually married, but the abuse continued after her husband developed a drug addiction. "Violence is not a joke. My youngest daughter ... was the product of a rape by my husband," Flores said. One night, Flores' husband was murdered, leaving her a widow with four young children. She had to learn how to support and protect herself, and soon she began immersing herself in local politics and grassroots activism. Her goal: to end violence against women.

This is how Flores became a volunteer and member of Estamos Listas, or "We're Ready" in English, the first women's political movement to run for city council in Medellín. Estamos Listas began as a social movement in 2016, after Colombia voted against a proposed peace referendum to end half a century of civil war. Decades of bloody violence in Colombia have forced women and girls to endure systematic murder, displacement, harassment, and rape. The burden of the conflict has fallen heavily on women: according to U.N. data, Colombia has the 10th highest femicide rate in the world. Estamos Listas' platform aims to change this by addressing issues of violence, femicide, poverty, and other hardships facing women in Colombia.

In the Oct. 27 elections, Estamos Listas succeeded in sending one candidate, Dora Saldarriaga, to the Medellín city council. Two other women also won seats in the nearby town of Santa Elena. It was a significant and symbolic win for a burgeoning political movement centered around a feminist agenda, especially in a city Estamos Listas says is known for its conservatism and institutional patriarchy.

"I see it as the first social experiment to open space for political participation to the women's movement in all its diversity," said Juan Carlos Arenas, from the Institute of Political Studies at the University of Antioquia in Medellín. "It will be the occasion to show in practice how the feminist agenda can be discussed ... in a complex city like Medellín, whose problems demand more creative answers than we have had so far."

The movement began with a group of five women who were fed up with being treated as second-class citizens in the city's political hierarchy.

"They were tired of politics with men who always had them as decoration pieces, or as a quota to be met," explained Jenny Giraldo, Estamos Listas' communications coordinator. "They were never really allowed to be protagonists in politics in traditional parties [or], as progressive as they were, even in left-wing parties."

Around 60 women first gathered in what has become Estamos Listas' headquarters in an old Spanish-style home, cheerfully painted yellow and draped in pink and purple banners, in the center of downtown Medellín. They decided to recruit in an unconventional way and created circles of trust where each woman took responsibility for recruiting five other women to join the cause. The new women then brought in five more women, and thus, the movement grew. Recruiting women to the circles of trust "is a very demanding job, but that can partially explain the electoral success they have had in their first participation in elections," Arenas said.

The women decided to build their list of candidates by consensus through an online vote. They created a platform where members of the movement uploaded a photograph, a resume, and a video, all made by the same content creator to ensure the process was equitable and no woman lost out of votes because her iPhone video was poorly lit or shaky.

Dora Saldarriaga emerged as the No. 1 candidate on the list. Saldarriaga, a short-haired, energetic lawyer and professor, recalled when she was a university student and was harassed by one of her professors, who tried to kiss her after class. At the time, she kept silent.

"Later, when I was working at the university, I went to an event of prosecutors, and I saw him and I pointed at him. The guy remembered me and left," Saldarriaga said. "I couldn't do it then, but I can name him now. At that time I wasn't a feminist, and I didn't know anything about it. But the objective responsibility I believe we have as women is to be able to speak about that kind of discrimination."

Estamos Listas did include six men at the end of its list in order to meet Colombia's law of quotas, which mandates that at least 30 percent of public offices are held by women. It feared that without men on the list, it would be accused of reverse discrimination and invalidated from participating in the elections.

"The main difference [between Estamos Listas and traditional political parties] is that it is a women's-led movement with a well-founded feminist agenda. In accordance with this, the participation of women was given priority in the formation of the list and a male gender quota was included," Arenas, the political scientist, said.

The process for selecting the men was different-women from inside the party put forth names of men they believed would be supportive of the movement's goals, and decisions were made by the key members of the party.

"They're our allies. We love them," Giraldo said. "We tried to pick the best men that list could have, but they can't be the protagonists of this story."

But for some male residents of Medellín, a women-first movement, even with men involved, represents a threat to the status quo.

"Women, when they try to be feminists, they end up being more sexist than men themselves," said one city resident, Sergio Berrío. His friend Andrés Meneses, seated next to him, agreed. "At some point it turns discriminatory."

In April, after presenting its list of candidates to the registry, Estamos Listas officially became a political movement by gathering signatures from supporters and presenting them to the electoral registry. It needed just over 15,000 signatures to be considered. It presented around 41,000.

In Colombia, there's a big difference between political movements like Estamos Listas and legally registered political parties with backing and financing. Estamos Listas deliberately chose not to be a part of the larger political machine, saying that women who choose to do so often get deprioritized by their own parties. Rather than placing candidates in established political parties, they created, and funded, their own movement, a feat experts say is challenging for women in Colombia.

"It's much easier, in Colombia, to run campaigns or raise money if you are a man," said Vanda Felbab-Brown, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution think tank. "Men tend to be owners of land far more than women. They tend to be owners of enterprises far more than women. They often have a history of much greater inheritance than women. Getting a credit, access to banks for campaigns, and otherwise might be much easier for men."

The funding mechanisms that the group used set it apart from traditional Colombian political organizations. Estamos Listas does accept donations, but it has a cap on the amount of money an individual can contribute to avoid being subject to the whims and special interests of donors. It has also established a microcredit scheme in which it borrows small sums of money from interested donors. Some individuals require repayment within a short window, so Estamos Listas uses the money and quickly secures another donation to be able to repay the money in the agreed-upon timeframe. Other donors agree to only get paid back if Estamos Listas wins seats in the council and, with it, funding to repay its loans.

"It's a circular model of economy. The money is moving all the time," Giraldo said. "We figure it out as we go along, like women often do."

In true grassroots fashion, Estamos Listas sent volunteers door to door in neighborhoods across Medellín and held information sessions outside of busy public transport stops to spread their message to potential voters on their way home from work. They also harnessed the power of social media, holding Twitter-a-thons late into the night, toasting with cold bottles of Colombian beer as their hashtags trended higher and higher.

One of the most unusual aspects of the movement is how it cuts across political lines to promote a women-first agenda. Estamos Listas has a list of seven tenets that all of the movement's members have agreed to uphold and promote.

"It's really interesting to see how women from different political parties with very different views come together toward seven main tenets on which they all agree," said Camila Hernandez, a program assistant for Colombia at the Atlantic Council, a Washington-based think tank. "They're not necessarily a political movement from the right or the left. ... It's important because it's a group of women working toward a common goal in politics, and I think it breaks with the stereotype that women cannot work together or that women are not prepared to hold significant political decisions."

Before the Oct. 27 elections, five women already held seats on Medellín's city council. The movement wanted to add another seven women to the council so that a total of 12 seats, or more than half the council, were occupied by women. For Giraldo, it did not matter whether the women were from the right or the left of the political spectrum, as long as there were more women's faces represented on the city council.

But the movement fell far short of that goal. In fact, in the city council race in Medellín, two women left and two new women joined, keeping the total number at five women on a council of 21 representatives. A report by the Sisma Mujer organization shows that fewer women were elected to governorships and mayoralties in 2019 than in the last elections in 2015. And only 121 women were elected out of 1,101 total candidates, representing a mere 11 percent of the population.

"It is important to say that there has not been an increase in the political representation of women in Colombia. More women presented themselves [as candidates] but did not reach office," said Patricia Uribe, the director of the Corporation for Life Women Who Create, a feminist organization based in Medellín. Uribe believes that Colombia's law of quotas is too insipid to inspire meaningful political involvement on the part of women. "Real conditions are required from the political parties for the fulfillment of the affirmative actions," she added, suggesting a 50 percent quota at minimum to ensure equal gender representation.

Experts say a culture of machismo in Colombia, combined with lack of faith in the voting system, contributes to the difficulty of women getting elected to office.

"Latin America in general tends to be a very socially conservative society. A very macho society. And that mindset has seeped into the psyche of not just men, but many women," Felbab-Brown, of Brookings, said. "You also have the difficulty of persuading voters that if they cast a vote for you, they will not have wasted their vote."

But the numbers did not deter Estamos Listas and the women of Medellín from viewing this as a significant and symbolic victory.

"The fact that Estamos Listas got to city council is very important news, because it's the first time a women's political movement is making history," Saldarriaga wrote in a Facebook message to supporters after her win. "We're going to be able to do politics with a gender focus. We're going to make all these issues the city has ignored part of the public agenda. ... We're going to introduce female power."

Estamos Listas was inspired, in part, by the historical wins made by women in the 2018 U.S. midterm elections. They see both their political movement and that in the United States as fighting back against misogynistic politics by becoming a part of the system to change it. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, in particular, motivated them to believe they could win, even without the backing, funding, and prior experience of other political parties.

"Female energy is something that belongs to this century," Saldarriaga said. "I believe everything is connected, and that, when a woman like [Ocasio-Cortez] makes it to power ... without prior experience, but with everything she achieved, it's inspiring in that in other places women can get to power like that too."

This reporting was supported by the International Women's Media Foundation as part of its Adelante Latin American Reporting Initiative.

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Colombian Women Are Saying 'Yes, We Can'

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MEDELLÍN, Colombia-In a concrete house on the side of a mountain in Medellín, María Aurora del Consuelo Flores Torres, 53, stitches the hem of a tiny girl's aquamarine dress as a group of women coo over her lacy gloves and star-adorned veil.

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2019- #28  discuss the significance of a recent ruling by Colombia’s Constitutional Court on the sexual and reproductive health rights of women and young girls in armed groups and in post-conflict peace processes.

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In this blog, Christine Chinkin and Keina Yoshida discuss the significance of a recent ruling by Colombia's Constitutional Court on the sexual and reproductive health rights of women and young girls in armed groups and in post-conflict peace processes. Christine Chinkin submitted an amicus brief based on her expertise to the court. You can read the Constitutional Courts decision on full here.
Este blog está disponible también en español .

On the 11 December 2019, the Colombian Constitutional Court released the summary of its landmark judgment in the case of ' Helena'. Helena's case is the first to grapple with the issue of the violation of sexual and reproductive rights of ex-combatant women and girls during the 55-year civil conflict in Colombia. While the full judgment has yet to be handed down, here we set out the Colombian Constitutional Court's key findings based on the official summary, giving an overview of the significance of this landmark case brought by Women's Link Worldwide.

Colombian Peace Process

Following the signing of the peace accord in 2016, Colombia is going through a transition to peace with a number of institutions set up to deal with the aftermath of the conflict. These include the JEP (Jurisdicción Especial para la Paz) a transitional body that started work in March 2018 and which considers cases regarding fundamental rights violations by the military and by the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia). Alongside the judicial mandate of the JEP, there is also a Truth Commission which receives reports of fundamental rights violations.

As well as these special jurisdictions, the Constitutional Court in Colombia plays a significant role with respect to the protection of fundamental rights and has made important decisions in respect of sexual violence against women in the context of armed conflict. In Colombia, individuals can file a legal action known as a tutela - a legal mechanism by which an individual can ask a court to protect their fundamental rights under the Constitution. This is an important mechanism which has been used to guarantee women's rights and other significant human rights issues including environmental protection of the Amazon. The Victims Act (Ley de Victimas y Restiucion de Tierras, 1448 of 2011) is designed to provide comprehensive reparations for victims of human rights abuses incurred during the conflict, including human rights abuses suffered by women and children and land restitution.

Helena was 14- year- old when she was forcibly recruited into the FARC. She was forced to use contraception and was also made to undergo an abortion and was thus subject to reproductive and sexual gender-based violence. Despite this, Helena's claim for recognition as a victim within the terms of the Victims Act (Ley de Victimas y Restiucion de Tierras, 1448 of 2011) was rejected by the Integral Attention and Reparation Unit for Victims (hereafter 'Reparations Unit'). She had applied for recognition as a victim of violations of her right to health, human dignity and personal integrity and had sought reparations for these violations.

However, the Reparations Unit rejected Helena's application as a victim of the FARC even though she had been forcibly recruited as a minor had undergone a forced abortion and had been displaced. This was on the basis of Article 3, paragraph 2 of the Victims Act which excludes members of the FARC from the ambit of the Victims' Law, with the exception of boys and girls who were still minors at the time of demobilisation. This interpretation of the law favoured their identification as former combatants with FARC, obscuring the reality of the conflict-related sexual and reproductive violence they endured during their time in the FARC forces. This meant that there was no legal recognition of those abuses or mechanism for reparations for those who were forcibly recruited as children into the FARC and had become adults by the time of demobilisation. As explained by Mariana Ardila, the lawyer who brought the case to the Court, this placed Helena in a judicial limbo in that she had no other effective judicial means to access reparations for the sexual violence that she had suffered.

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feminist international law of peace and security

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Reproductive violence and forced recruitment: Colombia's landmark ruling for ex-combatant women and girls

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In this blog, Christine Chinkin and Keina Yoshida discuss the significance of a recent ruling by Colombia's Constitutional Court on the sexual and reproductive health rights of women and young girls in armed groups and in post-conflict peace processes. Christine Chinkin submitted an amicus brief based on her expertise to the court.

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Three generations of Colombian women rap to transform Medellín

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Three generations of Colombian women rap to transform Medellín

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2019- #12

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The Yepes women (L to R): Sofia, Flor, the Granny Rapper, the Mommy Rapper, and Melany in their home in Barrio Pablo Escobar. Photo by Angelika Albaladejo.

Medellín-Margoth Yepes has a rapper persona as fiery as the red shock of hair that spills down her shoulder. Since she started spitting rhymes seven years ago, the 45-year-old mother of two has been better known among family, friends, and neighbors as La Mamá Rapera (the "Mommy Rapper").

When Yepes took on the moniker in 2011, her family and community had been grappling with gang violence in their hillside slum in Colombia's second-largest city Medellín, where turf wars had taken root in the years following the most infamous urban military operation of the country's five-decade conflict. Yepes' family managed to survive the displacement and other traumas that had left hundreds of their neighbors injured, killed, or disappeared. Then, her teenage son began losing friends to gang rivalries, and he was contemplating revenge. What they needed was "a form of resistance."
'Conscious rap'
The Yepes family call their style "conscious rap," which they describe as a tool for all disadvantaged Colombians to share their lived experiences, raise awareness of the issues facing their community and suggest alternatives. Their songs range from empowering anthems for women's rights to reflections on the conflict.

Although hip-hop used to have a bad rap in Medellín's marginalized neighborhoods, perceptions had shifted in recent years as local rappers began to work with young people, encouraging them to stay away from gangs and take action in their communities. Luis Fernando Álvarez, who goes by the rapper name A.K.A., stood out among the emerging leaders. As the founder of what he calls an " agrarian hip-hop collective," Álvarez looks just as comfortable tending the soil as he does laying down tracks in the studio with his signature style of baggy jeans, big earrings, and a bandana draped across his head. When they met seven years ago, Yepes was intrigued by A.K.A.'s style and started taking her son to spend time with the collective, which was later dubbed "AgroArte." A.K.A. was outspoken about the injustices of the conflict, as well as the gangs now battling for control, which inevitably led to death threats and his displacement. "But the movement got stronger," Yepes says. "Now there was resistance. We realized we were doing something good with the kids. So, I started to support them."

Soon after, she introduced her nephew to the collective. Then, her mother, daughter, sister, and nieces all joined too. Yepes' sister Flor Yepes Ramírez, who has seven children of her own, joined with her daughters 15-year-old Sofia and nine-year-old Ana, who perform with their aunt and 12-year-old cousin Melany. "I wasn't just a mom anymore," says the Mommy Rapper. "I was a mother who did things, who tried to help the kids reflect and gain strength. I was trying to change their minds about what a mom is or what rap is."

"Our pain and what happened to us made us think in a stronger way and decide to change things," says Yepes' sister Flor Yepes Ramírez.
The pain of displacement
During the height of Colombia's conflict, Flor and Margoth's mother-who is also named Margoth but is affectionately known as La Abuela Rapera (the "Granny Rapper")-lost her right leg to a landmine, forcing her out of the rural mountainside and into the city. There, her family survived the atrocities of Operation Orion, Colombia's largest urban military intervention, only to have their lives threatened again by paramilitaries and by drug traffickers, whom the Yepes sisters say are the direct descendants of Escobar's Medellín Cartel.

The first time Flor and her children were displaced, they were living on an "invisible border" delineating the territorial control of rival gangs. "The gang in that area came and told me my two oldest sons were of age to pick up arms. I said, 'I'm sorry, but I'm the mom here. I'm the one in charge of this household and my sons won't be picking up any arms. So, no,'" she recalls. She'd succeeded in keeping her sons out of the gang. They lived. But a barrage of death threats forced them to flee.

Flor and Margoth's family has been displaced several more times since then, due in large part to their outspoken role in the community and their refusal to allow their children to be recruited into gangs. The pain of displacement dominates their lyrics and has haunted them for decades.
Taking root somewhere new
Now, the extended family of 14 lives together in a compact brick house in Pablo Escobar's namesake neighborhood. Although the sisters say they've found it particularly difficult "starting from zero," they've decided to channel their "frustrations, rage, and powerlessness" into transforming their new home. Over the last five months, the family has created a new identity: oriundas ("natives"), an ironic nod to their displacement and that of many of their neighbors. "The idea is that no matter where we go, we're going to plant our seed, our essence, and value the place," says the Mommy Rapper.

In their new neighborhood, the Yepes family has already attracted more than a dozen young people, with ambitions to reach "the whole nuclear family" and build community. The Granny Rapper, who describes herself as "respect, love, advice," remains a draw for community members, young and old, who seek counseling and help writing rap lyrics. She remains firm in her belief that young people hold Colombia's future in their hands and that community action will turn peace-minded youths into leaders. "They kill leaders every day. It makes your heart hurt," she says through tears. "They are giving their lives. But we have to do it."

On a recent tour of her old neighborhood, the Mommy Rapper guided a group of youths past flourishing gardens, vibrant murals and the purple house where the Yepes family used to gather with their collective. The kids' eyes lit up, she says, with dreams of transforming their own community.

Through their persistence, the Yepes family hopes that the image and reality of Medellín will evolve away from its violent reputation, "to show children that we can have a different city."

More articles by Category:Feminism,International,Violence against women
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Three generations of Colombian women rap to transform Medellín - Women's Media Center

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Medellín-Margoth Yepes has a rapper persona as fiery as the red shock of hair that spills down her shoulder. Since she started spitting rhymes seven years ago, the 45-year-old mother of two has been better known among family, friends, and neighbors as La Mamá Rapera (the "Mommy Rapper").

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oja was 16 when she had her hip-hop epiphany. "I was already rapping," says Roja, the MC from Quito, Ecuador, whose real name is Mariela Salgado. "I was part of a Quito crew, Zantalianza, where I'd always felt included. I'd been writing poetry since I was 13, so when I found hip-hop, it felt perfect." But as she watched the improvisation battles unfold, it dawned on her that there wasn't a single woman involved.

"I started to register some of the rhymes they were trading: insults based on having sex with the opponent's mother, sister, aunt; or calling each other by the names of women's sexual organs. It was bizarre: they were managing to totally objectify women, and at the same time make us invisible." Roja, now 28, is one half of the female hip-hop duo Rima Roja en Venus. "When you start out as a rap freestyler, the first thing that happens is they try to shut you up," she says.

Guatemala City rapper Rebeca Lane has a similar experience of the Latin American hip-hop scene. In her 2012 song "Bandera Negra" ("Black Flag") she takes a swipe at Latino MCs who use misogynist and homophobic language to insult one another, or who make puerile boasts about their huevos (eggs, meaning balls): "I've got a million eggs in each ovary. That doesn't make me any more of a woman, or you less of a man," raps Lane. "The level of gender violence in freestyle rhyming battles, and in mainstream rap, can be horrific," she adds.

Lane and Roja are part of a new generation of Latin American female MCs whose lyrics touch on some of the issues facing the region's women - and celebrate the resilience and sheer huevos it takes to exist as a woman at all. The issues in question include a deep-rooted lack of equality; inadequate access to healthcare, sex education, contraception and abortion; human trafficking; domestic and public violence, rape and femicide. In Brazil, 15 women are killed each day, according to President Dilma Rousseff. In Argentina, the death in May of Chiara Páez, a pregnant 14-year-old murdered by her boyfriend, allegedly with the help of his mother and stepfather, sparked a nationwide protest movement, #NiUnaMenos ("not one less"), in which thousands took to the streets.

United we stand: the women in the 2013, all-Ecuadorian version of the hip-hop collective, Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop.

"We all come from a very machista culture," says the Mexican MC Audry Funk, who together with Roja and Lane is part of the all-female, trans-Latin-American collective Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop (We Are Women, We Are Hip-Hop). Funk, already a member of a women's hip-hop collective in Mexico, Mujeres Trabajando (Women At Work), met Roja in 2013, when they both performed at a concert held in New York by the Brooklyn hip-hop-and-tattoo crew, Har'd Life Ink. Later that year, when Roja organised the first Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop festival in Quito, along with Venus Castillo, the other half of Rima Roja en Venus, they invited Funk to come and take part.

Since then, the collective has expanded to include women from 10 different countries, and, in April, released a mixtape " Latinoamérica Unida ", on Soundcloud. The compilation's 12 tracks pulse with attitude and skill, in styles ranging from the melodic beauty of Chile's Dania Neko to the harsh, guttural flow of the Colombian MC Jana. "Kutipakuy", a song by Peru's Sipas Crew, a trio of MCs from Portada de Manchay I, Lima, is one of the most arresting tracks, with Quechua words peppering lyrics underpinned by a hypnotic charango beat.

Following in the footsteps of pioneers like Argentina's Actitud María Marta, a socially conscious hip-hop group formed in the 90s, this emerging generation of female MCs is less interested in fame and fortune than it is in empowerment, collaboration and education. "I'm not aspiring to be a rap star," says Roja. Although there's no shortage of highly commercialised versions of the genre in Latin America, says Lane, there's also an underground hip-hop scene and it's thriving.

Take Guatemala, she says, still one of the most violent countries in the world, despite the 1996 peace agreements that ended the country's 36-year, genocidal civil war. Lane's aunt disappeared in 1981, one of 200,000 Guatemalans killed during almost four decades of bloodshed. "We've had peace accords in Guatemala," says Lane, "but we've never had any peace, or justice." The hip-hop scene, she says, has played a healing role for some of the postwar generation: "It gives young people ways of organising beyond armed conflict, beyond military or gang violence." Hip-hop itself was born in a similar atmosphere, Lane notes, "in the Bronx in the 1970s, once the gang wars had subsided."

Rebeca Lane from Guatemala City: 'Hip-hop gives young people ways of organising beyond armed conflict, beyond military or gang violence.' Photograph: Paula Morales

For the women in Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop, music also offers a chance to link up beyond borders. The collective's members are from Mexico, Guatemala, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. For the mixtape's final track, the rousing "Latinoamérica Unida", each MC or group has contributed an eight-bar segment; and the accompanying music video, made of clips filmed individually and then spliced together, creates a snapshot of a scene that spans much of the Americas. In a skatepark in Quito, pink-haired MC Venus spits rhymes, turning her head to show a jaguar tattooed over one ear. Late-afternoon sun streaks across a rooftop in Puebla, Mexico, as Audry Funk picks up the beat; and in downtown Caracas, Anarkia Ruiz climbs a statue of Simón Bolívar to perform her part.

The group is working on plans for a second festival, to be held in Quito in early 2016. For the accompanying mixtape, the women are working in long-distance collaborations this time, in duos formed by names drawn at random from a hat. The method underlines the need for women to collaborate in pursuit of a common cause, says Audry Funk. "We're not interested in excluding people," she says. "We have to be able to work together - to leave our comfort zones and focus on our common ground, and also on our common problems."

And there are plenty of those. Femicide reaches frightening levels in Latin America, which contains half of the 25 countries with the highest rates internationally. In a chilling reminder of the fear of sexual violence with which women and girls coexist daily, on 27 May, four Brazilian girls from the state of Piauí climbed a picturesque hill to take a few selfies, and were brutally attacked by a fugitive criminal and four teenage boys. The young friends, aged 15 to 17, were raped, then bound, thrown into a canyon and left for dead. Meanwhile in Paraguay, a 10-year-old rape victim, now eight months pregnant at 11, has been denied an abortion despite her mother's pleas.

Perhaps surprisingly, despite their many shared values and concerns, there is a lack of unanimity within Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop on the subject of abortion. While Audry Funk, like Rebeca Lane, is in favour of the right to abortion - "It's an aberration for a woman not to have autonomy over her own body" - Roja is unequivocally against it, in all cases except for rape. Education, including on contraception, she says, is the answer. But in the absence of access to effective sex education, in situations compounded by poverty, gender inequality and violence, must women and girls simply pay the price with unwanted pregnancies? "As women, we're all responsible for the choices we make," says Roja. "I'll always embrace the right to life, but everyone has the liberty to think and say what they believe."

Two of a kind: rap duo Rima Roja en Venus. Photograph: Daniel Cruz

It's not the only instance in which the collective accommodates diverse views. Rebeca Lane identifies as a lesbian, a feminist, and a "trans-anarchist rapper", but few of the other women in Somos Mujeres, she says, identify overtly as feminists. There's a stigma associated with the term, she says, that's particularly powerful in Latin America: "Women are wary of using the word 'feminist'," she says. "There's a perception that it's all about man-hating - that it's about lesbians, witches and locas [crazy women]."

Funk and Roja both moved to the USA a year ago - to New York and New Jersey, respectively. The experience of living so far from home, says Roja, has been tough: "I miss my family a lot. It's been hard to adjust to being so far away." But professionally, she says, it has given her new avenues to explore. "In Quito, we play shows almost every weekend." The New York Latino hip-hop scene is much smaller than Quito's scene, and the slower pace has given her a chance to step back and take a breath.

For Funk, who lives in the Bronx with her husband, also a hip-hop MC, coming to live so close to the genre's legendary source after more than a decade in hip-hop was an unforgettable experience. "It's been fascinating," she says. "I've met some incredible people in New York." She talks animatedly about the classic graffiti she has seen and hip-hop meet-ups she has been to; and yet once she started to understand the current scene, she says, she found herself feeling disappointed.

"US hip-hop seems to have lost the social role it once had," says Funk. "But I heard something the other day that made me laugh out loud," she says. "'Hip-hop isn't dead - it's just been learning Spanish'."

This article was amended on 9 August 2015. An earlier version said Sipas Crew were from Pachacámac. This has been corrected.

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How Latin American women are changing hip-hop

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oja was 16 when she had her hip-hop epiphany. "I was already rapping," says Roja, the MC from Quito, Ecuador, whose real name is Mariela Salgado. "I was part of a Quito crew, Zantalianza, where I'd always felt included. I'd been writing poetry since I was 13, so when I found hip-hop, it felt perfect."

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WOMEN IN THIS SCENE ARE STILL WAITING FOR THEIR BREAK

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WOMEN IN THIS SCENE ARE STILL WAITING FOR THEIR BREAK

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2018- #33

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They say a large crowd of people is capable of anything. As I entered Red Bull's Batalla de los Gallos International Final, a freestyle battle rap tournament that took place in Buenos Aires on December 9, this particular crowd felt more unified and determined than any I've witnessed. They filled the stadium to the brim. The synchronized chants of the crowd sounded like an approaching army. Fists were raised into the air, demanding that the show begin.

Batalla de los Gallos features freestyle rap artists from all around the Spanish-speaking world. Rappers from Spain, Colombia, Argentina and elsewhere congregate in front of these crowds to see whose skills are best. It's been going on since 2005, and these events that happen throughout the year often draw well over 10,000 people. The judges choose a winner who does not receive a tangible prize, but victory can launch a career. Arkano of Spain and Aczino of Mexico, for examples, are two performers who have become bigger in the Latin American and Spanish rap scenes because of these battles.

Across Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, both artists have reached over a million followers, and in 2016, Arkano set the Guinness World Record for longest rap freestyle by performing for over 24 hours in a public square in Madrid.

Though the number of women attending these battles is growing every year, the audience at these events is largely young men, and a woman has never been among the international tournament's final competitors, including this year in Buenos Aires. It's indicative of the culture that surrounds the battle rap scene where Latin American and Spanish machismo goes full-bore.

Guillermo Rodríguez Godínez, 24, who performs as Arkano, told me that many of the men competing tend to use sexist language. He admits that women are often objectified and hyper-sexualized. But, having been introduced to hip-hop by his older sister who was a rapper and graffiti artist herself in their Spanish hometown, Alicante, Arkano tries to do things differently.

"I always try to avoid falling into the trap of using sexist language in my freestyles," he said. "If my rival in a battle starts to say sexist things, I do the opposite and call it out."

Photo by Fabio Piva

Arkano performs at the 2018 Batalla de los Gallos International Finals.
Though none of the competitors in this year's tournament were women, Red Bull did make sure the event featured female emcees. The DJ for the event was Nicole Atenea Nazar, a Chilean woman who performs under the name DJ Atenea. I spoke with DJ Atenea and other women at Batalla de los Gallos. They were quick to confirm that sexism is a major issue in the scene, but they often hesitated to elaborate, perhaps worried about being shunned for calling out the issue. It was as if they were concerned about being seen as the "other" by speaking out about the obstacles women like them face.

DJ Atenea said she sees sexism in the culture, but she tries to ignore it. She did note she's the first woman to DJ a Batalla de los Gallos - perhaps a sign of progress - but it didn't come easily. Women need to fight hard to get into the scene, Atenea explained.

"It's true that women struggle to be included, but you shouldn't let that be something that limits you," she said.

Mary Ruiz, 38, a Spanish emcee who also helped host the event, said men don't trust you when you try to get into the scene. You have to prove yourself as a performer first, and then, eventually, they start to accept you as another rapper. "When women come into the rap-battle scene to compete, they look at you like you're an alien," she said. Though not a rapper herself, Ruiz, who performs under the name Queen Mary, has seen it happen repeatedly to others.

Photo by Fabio Piva

Queen Mary emcees in Buenos Aires for the 2018 Batalla de los Gallos International Finals.
Luyara Cerena, better known as Tink, an emcee and rapper who lives in Argentina, agreed, adding that women have to blend in with the men to some degree and can't be too aggressive. Things are getting better for women, but it's taken a long time.

"It's a struggle every day - meeting new people and fighting your way into the scene," she said. "You have to give it your personal, female touch but also fit in with what the scene is about."

Some don't see it as a problem of the battle rap scene specifically, though. A Mexican rapper named Cerco, another emcee at the event, blamed Latin American and Spanish culture generally. "It has to do with society and how things are done," Cerco said. "It's sad, but every year you see more girls." As Cerco implied, Latin American and Spanish society have faced an issue with what we might call toxic masculinity for many years.

What's depressing about the lack of women in these competitions is that the major rap battles like Batalla de los Gallos can change an artist's life. Like playing soccer competitively in this region, doing well in rap battles can take you from rags to riches. Cerco himself said he comes from an impoverished, dangerous town in Northern Mexico, and he had little to his name before he got into the rap scene. Now, he says, he's more financially stable and gets to travel the world for rap events. He said many of the other men in the scene are just like him.

In the United States, after years of misogyny in a male-dominated scene, women like Cardi B and Nicki Minaj are now topping the charts alongside their male counterparts. Women in Latin America and Spain are still waiting to achieve this status. For years, lists of the top Latin American and Spanish rappers have been nearly entirely dominated by men. And though rappers like Roja, Rebeca Lane, and more have been talking about the sexism in this culture for years, they have yet to earn the credit they deserve.

In the end, the latest Batalla de los Gallos was won by a talented, local Argentinian rapper called Wos, who himself has an audience of 1.2 million followers on Instagram alone. Though his performance was its own spectacle, and matched by the intensity of the energy in the arena, one hopes some women will be seen competing with him at the next Batalla de los Gallos International Final in Spain. A culture that only hears half of its voices misses out on some of the best ideas.

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How Women Are Fighting For Representation in Latin American and Spanish Battle Rap

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They say a large crowd of people is capable of anything. As I entered Red Bull's Batalla de los Gallos International Final, a freestyle battle rap tournament that took place in Buenos Aires on December 9, this particular crowd felt more unified and determined than any I've witnessed.

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2018 - #32

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The year 2017 marks a time of major multilingual and multicultural musical collaborations. With Luis Fonsi's remix of "Despacito," featuring Daddy Yankee and Justin Bieber, climbing to the top of Billboard's Hot 100 chart for 16 weeks, and J Balvin and Willy William's remix for "Mi Gente," featuring Beyoncé, making it to the No. 3 spot, the western music market is opening up to music in Spanish. But these aren't the only collaborations bridging different cultures and genres. In the era of globalization, K-pop, short for Korean pop music, is an international phenomenon, and the genre is beginning to meld its addictive melodies with urban Latin pop. Evidence: K-pop boy band Super Junior's recent collaboration with Leslie Grace.

Debuting in 2005, the fellas of Super Junior are the kings of Hallyu - the Korean wave. At their height, 15 men donned the Super Junior title, but, due to departures, mandatory military service and other issues, only Siwon, Donghae, Eunhyuk, Shindong, Yesung, Heechul and Leeteuk are currently active. As a group, the men have led a revolution in the industry, spurring forward electro-pop and R&B-influenced dance tracks.

(Courtesy of Leslie Grace)

And among K-pop, they also have one of the strongest fan bases in Latin America. The group has long captivated these audiences with hits like "Sorry Sorry," "Mr. Simple" and "Mamacita," and Super Junior has made sure to visit their Latin American E.L.F - what they call their fans - on three separate tours since 2013, holding arena shows in Mexico, Argentina, Chile and Peru. It must be noted that the group has yet to hold a single solo show in the U.S.

For many years, Super Junior and SM Entertainment, their label, had seen the excitement from their supporters in Latin America and wanted to show their gratitude by releasing a song partly sung in Spanish. In March, the group dropped "Lo Siento," a tune about finding romance on the dance floor, featuring Dominican-American singer Leslie Grace and the Latino production duo Play-N-Skillz as part of the extended version of their eighth album, Replay.

"The song with Super Junior and Play-N-Skillz came out of nowhere. None of us really knew each other," Leslie Grace, who was recommended to the K-pop group by the Argentine-Venezuelan sibling duo Play-N-Skillz, told FIERCE. "The beauty of it was [having the opportunity of] discovering something that's been happening hugely in its own right in a different side of the world, and discovering it for the first time and saying, 'Man, I wanna be a part of that. I don't know anything about it up until this point, but I really want to be a part of that.'"

While it's commonplace for K-pop groups to release records in Japanese or Mandarin in order to cater to Asian music markets, or English one-offs for international fans, no act had ventured into singing in Spanish or acknowledged their Latin American fans with a song quite like Super Junior.

"Lo Siento" is a true K-pop and urban Latin-pop mashup. It plays up the typical Spanish guitar and blends a familiar Latin flair with the energy and the mix of pop, dance and hip-hop that K-pop is known for. The music video, shot in South Korea, even features the "Díganle" singer dancing along with the guys of Super Junior.

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bhf174fBlko/?hl=en&taken-by=lesliegrace

The trilingual track debuted at No. 13 on Billboard's Latin digital sales chart, the first K-pop entry ever. A bit over two weeks after the music video dropped, "Lo Siento" surpassed 20 million views, which was three times more than what their last Korean single, "Black Suit," accumulated.

While "Lo Siento" isn't the first time K-pop artists have teamed up with Latin ones nor used Latin genres in their music, it is the first instance that we can actually call a real collaboration. In 2016, for instance, Ricky Martin released a version of his hit " Vente Pa' Ca" featuring Wendy from K-pop girl group Red Velvet, though she sang in English, and Mexican boy band CD9 released " Get Dumb " with Korean girl group Crayon Pop. In both cases, the artists simply exchanged vocals, put them together and released the song with little fanfare. With "Lo Siento," however, not only did Leslie fly to Korea to be in the music video, but Super Junior invited her and Play-N-Skillz on their Latin American tour last month.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BiNZO-sgKLW/?hl=en&taken-by=playnskillz

Stopping in Buenos Aires, Lima, Santiago and Mexico City, Leslie, Play-N-Skillz and Super Junior played before a total of 55,000 fans. The stars blew up the stage with "Lo Siento," but both Play-N-Skillz and Leslie also had the chance to perform their own sets during the show.

"It never stops being a surprise, with my most recent released single 'Duro y Suave,' for [the crowd] to sing it back to me," the 23-year-old singer, who came to fame after the release of her bachata remake of The Ronettes' "Be My Baby" in 2013, told us. "I know it's Super Junior's crowd. I know that their fans are so accepting and loving, and I knew that they would be attentive during the show, but you don't expect everyone to connect, especially a crowd that's so different, to your music when you're the special guest."

Leslie is currently finishing her new album, which she says will drop by the end of the year. She's also very excited about potentially finishing another leg of the tour with Super Junior. "They're trying to see if we can do some more shows in Latin America, in Central America, go to the countries we didn't get to go to in South America, like Colombia [and] Brazil," she said.

Just like with "Despacito" and "Mi Gente," "Lo Siento" is bringing together different cultures, languages and even fandoms from various parts of the world that don't get to interact as much through music in a compact, smooth earworm.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BiId1-5Bv_d/

"For us to come together just fully based off of mutual artistic respect, and for something like this to happen, and now everybody really enjoying it despite the cultural differences, that to me was the biggest takeaway and the biggest blessing to now be a part of Super Junior's story and them a huge part of mine," Leslie said.

During an interview in Times Square, the dominicana gave the boys a quick dance lesson - and it was all caught on camera.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BkWSwsvhpta/?taken-by=lesliegrace

"Bridging cultures one dance step at a time! First Super Junior with me and 'Group Dance' in their land South Korea, and now me with them and 'Bachata' in my home NYC," Grace, 23, captioned a video of the dance sesh she posted on Instagram. "Proud to be your instructor, @eunhyukee44 hahaha! You are officially baptized the best bachatero out of Korea by the princess of bachata - BOOM!"

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Check Out These 11 Feminist Anthems That Laid The Groundwork For Your Jefa Ways

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Growing up, there were definitely songs we heard on Spanish radio that were possibly planting the seed for the feminism we'd come to embrace later.

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2018-#11

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A growing group of women in Colombia are using graffiti as a form of resistance art.

While female artists have long been underrepresented in the art world, it has been all the more acute in graffiti. For several decades, the art was almost exclusively dominated by men, as breaking into the all-boys club had proved challenging, both in terms of safety and entrenched sexism. Violence against women in Colombia was, in recent years, especially rampant. According to a report published this summer, between 2010 and 2015, 16 women each hour were the victims of sexual violence.

Today, a year on from the peace agreement between the Colombian government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC), which ended fifty years of armed civil conflict that caused over two hundred thousand deaths and displaced nearly seven million people across Colombia, women are re-negotiating their roles on the streets, using graffiti to challenge preconceptions relating to gender, race, sexual violence and then some.

VICE Impact spoke to Bastardilla, Nandy and Vera, three young and engaged graffiti artists in Colombia, about their work and why graffiti and street art is much needed to help catalyze change in 2018.
VICE Impact: Can you tell me about your first graffiti?
Bastardilla: I was working as a decorator, painting houses. In a moment of boredom, I started scribbling an image on the wall and I left it there. After that, I couldn't stop.

Nandy: I did it at the 'mirador' (viewpoint) of Commune 20, known locally as Siloé, in Cali. Up until that point, I had only done graffiti on my terrace using spray paint. I was really nervous. I was going to paint with a really good collective called 'L'Etincelle'. All I could think was, 'What if I mess up? What if I don't do it well?' But everything went well, I felt welcomed. It was new to me to have people stay and watch me work. This made me a little nervous, but it made me want to do more.

Vera: At first, I just did tags or very small drawings in the streets, using markers or stickers. But really, I was dying to paint a wall. The first time I painted a wall was in an abandoned factory. I had spent a lot of time trying to convince a friend who did graffiti to teach me how to paint. When he finally agreed, we went to this factory and he told me, 'You paint from here to here and I'll paint from here to here.' He put on his headphones and did not interrupt me for the rest of the time. I felt overwhelmed and scared, but after starting the first strokes, I loved the feeling. It was something inexplicable. I loved the feeling of painting, moving the whole body, the arms, the legs, to extend, to feel the space, the people, the street life.
Check out more videos from VICE:

Your graffiti challenges preconceptions about race, gender and combat violence against women. What inspires you?

Vera: These themes are important simply because I am a woman. I paint women as a way to reclaim the visual space of women on the street. For decades our image has been used by advertising to sell, distorting it at the whim of the market. For me, this has had an effect on our way, as a society, of perceiving femininity. It's a patriarchal vision that honours the religion of banality driven by capitalism that I refuse to accept, that's why I paint women in the city. Big women who represent other dimensions: mystical, natural, sentimental, etc. Women that are not for sale.

Nandy: When I started painting faces, I did not discriminate. If I liked a face, I painted it. But later, an incident impacted my work, which led me to address the issue [of race] more actively. I was studying at the Instituto Popular de Cultura, making a linocut. My picture represented an African woman. A fellow-student approached me and asked, 'Hey, why are you drawing so many blacks?'. So he would leave me alone, I said, 'Because I feel like it.' Then I couldn't stop thinking about it. Why should it be strange to draw 'so many' blacks? I thought of art history, where all ideals of feminine beauty had a light-as-possible complexion. I decided I wanted to change that.

Bastardilla: Poverty, violence and women's issues are not isolated issues and not more or less important than climate change, extractivism [economies reliant on the extractive industry], discrimination, migration, indigenous issues and education. I think it's important to look at what all these have in common, I look for similarities and try to bring together the voices of other people with my own.

How do people react to your graffiti?

Nandy: Let's say 85 percent of the people who see them, like it. The other percent, don't. Sometimes it's because they just like white and plain things. The most common reaction, however, is that people are surprised to see this little female 'cuerpesito' (little body) painting in the street.

What is the hardest graffiti you have worked on?

Nandy: The most difficult for me, was one that I did in Manizales, an urban narrative festival. It was a subject that had touched me, was very serious but necessary to capture and denounce: sexual abuse.

Vera: The most difficult was 'Allpa Mama. It is the biggest I have painted. The wall measured 19 meters wide, and there was only one scaffolding, it was a sole prototype was 6 meters.

Why do you consider graffiti as an important form of advocacy?

Vera: Graffiti is the most democratic way to make art, it is accessible to all and brings art closer to people naturally, and thanks to this, it has the ability to catalyze multiple processes, to tell stories, to question directly, to help to build identities, and of course to advocate!

Nandy: Graffiti was born being public and will always defend the public. It's a way of saying, 'Here I am and this is what I think', when everyone else wants to shut you up. Graffiti is resistance. It is a way to defend your individuality and collectivity.

Bastardilla: Streets are spaces within cities where different realities have the opportunity to meet. But streets have, for some years now, been depoliticised, because of gentrification, businesses. Many large spaces are now only used for transit, and not to meet. This has to change. Graffiti can help.
What would you like to see in 2018 for women and minorities in Colombia?

Nandy: 2018 is another year of in which I'll continue to fight. I wish with all my heart that the rates of femicide would go down, and why not to the point that they do not kill you for being a woman. I would also like more sisterhood among us. And in the artistic field many pints and more women are encouraged to experience this artistic practice.

Vera: I want to see a freer, safer and more loving world. A world that allows us to play and do what we love. In words, it sounds very utopian and simple. But the truth is that being a woman means that any activity requires double the motivation, desire, effort and work. Our countries are very macho and the global construction is patriarchal, but I have hope because more and more active voices are asking questions, demanding rights, putting the voices of the women out there, so today, there are more and more rebellious 'brujas' (witches) waking up. I feel that good times are coming, times of awakening, times of embracing the feminine energy that lives in everyone and everything.

Want to leave your mark? Graffiti Camp For Girls is a group that gives girls a creative opportunity to enhance their graffiti techniques. You'll learn the process and skills to collaboratively create a mural based on themes you care about. Check out some more examples of Bastardilla, Nandy, and Vera's work below.

The interviews were translated from Spanish to English by the author and have been edited for clarity and brevity.

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Female Graffiti Artists Are Fighting Sexual Violence in Colombia

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A growing group of women in Colombia are using graffiti as a form of resistance art. While female artists have long been underrepresented in the art world, it has been all the more acute in graffiti. For several decades, the art was almost exclusively dominated by men, as breaking into the all-boys club had proved challenging, both in terms of safety and entrenched sexism.

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2017- #29 analyze the tactics deployed by Colombian women’s rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups to challenge masculist in the peace negotiations between the Colombian government and the former Colombian guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) held in Havana.

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Abstract

In this study, we analyze the tactics deployed by Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups to challenge masculinism in the peace negotiations between the Colombian government and the former Colombian guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) held in Havana.1 By drawing on the literature on women's participation in peace and transitional justice processes, the research assesses the presence of women in Colombia's peace talks, the way women's movements articulated their demands, the role of the sub-commission on gender, and the manner in which gender was introduced in the drafts of the peace agreement and in the document the parties to the negotiation signed in Cartagena in September 2016.

"La paz sin mujeres ¡no va!" La lucha de las mujeres por su inclusión en el proceso de paz con las FARC en Colombia

El estudio analiza la forma en que las ONG de mujeres colombianas, movimientos sociales y grupos defensores de derechos humanos han desafiado el sesgo masculino de las negociaciones de paz entre el Gobierno y las FARC. A partir de la literatura sobre la participación de las mujeres en los procesos de paz, la investigación evalúa la presencia de las mujeres en el proceso de paz con las FARC, la articulación de las demandas de las organizaciones feministas, el papel de la sub-comisión de género en las negociaciones y la manera en que se introdujo la perspectiva de género en los borradores de los acuerdos preliminares y en el documento que se firmó en Cartagena en septiembre de 2016.

"Não há paz sem mulheres!" A luta das mulheres por sua inclusão no processo de paz com as Farc na Colômbia

Este estudo analisa a forma na qual organizações não governamentais de mulheres colombianas, movimentos sociais e grupos defensores de direitos humanos desafiam o viés masculino das negociações de paz entre o Governo e as Forças Armadas Revolucionárias da Colômbia (FARC). A partir da literatura sobre a participação das mulheres nos processos de paz, a pesquisa avalia a presença delas nos processos de paz com as Farc, a articulação das demandas das organizações feministas, o papel da subcomissão de gênero nas negociações e o modo em que a perspectiva de gênero foi introduzida nos rascunhos dos acordos preliminares e no documento assinado em Cartagena (Colômbia) em setembro de 2016.

When the peace talks between the Colombian government and Colombian guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) began in August 2012, women were not part of the negotiating team. This led various organizations to unite and demand women's inclusion in the peace process. The result was the establishment in October 2012 of Mujeres por la Paz (Women for Peace), a space through which more than forty non-governmental organizations (NGOs) voiced one slogan: "There cannot be peace while there is oppression and half of humanity is still excluded from full development - women" (Mujeres por la Paz 2012b).2

Despite national and international pressure, it was not until November 2013 that the government appointed two women plenipotentiary negotiators and June 2014 that the establishment of a permanent sub-commission on gender took place (Mesa de Conversaciones 2014c). When Nigeria Rentería and María Paulina Riveros were appointed as plenipotentiary negotiators, two of the six points of the peace negotiations had already been settled -rural reform and political participation. At the time the sub-commission on gender began its work, the parties had already reached an understanding on the third point-solution to illegal drugs. Notwithstanding the late incorporation of women plenipotentiary negotiators and the delayed creation of the sub-commission on gender, these were critical victories in the struggle to ensure the integration of a gender perspective in the negotiations between the Colombian government and the FARC.

In this paper, we research how women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups articulated their demands to participate and influence the peace process between the Colombian government and the FARC in Havana. This means that our time frame extends from August 2012, when the peace negotiations began, until September 2016, when the final agreement was signed in Cartagena (Cartagena Agreement). Hence, the changes made after the plebiscite was voted in October 3, 2016 are not discussed. Despite the setbacks brought by the negative vote, in which the gender element of the agreement became a point of controversy, women's efforts to find spaces of participation and influence the peace agreement provide valuable lessons for understanding the gendered dynamics of peace processes (Céspedes-Báez 2016; Bouvier 2016). They expose the difficulties faced by the Colombian women that embarked in the task of being present, challenging and transforming the male dominated field of peacebuilding.

The examination of the demands voiced by Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups serves a twofold purpose. First, it reveals the discursive tactics deployed by women's organizations to demand their inclusion in the peace talks. Second, by contrasting the texts produced by women's organizations during the negotiating process with the preliminary drafts and final peace agreement, the study provides key insights into how Colombia's peace process in Havana was gendered. This comparative exercise allows us to examine if women's efforts managed to rebuff male privilege, power, and narratives in the peace process. By analyzing the inclusion of women and gender in the peace negotiation, we problematize the way the negotiators translated/co-opted women's demands and limited the possibilities of discussing in-depth issues such as gender equality in the economic and social arenas.

The article is structured into four main sections. First, we provide a short overview of Colombia's armed conflict. Second, we research feminism's passageway from being marginal to the discussions on warfare, peacebuilding, and transitional justice to making key contributions to these fields. This theoretical framework provides a starting ground for examining women's role in negotiating peace. Here, we also underscore some of the main historical advances to make women's experiences of the armed conflict visible in Colombia. Third, we explain the methodology that guides our study. Last, we analyze how Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups challenged the masculine biases of the peace negotiations between the government and the FARC in Havana, gradually bringing their understanding of gender and women's issues to the negotiating table. In the conclusions, we extract the main lessons that this case study provides to women organizations working on transitional justice and peacebuilding processes.

Colombia has suffered the longest lasting conflict in the Western Hemisphere. In 1958, after years of political violence, the Liberal and Conservative Parties agreed upon a power-sharing government strategy. Within the framework, they closed the doors to all those that did not identify with the two traditional parties (Arias Trujillo 2006). This triggered the formation of multiple guerilla factions, including the most predominant, the FARC and the National Liberation Army (ELN).

Colombia's armed conflict has displaced more than six million people (Comisión Histórica del Conflicto y sus Víctimas 2015). As of August 2017, a total of 8.186.896 armed conflict-related victims have been registered by the government (Registro Único de Víctimas 2017). More than one hundred thousand individuals have reported the loss of property; almost one million homicides have been listed; and 22,493 crimes against sexual liberty and integrity have been recorded, among other illegal conducts. Before the peace agreement of September 2016, several Colombian administrations had endeavored in the task of negotiating a peace deal with the FARC. In 1998, President Andres Pastrana (1998-2002) failed to negotiate a settlement with the armed group. His presidency was followed by the government of President Alvaro Uribe (2002-2006; 2006-2010), who adopted a military approach to defeat the FARC.

Since the early 2000s, women's rights activists and non-governmental organizations have been very vocal about the particular and disproportional impact armed conflict has had on women's lives (Céspedes-Báez 2014; Céspedes-Báez 2017). Also, they have promoted a negotiated end of the conflict in which gender-based violence is acknowledged and redressed. Over these years, their advocacy has focused on identifying particular cases and instances of such violence to hold accountable the government and all the illegal armed actors participating in the conflict. To do so, they have emphasized on the incidence of sexual violence against women producing reports, campaigns, and specific legal knowledge to advance their claims. Their work on this issue has gradually strengthen their movement and coalitions, giving them a prominent place in the Colombian and international public spheres.

In August 2012, President Juan Manuel Santos (2010-2014; 2014-2018) announced the beginning of the negotiations with the FARC. After four years of negotiations, the final agreement was signed in Cartagena in September 2016. With the hope of ratifying the agreement, the government decided to carry out a plebiscite to let the Colombian people express whether they supported what was decided in Havana. In 2 October 2016, the citizens of Colombia went to the polls. The vote against the agreement won by a narrow margin. 49.78% voted "Yes" and 50.21% voted "No" ("Con el 'No' en el plebiscito" 2016). When this article was written, the consequences of this unexpected outcome for the government were still unknown. The parties that opposed the peace agreement were demanding the modification of the text.3

a. Feminist efforts to contest the masculine subjectivity of warfare

For decades, feminist scholars have criticized the neglect given to women in warfare. They have revealed how women's issues have been peripheral to the literature and policies on warfare and how their rights come to abeyance when armed violence originates (Gardam and Charlesworth 2000; Bennoune 2003). A masculine gendered hierarchy has impeded a serious examination and understanding of women's role in armed conflict, peacebuilding and transitional justice (Gardam 1997).

Feminist scholars have argued that the approaches that treat women and men in the same manner serve to mask women's standpoints. The conception of war as an act of men reinforces the marginalization of women (Gardam 1993; Otto 2010). It incorporates a masculine subjectivity that disdains women's capabilities, vulnerabilities, distresses, and understandings of armed violence (Gardam 1997). Accordingly, visions based solely on the perspectives of men overlook the experiences of women.

Feminist scholars have focused on revealing the differential impact of warfare on women. To do so, they have frequently called the attention on sexual violence, whose victims are predominantly female. Numerous feminist works have proved the endemic nature of sexual violence in the context of armed conflict and showed the permissive character of state policies and institutions towards this crime (Kamau 2011; Russell-Brown 2004). By drawing attention to acts of sexual violence, feminists have succeeded in making women's suffering in warfare more visible (Manjoo and McRaith 2011; Askin 2003; Halley 2008).

Feminists have also documented the masculine partiality of transitional justice processes. They have exposed the gender hierarchy that privileges certain type of victims and truths. In the words of Fionnuala Ni Aoláin and Catherine Turner: "the conduct of violence and war is predominantly male, leading to a male bias in negotiations, and mediators are usually men" (2007, 240). This masculine preference has swayed transitional justice away from women's societal narratives. For this group of feminists, concrete mechanisms of inclusion in peace negotiations are required to remedy the marginalization of women from transitional justice and peacebuilding processes (Gardam and Charlesworth 2000; Gallagher 1997; McGuinness 2007).

From a critical perspective, feminist scholars have also exposed the dangers of reducing the role of women in warfare to certain crimes and experiences. They have insisted that sexual violence is only one of the features of armed conflict that affects women, exploring the negative consequences of this "hyper-attention to sexual violence" (Engle 2014). For them, the primary focus on women as victims of sexual violence obscures other possible forms of victimhood and ways of involvement in armed confrontations. This group of scholars has explicated the negative consequences of warfare on women beyond common conceptions of victimhood (Prescott 2013). Not only do they pay attention to the fact that women make up the majority of internally displaced persons and refugees, they also explore how armed violence sharpens structures of male domination that subjugate the role that women play in society (Bennoune 2003).

Brooke Ackerly, Maria Stern, and Jacqui True state "feminism is not about studying women and gender exclusively. Just as states, conflict, institutions, security, and globalization cannot be studied without analyzing gender, gender cannot be studied without analyzing these subjects and concepts" (2006, 4). Consequently, the study of gender and armed conflict is not reduced to the study of women as victims. It is all encompassing, in the sense that it conceives gender orders as a relevant characteristic of warfare. For this group of scholars, the tendencies to hem in women's experiences within the label of victims of sexual violence are one of the consequences of the stratification of gender roles. This contributes to the mummification of gendered orders, nullifying "any attempts to advance gender equality and the loosening of gender expectations around caring and parenting for women" (Haynes, Ni Aolain and Cahn 2011, 18).

By approaching gender realities as "a complex system that cuts across class, ethnic, rural/urban, and other divides, rather than look simply at 'women' as victims of 'men'", this group of feminist scholars dismantles "conventional assumptions about who are the actors -the fighters and legitimate targets- and who are the acted upon -civilians and 'innocent victims'" (Helms 2015, 464-465). This conceptual shift breaks away from generalizations that make women's agency incompatible with their status as victims. It reframes feminist research by demonstrating how these oversimplified identifications are the result of gender discourses that reinforce dichotomous logics (Helms 2008). These approximations emphasize on the plurality of women's subjectivities and experiences (Tabak 2012). They argue that the conception of women simply as victims "not only fails to accurately portray them, but also fails to fully respect, embolden, and empower the women as survivor and enablers" (Askin 2003, 515).

The consolidation of this feminist knowledge has been successful in turning gender-related issues into important matters of analysis when discussing armed conflicts, transitional justice, and peacebuilding. International regulations have adopted a gender perspective to tackle the problems underscored by feminist and women's movements (Otto 2010; Engle 2014; Halley 2008). These international advances have "inspir[ed] many local and global women's movements for change, which runs counter to the charge of understanding power as 'top-down', releases the grip of sexual subordination feminism, and actively seeks to assert power as a positive goal of feminist endeavor" (Otto 2010, 99). Overall, these feminist achievements have brought gender into the peacebuilding and transitional justice agenda.

The Colombian government's negotiations with the FARC in Havana took place in a time when women were no longer invisible and marginal from deliberations on peacebuilding and transitional justice processes (Céspedes-Báez 2016; Céspedes-Báez 2017). Basic feminist premises regarding equal protection and representation in deliberative bodies and pertaining prosecution of gender-based violence had been incorporated into international governance systems, making gender a part of the security, peacebuilding and transitional justice designs (Otto 2010; Halley 2008). Furthermore, when the negotiations began, Colombian women NGOs and activists had built a solid trajectory and knowledge around women and conflict (Céspedes-Báez 2017; Jaramillo and Erazo 2016). Through constitutional and legal victories, they had made sexual violence one of the most conspicuous features of women's advocacy in the country in the last decade. Triggered in 2005, after Law 975 of 2005 was passed to facilitate the demobilization and prosecution of high and middle rank paramilitaries, sexual violence became the epitome of gender-based violence in the Colombian conflict, the argument to ask for differential measures, and the evidence to demonstrate the disproportionate impact of war in women's lives. Overall, the national and international legal setting provided a foreground for advancing women's involvement in the peace negotiations with the FARC.

The question that remains is how the demands and legal accomplishments of these Colombian feminist activists translated into the peace process between the Colombian government and FARC. This study provides a unique opportunity for assessing women's role in the peace process, contrasting feminist demands to feminist practice. The study serves to evaluate the extent to which national and international mechanisms enabled women's participation and inclusion. By delving into the Colombian case, the research complements the studies aimed at comprehending the challenges faced by women in participating and influencing peacebuilding processes and transitional justice schemes. It extracts some valuable lessons of the paths and tactics through which Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and activists advocated for women's inclusion and participation in negotiating peace.

The study applied an interpretative method which required a close reading of the texts produced by Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups, contrasting their demands with the gender approach adopted in the peace agreement signed in Cartagena in September 2016; that is, before the plebiscite was voted. As we read through the publications, we tried to organize the demands following the points in the agenda set by the parties in Havana, but sometimes the issues raised were transversal to the negotiating process. This decision reflects the dynamics of the peace process. Since at the beginning of the negotiations women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups did not find participation spaces and channels, they began organizing parallel meetings and events to discuss the points in the agenda being debated by the parties in Havana. This was a way of raising women's demands and making their exclusion visible.

Most of the information analyzed was derived from Corporación Humanas Colombia. As a member of Mujeres por la Paz, this organization has kept a detailed record of the activities carried out by women's movements since the peace process began. The majority of the documents relating to the women's movement's advocacy pertaining the peace process that we analyzed in this research were hosted in their webpage. These included minutes, pronouncements, and event transcripts, among others.4 Additionally, the preliminary agreements divulged by the government and the FARC were also analyzed, evidencing the changes made after the sub-commission on gender reviewed these. These documents can be found in the official website of the peace talks.5 Furthermore, we submitted two official writs for information to the High Commissioner for Peace. These served to clarify the gendered composition of the negotiating parties and the mechanisms created by the government to enable women's participation in the negotiations. Secondary sources were incorporated to support the data found in the primary sources.

Three steps were taken to examine how the peace process with the FARC was gendered. First, we appraised the way women were included in the peace negotiations. Applying a numerical approach, we observed the ratio of men to women negotiators, revealing the prevalence of men in the negotiating table. Second, we read the texts produced by Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups, and contrasted their demands with the gender approach adopted in the peace agreement signed in Cartagena in September 2016. The purpose was to comprehend how these organizations assumed their role in the contestation of the predominant gender order, the demands raised during the negotiating process, and the translation of these by the negotiating parties. Additionally, by reviewing the preliminary drafts and the Cartagena agreement, we examined how women's demands and the sub-commission on gender influenced in the formulation of the gender perspective of the agreement. This comparative exercise provided key insight to the differences between the issues raised by women's rights NGOs concerning the incorporation of gender into the framework of the peace process and the gender perspective that was adopted in the final peace agreement, allowing us to enquire how the negotiators and the subcommission on gender co-opted/translated women's demands. Last, some of our main ideas and arguments emerged when the findings were juxtaposed with the feminist literature discussed in the first section. In doing so, the case study allowed a more profound evaluation of women's movements' achievements and challenges.

It is important to clarify that issues not directly raised by women's movements or not acknowledged by the negotiating parties were also considered. This is because silence serves as an indicator of existing gender biases. In the words of Annica Kronsell, "silence on gender is a determining characteristic of institutions of hegemonic masculinity [...]. Masculine norms, when hegemonic, are never really a topic of discussion" (2006, 110). Consequently, the suppression of certain demands helped to grasp the existing gender orders that surround the peace negotiations.

Before initiating the study, it is also important to clarify the treatment given to the terms "masculine", "masculinist" and "masculinism". These signifiers are used to describe a gender order that privileges certain men and marginalizes women from decision-making positions, overlooking their role in warfare.

In this section, we adopt a gender approach to analyze Colombia's peace process with the FARC in Havana. We assess the presence of women in the peace talks, the way that women's movements articulated their demands, the role of the sub-commission on gender in the peace negotiations, and the way gender was introduced in the preliminary drafts of the accords and in the Cartagena agreement.

a. Women's path to Havana

In September 19 of 2012, Resolution 339 designated the main delegates that would represent the Colombian government in the peace talks with the FARC. As it is shown in table 1, initially only men were part of the government's negotiating team. Only two women were designated as alternate negotiators: Lucía Jaramillo Ayerbe and Elena Ambrosi Turbay.6 As for the FARC, five of its main negotiators were men. Only two women, the Dutch national, Tanja Nijmeijer, and Shirley Méndez7, were presented as collaborators.

When reading through the profile of the original negotiating team members, we find out that almost all of them have had some kind of relation with Colombia's armed forces or defense sector. Not only there are two retired generals, Jorge Enrique Moral Rangel and Oscar Adolfo Naranjo Trujillo, but also the High Commissioner for Peace had formerly been an advisor for Colombia's Ministry of Defense from 2006 to 2009. This seems to replicate the message sent by the FARC's main leader, Rodrigo Londoño Echeverri, also known as "Timochenko": "The debate between men who know war makes things easier" ("Preferimos un buen acuerdo" 2016). Thus, the absence of women at the beginning of the peace conversations just mirrored the ingrained belief that war was a men's affair, and that the negotiations to pave the way to its end only pertained to them.

This initial male dominated composition of the delegations corroborates one of the main feminist's critiques to transitional justice and peace processes; that is, the concern about the masculine bias of peace negotiations. It exposes the gender hierarchy that privileges men's experiences and voices; and, as a materialization of the worries posited by Fionnuala Ní Aoláin and Catherine Turner (2007), it shows that masculinism not only manages to prevail in the conduct of violence and war but also in the orchestration and mediation of peace.

Women's organizations' protests did not wait. To articulate their disapproval with the Colombian government's course of action in this matter, they created Mujeres por la Paz, a coalition through which more than forty organizations voiced women's demands. Its founding document, dated on October 2012, established as its main objectives:

1. To continue generating actions to contribute to peace's achievement with social justice. 2. To generate a legitimate voice as interlocutors and political actors in the process to end the armed conflict. 3. To contribute to hone women's arguments in issues concerning the legal framework for peace and transitional justice. 4. To follow-up and control the peace process agenda to ensure it includes women's needs and necessities. 5. To elaborate and strengthen women's organizations' synergies to influence the peace process agenda. 6. To amplify and strengthen Mujeres por la Paz at the national and regional levels. (Mujeres por la Paz 2012a; translation by authors)

In December 2012, Mujeres por la Paz organized the "National Meeting of Women for Peace". The conference was held in Bogotá on the 3 rd and 4 th of December. Woman's rights NGOs, such as Casa de la Mujer, Red Nacional de Mujeres Excombatientes, Corporación Humanas, and Ruta Pacífica de las Mujeres, among others, expressed their support for a negotiated solution to the armed conflict.8 However, they demanded women's participation in the peace talks. They asserted their right to take part on the social contract being negotiated in Havana, criticizing the patriarchal structures that marginalized them and acted upon them with violence. They insisted on the importance of women's participation in peacebuilding throughout Colombia's history and sent one united message to the government and the FARC: "peace without women does not go!" (Encuentro Nacional de Mujeres por la Paz 2012).9

In December 2012, the government delegation and FARC held an event called "Comprehensive agricultural development with a territorial approach" to discuss the first point of their agenda: rural reform. In that opportunity, the women's movement once again rejected their exclusion from the peace process and demanded the transformation of social, cultural and economic structures that contribute to their oppression. Rather than women being another topic to be discussed between the government and the FARC, they insisted on being active participants in the negotiations. They claimed for their recognition as agents with their own voice and authority. Regarding agricultural development, they redirected the attention to the differentiated impact armed conflict has had on rural women's bodies and social and economic opportunities. They underscored the current concentration of land in men's and political and economic elites' hands. They deemed necessary that the negotiating parties tackle the issue of women's access, control, and recovery of land and promote their inclusion in political discussions (Mujeres por la Paz 2012b).

Coalition 1325, a group of women's organizations established in 2001 to monitor Colombia's compliance with United Nations Security Council Resolution 1325, complemented the initiatives organized by Mujeres por la Paz. This coalition began publishing yearly reports assessing the compliance with the parameters set in Resolution 1325. As a NGO alliance producing information regarding the implementation of this Security Council resolution in Colombia, its role became more germane after the Colombian government and the FARC commenced their peace talks. In its 2012 report, the Coalition called attention to the absence of women in past peace negotiations in Colombia and the secondary role that they were playing in the current ones (Coalición 1325, 2012). In 2013, the Coalition's report reiterated its 2012 conclusion and criticized the lack of a gender perspective in the government's and FARC's mutual agenda (Coalición 1325, 2013).

In May of 2013, more than two thousand women from different organizations met in Florencia, Caquetá, Colombia.10 The outcome of this meeting was documented in a joint statement titled "Colombian women's manifest for dignity and peace". Despite women's organizations continual support for the peace process, the joint statement expressed the exasperation generated by the indifference of the government and the FARC towards their demands for inclusion. The joint statement expressly cited the Security Council's Resolution 1325 and formulated specific recommendations to the negotiating team. Among these, it demanded the parties to abandon simplistic visions of peace that only conceive it as the end of the armed confrontation. It reminded them that women have been not only victims of war but also of the economic model. In this vein, it advocated for structural changes in the economic and political systems, guaranteeing women's adequate engagement and recognition of their contribution to the GDP through domestic labor and economics of care. The manifest ended by restating its original point: "Our word and our presence in the final accord must be irreplaceable" (Manifiesto de las Mujeres Colombianas por la Dignidad y la Paz 2013).11

Throughout 2013, women's organizations continued to hold frequent meetings and events. In November 22, Mujeres por la Paz organized a public demonstration supporting the peace process but also requiring their inclusion in the dialogues in Havana. More than 8.000 women marched in Bogota towards the presidential palace. With signs reading "I am a woman and peace is mine" and "I am a woman and I believe in peace with social justice," women's movements pressured the government to listen to their demands ("Las mujeres marcharon" 2013).

This public act led President Juan Manuel Santos to declare that he would include one woman in the negotiating team. Through Resolution 321 of November 26 of 2013, the government designated two women lawyers as plenipotentiary members: Nigeria Rentería Lozano and María Paulina Riveros Dueñas. Both women had an ample trajectory in the defense of human rights.

President Juan Manuel Santos referred to the appointment of two women plenipotentiaries as an advance in the struggle for gender equality.12 The way this incorporation was made risked tokenizing Nigeria Rentería Lozano's and María Paulina Riveros Dueñas's voices and experiences. By equating their demands to those of all women, they were turned into spokeswomen. Within a male dominated process, they became symbols of the inclusion of a gender perspective. This "essentializing" tendency generated a misconception of women as a homogeneous group. It neglected the multi-layered and diverse experiences of women within conflict.

The inclusion of two women in the negotiation table did not signify the end of women's efforts to participate in the peace process. In February 2014, women's movements signed the "Ethical pact for a nation in peace". In it, they listed fifteen steps for the transformation away from violence. Though the issue of gender-based violence did appear on the document, its main points focused on the advancement of pluralistic and tolerant societies that accept cultural and ethnical diversity. It conceived a transformative peace process as one that foments political debates and modifies authoritative cultural practices that obstruct gender equality (Colectivo de Pensamiento y Acción Mujeres, Paz y Seguridad 2014).

In the National Summit of Women and Peace, which took place on May 21 2014, more than four hundred women highlighted the importance of continuing the conversations until the parties reach a final peace agreement. They also demanded the incorporation of women in every stage of the negotiations ("Women do not want to be agreed on but they want to be covenanters"), rejecting the negotiating parties' neglect of women's needs, interests, and armed conflict-related impacts (Cumbre Nacional de Mujeres y Paz 2013, 10).

It was not until June 7 2014 that the Colombian government announced the creation of a sub-commission on gender, an advisory body comprised of up to ten members, five coming from the FARC, and five from the government13. The installment of the sub-commission was the outcome of the sustained pressure that women's organizations and advocates exerted on the negotiating parties and of a series of visits they made to the negotiating team in Havana. In a response to an official writ for information, the High Commissioner for Peace stated, "the sub-commission on gender, integrated by both delegations, was created to revise and warrant, with the support of national and international experts, that the final agreement has a proper gender perspective" (Response to official writ for information submitted to the High Commissioner for Peace presented by the authors, Bogotá, October 9, 2015, translation by authors).

As a way of complementing the efforts of the sub-commission on gender, since March 2014 until March 2016, eighteen representatives of women's organizations participated in the peace process deliberations. These members worked with the Director of UN Women, Belén Sanz, with the purpose of systematizing their recommendations to the negotiating parts (Response to official writ for information submitted to the High Commissioner for Peace presented by the authors, Bogota, March 16, 2016).

Between August 16 and December 16 2014, five delegations of victims were invited to participate in hearings with the negotiating team. A total of 60 victims joined in this initiative: 36 of them were women and 24 were men. Forced displacement, homicide, torture, kidnapping, sexual violence, child recruitment, and forced disappearance were the main issues raised by the victims (Response to official writ for information submitted to the High Commissioner for Peace presented by the authors, Bogota, March 16, 2016).

In 2014, the Coalition 1325's report acknowledged the negotiators' efforts to include topics related to women in the peace talks, the creation of the sub-commission on gender, and the participation of women in the negotiating team. It underscored the government's compromise to consider the proposals made by the women's movements. However, it highlighted the importance of including meaningful provisions on women's issues and interests in the negotiation points that had already been settled before the sub-commission on gender was established. Particularly, the document referred to the first point of the negotiation (agrarian policy), in which women were only integrated as mothers and caregivers, leaving aside proposals to facilitate their access, control, and recovery of their rights over land and measures to empower them as decision-makers (Coalición 1325, 2014). Latter, the negotiators allowed the gender sub-commission to review the points that they had already drafted (Mesa de Conversaciones 2016).

Conclusively, women's movements managed to challenge and transform the initial male control of the peace process. Through public manifestations and protests, they made their voices heard, impelling the inclusion of women as main negotiators and pushing forward the creation of the sub-commission on gender. After more than three years of struggle, women organizations reshaped the male dominated composition of the peace negotiation process. How these measures impacted the final agreement will be discussed in the next section.

The experiences, demands, and challenges faced by Colombian women encapsulate some of the main lessons and concerns made by feminist scholars. They expose the difficulties of breaking through the male bias of peace processes and reveal how the male-oriented understanding of war bolsters discrimination against women (Gardam 1993; Otto, 2010; Gardam 1997; Ní Aoláin and Turner 2007; McGuiness 2007). However, they also provide a glance of feminism's advances and strengths. First, it shows the importance of international regulations for supporting women's inclusion in peace processes (Otto 2010; Engle 2014; Halley 2008). Second, it evidences how the victories made by Colombian women served as a foothold for advancing the inclusion of gender in the peace process (Céspedes-Báez 2014; Céspedes-Báez 2017; Jaramillo and Erazo 2016). Lastly and most importantly, women's demands for a transformative peace process,

understood as one that foments political debates and modifies authoritative cultural practices, brings to light the potential of feminism as a movement that articulates gender demands beyond women (Ackerly et al. 2006).

b. From marginality to co-optation/translation of gender perspectives

Since the incorporation of women in forefront negotiating positions and the establishment of the sub-commission on gender, meaningful issues related to women's experiences of conflict in the peace process were raised. Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocates made this transformation possible given the expertise on women and armed conflict they had developed during the 2000s and the growing recognition that this knowledge had elicited from the Colombian Constitutional Court and the Colombian society in general (Céspedes-Báez 2017).

The sub-commission on gender became a critical outlet to channel to the negotiating table the insights that women organizations had structured and honed in the last twenty years regarding women in the context of the Colombian conflict. Between February and March 2015, the sub-commission held a series of meetings with women's organizations' representatives to hear first-hand their contributions to the items that were being discussed between the government and the FARC. According to the information provided by the Office of the High Commissioner for Peace, eighteen women representatives flew to Havana to present their recommendations to the negotiating parties. Among them were organizations such as Asociación Amanecer de Mujeres por Arauca, Red Nacional de Mujeres, Iniciativa de Mujeres por la Paz, Ruta Pacífica de Mujeres, Coordinación Nacional de Despazados-Departamento de Mujeres, and Asociación Nacional de Mujeres Campesinas, Negras e Indígenas (Response to official writ for information submitted to the High Commissioner for Peace presented by the authors, Bogota, October 9, 2015). They came from different regions and various ethnic, racial, and social communities.

The significance of the sub-commission and the importance it had for women's NGOs, movements, and advocates can be grasped through the comparison between the first three points of the agenda that were agreed before it was established and the point regarding victims that was negotiated after the sub-commission began to operate. Firstly, the draft on rural reform, as the Coalition 1325 indicated, evidenced an out-of-date understanding of women and their situation in the agrarian world (Mesa de Conversaciones 2014b). The backbone of the so-called gender perspective integrated in this point replicated a conception of women as mothers and caregivers, awarding differential protection to them when they were pregnant, lactating or heads of the household. Nowhere in this draft was it possible to find measures that benefited rural women as agents, producers, breadwinners or entrepreneurs or that incorporated some of the proposals women made in the 2013 National Summit of Women and Peace to guarantee their access, control, and recovery of land.14 The invisibility of women's demands in relation to land and to the urgency of reviewing the rules for proving property rights exposes the masculine biases with which the process initiated.

The second point of the negotiation (political participation), which was also settled before the creation of the gender sub-commission, reproduced many of the problems of the item on agrarian policy (Mesa de Conversaciones 2013). The gender approach remained vague and continued to portray women as a group in need of special protection. For example, the inclusion of women did not go beyond enunciating that the gender perspective would be incorporated or asserting the importance of taking women into account for the implementation of certain measures. As it happened on the point on agrarian policy, most of the document equated women with vulnerability. It did not acknowledge and elaborate, until the end, on the key role women play as decision-makers. Even though the last part of the agreement recognized women as important in the prevention of conflict and peacebuilding, it stood in stark contrast with all the rhetoric that precedes this declaration.

Something similar happened with the document on the solution to illegal drugs (Mesa de Conversaciones 2014a). The inclusion of women's issues in this point appears to be limited to the invocation of the incorporation of the gender perspective without further details or to the protection of old-fashion conceptions of women, such as in the case of women heads of the household. There was no examination of how women participate in drug trafficking or the way in which they use illegal drugs. This lack of analysis impeded any accurate comprehension of how this agreement was going to impact them in issues such as crop substitution or sentencing guidelines. As the 2013 National Summit of Women and Peace pointed out, women are usually the weakest link in the drug trafficking cycle. In this vein, the drafts of the agreement failed to consider women's agency and capacity to negotiate with the government.

The draft on armed conflict-related victims demonstrated a different reality from the one that was displayed in the first three negotiated points. When this point was discussed, women were active participants as negotiators and the sub-commission on gender had been established. The document on victims incorporated from the beginning an operative perspective of women. It was not limited to invoking their inclusion but it also encompassed the specific knowledge women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocates have produced in the last two decades and practical clauses that translated that knowledge into precise lines of action. Concerning the former, the incorporation of women in it was rooted in the recognition of the differential and disproportionate impact armed conflict has imposed on them and on the silent and ominous incidence of sexual violence in this context. Regarding the latter, these general premises were turned into the explicit prohibition of guaranteeing amnesties or indults to sexual violence crimes and the creation of a special team on sexual violence within the Investigation and Accusation Unit that is part of the Integral System of Truth, Justice, Reparation, and Non-Repetition planned in the agreement. This was in line with the demands of Five Keys (Cinco Claves), a coalition of women's rights NGOs and activist established in April 2015 to pressure the negotiation table to recognize the pervasive nature of sexual violence against women in conflict and introduce an explicit amnesty ban for this crime. Corporación Humanas, Corporación Sisma Mujer, Red Nacional de Mujeres, and Campaña No es Hora de Callar used this platform to strategically place this crime as a top priority in the question of women in conflict in Havana and to legitimate before the negotiators and the public a decade of advocacy and litigation.15

Even though the draft on victims could be read as a victory for women and a demonstration of their increasing leverage in the peace negotiations through their direct presence and advocacy and their dialogue with the sub-commission on gender, there was a caveat that it is important to have in mind: their incorporation of women's issues in this part of the agreement was almost totally restricted to make women visible as victims and to outline special measures in relation to sexual violence, something that was going to happen as well when the sub-commission had the opportunity to revise the point on the Solution to Illegal Drugs. In this sense, women's NGOs, movements, and advocates succeeded in including their voices in these points, but they ended up reinforcing an idea of women tied to victimhood and of sexual violence as the paradigmatic crime against women.

Although this situation mirrors the trajectory and knowledge most Colombian women NGOs and activists have built around women and conflict, it leaves aside their multifaceted experiences in this setting (Céspedes-Báez 2014; Céspedes-Báez 2017). Without diminishing the significance of sexual crimes in conflict and the need to make them visible and prosecute them, the combined effect of the discourse of women's activists and the agreement on victims was one in which a one-dimensional image of woman as tied to her sexuality emerged. Women have not only been subjected to sexual crimes, but they have also experience economic ones that need to be redressed and which did not find any significant elaboration in this document. Perhaps this achievement reflected what Colombian society is willing to recognize as women's issues and the resistance to picture women as landowners, business owners, and entrepreneurs.

In February 2016, a group of grassroots women made a series of proposals for the end of the armed conflict and the implementation and verification of agreements. This time, however, women's demands did not center on issues of victimhood. They insisted on the need to end the militarization of society, and claimed for the implementation of clear measures to undo the structures that oppress women in the political, economic, and social arenas (Propuestas de las mujeres populares para el Fin del conflicto y la Implementación, verificación y refrendación de los acuerdos 2016). Their proposals challenged the traditional understandings of women in conflict that dominated the negotiation parties' narratives and the interaction between them and women's NGOs, movements, and advocates. They also embodied the multifarious nature of feminism and Colombian women's diversity.

Later on, the sub-commission had the opportunity to revise the first three points of the agenda that were negotiated before its establishment and was able to convey a more complex version of women in conflict. The fact that the sub-commission had the ability to go through the agreed points to review the inclusion of gender demonstrated the importance of this instance. During this revision, the sub-commission on gender transformed the depiction of rural women, recognizing and conveying their agency, their citizenship, and the urgency of protecting their rights primarily as individuals and not as mothers, caregivers or wives. Something similar occurred with the point on political participation, in which the sub-commission manage to include the acknowledgment the barriers women faced to engage in politics and introduced specific orders such as the mandatory inclusion of measures to protect women who participate in politics in the Integral Security System for Political Participation (Sistema Integral para el Ejercicio de la Política), and the obligation of gathering and tracking information regarding threats and dangers women face in this context, among others. Regarding the point about the Solution to Illegal Drugs, the sub-commission left its imprint through the inclusion of measures to tackle gender-based violence related to drug trafficking and drug use, and the establishment of a strong correlation between violence against women, particularly sexual violence, and these activities.

The resistance to the influence of the sub-commission was evident when the peace agreement was rejected by a small margin in October 2016's plebiscite. Its opponents argued, among other things, that the "gender ideology" included in the accords was not acceptable since it was against Colombian traditional values. Although they were mostly referring to the introduction of measures to benefit lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, and intersex groups (LGBTI), the backlash indirectly impacted the women-sensitive approach of the negotiating table forcing the negotiators to reduce gender to women and embrace a more conservative view of womanhood to defend the revised version of the agreement. At the time of writing it was still unclear how this situation would unfold in the implementation of the agreement and in the design of public policy and regulation in the future (Céspedes-Báez 2016). For sure, this will be a matter of further and in-depth analysis in order to understand how the peace negotiations with FARC shaped the understanding of gender in the country.

Colombian women struggled to rebuff the masculinist hegemony in the peace process between the government and the FARC in Havana. In the initial stages of the peace talks, men held the baton of the discussion tightly. It was only with the addition of women plenipotentiary negotiators that masculinity's grip on the agenda began to weaken. Gradually, women's movements managed to be included in the negotiations, breaking the silence on issues of gender and challenging the gender biases of the initial transitional justice and peacebuilding strategies.

Women's movements used a variety of tactics to challenge their exclusion from the peace process and their demands mirrored some of the key concerns raised by feminist scholars. The first tactic was to engage with the government from a normative and legal angle. Women's movement pressured the government by arguing that the presence of women was an international and national obligation of the state. From this perspective, if women were not part of the peace negotiations, the government would be dismissing the gender standards set out by the international community. Thus, international mechanisms supported local women's movements' efforts towards change. Rather than a top-down imposition, the advances on issues of gender were made possible by the organization of local women's movements.

As a second tactic, women's movements defended that the inclusion of women was necessary for the protection of women's rights, arguing that relative numbers can affect the strategies and design of transitional justice and peacebuilding processes. In this sense, they insisted that without women the peace process risked reproducing male subjectivity and interests. This echoed the feminist scholars' claim that peace processes tend to place "greater emphasis on violations experienced by men and to leave out those violations experienced by women" (Ní Aoláin and Turner 2007, 242). Accordingly, women's movements demanded their participation in the peace process as a necessary measure to integrate their perception of particular problems and make the discussion more sensitive to the difficulties faced by female survivors (Gardam and Charlesworth 2000). Hence, women's participation became an integral part of the gender approach. The women's movements was crucial to bring gender into the debate, as they refused to accept agreements and designs of transitional justice that did not garner sufficient support for feminist ideals.

The third tactic was voiced with the slogan created by Mujeres por la Paz with which this article began: "There cannot be peace while there is oppression and half of humanity is still excluded from full development, women" (Mujeres por la Paz 2012b). This argument invoked justice and equality to demand women's right to participate in the decisions that affect them. It perceived the marginalization of women from peace processes as an attack on democracy. As framed by Corporación Humanas and Fokus, "without women there cannot be real peace" (2010). The arguments based on justice were a transversal feature of women's movements efforts. The call for peace with social justice exemplified how the advancement of feminist ideals was profoundly linked to more holistic ideas of peace. These demands went beyond legal recognition or international obligations. They were a moral vindication made by women's movements. Explicitly, the calls for the removal of obstacles that deny women the same rights and opportunities as men, the efforts to promote women's participation in the peace process, and the demands to develop a gender approach, stemmed from the belief that all social barriers that frustrate women's rights materialize as an antithesis to justice.

The fact that certain issues never managed to find a space in the final drafts of the peace agreement also serves an indicator of the male bias of the peace talks. The slow gains made by women's movements reflected the difficulty of breaking through masculinity's hegemony. The recalcitrant and reticent attitude of the government to incorporate women plenipotentiary negotiators, the delays in the creation of the sub-commission on gender, and certain gender-related silences that appear throughout the agreed drafts are a blunt verification of the male biases of the process. These hurdles prove how the way in which war is understood - mainly as a men's affair, plays against taking seriously their insights and participation in peacebuilding efforts (Gardam 1993; Otto 2010). Women's involvement was necessary for overcoming these.

One of the major challenges was to break away from narrow visions that infantilize and sexualize women's experiences of warfare. Despite the Colombian women's movement's efforts, sexual violence recurrently gained center stage, not as a paladin of women's agenda-setting but as a threshold to the adoption of a gender approach. This approach to the understanding of what is to be a woman in conflict helped to put aside proposals coming from women from grassroots sectors who have been more concerned about the economic model and for whom sexual violence is just another and not the expression of patriarchy's oppressive nature. As in other forums, "the absence of any reference to addressing the structural causes of women's inequality, like women's economic marginalization" (Otto 2010, 106) has materialized as a loud silence in the Colombian peace process. Despite women's efforts, the spectrum of contestation to masculinity's hegemony was reduced to women's participation and victimhood, leaving out the possibility of greater alterations in the social, economic and political arenas. The selective engagement of the negotiating team with certain gender issues unveils the pervasive character in which silence played a role in the replication of male privilege and power. The overarching attention given to sexual violence exposes how masculinism co-opts certain type of victims and truths; and it reaffirms the importance of creating concrete mechanisms to foster women's effective inclusion in transitional justice processes (Gardam and Charlesworth 2000; Gallagher 1997; McGuiness 2007).

The creation of the sub-commission on gender influenced how gender was incorporated into the peace process. At the crux of the matter, it challenged the neglect given to women in warfare. It brought certain women's issues to the table and confronted the masculine gendered hierarchy that impeded a serious examination and understanding of women's role in armed conflict, peacebuilding and transitional justice.

In the end, the conjunction of tactics was what made the integration of women's issues in the Colombian peace process possible. It was through the opening of various fronts that women and gender found a seat at the negotiating table. Though many obstacles to women's full inclusion and to a more comprehensive incorporation of a gender approach remain, local women's movements managed to contest masculinity's hegemony in the peace process between the government and the FARC in Havana. Despite the challenges, the victories won by women's movements reveal feminism's potential transformative force.

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The authors have no funding to report. The opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors, and they do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions to which they are affiliated.

1 After the peace agreement, the abbreviation "FARC" stands for Common Alternative Revolutionary Force.

2 "No puede haber paz mientras se oprima y se impida el desarrollo pleno de la mitad de la humanidad, las mujeres."

3 After the unexpected outcome of the plebiscite, the government and FARC adjusted the peace agreement to address some of the concerns of the opposition. In November 2016, the Colombian Congress approved the peace agreement and started the process of its implementation ("El Congreso de Colombia aprueba nuevo acuerdo de paz con las Farc" 2016).

4 See: http://www.humanas.org.co/

5 See: https://www.mesadeconversaciones.com.co

6 Both of these women had previously worked with President Juan Manuel Santos. Jaramillo had worked with him in the Good Government Foundation, which he established in the 1990s. Also, she participated in his presidential campaign. Ambrosi had worked in the Ministry of Defense during President Santos's government.

7 Tanja Nijmeijer is one of the most visible FARC women combatants, because of her foreign origin and the publication of her diary found in 2007 after the bombardment of one of FARC's encampments. Shirley Méndez has been depicted in the media as the sentimental partner of the deceased Víctor Julio Suárez, who was also known as "Mono Jojoy". He was one of the most visible members of FARC's secretariat. He died in 2010 after a military airstrike. It is interesting to note that these two women have stood out in the public narrative of the Colombian conflict due to their association to circumstances that do not necessarily relate to their contribution to FARC's cause or individual prowess ("Colombia: Dos mujeres serán negociadoras en proceso de paz" 2013; "Paz sin nosotras no es paz" 2013; "La historia de Tanja Nijmeijer" 2012).

8 Mujeres por la Paz assembled women activists and organizations coming from different sectors of the Colombian society. Casa de la Mujer and Corporación Humanas are two of the most well-known Colombian women's rights NGOs. Ruta Pacífica is the strongest Colombian women's movement with a wide-ranging presence in different regions of the country. The Red Nacional de Mujeres Excombatientes is a network of former women combatants coming from different Colombian insurgent groups that demobilized between 1990 and 1994.

9 "La paz sin las mujeres ¡no va!" The interventions of the speakers can be found at: http://www.humanas.org.co/pagina.php?p_a=51

10 Florencia is the capital city of the department of Caquetá. It is located in Colombia's southwest, in the Amazonas region. The FARC had a significant presence in this area. San Vicente del Caguán, a Caquetá's municipality, was the epicenter of the failed 1999 peace dialogues with this guerrilla group (Ramírez Montenegro 2004; Soberón Garrido 2004).

11 "Nuestra palabra y nuestras presencia en la firma del acuerdo final, deberá ser insustituible."

12 See President Juan Manuel Santos' speech of appointment of Nigeria Renteria Lozano and María Paula Riveros Dueñas: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahINGSdF5js

13 The announcement of the establishment of the sub-commission on gender did not specify who were going to be its members. During its existence, it was difficult to determine who participated in this body. Only two women stood out in the news, María Paulina Riveros and Judith Simanca Herrera, also known as "Victoria Sandino". The former, a lawyer with ample experience in human rights, represented the government. The latter, in representation of the FARC, was a commandant of the Front 21 of this guerrilla group ("Guerrilleras por la paz" 2013; "Negociación con aroma de mujer" 2015; "Se instaló la subcomisión de género en La Habana" 2014).

14 See: Cumbre Nacional de Mujeres y Paz 2013.

15 See: Corporación Humanas, Corporación Sisma Mujer, Red Nacional de Mujeres, and Campaña No es Hora de Callar 2015.

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'Peace Without Women Does Not Go!' Women's Struggle for Inclusion in Colombia's Peace Process with the FARC

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In this study, we analyze the tactics deployed by Colombian women's rights NGOs, movements, and advocacy groups to challenge masculinism in the peace negotiations between the Colombian government and the former Colombian guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces (FARC) held in Havana.1 By drawing on the literature on women's participation in peace

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Hip-Hop Feminism rising in Latin America

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Hip-Hop Feminism rising in Latin America

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2017- #38 there is a growing subculture within Latin American hip-hop of women who are using the music as a platform to critique the music industry as well as their own cultures.

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"Tengo millones de huevos en cada ovario / No me hace más mujer ni a vos te hace menos macho"
(I've got millions of eggs in each ovary / it doesn't make me more of a woman or you less of a man)[2]

Bandera Negra (Black Banner) by Rebeca Lane, Guatemala.

Feminist Hip-Hop is a music movement that appropriates the style and aesthetic of popular American Hip-Hop to advocate women's rights and gender equality. Young artists from various countries across Latin America are using Hip-Hop rapping to critique manliness, misogyny, and evaluate the general understandings of gender within Latino cultures. Hip-Hop Feminism tends to relate more closely to third-wave feminism, in which notions of 'universal womanhood' are critiqued and it's participants dealt more specifically with race and class. Participants in the movement seek to criticise the media's mainstream representation of Hip-Hop and provide alternative music that promotes egalitarianism in race, gender, class, sexuality, and identity.

Hip-hop culture originates from The Bronx, New York City from the 1970s. Initially started by Disc-Jockeys (DJ's) and self-titled 'Masters of Ceremonies' (MC's) who began using turntables to create mixes of various songs for young people to dance to. One of the foremost figures of American Hip-hop was Kool Herc, who advocated his dance parties as a means of deterrent from gang fighting in the local neighbourhoods. The idea was that the community would get together and burn off energy dancing rather than fighting. The scene includes MC's, Rapping, Breakdancing and Graffiti. The culture of Hip-hop developed out of minority groups and communities that had been excluded from mainstream society. For example, the way that The Bronx was left mostly derelict during the late 1970s. The people living there were forced to forge their own culture as a reaction to living on the peripheral of American life. The Bronx during the 1960s was known for extreme fires and dilapidated neighbourhoods, the conditions were compared with living in a war zone.[3] The people living in the Bronx felt dislocated from the rest of New York City. Hip Hop emerged as a successful subculture which allowed individuals to voice their concerns and highlight discrimination.

Latin American Hip-hop spread from North America to central, south and the Caribbean. Where large concentrations of immigrant areas in the United States tended to bring back the music style with them when visiting family and friends from their original countries. For example, the music was transferred from Miami, USA to the Caribbean island nations through radio transmissions and records being imported by family members and friends. Latin American Hip hop uses Spanish language lyrics and varies with the sound styles. Generally it includes the customary sounds of hip-hop (the backtracks and repetitive beats) with Spanish language and slang. Some artists feature Latino dance rhythms such as Cumbia or Salsa music rhythms combined with the more traditional back beats.

Latin America tends to be associated with heavy sexism, ownership and violence against women. As a response to this, there is a growing subculture within Latin American hip-hop of women who are using the music as a platform to critique the music industry as well as their own cultures. Artists began using the music style to spotlight social issues for women's rights. One of mainstream concerns of Hip-hop is its association with extreme masculinity, advocating of dangerous life-styles as successful characteristics. Hip-Hop feminists are appropriating the music style to reconstruct these beliefs.

Hip Hop's Inheritance: From the Harlem Renaissance to the Hip Hop Feminist Movement Reiland Rabaka describes the scope of Hip-hop Feminism:

"Hip-hop feminism is much more than feminism, and it focuses on more than feminist issues, misogyny, and patriarchy. Hip hop feminists use hip hop culture as one of their primary points of departure to highlight serious social issues and the need for political activism aimed at racism, sexism, capitalism, and heterosexism as overlapping and interlocking systems of oppression [...] hip hop feminists are simultaneously expanding the range and uses of intersectional theory and complicating what it means to be both a hip hopper and a feminist".[4]

It is possible that Latin America's history of Dominant Military leaders amplified the patriarchal-culture. Hip Hop stars from the late 1990's United States tended to glorify homophobia and hyper-masculinity that echoes the machismo culture across Latin American countries. Hip-hop's successful celebrity status combined with anti-authority gangsta-affiliation in the United States is part of its attraction to underdog groups. **

Much of the controversial hip-hop stars within the United States use their lyrics to degrade women and often feature in their video clips the 'Hip Hop Honey/Video Girl'. These women are a variation of the 'Ride-or-die Chick' willing to support her man and his illicit lifestyle despite how this might endanger or harm her. Also known as 'video vixens', these women are often aspiring actors, singers, dancers, or models who appear in men's hip hop music videos.

Rebeca Lane explains:
"...also at the level of the content, that the music you make be heterosexual in the sense that it showcases this topic of a woman loves a man, she dies for him, etcetera. And that you don't inconvenience, that you don't question, don't talk about problems but instead keep talking about love from a heterosexual perspective and other topics that don't make people uncomfortable." Somos Mujeres Somos Hip-Hop
There are several female artists and groups who are using the music to advocate women's rights and combat the masculine narrative that hip-hop is for men.

An example of such a group are "Somos Mujeres; Somos Hip-Hop" ("We Are Women; We Are Hip-Hop") which currently includes 12 women from 10 different countries across Latin America. MC Audry Funk from Mexico, met Roja (from hip-hip duo Rima Roja en Venus) from Ecuador whilst performing in New York City. In 2013 Roja organised the first festival 'Somos Mujeres; Somos Hip-Hop' in Quito, Ecuador. As various other artists have joined, including Rebeca Lane, Guatemala, it has continued to expand into female hip-hop collective. In 2015 the group recorded 12 tracks in an album titled 'Latinamérica Unida' on SoundCloud.
Audry Funk, Mexico The compilation's 12 tracks pulse with attitude and skill, in styles ranging from the melodic beauty of Chile's Dania Neko to the harsh, guttural flow of the Colombian MC Jana. "Kutipakuy", a song by Peru's Sipas Crew, a trio of MCs from Portada de Manchay I, Lima, is one of the most arresting tracks, with Quechua words peppering lyrics underpinned by a hypnotic charango beat. [5] Rima Roja en Venus, Ecuador
Rebeca Lane talks about her use of music as protest, to highlight the gender inequality and violence against women in her country, as well as Latin America.
So one always feels unsafe, either because you're a woman, or you're an activist, or simply being a young person. Having tattoos, looking different, in Central American territory, it's a threat because you're affecting the internal (order) and what should be, which is what militarism wants to impose on us-a single way of thinking, and this single way of thinking has to do with very traditional roles, both political and gender roles.[6]
The groups intend to use their music to raise awareness of the social issues across Latin America, combat sexism in the industry and act as role models to young women internationally. The lack of space for women in the industry has made the women participating organise themselves, form alliances and create their own events. Hip-Hop traditionally served as a space for the marginalised to voice their concerns and contest the popular narratives.

[1] https://i.guim.co.uk/img/static/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2015/8/5/1438781213816/a853fc1b-bd7e-4904-8925-dc5c46133cdd1360x2040.jpeg?w=300&q=85&auto=format&sharp=10&s=b99cb54297c4e0c1711613960cf16883

[2] Rap battles across Latin America tend to refer to the size of men's testes as "Huevos" in Spanish (meaning 'Eggs').

[3] Refered to by Grandmaster Caz as Like growing up in Beirut (...civil war) - Hip Hop Evolution Documentary and also from news reports about the time.

[4] Hip Hop's Inheritance: From the Harlem Renaissance to the Hip Hop Feminist Movement Reiland Rabaka

[5] https://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/aug/09/how-latin-american-women-are-changing-hip-hip

[6] http://www.telesurtv.net/english/opinion/Guatemalan-Feminist-Rapper-Tearing-Down-Walls-20160312-0043.html
Kirsty Flockhart is Head of International Cooperation at GAPA.

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Hip-Hop Feminism rising in Latin America - Global Arts and Politics Alliance

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Rebeca Lane, Guatemala [1] By Kirsty Flockhart "Tengo millones de huevos en cada ovario / No me hace más mujer ni a vos te hace menos macho" (I've got millions of eggs in each ovary / it doesn't make me more... Continue Reading →

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2017-#8

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"Doble X es la expresión de un telar de ideas y vivencias desde la perspectiva de una mujer, ya que nuestro material genético, en el que se hallan un par de cromosomas X, nos da una particularidad de ser quienes somos y mediante esta compilación se da un esbozo a mi sentir sobre distintos temas desde mi biología y mi naturaleleza fememina" - Shhorai

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2016- #35 the two genres, the content in and of itself should be the most relevant factor in determining where these genres come from and how they influence their audiences.

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It is both empowering and stirring to understand the roots of Hip-Hop, how it emerged as a music genre socially and politically, and how "...both women and men have participated in Hip Hop culture and rap music in ways that have been both oppressive and liberatory for women." (Phillips, Reddick-Morgan, Stephens 254) However, it can be hard to feel identified with the themes that emerge from the socio-politics of Hip-Hop if you haven't had any direct contact with it. On the other hand, getting acquainted with the content of Hip-Hop kept reminding me of an incredibly popular and widespread genre that is prevalent in almost every country in Latin America and the Caribbean known as Reggaetón. We can analyze how Hip-Hop and Reggaetón have objectified women and over sexualized their image, not only in the visuals they utilize, but also in the content of their lyrics and consequently the message they convey to the audience.
Many people would describe Hip-Hop and Reggaetón as unrelated genres since historically, regardless of content, there's often a higher level of musicality within Hip-Hop than there is within Reggaetón. Nonetheless, some noted Reggaetón artists have been drifting away from monotonous beats and have begun fusing the genre with other prevalent genres such as salsa, bachata, merengue and even with bossa nova.

Aside from the musical aspect of the two genres, the content in and of itself should be the most relevant factor in determining where these genres come from and how they influence their audiences. First of all, we should take a look at where the genres originated and what their intention was from the beginning. Author Philip Samponaro states in his article "History and Politics of Reggaetón" that "Reggaetón's roots can be traced to the creation of Panamá in 1903 and the corresponding Panamá Canal project that followed... During the canal's ten-year construction, Panamanians and new immigrants suffered from oppression, discrimination, and the daily struggle to survive under the racially segregationist polices implemented and tightly enforced by the US Army and Zone officials'' (490). Here we can observe how these conditions were similar to the ones that provided the creation of Hip-Hop in the South Bronx such as the "ethnic dislocations spurred by the construction of the South Bronx highway, and a rapid decline in municipal services induced by severe cuts in federal funding at the end of the Great Society era" (Phillips, Reddick-Morgan, Stephens 253).

"Reggaetón itself developed in the late 1980s, coming together as a mix of reggae, hip hop, and tropical flows in the dancehalls popular among Panamanian youth" (Samponaro, 491). Later, "Reggaetón spread elsewhere in the Caribbean by the mid-1990s, most notably into Puerto Rico"(Samponaro, 491). However it wasn't until the turn of the century that the genre became more popular. And, just like Hip-Hop became popular and marketable in New York and has been widespread even globally, Reggaetón has become increasingly popular and, as stated by Samponaro, it changed its " 'underground' status into the mainstream."

Even though both genres came about because of similar reasons, Hip-Hop emerged as a musical expression practiced by men and women in which they could express current social and political issues that were affecting them. On the other hand, Reggaetón was male-centered from the beginning and promoted macho stereotypes through misogyny and homophobia. However, Hip-Hop turned in that same direction; the over-sexualisation of women and the notion of men being superior to them became prevalent in both genres.

This masculinist discursive has been imparted by both women and men. In the present day, artists such as Nicki Minaj present an over-sexualized image of women. In her music video, "Anaconda," there are several scenes in which she shows submission to men. In one such scene, she is dancing on her knees and, in another, she is rubbing her butt to a man. The lyrics include phrases that, not only discriminate against other body types such as when she says, "Fuck the skinny bitches!" but that also deliver a message of male superiority when a guy in the video says "My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun." We can observe the shallow sources of content she manages. Based solely on women body image and how men prefer women. Noted women Reggaetón artists have also been promoters of masculinist discursive. As Samponaro explains, in Reggaetón "the comparatively few female artists in the genre have reinforced the male-centered culture by offering submissive, and even hyper, sexuality for a man to tame. [Female artist] Glory, singing as ''La Popola'' in the merengue-tinged hit of the same name, equates true womanhood with sex... ''La Popola'' boasts that she's so fulfilled her womanly identity through sex that she hurts and needs to rest (498).

Moreover, what is very interesting about the parallel worlds in which Hip-Hop and Reggaetón have been evolving is that, nowadays, Reggaetón is turning to a new direction. One of the biggest exponents of the genre: René Pérez from the band Calle 13, uses his music as a powerful tool for social activism. He has been part of numerous humanitarian aid campaigns; he always uses the exposure he gets to convey messages that concern current issues and he conveys messages about the importance of questioning the political policies that are implemented in different parts of Latin America. One of his songs called "Latinoámerica," encompasses they history of the Latin American countries: how they've all suffered from oppression, but also talks about the hope and extreme richness that the people possess, not only material, but spiritual. In the music video, he shows the gigantic ethnic diversity that there is in Latin America and he achieves this in a great way. This beautiful song contains an important message about imperialism and oppression, something that every country in Latin America has suffered from and still do, in many ways. René talks about Latin America as one entity. He says, "I'm the backbone of the planet in my mountain range," referring to the natural richness represented by the Andean mountains. He also says, "You can't buy my happiness. You can't buy my sadness... Here you can breath the struggle, but we are walking. I sing because everyone can hear it." What is more reassuring is that this is not a one in a million song. All of his songs are full of content, ideas, and political and social concerns. He is turning this kind of music into music with real content.

Conversely, Hip-Hop has been commercialized in such a way that it is more about style and fashion. In music, it is incorporated as part of many pop songs without any regards for content; artists that still carry the Hip-Hop tradition as a medium for socio-political expression are scarce. As explained by authors Rebollo-Gil and Moras, "The growing acceptance and commercial appeal of this 30-year-old musical style and culture has led to the increased homogenization of the music and lyrics for the purposes of mass consumption" (122). And in Reggaetón, despite all the efforts made by the important artist, René Pérez most of the other artists still perpetuate lyrics that objectify and disrespect women. As author Isabel Ramos, a Puerto Rican with studies in Sociology and Women's and Gender Studies, explains, "Women's representation in mass media and in music is increasingly negative and serves to reinforce and perpetuate male supremacy. The relationship between female presentation and male supremacy is evident in the case study of Reggaetón lyrics" (68).

Ramos conducted a study of 15 popular Reggaetón Songs and categorized them according to their content. The categories were: "1) verbal violence against women, 2) sexual objectification of women, 3) objectification of women to prove men's masculinity, 4) women as willing participants of violent sex acts, and 5) demeaning representation of female femininity." Reggaetón lyrics, as Ramos quotes from author Félix Jiménez from his book Reggaetoneros, "created a generic woman that, in essence, could always be invisible and that in most Reggaetón lyrics appears as a woman who satisfies-as a verbal robot."

Nonetheless, it's important to mention that in Hip-Hop and Reggaetón, there have been women that deliver important messages of women empowerment and self-love. In fact a big parallel is Eve's, "Love is Blind," and Ivy Queen's, "Te he querido, te he llorado" (I have loved you, I have cried for you). Both artists talk about domestic violence; they tell a story that happened to them or someone close to them and encourage the victim to take action, to love themselves and not to be dependent on a man that mistreats them.

Historically, music has always been evolving; new genres emerge, old ones disappear or get mixed up between them. But what must be prevalent in our society and in our artistry as musicians is the fact that music is a vital carrier of content that shapes the new generations and everyone despite their genre is responsible for the content they manage, for the images they portray, for the ideas that they spread. Moreover, we all need to look after the historically oppressed minorities so that everyone has a place to raise their voices, to feel integrated and respected. We are responsible for the content we produce.

Works Cited
Phillips, Layli, Kerri Reddick-Morgan, and Dionne Patricia Stephens. "Oppositional Consciousness within an Oppositional Realm: The Case of Feminism and Womanism in Rap and Hip Hop, 1976-2004." Journal of African American History 90.3 (2005): 253- 277.

Ramos, Isabel. "REPRESENTATION OF WOMEN IN REGGAETON SONGS." SocialEyes (2015): 67.

Rebollo-Gil, Guillermo, and Amanda Moras. "Black Women And Black Men In Hip Hop Music: Misogyny, Violence And The Negotiation Of (White-Owned) Space." Journal Of Popular Culture 45.1 (2012): 118-132.

Samponaro, Philip. ""Oye Mi Canto" ("Listen To My Song"): The History And Politics Of Reggaeton." Popular Music & Society 32.4 (2009): 489-506. Academic Search Premier. Web. 5 Apr. 2016.

Paola Pierce is a piano player and composer from Colombia. She is an eighth semester student at Berklee College of Music where she recently received the Thelonious Monk award from the Jazz Composition department. Her music is the result of experimenting with the sounds and styles she enjoys the most, ranging from jazz to traditional Latin-American rhythms. She is committed to writing music that tells a story, music that reflects her experiences as well as the experiences from those around her. She loves to welcome new challenges, enjoys creating opportunities for others and believes in the value of building understanding.

Featured Artwork:
Poeticdroid. "Sicknature on stage in Sweden".Wikimedia, 25 October 2016, https://commons.wikimedia.org.

It is both empowering and stirring to understand the roots of Hip-Hop, how it emerged as a music genre socially and politically, and how "...both women and men have participated in Hip Hop culture and rap music in ways that have been both oppressive and liberatory for women." (Phillips, Reddick-Morgan, Stephens 254) However, it can be hard to feel identified with the themes that emerge from the socio-politics of Hip-Hop if you haven't had any direct contact with it. On the other hand, getting acquainted with the content of Hip-Hop kept reminding me of an incredibly popular and widespread genre that is prevalent in almost every country in Latin America and the Caribbean known as Reggaetón. We can analyze how Hip-Hop and Reggaetón have objectified women and over sexualized their image, not only in the visuals they utilize, but also in the content of their lyrics and consequently the message they convey to the audience.

Works Cited

Paola Pierce is a piano player and composer from Colombia. She is an eighth semester student at Berklee College of Music where she recently received the Thelonious Monk award from the Jazz Composition department. Her music is the result of experimenting with the sounds and styles she enjoys the most, ranging from jazz to traditional Latin-American rhythms. She is committed to writing music that tells a story, music that reflects her experiences as well as the experiences from those around her. She loves to welcome new challenges, enjoys creating opportunities for others and believes in the value of building understanding.

Featured Artwork:
Poeticdroid. "Sicknature on stage in Sweden".Wikimedia, 25 October 2016, https://commons.wikimedia.org.

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It is both empowering and stirring to understand the roots of Hip-Hop, how it emerged as a music genre socially and politically, and how "...both women and men have participated in Hip Hop culture and rap music in ways that have been both oppressive and liberatory for women."

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Esteman Talks Changing Colombia’s Music Scene & Being a Feminist

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Esteman Talks Changing Colombia’s Music Scene & Being a Feminist

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2016- #34

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Esteman Talks Changing Colombia’s Music Scene & Being a Feminist: ‘There Is So Much Machismo Still in the Industry’

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Esteban Mateus, aka Esteman, is known for his quirky dance moves, eclectic beat and pioneering music, along with artists like Monsieur Periné and Diamante Eléctrico, a “long overdue” mu…

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2016-“I want the world to pay more attention to the poverty because the rich downtown doesn’t need more publicity- it has enough,” Shhorai says. #7

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Art has traditionally accompanied political and social movements in Latin America and the turn of the 21st century has seen a resurgence of diverse forms of expression, including hip hop.

"Hip hop has many faces - from the underground scenes to gangster rap - and it allows you to talk about many different things," says Colombian rapper Luisa Ospina, aka Shhorai. "Many artists may talk about 'bitches', drugs and violence, and that's fine for them, but it's not for me, especially given the history of violence and conflict in my country."

Shhorai, an independent hip-hop artist, educator and activist from Colombia's second-largest city, Medellín, began rapping in 2003 at the age of 13.

"I started recording music at my home studio at 15, influenced by my older brother who is also a rapper," Shhorai says. She released her debut album Verdades Hostiles in 2011, followed by Doble X: Inicio y Complemento in 2015. She has worked in collaboration with various Colombian artists, including Nkanto MC and Koriotto.

Taking inspiration from female MCs throughout the Americas - from Columbian duo Diana Avella and Lucía Vargas and Venezuala's Gabylonia to Queen Latifah, famed for fighting misogyny in US hip hop - Shhorai uses her music to explore the structures of gender and class which create disadvantages for so many Colombians. Despite the progress her country has made in the last few decades, many problems remain unresolved. "Women in particular in my country have poor access to decent jobs and education and too many sisters have been affected by violence," Shhorai said.

"For indigenous women and women who work on the land, it is even worse: they work so hard but are still silent. Can you imagine a society in which so many women have no voice?"

"I was born in a culture which is all the time asking women: 'Why don't you wear makeup?' 'Why are you so big?' 'Why do you eat this?'," she says. "So I rap a lot about empowering women and becoming more independent because often we don't trust ourselves or know the inner power we have."

For every 10 men in hip hop, there is only one woman, explains Shhorai. "So we are naturally at a disadvantage and often feel alone, so we have to work together," she says. "And while I love feminism, I don't like hate for men because I recognise that we are together and must fight together."

Many women - as with many men - in hip hop, come from poor communities, not just in Medellín, but in Colombia's capital Bogota and other cities like Cali.

There are many sides to Medellín. Foreigners may know it for its troubled history - Pablo Escobar, cocaine and the violence that accompanied them. Other visitors may be more aware of its current status as one of the foremost and growing art and cultural hubs on the planet. The city came out on top of Tel Aviv and New York and was named the world's most innovative city in 2013.

"Medellín has become a much better city than it was 20 years ago - with many restaurants, a metro system, concerts all the time - but many still don't see how hard it still is for many people who live here - those who don't have the resources to go to university, or for the young people who have to fight against a system just to own something," Shhorai explains. "The city has two very different faces."

Poor communities and minorities like indigenous people "don't have options" and often don't have a say. "I want the world to pay more attention to the poverty because the rich downtown doesn't need more publicity - it has enough," Shhorai says.

This is what the rapper aims for in much of her work - whether in music, education or activism - when she talks about the political background and social conditions in her neighbourhood. "In this way, hip hop is for me a kind of liberty and at the same time an expression of love for my community."

One of the big problems in Colombian society is how in many ways it has turned a blind eye to the problems faced by women and the poor alike. A byproduct of this, inevitably, is marginalised people turning to hip hop and hip-hop culture - from breakdancing, DJing, MCing and graffiti - as places where they can finally be heard.

"Hip hop was born in poor communities in the USA often by those living terrible conditions and I can see they discovered a way of getting together and doing something as a community," says Shhorai. "This idea filtered back to us in Latin America and we got into hip hop for many of those same reasons, which is why rap music is everywhere in Medellín."

"But above all, hip hop is an opportunity to be independent, and while it's difficult, it is possible to create real change through art."
Also read:
-Zambezi News: Satire leaves "a lot of ruffled feathers in its wake"
- Jason Nichols: Debunking "old tropes" through hip hop
- Poetic Pilgrimage: Hip hop has the capacity to "galvanise the masses"
8-9 July: The power of hip hop

A conference followed by a day of performance to consider hip hop's role in revolutionary social, political and economic movements across the world.

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Colombian rapper Shhorai: "Can you imagine a society in which women have no voice?" - Index on Censorship

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Art has traditionally accompanied political and social movements in Latin America and the turn of the 21st century has seen a resurgence of diverse forms of expression, including hip hop. "Hip hop has many faces - from the underground scenes to gangster rap - and it allows you to talk about many different things," says Colombian rapper Luisa Ospina, aka Shhorai.

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FEMINISTING JAMZ: BOMBA ESTÉREO’S LI SAUMET

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FEMINISTING JAMZ: BOMBA ESTÉREO’S LI SAUMET

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2015- #36 Listeners across the world first fell in love with this Bogotá band’s innovative take on Colombian and Latin American music in 2009.

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It's a couple hours before an intimate show in New York's Meatpacking District, and Bomba Estéreo's Li Saumet is bright and energetic. I'm the second Verónica she's just met - after texting to announce my arrival at the venue, I missed my name through my headphones blasting their latest excellent album, Amanecer, and a different Verónica, a fan, was escorted down, excited but confused. Saumet is completely unfazed by the mix-up by the time I get it together, and right away she wants to know more about my purple lipstick - this femme wants details. I have it with me so I pull it out and show it to her. "May I?" Elated at the thought of being lipstick twinsies with this fab mujer, I say "of course," and we proceed to do the interview in matching bright purple lips. This is getting off to a great start.
Listeners across the world first fell in love with this Bogotá band's innovative take on Colombian and Latin American music in 2009. Their latest, Amanecer, continues solidly in that tradition. Roots, she tells me, are really important to her, and Bomba Estéreo is particularly influenced by the afro-Colombian rhythms of Colombia's coast. "Everything comes from Africa - art, music, everything. We have a very strong African presence in Colombia, and especially on the coast, where I'm from. [The music] is deeply felt because it's not just music for parties, but it's ritual music too."

She is quick to defy any easy genre categorization for Bomba, though. When I ask about "Soy Yo," an ode to staying true to ourselves and our own quirks, and whether I'm right in hearing in it some influence from Colombia's Lebanese diaspora community, she points out that in addition to growing up listening to electronic music and hip hop - genres that have obviously influenced their artistic direction significantly - Colombia's mixed cultural heritage is a huge influence as well. "We're a culture of many. [Colombian] coastal music comes from a lot of places, and we have a strong Lebanese influence on the Atlantic coast. We're a mixed culture."

While their earlier albums tackled social and political issues in Colombia, Amanecer is much more introspective, with Saumet singing about love, individuality, and growth. In "Algo Está Cambiando," Saumet sings about changes she's seeing in herself, changes in others, and becoming the people we're meant to be. After years of thinking and writing about social critique, Saumet is ready for a more internal, spiritual critique. "I realized that we love looking to the outside and to change things externally, but we can really only change ourselves. If we're not able to change ourselves, and at the same time we're complaining that the world is the worst while we are so flawed ourselves...for me that's the most important."

Later that night, she is electric. Even performing almost exclusively new material, the audience is rapt, dancing, and singing along to an album that at the time had been out less than a week. Saumet has a great command of the stage, knows exactly what she wants to do and how she wants to do it. She's not only immensely talented, but fierce, in control, and totally badass.

When I ask her if she's a feminist, she thinks for a minute and tells me she's not. But as she starts talking her answer through, she launches into the importance of women's rights. "Lately I've been thinking so much about women's rights, about how women have been mistreated, and we keep being mistreated, throughout history, because men are afraid." I nod my head and smile.

But before I leave, she wants to know: am I a feminist? When I answer that I am, she asks what that means. I give her my best recitation of the Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie definition made famous by Beyoncé's "***Flawless": a person who believes in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. "Oh. Then yes, I'm a feminist. Obviously."
Do you want free tickets to see Bomba Estéreo? Take a look at the U.S. tour dates below, and if you can make any of the stops, comment below. We'll choose a winner next week!

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Feministing Jamz: Bomba Estéreo's Li Saumet

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It's a couple hours before an intimate show in New York's Meatpacking District, and Bomba Estéreo's Li Saumet is bright and energetic. I'm the second Verónica she's just met - after texting to announce my arrival at the venue, I missed my name through my headphones blasting their latest excellent album, Amanecer, and a different ...

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Colombia’s embrace and decriminalization of graffiti gave birth to a free outlet of creativity that has garnered international attention

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Colombia’s embrace and decriminalization of graffiti gave birth to a free outlet of creativity that has garnered international attention

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2015- #14

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Colombia is often recognized for its vibrant art scene and culture, with big names such as painter Fernando Botero and Nobel Prize-winning author Gabriel García Márquez calling Colombia home.

But aside from excelling in fine arts, Colombia's embrace and decriminalization of graffiti gave birth to a free outlet of creativity that has garnered international attention. Massive, intricate and beautifully coloured murals can be found all across Colombia's major cities, and walking tours, often led by some of the street artists themselves, are common.

Graffiti first took flight during Colombia's Civil War, serving as an outlet for artists to express their frustrations with the political system and other social issues. Even now, a lot of the art native to the country makes heavy commentary on social and political issues, and serves to teach tourists and bystanders Colombian history.

Bastardilla is a renowned street artist from Bogotá, Colombia's capital city. Her work, although central to the city, is now recognized around the world. Not much is known about the artist- partially because she chooses to remain anonymous. In one of the few interviews she's done for an 8-part documentary series called " D é fense d'Afficher ", Bastardilla comments that the idea of anonymity is particularly appealing "in a world where everyone is promoting their own image."

Much of her work centres on the themes of feminism, the trials of Latin American women and the fight to end violence in South America. "In Colombia," she says, "violence is still something that's very present. It's a disease that continues to spread exactly like rabies, and I can't understand where it all comes from." Much of that violence is due to the misuse of power particularly among police forces. This, apparently, is universal.

One of her most recent works was a mural in Mexico City commissioned by MANIFESTO, a project by Gallery Fifty24MX. Artists from Mexico, Italy, Colombia, Argentina and the US were invited to create murals that commented on Mexico's current socio-political situation. Bastardilla's piece shows youth armed with bows and pencils sitting on a book with the words "we want them back alive" scrawled at the bottom. This piece was created in regards to the case of 43 university students who were abducted by police officers in Iguala, Guerrero last year. They were subsequently handed over to gang members and killed.

But women's issues seem to be Bastardilla's most prominent theme. "As a woman, I've had to fight against these types of realities- against the fact that people want to assault me, that I'm not taken into consideration for a lot of things. And I've had to fight against a world that is still turning mostly around men." As painful as it sounds, knowing that there are still so many things in the world that actively go against women is a driving force in Bastardilla's art. Those women, the ones fighting for change or hurting from inequality are her biggest inspiration. "I like being able to see and work with those subjects which aren't often seen. The resilience of women, the way their stories of strength can be found on any given corner."

One of her most popular works is titled "Minga!" a word which stems from the Amazonian Kichwa dialect. It translates roughly to mean a collective work, or community actions with a social benefit. Often expressed as a "peaceful manifestation carried out through a march of hundreds of kilometers by different groups and organizations from various Colombian regions," the aim is to create community dialogue and figure out the best steps to take in order to defend the dignity and sovereignty of the people in their ancestral lands.

Here, Bastardilla combines her respect for women with her interest in the social and political issues of Colombia to create a piece, which resonates with multiple statements. She wanted to show the multiple burdens that Native-Colombian women carry, and how they are so often overlooked.

Bastardilla uses thick expressive lines and adds sparkles to her work, creating pieces that catch the light beautifully at night. "My mind and my images are floating around the street," she tells, "even when I'm not painting, I'm thinking of the things I'm going to make." There are very intimate details that come out of her art, building connections between people and allowing for the introduction of social-political themes in everyday dialogue. Painting, for her, is a way to get closer to people and build other forms of thought.

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Bastardilla is the female street artist making Colombia confront gender inequality

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Colombia is often recognized for its vibrant art scene and culture, with big names such as painter Fernando Botero and Nobel Prize-winning author Gabriel García Márquez calling Colombia home. But aside from excelling in fine arts, Colombia's embrace and decriminalization of graffiti gave birth to a free outlet of creativity that has garnered international attention.

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2014-#37 They choose art as a weapon to fight against oppression, for justice,  balance, and our rights to celebrate life.

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Music Feature: Las Krudas Cubensi – “Mi Cuerpo es Mio” [VIDEO] – The Feminist Wire

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Las Krudas Cubensi are Cuban Hip Hop MCs, independent musicians, poets, and theater performers representing womyn, immigrants, queer people and people of color through action as a central part of world change. They choose art as a weapon to fight against oppression, for justice, balance, and our ri…

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Who said hip-hop was dead? The politics of hip-hop culture in Immortal Technique’s lyrics 

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Who said hip-hop was dead? The politics of hip-hop culture in Immortal Technique’s lyrics 

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2014- #31 strands of independent hip-hop have attempted to remain separated from the major record labels.

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While much of mainstream hip-hop has been corporatized and commercialized by major corporations, strands of independent hip-hop have attempted to remain separated from the major record labels. Using hermeneutic methods, this article examines the lyrics of independent hip-hop artist Immortal Technique. This article identifies three central themes in Immortal Technique's lyrics that illustrate how he expresses resistance to class domination. First, he argues that class conflict occurs in hip-hop and thus there needs to be a pull away from major corporations. Second, his lyrics point for the need for independent hip-hop to escape from false consciousness and resist hegemony. Finally, his work indicates that the creation of knowledge through independent hip-hop culture and language present a means to resist class domination.

References

Blair, E (1993) Commercialization of the rap music youth subculture. In: Forman, M, Neal, MA (eds) That's the Joint! The Hip-Hop Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, pp. 493-504.
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Perry, I (2004) Prophets of the Hood: Politics and Poetics in Hip Hop. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
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Williams, P (2008) Twenty-first-century Jeremiad: contemporary hip-hop and American tradition. European Journal of American Culture 27(2): 111-132.
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Who said hip-hop was dead? The politics of hip-hop culture in Immortal Technique's lyrics - Christopher Vito, 2015

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While much of mainstream hip-hop has been corporatized and commercialized by major corporations, strands of independent hip-hop have attempted to remain separated from the major record labels. Using hermeneutic methods, this article examines the lyrics of independent hip-hop artist Immortal Technique.

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Mala Rodriguez And The Women Of Latin Hip-Hop

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Mala Rodriguez And The Women Of Latin Hip-Hop

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2013- #30, "the female presence is a little light. Why are there no more big female acts in Latin music right now?"

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Mala Rodriguez And The Women Of Latin Hip-Hop

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The genre has some of the most creative, politically savvy, intelligent female personalities in the industry.

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2006, 2009, 2010, -Karol G, J Balvin, and Maluma have established themselves in this genre and hits #6

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Sounds and Colours |
Reggaeton appears to have taken the music industry by storm a few years back, especially in the aftermath of the global hit, Despacito. Reggaeton is a mix between rap and reggae, with variations of hip-hop.

Although reggaeton originated in Panama and Puerto Rico, Colombia is making a name for itself and producing some of the best reggaeton songs out there. Because of Colombian reggaeton music artists, reggaeton is becoming even more popular, and Colombia's music is making its way to becoming one of the most popular Latin American music.

Here is a list of the top Colombian reggaeton artists:

1) J Balvin

Jose Alvaro Osorio Balvin, popularly known as J Balvin, is an award-winning Colombian reggaeton singer. He is the first Latin artist to reach more than one billion views on YouTube, which also makes him famous worldwide. Many refer to J Balvin as the Prince of Reggaeton. He has won several awards throughout his career for being a successful reggaeton singer and making reggaeton known in other parts of the world. During his career breakthrough last 2014, he released 6 AM with Farruko, a Puerto Rican Singer.

J Balvin has earned himself a reputation as one of the best Colombian reggaeton artists around. One of his notable songs is his second track Ay Vamos which won him a Latin Grammy Award for Best Urban Song. The same song also became the first reggaeton song to reach a billion views on YouTube. Then, his Mi Gente last 2018 became Spotify's first Spanish-language song to be number one on the Global Top 50 Chart.

2) Maluma

Maluma, born Juan Luis Londono Arias, is a Colombian reggaeton singer with a huge fan base in Latin America and parts of Europe. He started his music career at a very young age, with his first songs doing well on Latin American charts even before he was signed onto any label. In 2013, he released his debut studio album, Magia with Obsesion having a music video with more than 200 million views on YouTube.

Since then, Maluma has released more albums that have done well on music charts and earned him a huge fan base worldwide. His latest album, #7DJ or 7 Días en Jamaica, released early this year, is still rising to the top of today's Spanish-speaking billboard.

3) Manuel Turizo

Manuel Turizo Zapata, also known as MTZ, started making music when he was 13 years old with the influence of his musician father and brother.

In 2016, he became widely famous in Latin America because of his hit single Una Lady Como Tu. Within the year of the song's release, the song has garnered more than 200 million streams on Spotify and a billion views on YouTube. He also collaborated with Puerto Rican singer Valentino for another hit, Besame, which included him in Billboard Magazine's 10 Latin Artists To Watch in 2018.

In the year 2019, he won the Best New Latin Artist on the iHeartRadio Music Awards. He is also noteworthy for performing in Billboard's concert of a cause last March 2020 for the non-profit organization, MusiCares.

4) Karol G

Karol G, born Carolina Giraldo Ramirez, is a Colombian singer-songwriter and television personality. She started her career appearing in The X Factor and moved to New York in 2014 to sign with Universal Music Latino.

In 2017, she released her first album entitled Unstoppable, which debuted on top of Billboard Charts Latin. The album's leading song, Ahora Me Llama, is in collaboration with Puerto Rican music artist, Bad Bunny.In the following year, she won the Latin Grammy Award for Best New Artist.

Throughout her music career, Karol G's work has been nominated for more than 50 awards and has won several awards in Billboard Latin Music Awards, Heat Latin Music Awards, Premios Juventud as well as Premios Lo Nuestro.

5) Farina

Farina Pao Paucar Franco is one of the pioneers of reggaeton in Colombia. Though male artists primarily dominate reggaeton, Farina proved females can also make their way to the top. In 2005, she became the first woman to make reggaeton music in Colombia.

In 2015, Farina was nominated as Best Female Artist in the Heat Latin Music Awards alongside the famous diva, Sharika. In 2017, she became the second Colombian to sign in Jay-Z's Roc Nation. Up to this day, she is managed by Sony Latin Music and is continuously producing reggaeton music and performing alongside various music artists like J Balvin, Nacho and Rayo y Toby.

6) Lalo Ebratt

Eduardo Mario Ebratt Troncoso goes by the stage name Lalo Ebratt. He is a budding Colombian reggaeton singer who was a former member of the hip-hop project, Trapical Minds before going solo on his music career.

As a lead artist, Lalo Ebratt is well-known for the song, Mocca. In 2018, this song's music video reached 211 million views on YouTube, and in the same year, a remix version of the song with J Balvin was also released.

Conclusion

Reggaeton, a fusion genre of reggae and hip-hop, has become one of the most popular music genres not only in Latin America but also in the world. Colombian reggaeton artists have managed to earn a vast international fan base. Though male artists still dominate reggaeton, more and more women are beginning to make a name for themselves in the music industry with their reggaeton music.

If you're thinking of reaching out to these reggaeton artists, each of these Colombian reggaeton artists has their representative, such as J Balvin's manager, whom you can contact for business collaborations like concerts, endorsements and music videos.

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Reggaeton appears to have taken the music industry by storm a few years back, especially in the aftermath of the global hit, Despacito. Reggaeton is a mix between rap and reggae, with variations of hip-hop. Although reggaeton originated in Panama and Puerto Rico, Colombia is making a name for itself and producing some of the...

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What is Reggae Music and Why is it Important?

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What is Reggae Music and Why is it Important?

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reggae, style of popular music that originated in Jamaica in the late 1960s and quickly emerged as the country's dominant music. By the 1970s it had become an international style that was particularly popular in Britain, the United States, and Africa. It was widely perceived as a voice of the oppressed.

According to an early definition in The Dictionary of Jamaican English (1980), reggae is based on ska, an earlier form of Jamaican popular music, and employs a heavy four-beat rhythm driven by drums, bass guitar, electric guitar, and the "scraper," a corrugated stick that is rubbed by a plain stick. (The drum and bass became the foundation of a new instrumental music, dub.) The dictionary further states that the chunking sound of the rhythm guitar that comes at the end of measures acts as an "accompaniment to emotional songs often expressing rejection of established 'white-man' culture." Another term for this distinctive guitar-playing effect, skengay, is identified with the sound of gunshots ricocheting in the streets of Kingston's ghettos; tellingly, skeng is defined as "gun" or "ratchet knife." Thus reggae expressed the sounds and pressures of ghetto life. It was the music of the emergent "rude boy" (would-be gangster) culture.

In the mid-1960s, under the direction of producers such as Duke Reid and Coxsone Dodd, Jamaican musicians dramatically slowed the tempo of ska, whose energetic rhythms reflected the optimism that had heralded Jamaica's independence from Britain in 1962. The musical style that resulted, rock steady, was short-lived but brought fame to such performers as the Heptones and Alton Ellis.

Reggae evolved from these roots and bore the weight of increasingly politicized lyrics that addressed social and economic injustice. Among those who pioneered the new reggae sound, with its faster beat driven by the bass, were Toots and the Maytals, who had their first major hit with "54-46 (That's My Number)" (1968), and the Wailers-Bunny Wailer, Peter Tosh, and reggae's biggest star, Bob Marley-who recorded hits at Dodd's Studio One and later worked with producer Lee ("Scratch") Perry. Another reggae superstar, Jimmy Cliff, gained international fame as the star of the movie The Harder They Come (1972). A major cultural force in the worldwide spread of reggae, this Jamaican-made film documented how the music became a voice for the poor and dispossessed. Its soundtrack was a celebration of the defiant human spirit that refuses to be suppressed.

During this period of reggae's development, a connection grew between the music and the Rastafarian movement, which encourages the relocation of the African diaspora to Africa, deifies the Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie I (whose precoronation name was Ras [Prince] Tafari), and endorses the sacramental use of ganja (marijuana). Rastafari (Rastafarianism) advocates equal rights and justice and draws on the mystical consciousness of kumina, an earlier Jamaican religious tradition that ritualized communication with ancestors. Besides Marley and the Wailers, groups who popularized the fusion of Rastafari and reggae were Big Youth, Black Uhuru, Burning Spear (principally Winston Rodney), and Culture. "Lover's rock," a style of reggae that celebrated erotic love, became popular through the works of artists such as Dennis Brown, Gregory Issacs, and Britain's Maxi Priest.

In the 1970s reggae, like ska before it, spread to the United Kingdom, where a mixture of Jamaican immigrants and native-born Britons forged a reggae movement that produced artists such as Aswad, Steel Pulse, UB40, and performance poet Linton Kwesi Johnson. Reggae was embraced in the United States largely through the work of Marley-both directly and indirectly (the latter as a result of Eric Clapton's popular cover version of Marley's "I Shot the Sheriff" in 1974). Marley's career illustrates the way reggae was repackaged to suit a rock market whose patrons had used marijuana and were curious about the music that sanctified it. Fusion with other genres was an inevitable consequence of the music's globalization and incorporation into the multinational entertainment industry.

The dancehall deejays of the 1980s and '90s who refined the practice of "toasting" (rapping over instrumental tracks) were heirs to reggae's politicization of music. These deejays influenced the emergence of hip-hop music in the United States and extended the market for reggae into the African American community. At the beginning of the 21st century, reggae remained one of the weapons of choice for the urban poor, whose "lyrical gun," in the words of performer Shabba Ranks, earned them a measure of respectability. It also contributed to the rise of another form of popular music at the turn of the new century, reggaeton.

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Reggae | Definition, History, Artists, & Facts

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Reggae, style of popular music that originated in Jamaica in the late 1960s and quickly emerged as the country's dominant music. By the 1970s it had become an international style that was particularly popular in Britain, the United States, and Africa. It was widely perceived as a voice of the oppressed.

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Students explore Afro-Colombian cultural identity from the Pacific Coast by examining the music and lyrics of ChocQuibTown, one of the most influential modern bands in Colombia. 

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Students explore Afro-Colombian cultural identity from the Pacific Coast by examining the music and lyrics of ChocQuibTown, one of the most influential modern bands in Colombia. 

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2006 #23

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Core Music Standard: Creating

Plan and Make: Select and develop musical ideas for defined purposes and contexts.

Evaluate and Refine: Evaluate and refine selected musical ideas to create musical work(s) that meet appropriate criteria.

Present: Share creative musical work that conveys intent, demonstrates craftsmanship, and exhibits originality.

Core Music Standard: Performing

Analyze: Analyze the structure and context of varied musical works and their implications for performance.

Interpret: Develop personal interpretations that consider creators' intent.

Rehearse, Evaluate, and Refine: Evaluate and refine personal and ensemble performances, individually or in collaboration with others.

Present: Perform expressively, with appropriate interpretation and technical accuracy, and in a manner appropriate to the audience and context.

Core Music Standard: Responding

Analyze: Analyze how the structure and context of varied musical works inform the response.

Interpret: Support interpretations of musical works that reflect creators' and/or performers' expressive intent.

Evaluate: Support evaluations of musical works and performances based on analysis, interpretation, and established criteria.

Core Music Standard: Connecting

Connecting 11: Relate musical ideas and works to varied contexts and daily life to deepen understanding.

National Core Arts Standards
Creating

Anchor Standard 1: Generate and conceptualize artistic ideas and work.

Anchor Standard 2: Organize and develop artistic ideas and work.

Anchor Standard 3: Refine and complete artistic work.

Performing/Presenting/Producing

Anchor Standard 5: Develop and refine artistic techniques and work for presentation.

Anchor Standard 6: Convey meaning through the presentation of artistic work.

Responding

Anchor Standard 7: Perceive and analyze artistic work.

Anchor Standard 8: Interpret intent and meaning in artistic work.

Connecting

Anchor Standard 10: Synthesize and relate knowledge and personal experiences to make art.

Anchor Standards 11: Relate artistic ideas and work with societal, cultural and historical context to deepen understanding.

Common Core State Standards
College and Career Readiness Anchor Standards for Reading (K-12)
Craft and Structure 4: Interpret words and phrases as they are used in a text, including determining technical, connotative, and figurative meanings, and analyze how specific word choices shape meaning or tone.

Integration of Knowledge and Ideas 7: Integrate and evaluate content presented in diverse media and formats, including visually and quantitatively, as well as in words.
College and Career Readiness Anchor Standards for Speaking and Listening (K-12)
Comprehension & Collaboration 2: Integrate and evaluate information presented in diverse media and formats, including visually, quantitatively, and orally.

Presentation of Knowledge 4: Present information, findings, and supporting evidence such that listeners can follow the line of reasoning and the organization, development, and style are appropriate to task, purpose, and audience.
College and Career Readiness Anchor Standards for Writing (K-12)
Text Types and Purposes 2: Write informative/explanatory texts to examine and convey complex ideas and information clearly and accurately through the effective selection, organization, and analysis of content.

Production and Distribution of Writing 4: Produce clear and coherent writing in which the development, organization, and style are appropriate to task, purpose, and audience.
College and Career Readiness Anchor Standard s for Language (K-12)
Language 1: Demonstrate command of the conventions of standard English grammar and usage when writing or speaking.

Vocabulary Acquisition and Use 4: Determine or clarify the meaning of unknown and multiple-meaning words and phrases by using context clues, analyzing meaningful word parts, and consulting general and specialized reference materials, as appropriate.

Vocabulary Acquisition and Use 6: Acquire and use accurately a range of general academic and domain-specific words and phrases sufficient for reading, writing, speaking, and listening at the college and career readiness level; demonstrate independence in gathering vocabulary knowledge when encountering an unknown term important to comprehension or expression.

National Curriculum Standards for Social Studies - National Council for the Social Studies (NCSS)

Theme 1: Culture

Theme 3: People, Place, and Environments

Theme 5: Individuals, Groups, and Institutions

Theme 9 : Global Connections

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ChocQuibTown: Embracing Cultural Identity through Colombian Rap - TeachRock

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Core Music Standard: Creating Plan and Make: Select and develop musical ideas for defined purposes and contexts. Evaluate and Refine: Evaluate and refine selected musical ideas to create musical work(s) that meet appropriate criteria. Present: Share creative musical work that conveys intent, demonstrates craftsmanship, and exhibits originality.

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Colombia has one of the biggest populations of African descent in the entire western hemisphere, with African-Colombians continuing to exert a strong influence on the nation's history and politics as well as arts, traditions and customs that have been passed down for generations

African-Colombians continue to succeed in every area of Colombian life. Among the most high-profile examples are the famed microbiologist and researcher Raul Cuero, writer Manuel Zapata, who wrote En Chima nace un santo, environment minister Luis Murillo and ex-culture minister Paula Moreno, Latin Grammy winners ChocQuibTown and models and Miss Colombia winners Vanessa Mendoza and Andrea Tovar.

Traditional African dishes often rely on meat, rice and fresh fruit and vegetables and there is a clear resemblance between those of the old continent and traditional Colombian fare. Beans and plantain are staples and thick African soups, where all the ingredients are cooked in one pot, are easy to spot today. Some of the Colombian Caribbean's best-loved dishes bear a striking likeness to their African counterparts, such as the coastal sancocho, which uses guandul, a common African grain.

Colombia's African heritage is evident in much of the country's music and dance. Cumbia uses African drums and many believe it is based on an African courtship ritual or a form of "dance singing" in which stories were passed through the ages. Mapalé from the Caribbean, with its quick rhythm and furious clapping and currulao, one of the best known Pacific rhythms, have strong African roots as does the more modern champeta.

Enslaved Africans first arrived in Colombia in the sixteenth century and were put to work in industries including gold, sugar, emeralds, cattle, tobacco, cotton and textiles. Many fought for their freedom and created free towns called palenques. Africans were also crucial in Colombia's fight for independence from Spain and it is estimated that sixty per cent of the soldiers in Simon Bolivar's liberating army were of African descent.

Ever since weightlifter Maria Urrutia won Colombia's first Olympic gold in 2000, afrocolombian athletes have continued to bring sporting glory to the nation. Among them are Edgar Rentería who played major league baseball and was voted Most Valuable Player in the 2010 World Series and Caterine Ibargüen, an outstanding athlete who has taken triple jump gold in the last two World Championships.

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Everything you need to know about cumbia Colombian artists helping the world go football crazy Meet Totó la Momposina: a colombian music icon

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Influence of Colombia's African Heritage | Marca País Colombia

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Colombia has one of the biggest populations of African descent in the entire western hemisphere, with African-Colombians continuing to exert a strong influence on the nation's history and politics as well as arts, traditions and customs that have been passed down for generations African-Colombians continue to succeed in every area of Colombian life.

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2005-The first ever Colombian 'X Factor' produces a Reggaeton singer who places third in the competition. #5

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Farina is known for collaborations such as "Pum Pum" (feat. Nengo Flow), and "Si Ellos Supieran" (feat. Bryant Myers). In addition to her dancefloor and beach jams, Farina is also an in-demand collaborator and featured guest because of her unique rapping style and a distinct, sharp, expressive alto instrument. In 2017, her video for the single "Mejor Que Yo" gained more than 58 million views. Her song "Perras Como Tú" (feat. Tokischa) was chosen as the soundtrack to the feature film Miss Bala in 2019.

Farina Pao Paucar Franco was born in Medellin, Colombia in 1986. She began her professional musical career as a contestant on The X-Factor in 2005, and the following year she released her debut record, Yo Soy Farina, which was heavily indebted to her biggest influence, dancehall. In 2011 she started her career as an actress, starring in the Colombian television series Tres Milagros, where she played the character Milagros "Nikita" Cruz. Her acting debut was honored at the TV y Novelas Awards in Colombia, where she was nominated in the Best Actress and Revelation of the Year category.

She released Del Odio al Amor in 2012. The album featured 12 songs composed by Farina and produced by DJ Lago. "Pongan Atención" was released as a single and became a hit. In 2013, she received the Best Colombian Artist Award at the Mi Gente TV Awards. In 2017, Farina was signed to rapper Jay-Z's Roc Nation label and began work on her third record, Mejor Que Yo, with production help from Wyclef Jean. Due to Farina's key participation on his singles, as well her own dancefloor hits, Jean nominated her as Artist of Tomorrow to the Grammy awards. She was the only Latina nominated.

In 2019, Farina released five singles, all of which registered on DJ charts, including "Fariana" (feat. Blueface), "Perras Como Tú" (feat. Tokischa), "Como Una Kardashian," and "Asi Asi" featuring fellow artist Maluma. The latter peaked at 41 on the Latin Airplay Chart.

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Farina is known for collaborations such as "Pum Pum" (feat. Nengo Flow), and "Si Ellos Supieran" (feat. Bryant Myers). In addition to her dancefloor and beach jams, Farina is also an in-demand collaborator and featured guest because of her unique rapping style and a distinct, sharp, expressive alto instrument.

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Colombian hip-hop artists, whose music is frequently suffused with anger against their government or the United States

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Colombian hip-hop artists, whose music is frequently suffused with anger against their government or the United States

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2004-#20

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Bogotá Journal; For Colombia’s Angry Youth, Hip-Hop Helps Keep It Real (Published 2004)

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Colombia’s young rap artists have seized on rap to vent about their world, which is filled with Marxist rebels, right-wing death squads, poverty and a greedy elite; their lyrics are far more political than those of rappers in most other countries; although their style is imitative of American artist…

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2001-Presenting a more commercial and polished sound, while still retaining strong socio-political messages. #4

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1995-La Etnnia was one of the first Hip-Hop groups to emerge. #3

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We catch up with the long-running Colombian hip hop trio to chart their three decade history.

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1990-These two are the hip-hop groups that emerged and are  considered as the pioneers of Colombian Rap and Hip-Hop. They protest violence, corruption, inequality and hardships in the marginalized regions of Colombia. #2

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Todas las fotos cortesía de Kontent Thug

En memoria de la primera mujer superestrella del rap colombiano, el cofundador de Gotas de Rap descarta que el grupo vuelva a la escena.

Cuando se repasa la historia del rap colombiano, es inevitable recordar la importancia que tuvo la fiebre del breakdance en barrios populares como Las Cruces en Bogotá a principios de los noventa permitiendo la llegada de esta cultura urbana al país. En Las Cruces se cultivó el talento a partir de las cual surgieron grupos históricos como La Etnnia, pero también la legendaria agrupación Gotas de Rap, cuyo abrupto final fue mermando su legado con el paso de los años.

La vertiginosa carrera de Gotas de Rap fue histórica en todo sentido: su mixtape Contra El Muro (1995) fue la primera grabación de rap lanzada en el país. Un par de años luego, sus integrantes organizaron una famosa 'Opera Rap' que mezclaba hip hop y teatro, con la que estuvieron de gira por media Europa y saborearon el éxito internacional. Poco después, su disco Revolución (1997) se consagró como uno de los más importantes del rap latinoamericano y sus canciones ocupaban un lugar privilegiado en la escena mundial.

Durante los noventa, los versos de Gotas de Rap se propagaron como fuego en los barrios por su tono crítico contra la violencia, intolerancia, limpieza social y el abuso de poder en la época más cruda de la guerra contra el narcotráfico que se libraba tanto en las calles como en el campo. Canciones como 'Militares' o 'Matar para vivir' se convirtieron en himnos, con los que los jóvenes de los barrios marginados empezaron a encontrar en el rap un alivio a todo el malestar social que convulsionaba su país y sus hogares, al mismo tiempo que veían retratada la realidad colombiana en cada uno de sus versos.

En sus fluctuantes alineaciones el protagonismo de Gotas de Rap siempre lo tuvo el carisma y la energía de la primera gran rapera colombiana, Elizabeth 'Melissa' Contento, que se convirtió en un ícono del poder femenino en una escena y un país donde el machismo imperaba. Una movida un tanto revolucionaria, innovadora y a su vez empoderadora. Hace 18 años, en junio de 1999, según informaron algunos medios nacionales, Melissa falleció en un accidente automovilístico junto a su hijo de dos años mientras vacacionaban en Houston, EE. UU. La tragedia marcó un final injusto para la agrupación que se encontraba en la cúspide de su éxito mundial. Posteriormente al suceso, han crecido en varias ocasiones las especulaciones y la añoranza de sus fans de que exista un regreso. La idea nunca se ha materializado.

A 18 años de la desafortunada partida de Melissa, nos sentamos a hablar con su hermano Carlos Gustavo Contento, aka Kontent Thug, cofundador de Gotas de Rap quien nos habló de ella, la importancia de la agrupación para el hip hop nacional y el futuro de la banda.

NOISEY: ¿Cómo fue su vida en Las Cruces y la formación de Gotas de Rap a través del breakdance? Kontent Thug: Yo a los siete años conocí el breakdance en el barrio, porque estaba inundando el mundo con películas como Beat Street. Hubo un grupo que se organizó en Las Cruces llamado los New Rappers Breakers, pero en ese momento yo era menor de edad y no alcancé a vivir toda esa movida en plenitud, entonces estuve ensayando algún tiempo pero se acabó porque mucha gente lo tomó como moda. Duró como un año, como 'El meneíto' y 'La lambada', y todos los jóvenes que nos habíamos contagiado con la fiebre del hip hop quedamos como en un limbo y decidimos seguir ensayando clandestinamente. ¿Quiénes hacían parte de ese grupo en ese entonces? Ahí estaban algunos miembros de Gotas de Rap y de La Etnnia, había gente que tenía familia y conocidos en Nueva York y nos mandaban videos de lo que estaba pasando en ese momento: Big Daddy Kane, MC Lyte, Afrika Bambaataa... Ahí no se acabó el rap como se creyó en otras partes de Latinoamérica, comenzamos a investigar y descubrir que era una cultura que se estaba regando en los ghettos en contra del racismo y del abuso policial, entonces empezamos a hacer esas letras en español.
Luego hubo una división de los New Rappers, y con un miembro que se llama Javier aka Javy Tormento fundamos Gotas de Ra. Ahí comenzamos toda esta odisea, a investigar los elementos del hip hop, el graffiti, los MCs, y así empíricamente fuimos haciendo un hip hop colombiano. ¿Cómo se empezó a involucrar Melissa con el grupo? ¿Usted qué pensaba al respecto? Mi hermana desde niña siempre había estado metida en el cuento del arte. Ella participaba en cosas de teatro y de danzas en el colegio, se veía que le gustaba lo artístico. Nosotros decidimos meter algunas chicas en el grupo e ingresaron como cinco, pero solo a bailar en las coreografías. En el transcurso de lo que sucedía fueron saliendo de una en una y solo quedó Melissa. Ella decía que quería cantar y que quería escribir en el grupo, pero en ese tiempo el rap era muy machista y como todo en Colombia era así. Yo fui uno de los que votó para que no la dejáramos. No quería que ella estuviera porque el rap era como de la calle. Pero la nena empezó a escribir letras y a salir a hacerlo por su cuenta. En un momento nos mostró una canción que había hecho y quedamos sorprendidos porque la composición tenía mucho sentido, la nena tenía harta visión para hacer eso y se convirtió en una de las primeras mujeres en Bogotá en cantar rap.

Ella se empezó a consolidar tanto que aunque Gotas de Rap tenía fans en toda Colombia y el mundo, me sorprendió que hubiera presentaciones donde sobre todo los niños y las mujeres no coreaban Gotas de Rap sino "¡Melissa! ¡Melissa!". Éramos como ocho personas en ese momento, y la nena que era la que menos espacio tenía ahí fue que se convirtió en nuestro referente ante las multitudes. En todo lado donde llegábamos era "¡Melissa! ¡Gotas de Rap!", ella se ganó su espacio dentro del hip hop latinoamericano.

¿De dónde salió el nombre? Es algo de lo que no se ha hablado tanto. Como nosotros comenzamos con baile, nos la pasábamos ensayando todos los días. Eran muchas coreografías donde se exigía mucho físicamente, sudábamos y terminábamos agotados y Javy dijo: "Vea, esto sí son gotas de rap". A mí al principio siempre me pareció estúpido el nombre porque el rap lo veía como algo más serio, algo más gangster, de la calle, pero de todos modos así quedó el nombre y se convirtió en una institución. La gente nos empezó a reconocer e incluso todos los grupos del momento comenzaron a llamarse igual, entonces había Magos del Rap, Cantantes del Rap, Lluvia de Rap y todo era así parecido. ¿Cómo se les ocurrió plasmar su música en una obra de teatro tan exitosa cómo Opera Rap? Nosotros éramos un grupo al que le gustaba hacer cosas escénicas, entonces en las presentaciones unos se disfrazaban de policías, nos arrestaban... el afrocolombiano del grupo cantaba contra el racismo y salíamos con cadenas, soltábamos palomas, poníamos fuego. En una presentación llegó Patricia Ariza, actual directora del Teatro La Candelaria, nos vio y le pareció muy teatral nuestra presentación y nos invitó para que hiciéramos una creación colectiva. Se involucraron maestros del teatro como Santiago García, Enrique Buenaventura, Álvaro Rodríguez y todos los duros de La Candelaria nos comenzaron a pulir para actuar y poner una obra en escena.

Duramos un buen tiempo ensayándola y luego la sacamos en la Corporación Colombiana de Teatro (en la Candelaria), eso fue apoteósico: habían dos o tres funciones diarias y afuera siempre era lleno de gente que quería entrar. Incluso Patricia en una entrevista habló de cómo una vez llegó una gente desde Ciudad Bolívar y aunque ya no cabían más personas dijeron que los dejaran entrar o rompían la puerta, ella decía que ojalá todas las muestras de violencia en Colombia fueran por ver una obra de arte. En cuanto a la obra, cada uno iba haciendo su propio personaje, los protagonistas éramos Melissa y yo. En ese tiempo estaba muy duro lo de la limpieza social y la intolerancia. Mi hermana hacía como de Julieta y yo como un Romeo así del ghetto, de las calles. Teníamos canciones rapeadas, DJs, breakers, todos los elementos del rap. Fuimos a presentarnos a grandes teatros del mundo como el Teatro Odín de Dinamarca que es como el Broadway de EE. UU. Estuvimos en cárceles de máxima seguridad en Alemania con refugiados. A Opera Rap la quiero mucho porque me llevó a recorrer el mundo y conocer escritores, directores, poetas. Fue tremendo, se hicieron más de 1.000 funciones de esa obra y la presentamos en Francia, Inglaterra, Gales, Holanda, Alemania y Dinamarca. ¡Fue algo extraordinario!

¿Cómo transcurrió para usted y su familia el día del accidente de Melissa? Fue tremendo porque ella había viajado para EE. UU con Geordie, mi sobrino de un año, y estaba embarazada de ocho meses. Ella andaba en Houston y de un momento a otro le vinieron a golpear la ventana a mi mamá en el barrio, ella dice que sintió que algo malo había pasado y que pensaba que me habían matado a mí porque yo era el que estaba metido en líos, en las calles y eso. Pero luego supimos que Melissa se había accidentado. Fue terrorífico, fue tremenda odisea porque tocó viajar a EE.UU. a repatriarla y hacer una cantidad de vueltas con la embajada. Se demoró muchos días la traída. Yo estaba como dopado men, no me gusta recordar las fechas ni cosas específicas porque a la gente le gusta mucho el amarillismo.
Ya venía nuestro próximo álbum, queríamos empezar a hacer videos, había muchas propuestas de muchas partes y el grupo se había vuelto internacional. Disqueras grandes como PolyGram Records estaban interesadas en nosotros. Pero cuando pasó eso yo decidí retirarme del rap y cada uno tomó su camino y se puso a hacer lo suyo.

¿Ha pensado en organizarle un homenaje? Sí, ahorita estoy haciendo una canción inédita con unas voces que ella dejó. Entonces montamos la pista y es un featuring que estoy haciendo con ella. También hice una fundación que se llama Melissa Gota de Rap, hasta ahora estamos empezando pero hemos estado colaborando con la fundación IRA Colombia repartiendo regalos para los niños de Altos de Cazucá. La fundación la hicimos con el fin de continuar el legado de ella, porque siempre estuvo especialmente comprometida con los niños y las mujeres. Y sí he querido hacerle un concierto, algo representativo para conmemorar no la muerte sino más bien la vida de ella y todo lo bueno. Organizar algo así es difícil y menos cuando uno lo hace independientemente. A veces me incomoda que nunca me llamen a ver qué opino sobre esos homenajes a Melissa donde le hacen tributos, canciones y graffitis porque yo soy el que tiene los derechos de ella. ¿Por qué considera que no existe claridad en la historia oficial del grupo? Lo que sucede es que nosotros en ese tiempo cuando nos venían a entrevistar decíamos'vaya Melissa, vaya Javy, a esta vaya Kontent', entonces como que se sabe muy poco de Gotas de Rap, solo de los pocos videos que han puesto por ahí mucha gente ve las entrevistas y mal interpreta los roles y omite la historia del grupo. Para mí personalmente Contra el Muro fue el primer experimento con el cual entramos al mundo musical pero no fue grabado bien, nosotros entramos al juego por la puerta grande con Revolución porque fue con el que empezamos a hacer cosas profesionales y bien hechas. El otro fue un comienzo, y como todo comienzo también es bueno y favorable, pero en lo musical todo el mundo recuerda es a Inspector Fire, a Melissa, a Javy y a mí. Por eso para mí, el legado más importante de la historia de Gotas de Rap es Opera Rap y lo musical pero especialmente en esa etapa.

¿Cómo se organizaba el proceso creativo en Gotas de Rap? ¿Fue igual en ambos discos? La verdad, cada uno ponía un tema. Por ejemplo escribíamos sobre la Policía, entonces como éramos cinco MCs en ese momento: Inspector Fire, Buenaventura -que es el papá del dancehall en Colombia-, Melissa, Carlos Andrés y yo, que fue cuando grabamos Revolución. Y en el proceso creativo cada uno tenía una idea, cada MC ponía su punto de vista y nos metíamos al estudio a grabar, teníamos un coro que era como un pedazo importante de la letra y se iba armando todo. ¿Qué fue lo que salió mal con el proyecto de 'Colombia Rap Cartel', que buscaba unir a las mejores propuestas de rap del país? Para mí fue muy frustrante porque en ese tiempo tuvimos la oportunidad de ir a algunas partes de Colombia como Medellín y Cali y nos queríamos enterar de quiénes eran los pioneros de la cultura hip hop en cada ciudad en un Congreso que organizamos de sitio en sitio. Nos dimos cuenta que había gente que también llevaba mucho tiempo como nosotros y salió la idea de hacer el Colombia Rap Cartel, que era la unión de los grupos más importantes de Bogotá, Medellín, Cali y Buenaventura para hacer algo con impacto nacional. Trabajamos de cerca con unas ONGs que nos habían enviado un dinero para hacer el primer estudio profesional de Colombia y empezar a grabar a los talentos del país. Pero desafortunadamente, además de los problemas de egos entre artistas y ciudades, la plata de ese proyecto fue robada. Nos tocó llegar de las giras europeas a Colombia sin dinero y sin nada. Habíamos hecho los beats porque teníamos los instrumentos y los equipos, teníamos ya un álbum hecho con el Colombia Rap Cartel y a la final esas pistas se terminaron utilizando para Revolución. Eso fue una de las cosas que me benefició porque antes yo era de los que más cantaba en Colombia Rap Cartel pero quedaron casi todos los beats para mí. ¿Cómo terminaron grabando 'Reina de mi Alma' para la famosa telenovela colombiana "Por Qué Diablos"? La verdad a todos nosotros nos llamaron para trabajar ahí, pero era una novela que estaba denunciando cosas de los barrios y eso nos estaba trayendo problemas con la gente de la comunidad en Las Cruces, por eso no participé. Melissa y yo somos los únicos miembros de Gotas de Rap que nacimos en el barrio, Javier sí vivió un tiempo ahí pero nació en Medellín.
Yo hice una canción para esa novela pero solo la letra, y la grabó Melissa. Cap y Fire sí hicieron parte de la novela actuando en algunos momentos. Cada uno tenía la disposición de hacer lo que quisiera, pero fue Javi y yo no quisimos estar en esa novela.

Usted había decidido dejar el rap tras el accidente de Melissa ¿cómo terminó involucrándose con el sello 527 de La Etnnia?

Yo había decidido retirarme del rap pero me fui a vivir a Nueva York diez años y así no quisiera allá nació el hip hop y era imposible evitarlo. Me quedé indocumentado allá, me metí en líos y me deportaron. Llegué después de un poco de años a Bogotá y pues ya todo había cambiado, esta ciudad era diferente, pero siempre he tenido una amistad desde niño con Ata de la Etnnia.

Nos escribíamos mientras estábamos allá, "¿dónde estuvo, qué hizo, va a seguir cantando?". Entonces me dijo que tenía unos beats y los escuché; él es de los mejores productores de Latinoamérica, me dijo que si quería cantar y comencé a hacer un álbum con él que se llama Thug Muzik, que es mi primer álbum solista. Hay un sencillo que se llama 'Kronikana' que es la historia de lo que yo pasé como deportado, de los emigrantes en Estados Unidos y eso. Se hizo un video que lo dirigió Kany Pimienta y para mí fue tremendo porque estuvo sonando en MTV y varios canales de música. Ese álbum también estuvo nominado a los premios Shock como mejor álbum de Música Urbana. Es bueno porque nunca habíamos logrado eso con Gotas de Rap, estar en MTV y ese tipo de cosas, y con la ayuda de la Etnnia, ellos sacaron ese disco con el sello 527.
Lee también:
¿Entonces por qué Gotas de Rap organizó otra gira europea en el 2000?

Por lo que ya habíamos estado en Europa ya había canciones de nosotros conocidas como 'Jesús el Cristo', y para mí era tremendo que vinieran chicas griegas a cantarla en español. En esa última gira íbamos Javy, yo y llevamos a un breaker que se llamaba Omar Bam Bam que era de Contacto Rap. Estuvimos los tres en Alemania y en Francia. Javy Tormento ha dicho que el grupo está oficialmente en pausa hasta que regrese a Colombia. ¿Volveremos a ver a Gotas de Rap algún día? Yo como fundador del grupo la verdad no quiero volverme a unir con nadie. Para mí Gotas ya murió y lo que se hizo, se hizo. Ahorita tengo mi carrera en solitario y me está yendo bien gracias a Dios, y ahí sí como cuando le preguntaron a Dr. Dre al morir Eazy-E si N.W.A. volvería y él dijo que no, entonces yo digo lo mismo: Gotas de Rap sin Melissa no es Gotas de Rap. Ya hace muchísimos años esto se dividió y no sé, la gente sigue queriendo que se una pero eso nunca va a pasar, o no de mi parte. Si se unen no los voy a apoyar porque todo nace, crece, se reproduce y muere. Yo sigo dolido por la muerte de Melissa y otros sucesos personales que me distanciaron de los demás. ¿Ha vuelto a saber algo de sus excompañeros en Gotas de Rap? Pues Inspector Fire desafortunadamente cayó en la drogadicción y está por ahí deambulando en la calle, así como estaba Zebra, de La Etnnia, pero de una peor forma porque la última vez ni me reconoció: no sabía quién era yo cuando me lo encontré en diciembre del año pasado en Cali. Yo estaba con mi mujer, Kimberly, que ahora canta conmigo, lo vimos y casi lloro porque lo vi en un estado lamentable. Le compré algo de comer pero no reaccionó cuando me vio. Javy sigue en Nueva York y no hablamos hace años, se volvió cristiano. La verdad no estoy muy enterado, ¿sí me entiende? He tratado de mantenerme en lo mío, no quiero saber lo que hacen o no hacen. Respeto las cosas y decisiones de todo el mundo pero yo tengo una visión muy diferente de las cosas. Con Cap que está de productor me hablo de vez en cuando, con Popo hemos tenido una amistad pero como de "hola, hola" pero cada uno tiene sus proyectos.

***
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"Mi hermana era el alma de Gotas de Rap, el grupo se acabó con ella": Kontent Thug

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Todas las fotos cortesía de Kontent Thug En memoria de la primera mujer superestrella del rap colombiano, el cofundador de Gotas de Rap descarta que el grupo vuelva a la escena.

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Article explores how hip-hop has been appropriated in each country and has been used to express the performers' reflections on social, political, and economic problems. #18

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1980s-Where Hip-Hop began to spread in Colombia (Medellín, Cali and mostly Bogotá). #1 https://www.tomplanmytrip.com/best-cities-visit-colombia/ 