The “Kolombia Regia”: Social Vindication in the Face of Stigma and Violence in Monterrey

Acknowledgments

We are deeply thankful to the University of Toronto’s Munk School of Global Affairs and Mastercard’s Center for Inclusive Growth for fostering and supporting a youth-oriented, international, and interdisciplinary initiative that allows for conversation about the “important stuff.” Our thanks to Marin MacLeod, Moni Kim, and everyone in the Reach Alliance team for their encouragement and leadership, Jacqueline Larson for her invaluable editing, and Gloria Eid for guiding us through the complexities and joy of working collaboratively.

We thank our professors and mentors Iza Siller, Ingrid Galicia, Nadia Vázquez, Maria Teresa Martínez, Yacotzin Bravo, Ignacio Irazuzta, and Ana González for their academic guidance and valuable advice.

We also gratefully recognize all our interviewees for generously sharing their stories. Their narratives transformed our perspective of the world. We especially thank Ivonne Azpeytia and Yasodari Sanchez for their kindness and support. We acknowledge the tireless effort they put into building the historical memory of women within the Kolombia Regia, promoting spaces for learning, developing initiatives that foster the diffusion of different expressions of art, and paving the way for future generations.

Finally, we acknowledge our hopes for our professional future. We found a love for research that we aspire to continue cultivating. Because this marks our first publication, we earnestly look forward to it being the first of many. We remain open and excited to come across and explore topics that resonate and captivate us, much like Kolombia Regia.

MASTERCARD CENTER FOR INCLUSIVE GROWTH

The Center for Inclusive Growth advances equitable and sustainable economic growth and financial inclusion around the world. The Center leverages the company’s core assets and competencies, including datainsights, expertise, and technology, while administering the philanthropic Mastercard Impact Fund, to produce independent research, scale global programs, and empower a community of thinkers, leaders, and doers on the front lines of inclusive growth.

MUNK SCHOOL OF GLOBAL AFFAIRS & PUBLIC POLICY

The Munk School of Global Affairs & Public Policy at the University of Toronto brings together passionate researchers, experts, and students to address the needs of a rapidly changing world. Through innovative teaching, collaborative research, and robust public dialogue and debate, we are shaping the next generation of leaders to tackle our most pressing global and domestic challenges.

Executive Summary

During the 1960s, a countercultural movement was established in the city of Monterrey, Mexico. This subculture called itself Kolombia for its love for Colombia and Cumbia, a traditional Latin-American musical rhythm. Beyond music, Kolombians have been distinguished by their unique fashion, hairstyles, and experiences. These forms of expression have been stigmatized as socially unacceptable, in part because Cumbia has been a musical genre historically enjoyed by marginalized groups. Both Cumbia and Kolombians have been associated with conflict, violence, and street gangs, making them targets of discrimination. 

While a prevailing media narrative suggests the disappearance of this subculture following the Mexican security crisis in the 2000s involving drug cartels’ high-profile violence, Kolombia Regia persists, maintaining a robust presence within and beyond the city. Heterogeneous and dynamic, Kolombian culture has continually reconfigured itself, preserving the legacy of previous generations and ensuring the culture’s future with its capacity for adaptation. We explore how this subculture has resisted different forms of violence and how it has been vindicated over time. We also propose a series of recommendations for developing culturally sensitive public policies that tackle insecurity in the places that Kolombias reside.

The Kolombia of Monterrey

In the 1960s, people migrated from South American and Mexican regions like Puebla, Querétaro, the State of Mexico, San Luis Potosi, and Mexico City to Monterrey, Nuevo León. Given its industrial economic activity, education opportunities, and geographical proximity to the United States, Monterrey has historically attracted significant migration influxes, and positioned itself as a space for the interaction and blend of cultures, particularly in its most marginalized neighbourhoods, which include but are not limited to La Campana, La Independencia, and San Bernabé. With the arrival of migrants to La Independencia neighbourhood, one of the most characteristic urban subcultures in Mexico, and even internationally, was born: the Kolombia Regia.¹  

Kolombia is in part a musical subculture, defined by a set of beliefs and unwritten rules shaped by the community’s experiences. It comes to life with the celebration and appropriation of different Afro-Latin musical rhythms and variations. The term Kolombia doesn’t allude directly to Colombians who migrated to Monterrey — it refers to the love for musical rhythms that originated in Colombia and found their way to Monterrey. The two most renowned are the Vallenato and the Cumbia, but especially Cumbia. 

The Vallenato is a musical genre born on the Colombian Caribbean coast. Although the songs are primarily preoccupied with love and romance, in its beginnings they also talked about daily experiences and even social problems. By contrast, the roots of Colombian Cumbia can be traced back to Africa and the enslaved individuals forcibly brought by the Spaniards to the coasts.

It is claimed that in its beginnings, Cumbia was music listened to by enslaved people. Indeed, until a few years ago, Cumbia had always been identified as a rhythmic sound for marginalized people. I believe that one reason people in Monterrey, or anywhere in the world, identify so strongly with this musical genre is because many people unconsciously identify themselves with that situation of marginalization and alienation. (I.A.)² 

When asked to describe Cumbia, the same word was used by almost all of our interviewees: joy. “The central theme of Cumbia revolves around everyday experiences and its rhythm is very contagious. Whether one knows the lyrics or not, listening to a Cumbia song will change one’s mood. They can be perceived with more feeling, and it is easy to appropriate these songs, make them your own, and find one for every situation and stage in life” (M.D.). 

Cumbia’s Journey to Monterrey: A Brief History

In 1934, businessman Antonio Fuentes founded the record label that became a mass producer of Colombian music: Discos Fuentes. From its start, it produced tropical music, assembling large numbers of Colombian Cumbia record collections that would still be listened to in Monterrey 30 years later. 

Vinyl records of Colombian Cumbia arrived in Monterrey via the Mexican capital and Houston, Texas. Music was exchanged between these cities because of their strategic location for Latin American migratory fluxes headed to the United States and the northern region of Mexico. Migrants leaving their birthlands bought these records to remember their people and stay connected with their roots through the stories the songs tell.

During the 1980s, the sonideros boom began after these records’ commercialization. Sonideros are ambulant dance gatherings where a DJ plays music, particularly Cumbia. A sonidero’s equipment involves a turntable, records, and some speakers. Their name stems from the fact that they placed their loudspeakers wherever they could and did not have a chance to equalize music. In a certain way, it was just “noise” reproducing itself in different places. People first encountering the music supposedly asked themselves: “¿Qué es ese sonidero?” which is roughly translated to “What is all that sound?”

The sonidero is the people’s DJ who takes the public’s requests and makes people dance for hours. The sonideros bring music to people, and that brings joy. Sonideros can also be considered a social movement because they break the paradigms of how and where music should be played— it is a musical revolution that can occur anywhere in the public space for people’s enjoyment.

Dancing is central to Kolombian subculture, whether to vinyl records, cassettes, sonideros, or bands.³  As a vibrant and integral part of the community’s identity, it allows people to connect with their heritage and express their emotions. Dancing is a bridge between the past and the present, encapsulating the culture’s historical journey through its music. “The atmosphere is liberating. It becomes contagious because even if you don’t know how to dance, you see other people, and start moving from one side to the other or tapping your feet or singing to it” (I.A). 

Unlike other cultural movements that manifest through the creation of original rhythms and lyrics by artists, composers, and performers members of the culture, the Kolombia Regia predominantly comprises individuals who engage with the subculture by appropriating pre-existing music from other cultures, making song covers with variations resulting in a unique fusion. The hallmark songs of Kolombia often find their roots in Colombian musicians. This fact may go unnoticed by subculture members due to the significant evolution of rhythm over time.

Another distinctive feature of Kolombia Regia is the presence of graffiti art. People who did graffiti would take the names and lyrics of Cumbia songs, put them on walls, and sign them with their names. This form of artistic expression has held special significance for gangs, serving as a means to “mark their territories and signal that outsiders should respect these areas because they belong to the gang” (A.R). 

Gangs don’t necessarily denote violent groups. As a former Kolombian gang member put it, for him, gangs are:

a group of friends from the same neighbourhood (sometimes), usually emerging from poverty and exclusion, with a strong sense of belonging to that neighbourhood. Their bond is created by coexisting, sharing the block, and simply spending time in the streets. From a shared identity, codes, interactions, and forms of expression emerge, fostering a sense of belonging, complicity, and similarity. (A.R.)

In the public eye, these groups have always been stigmatized, linking them to crime, drugs, and theft, either because they were low-income people or because they were different from what the conservative status quo of Monterrey prefers. 

Not all gang members identified themselves as Kolombias, and not all Kolombias were part of a gang. However, media coverage in online newspapers and articles popularized the notion that “all gangs were Kolombian.” For many people who are unfamiliar with the social and cultural context of graffiti, this expression is associated with vandalism and crime. Therefore, Kolombias started to be identified as criminals and consequently have been targets of discrimination and prejudices that impact them socially, economically, and politically.

Catholicism is another element that plays a vital role for the Kolombia Regia because the Basilica de Guadalupe is located at the heart of the Independencia neighbourhood.⁴  During fieldwork, we observed that the church’s community groups organize various activities like soccer tournaments to bring together residents of the neighbourhood. These events contribute to strengthening the social fabric by fostering connection and shared experiences among its residents. 

Beyond music, Kolombia is a dynamic and multifaceted movement, shaped by historical, migratory, and social factors. It encompasses unique colloquialisms, dynamic fashion, and massive social gatherings, all fostering a strong sense of community. Because this subculture is intergenerational, each generation adds its unique contributions, shaping the subculture’s future, and securing its continued relevance in a rapidly changing world. 

Members of the subculture refer to themselves as Kolombias or Kolombians, employing both terms interchangeably. At least three generations actively interact with each other through diverse cultural practices such as music festivals and dances.

Although the Kolombia Regia is a male-dominated movement, women have always had a strong if unrecognized presence within it. Historically, their roles have been defined in relation to men, particularly to their husbands, in matters such as running family businesses and organizing community events. Despite these historical dynamics, women have gradually created their own legacy with all-female music ensembles, sonideros, and public figures.

Beyond the Cholombiano Style

Kolombian men and women have dressed and styled themselves in different ways. Whether they wear Converse sneakers or accessories like Colombian sombreros (wide-brimmed hats), their expressions can be grouped into distinct styles or archetypes. 

Archetype A is a mixture of the Chicano and cholo style. The term Chicano originally referred to Mexican Americans, especially those who were born in the United States or had lived there for a significant period. However, over time, it has evolved to encompass a broader cultural, social, and political identity. Chicano identity emerged during the civil rights movements of the 1960s and 1970s when Mexican Americans sought to assert their cultural pride and advocate for social justice. The term was reclaimed as a symbol of empowerment, emphasizing a connection to Indigenous roots and resistance against discrimination. Chicanos often celebrate their unique cultural blend, which incorporates Mexican, Indigenous, and American influences.

Cholos are a subculture often recognized by their distinctive clothing, which may include baggy pants, oversized shirts, sports jackets, noticeable tattoos, and bandanas. They are also associated with a specific way of speaking and behaving. The word cholo does not have a single, universal definition, and its meaning can vary even within Mexico, but typically it refers to individuals who come from marginalized neighbourhoods and have tastes that differ from socially accepted norms, ranging from clothing styles (loose or baggy) to their unique hairstyles, which are often perceived as “exotic.” In some contexts, the word cholo may be used pejoratively, while in others, it may simply describe a specific lifestyle and cultural identity. The perception and connotation of the term can change depending on the region and local cultural interpretation.

Some of the typical elements of this look are the use of the iconic Converse sneakers, tumbado or oversized jeans or shorts, oversized shirts, religious escapularios and crucifixes, and baseball caps.⁵  Their characteristic hairstyles are distinguished by the use of significant amounts of hair gel, sideburns, and shaven parts of the head. For women, it also includes using oversized clothes or mini-skirts, mini-shorts, and crop tops, Converse runners, bright makeup, styling their hair with headbands, and using different accessories that distinguish each person’s unique personality.

Archetype B represents the attire commonly seen among Kolombian musical ensembles, with the use of Colombian hats crafted from cane and clothing featuring the colours of the Colombian flag: blue, red, and yellow.

Archetype C is the “Celso Piña style.” It consists of shirts with graphic images of palm trees and other tropical elements paired with formal pants. However, there is no clear image of how women adapt to this style.

Archetype D depicts the 1980s rock style portrayed by jeans, black t-shirts, and unique hairstyles like mullets and “mob tops” (J.C.).

Archetype E showcases the “Texan style” (J.C.), which uses baseball caps (referred to locally as snapbacks) and polo shirts, similar to the narco style. For women it translates to using heels and mini dresses.

Unfortunately, rather than celebrating its diversity, the media has often portrayed Kolombia as a single archetype: the Cholombiano (see Figures 2 and 3), which exoticizes the participants. It is a look that disorients people in a conservative society like Monterrey, and many times it is related with crime. As one Kolombian told us:

When I styled my hair, it was almost certain that the cops were going to stop me for looking suspicious. They told me “Get in the police car” and I replied “why? I haven’t done anything” — then they tell me “You’re suspicious.” Let’s say people are walking toward me: the first thing they do when they see me is to move to the other sidewalk. If I’m using the bus and I sit in the middle, people will sit two or three spaces away from me. (A.M.)

Grouping all Kolombias in this category has perpetuated stereotypes and misconceptions that result in social and institutional discrimination, negatively impacting the lives and opportunities of community members. In response, many Kolombians disguise themselves to avoid being targeted by police, employers, and society in general.

Given the diversity within this subculture, it’s difficult to find characteristics common to all its members. After months of research, we discovered that the essential common ground among those who enjoy these musical rhythms is their admiration for Colombia and love for Cumbia.

They say “we are Colombian” when it is not true. We are Mexicans, live in Monterrey, and live in a neighbourhood called La Independencia, not a Colombian neighbourhood. However, they have ingrained that admiration and affection towards a country many do not even know and will probably never know, but they identify with it because of its music. (I.A.)

The Drug War’s Lasting Effects on the Kolumbian Subculture

To better understand how media have portrayed the Kolombia Regia and how they have linked it to crime, it is important to consider the context of the Mexican war against organized crime and its relation to the Kolombian neighbourhoods. In 2006, during Felipe Calderon’s presidency, the government began operations to dismantle the main criminal organizations in Mexico known as narco (drug cartels), marking the beginning of the country’s drug war.⁶  These operations initiated a significant and prolonged conflict that had far-reaching social consequences. 

Because it is at the city’s centre, Monterrey’s La Independencia neighbourhood, where the Kolombian subculture was at its peak, became a strategic location for organized crime. Its mountainous landscape offers natural hiding spots and vantage points, allowing narco organizations to operate discreetly and evade law enforcement more effectively by having a wide view of the city and any access to the upper reaches of the neighbourhood.

To dismantle these criminal organizations, the government’s main strategy was to capture the main heads of the cartels. Since many of these organizations had criminal cells that spread throughout various zones, several clashes took place to define which of these groups would take leadership of the organization, so these periods were characterized by a severe escalation of violence, massacres, and violent public “messages” to proclaim authority over a territory. Such “messages” included, but weren’t limited to, the exposure of corpses in public spaces like roads, and narco mantas, which consisted of blankets hung from bridges with death threats or messages declaring a cartel as the “ruler” of a territory. Sometimes, these methods were used together. However, government strategies were ineffective to dismantle these organized groups. Today, the war on drugs that began 17 years ago continues. In fact, many more narco organizations have been born, and the number of criminal activities where these groups are involved has increased — not only those related with drug trafficking, but also extortion, kidnapping, and the commercialization of piracy goods.

Life during these times was full of uncertainty and fear. Because the media delayed reporting on many of these escalating violent episodes, people used word of mouth to be informed of the security situation in the city. It was not uncommon to hear that many people were killed because of territory disputes between criminal organizations. People across the city were afraid to carry out their typical routines because they would need to leave their houses, and it was not safe to be outside. 

One of the residents of La Independencia told us: Well, today people are still afraid to go out. This fear remains with us to this day. You see a black Suburban truck and remember when the narcos stopped in front of you and interrogated you about what you were doing. Some even tried to steal from you … others also forced you to get in their trucks to partake in criminal activities, including theft and violence, and, sometimes, if they did not get into their trucks, they would shoot them in their cold feet. (D.P.)

Nowadays, life is different for people in the Independencia neighbourhood, and there is no longer a wave of violence like the one experienced during Felipe Calderon’s government. However, the cartels are still present in these communities. Interviewees told us how these groups already know all the people who live in the neighbourhood, so they don’t have any troubles — people know which streets not to walk through and at what times. If any outsiders visit the mountainous zone of the Independencia, they must go with a local. Although the nature of violence may have changed, the influence of narco entities still shapes the dynamics and precautions taken by the community.

Media Portrayal of Kolombians 

Academic literature, documentaries, and news articles concerning Kolombians revolve around the assumption that Kolombian subculture began to gradually disappear as a result of the fear of being associated with gang members of criminal groups. The media suggested that Kolombia was merely a product of its time — a fleeting trend — disregarding its rich multigenerational history. The subculture was portrayed as a sorrowful tale of a movement that was doomed by violence. For example, newspaper headlines proclaimed “Who Were the Cholombianos? A Culture that Imitated Us in Mexico”; “The Mexican Urban Tribe that Disappeared with the Narcoterror”; and “Cholombianos: The Memory of an Unprecedented and Extinct Culture.”⁷  These types of articles reproduce a harmful stigma for Kolombia, since they reduce all forms of its expression to the most eye-catching and exotic archetype that fits into a striking headline, in addition to claiming the culture’s extinction. Such discourse has led to the subculture’s exoticization and increased the structural violence that its members have experienced since the beginning of Mexico’s drug war.⁸  

This narrative that Kolombian subculture has disappeared is clearly not accurate. Because individuals who fit the media’s stereotypical image of a Kolombian (the Cholombiano) became less visible, many social commentators insisted that Kolombia was a passing trend. However, the culture has persisted and reconfigured itself. Kolombia is a thriving subculture with deep roots and a powerful presence in Monterrey, and it endures because it shares people’s stories and life experiences. Of course “aesthetics change according to time and context” (J.C.). Older generations may hold steadfast to conventional interpretations of Kolombia while younger people introduce fresh perspectives and adaptations. 

Our research offers a new perspective on the Kolombian subculture. Our findings are based on qualitative methods such as fieldwork, in-depth semi-structured interviews, observation, as well as review of documentary evidence. We conducted 22 interviews among Kolombians, musical ensembles, famous sonideros, graffiti artists, DJs, academics, religious figures of the community, and Colombian record and souvenir export suppliers. We conducted participant observation and fieldwork between November 2022 and October 2023 in La Independencia neighbourhood, as well as Mercado Díaz Ordaz, el Puente del Papa, and the CumbiaFest music festival in Monterrey, Nuevo León.⁹  Because we recognize that Kolombian subculture is not exclusive to any of these particular areas, in-person and virtual interviews were conducted with key figures of this movement from other parts of the city and state.  

We recognize that knowledge will always be partial and situated. Our positionality as researchers determined what was possible to know about Kolombians and their movement. We are young and primarily white; we have high socioeconomic status; and we are completing our college education. Such elements of our identity directly affected how we related to the study subjects.

At the beginning of this research, we intended to explore how the Mexican security crisis impacted the cultural expression of Kolombians within the La Independencia neighbourhood. Our hypothesis was that young people from financially marginalized groups who weren’t cartel members were embroiled in violence because of their socioeconomic circumstances and looks alone, which was why Kolombian subculture was disappearing. 

However, after our research we realized that discussions about Kolombia often centre on inquiries into poverty, violence, and their effects on the lives of marginalized individuals. While it’s tempting to sensationalize drug trafficking by giving it undue emphasis, we discovered that narcotraffic holds minimal significance compared to the broader cultural expressions within Kolombia today. Engaging in discussions about Kolombia proved to be a more complex and enriching endeavour, extending far beyond the narratives that exoticize drug cartels and poverty.

This research is motivated by an immense curiosity for a culture that is not ours. Shared language and experiences, like living through Mexico’s drug war, residing in the city of Monterrey, enjoying the same musical rhythms, and frequent field visits allowed us to understand better and connect with the music and its proponents. We do not pretend to speak for our interviewees. Instead, we share what we have learned from and with them. 

By shedding light on everyday experiences that Kolombians face, this research aligns with the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs): 

Hard-to-Reach Community

While Kolombia cannot be located exclusively in a particular neighbourhood, La Independencia has played a significant role in its origins and expansion. Cumbia Rebajada and multiple musical ensembles originated in its streets. Kolombia subculture today has had a strong presence throughout Monterrey, particularly in specific lower-income neighbourhoods, including San Bernabé and La Campana.                      Figure 3 shows some of the different neighbour-hoods in Monterrey where Kolombia is present and some of their socioeconomic data and characteristics.

The Kolombian subculture is a compelling example of how marginalized communities 

are not solely located in rural settings, nor in the outskirts of urban areas. Some of the neighbourhoods that have fostered this subculture, such as La Independencia and La Campana, are situated in the central area of Monterrey. These neighbourhoods are also close to Jardines del Valle in the municipality of San Pedro Garza Garcia, the wealthiest municipality in Latin America. These neighbourhoods are a clear example of the deep inequalities that people experience throughout the state — and the whole country — and how vastly the quality of lives can vary so much.

For example, as Table 1 shows, Jardines del Valle has a wide coverage of storm drains, which makes the neighbourhood more resilient to rainstorms, and almost all street blocks have public lighting. This contrasts with the low coverage of the same public services in San Bernabé neighbourhood, or even the complete absence of these in La Campana, whose problems get multiplied by its location in the upper parts of Monterrey’s mountainous zones. Also, there are few to no bus stops in the two latter neighbourhoods. La Independencia and La Campana face serious problems with access to healthcare, since there are currently no existing facilities that meet this social need there.

Stigma and Marginalization as an Issue of Reach

With rhythms and lyrics that resonate across diverse audiences in Monterrey and an identity that has transcended their neighbourhoods of origin, Kolombians are not “hard to reach” geographically. However, they face barriers of a different kind. Despite residing in the same city, individuals and locations linked to this subculture have been subjected to discrimination, stigmatization, and exoticization. These affect their education, employment, and social interactions, leading to exclusion and further marginalization, creating a cycle of disadvantage. 

Kolombias are a “hardy reached” community because of ideological and social barriers: the stereotypes that have personified them as violent subjects linked to organized crime and an unsophisticated (naco), low-income subculture.¹¹  In this sense, some Kolombians face discrimination simply because of their place of residency and the stigma these places hold given their socioeconomic status and association with crime. Kolombians who live in other areas of the city face discrimination because of the association of their cultural identity with these marginalized neighbourhoods. Outsiders often view this subculture through a lens of fear, resulting in their exclusion and rejection.¹²

Resistance and Vindication of the Subculture

In the face of many forms of structural violence, Kolombians resist and persist with the help of various elements that are part of their identity. Music is at the culture’s beating heart and is a powerful expression of identity, joy, and of course resistance. 

Resilience

In the words of one person we interviewed, “During the security crisis you could not be out of your house … I always spent my time making music. I did not like to get involved in all of that” (D.P.). Music served as a coping mechanism in the face of adversity. Communities and individuals have faced numerous challenges like migration — some individuals migrated to the US to look for better socioeconomic opportunities, and some families relocated to safer neighbourhoods after receiving INFONAVIT grants to acquire housing.  Additionally, they faced issues such as police brutality, experienced through being targeted and discriminated against in public spaces. In this context, music transcends mere entertainment; it becomes an emotional refuge and a means of expressing identity, enabling them to claim these new spaces as their own. Even in the most challenging times, music has brought hope and resilience to Monterrey’s violent landscape.