The rap cartel and other tales from Colombia

UNESCO Courier, July, 2000 by Timothy Pratt

Timothy Pratt [*]

In Cali, hip-hop represents a search for identity among those who have no voice

No sooner did I suggest a spot for taking photos of the 15 rappers and breakdancers we went to meet in Aguablanca (Colombia) than trouble began. In the cab ride to the interview, I passed a neighbourhood barbershop with a poster of slain U.S. rapper Tupac Shakur in the window and some funny haircuts painted on the glass--and thought of suggesting it as a backdrop.

But on broaching the idea, a guy called "Maligno" got in my face and said, "I ain't down with [agreeing to] the bit about the barbers. Some people be sayin' that the barbers be down with hip-hop 'cause they be doin' the razor cuts [popular among male rappers], but that ain't necessarily so." The complaints continued, once we reached the shop, as four of the rappers pointed to the name, "New American Power". Lalo, the photographer, and I quickly suggested looking for another site.

Walking down a side street, I began explaining that readers in other parts of the world would like to see where they live. "Yeah, you wanna see how poor we are, right?" announced Puto, a young man with his hair braided in the dreadlocks of a Rastafarian. "Here you go," he said pointing to a shack at the end of a dirt road. "I bet you wanna take a picture of us in front of that shack, right?"

This went on for an hour. At the end, Lab, a well-traveled Colombian photographer, was sweating, and not because of the heat. "These kids are tough to work with," he said with understatement.

Demanding precision

And I began to realise what hip-hop in Colombia is all about--a search for identity among those who have no other voice. These kids wanted Lab's photos to show exactly who they were, down to the last detail. They speak the "language of the world's ghettos", as 23-year-old rapper and producer Carlos Andres Pacheco explained later--but in their own urban, South American, Colombian version. This can mean including Cali's particular salsa cadence in a tune or even rapping about the narcotics trade wreaking havoc in Colombian society.

In what were once wetlands on the southern edge of Cali (the country's second city), Aguablanca is one of Latin America's largest "invasions"--areas on the outskirts of cities where people seek refuge from rural violence and poverty. About 400,000 people of colour from the Pacific coast have settled here over the last few decades, often finding more violence and poverty in an urban form. Since 1994, the Aguablanca Cultural Network has been trying to help, for example, by supporting about 25 of the area's dozens of rap and breakdance groups.

This support includes practical help like giving the groups a gathering place--a big help in light of the fact that many of these kids live in single-floor houses with up to eight siblings crammed into a few rooms, while few institutions open their doors to bands of teenagers with dreadlocks and baggy jeans. One of the networks' leaders is Robinson Ruiz, who also belongs to BS, a rap trio with a video--a status symbol of sorts in Colombia's rap scene, barely a decade old.

"Throwing consciousness out there"

Ruiz has called a meeting to discuss upcoming events, including the first anniversary of a weekly radio show dedicated partially to rap called "The Zone". Cali, with four radio stations now programming rap, leads the nation; Bogot[acute{a}] the capital, has two.

The 15 rappers and breakers dwelled on the same issue raised by the photos: identity. They talked about whom to thank at the ceremony and why--meaning who is really part of the scene and who isn't. They also talked about money, questioning whether some groups are paying for airplay on the radio.

A few days later, rapper Carlos Andres Pacheco highlights another aspect of the local hip-hop culture. Until recently, Carlos Andres belonged to the Bogoth group, Gotas de Rap, or Drops of Rap--one of the few to have two produced CDs and to have performed in Europe on three tours.

Pacheco told the story of the Colombia Rap Cartel, a "trade group" that he founded with members of five other groups around the country three years ago to help up-and-coming rappers get instruments, studio time, and so on. He spoke of "problems" with this effort, including "different ways of thinking" among members. "Many of the groups think that when they make a demo tape and play a few concerts, they're going to get rich quick," said Pacheco. "They think they're going to ride in a Cadillac. They aren't conscious of what rap is really about."

For Pacheco, hip-hop is aimed at "throwing consciousness out there" to the public, including rapping about the complex relations between Washington and Bogota as reflected in the war against drugs. "The way I see it," said the rapper, "we sell cocaine, just like the United States sells arms--which also kill people. Both are part of the economy, and it's pretty hard for people in the countryside here to survive on anything else." Through his lyrics, he tries to highlight positive options for kids in Colombia's cities who "always have that door open to gangs, drugs, prison..." Finally, he admitted that it isn't easy to raise such topics in a violent country like Colombia. "You have to be careful about how you get the message across and make it almost subliminal," he warned.