The Medellin Metro first opened for service on November 30th 1995 as one of the first implementations of modern mass transportation in Colombia, and is still the only metro system in the country. It connects the city with a sprawling network of rail lines, cable cars, and bus systems.
When I was in Medellin, the people told me about "Metro Cultura" – the culture of the metro – an attitude of solidarity, harmony, and respect that protects the safety of all who use the Metro. Even in a city once known as the most dangerous city in the world, the people held with pride a movement to keep the Metro as a clean, safe, and peaceful space.
But what struck me the most about this Metro was not about transportation. It was about the narrative that those from Medellin (called Medallos) get to hold about themselves. With the dark history of being the cocaine trafficking capital of the world, the rest of Colombia believed "nothing good could come from Medellin". However, Medallos told me of how the opening of the Medellin Metro became a source of pride for the city, a way for them to reverse the narrative of what it means to be from Medellin.
I saw this again when I rode the cable cars into the hillside, in a village called Comuna Trece, or Community Thirteen. Caught between downtown and the only major highway that connects Medellin to the Pacific Ocean, Comuna Trece was a high value territory for drug cartels and consequently one of the most dangerous and impoverished neighborhoods in the city throughout the 80s and 90s.
However, Comuna Trece is now a thriving neighborhood of art and culture and one of the fastest growing economies in Latin America. After a rigorous peace effort quelled armed conflict, the city built a 384 meter electric escalator system that climbs the mountain in six sections, connecting its 12,000 residents that work downtown each day. Since its opening in 2011, it has become a model for urban planning around the world.
But what struck me the most was still not the transportation. A young tour guide about my age told me his story of growing up in Comuna Trece, resisting the recruiting of the drug cartels and fighting through poverty. He told me how the true impact of the Escaleras is what a child sees when he peaks out the window. Does he see gangsters dealing drugs, wasted streets, and violence? Or does he see a thriving neighbourhood with streets full of tourists from all over the world? And what does that do to how a young boy sees his future? It wasn't only about the transportation, it was about the narrative that the people of Comuna Trece get to hold about themselves.
I left that trip with one inspiration: that I want to use the power of narrative to humanize. Of course, real change needs to be done. The Metro and the Escaleras needed to happen for Medellin, and thats why I'm a designer. But I have a hunch that storytelling holds the power to change how people see their own beauty, their future, and whats possible for them.
"You can't pass until you do a dance for us!!"
