MEDELLMN'S TARNISHED MIRACLE

Colombian City's Recovery, Recent Slide Backward Offer Lessons for Mexico

MEDELLMN, Colombia - The name alone, Medellmn, once evoked mayhem.
Then, after years of drug violence, high-profile kidnappings and
criminal groups operating with near impunity, the city transformed itself.

Crime and violence plummeted. The arts and culture thrived. It became
known as the Medellmn Miracle. And leaders from drug-plagued cities
in Mexico came to see how it was done.

Today, with its gleaming buildings, rolling hills, thriving arts
scene and stunning libraries that rise above impoverished
neighborhoods, Medellmn remains a beacon of hope for troubled Mexican
border cities. But the miracle has been tarnished. With a recent
spike in violence and the re-emergence of longstanding problems,
Medellmn also stands as a reminder of how entrenched the drug trade
can become and how long and complicated is the road to recovery.

Just three years ago, former Mayor Sergio Fajardo, Colombian
President Alvaro Uribe and U.S. politicians touted the city as the
Medellmn Miracle, a title apparently well-deserved. Civic
improvements, new architecture, and an 80 percent drop in homicides
brought the city new wealth and swagger and made it a model for
drug-plagued Mexican border cities like Ciudad Juarez.

"Much of what we're doing in Ciudad Juarez is based on the Medellmn
model," said Mayor Josi Reyes Ferriz, who has visited Medellmn and is
working on building schools and cultural centers and creating jobs
for unemployed youth - favorite targets for recruitment by organized
crime. "The focus in Medellmn is social, and we realize that our
problem is socially generated."

But a closer look reveals that the success Medellmn enjoyed had more
to do with finding accommodations between organized crime and the
government than with eradicating organized crime. In short, Medellmn
is a lesson of how the mayhem may be just one killing, one arrest or
one extradition away from exploding again.

The key figure here was a paramilitary leader turned drug trafficker
named Diego Murillo, also known as Don Berna. A tough goon respected
by gangs, he enforced a peace pact with the government. He ordered
other criminal organizations to put their arms down, respect each
other's territories, and stop the kidnappings and killings.

"Don Berna was the real boss of the city," said Moritz Akerman, one
of Medellmn's top intellectuals and writers.

Nearly three years ago, however, Don Berna was arrested by Colombian
law enforcement officials and extradited to the United States. The
violence resumed, with gangs fighting to fill the power vacuum.

In 2009, killings in Medellmn, a city of 3 million people, rose dramatically.

"Miracle story? Not at all," said Marma Elena Saldarriaga, a human
rights activist. "They wanted to make everything beautiful, make us
feel pretty, but along the way they couldn't get rid of poverty, and
inside we continued to die slowly. It was just a matter of time
before the old, deadly picture returned. Medellmn is a reminder that
you cannot cover the mess for too long, that the past haunts us."

The Medellmn model will be on center stage Sunday, when voters go to
the polls to elect the next president of Colombia. The choice is
between Juan Manuel Santos, a former defense minister who is
campaigning under the policies of the incumbent, Uribe, of
strengthening security and restoring government authority.

His opponents are Antanas Mockus, former mayor of Bogota, and his
running mate, former Medellmn Mayor Fajardo. Both men want to change
direction and focus more on educational initiatives to promote social
and economic development, following the model of Medellmn.

"Our definition of education as one of the engines for social
transformation is precisely about projecting what we effectively
achieved in Medellmn on a national stage," said Fajardo, whose
success as mayor made him an international celebrity. "To open the
doors for opportunities is to close the door on violence, illegality
and inequality."

During his term, Fajardo, known for his long hair and blue jeans,
successfully changed the image of the city from the violent
playground of drug baron Pablo Escobar - "Don Pablo" or "Pablito," as
he is still known here - into a thriving cosmopolitan metropolis.

The transformation began after 2003, when the government and
paramilitary groups ironed out a peace pact. Suddenly violence fell,
from 6,500 killings in 1991 to 2,193 in 2003 and 788 in 2007,
according to the National Institute for Legal Medicine. (Escobar,
leader of the notorious Medellmn cartel, was killed by government
forces in 1993.)

Medellmn soared. Parks, libraries, schools and museums were added or
refurbished, including the largest collection of art by famed
Colombian sculptor and painter Fernando Botero. Cable cars were added
to connect the city to remote neighborhoods such as Santo Domingo,
high in the mountains with a stunning overview of the city.

"Fajardo gave us hope in ourselves," said Akerman. "He convinced us
that we were not a culture of violence, that we were human beings."

Last year, Fajardo visited Ciudad Juarez, across the Texas border
from El Paso, and preached hope. He acknowledged the renewed violence
in Medellmn but stressed that social development must be at the root
of any change. He got a standing ovation.

Mayor Ramsn Garza of Nuevo Laredo, across the Texas border from
Laredo, studied the lessons from afar and implemented several
cultural ideas, from poetry readings to a museum inspired by
Colombian writer Gabriel Garcma Marquez.

How much Medellmn really changed remains a source of debate, in part
because local conditions are influenced by factors that local
officials have little control over, such as the demand for cocaine in
distant places like the United States, Brazil or Europe. A regional
saying acknowledges the powerful pull of drug money: "Vaya hijo
consiga plata honradamente. Si no, consiga plata." (Go, my son, find
money the right way. If not, just find money).

Giovanny Galdarraga, 34, a machine operator, showed off his
neighborhood of Santo Domingo to a visitor. Walking through streets
that he said were once uninviting, he pointed to the cultural center
where his 14-year-old son, Federico, practices music, learns
computers and reads books. On weekends, he plays soccer. Galdarraga
talked proudly of seeing teenagers walking the streets carrying books
instead of guns.

But as sunset turned to darkness, the roar of motorbikes drowned him
out. Teens with menacing looks stared down Galdarraga, forcing him to
cut the tour short. The killings have returned, he warned, as have
worries for his son.

"Medellmn did change, and it's still changing for the better," he
said. "I tell my son we have to be patient and we must not stop
believing. But, yes, all it took was a little scratching to reveal
the ugly truth: The culture of violence remains just beneath us."