MARTIN SCHNAPP PHOTOGRAPHY

Foreword

On my journey through Colombia, I found myself in Medellín. Medellín's San Javier district, also known simply as Comuna 13, was once notorious as one of the most dangerous places in the entire country—today it is considered a symbol of change. While visiting the neighborhood, I met Yolanda Ramírez, a woman who survived the darkest years. What she told me felt like encountering a truth a truth you'll never find on a postcard. What was meant to be a brief stop became a deep encounter with the past. And so this account of what lies hidden was born.

OUR WALLS ARE STILL SCREAMING

by Martin Schnapp, published on 30-04-2025

Medellín, Colombia - When Yolanda Ramírez walks through her neighborhood, gazes follow her. Some admiring, some grateful, some cautious. But everyone knows: This woman carries stories with her – painfully seared into their memories and unforgettable. Stories of gunshots in the night, of violence and terror, of missing brothers, and of walls that must tell their stories because people couldn't for a long time.

Welcome to Comuna 13 – once the most dangerous neighborhood in the world's most dangerous city, today a magnet for street art tourists and a symbol of resistance, healing, and survival after terror.

Comuna 13 lies like an amphitheater on the mountain slopes in western Medellín. Colorful houses cling tightly to one another. A labyrinth of streets and alleys crisscrosses the neighborhood. It appears idyllic and peaceful. But the residents remember: Everything here was shaped by violence and terror, by flight, fear, and death. Yolanda Ramírez grew up here. Born in 1988, in the midst of a collective trauma.

Between Bullets and Slogans

The 1980s and 90s.

One name dominates everything: Pablo Escobar. The "patrón" of cocaine. Drug lord. Mass murderer. And for many: benefactor. "He gave us a soccer field," Yolanda says today. "And at the same time, fear, so deep that it was no longer noticed." Escobar uses the topography of Comuna 13 strategically: difficult for authorities to access, crisscrossed by escape routes, easily controlled through money, fear—and violence. Murder is commonplace. Silence became a means of survival.

But with Escobar's death in 1993, there was not peace, but a turning point. Other groups now advanced into the power vacuum.

FARC and ELN, armed left-wing guerrilla organizations fighting the Colombian state, took control. They exploited the government's weakness, effectively establishing a parallel power: with checkpoints, child soldiers, and extortion.

"They said they were for the people. They came at night. Always at night. And they took whomever they wanted. Some came back – with guns. Others never."

Yolanda's oldest brother was also recruited by them – voluntarily, it is said. But in Comuna 13, nothing is truly voluntary.

A new escalation follows: right-wing paramilitary groups, often covertly financed by economic elites and with the support of state circles, move in to drive out the guerrillas. But in their eyes, the population is also suspect. Anyone can be targeted. The terror is now two-sided – and omnipresent. "We were afraid of everyone. The police, the guerrillas, the paramilitaries. No one came to protect us. Only to control us."

Hell Wears Camouflage

October 16, 2002.

Yolanda is 14 when Operation Orión begins. The government under President Álvaro Uribe orders the assault on Comuna 13. The goal: to drive out the guerrillas. Reality: an urban battlefield.

"We heard helicopters. Then explosions. We stayed under the bed for three days. I covered my sister's ears, but it didn't help. The gunfire was everywhere."

Over 1,000 soldiers marched in. Special forces. Snipers on the hills. Helicopters circled over the rooftops. Houses were stormed. People were abducted. The operation lasted several days. Official number of missing: unknown. Unofficially, human rights organizations put the number at more than 300. The government calls it a victory. Residents call it a massacre. For Yolanda, it's a new low of powerlessness.

Many today suspect that they were buried in mass graves beneath the La Escombrera garbage heap. "Maybe my brother too. I still don’t know. I’ve been waiting 23 years."

The color after the fire

After the blood, came a standstill. Yolanda begins to paint. First small pictures, then faces, portraits of the missing. Out of grief. Out of defiance. And then: out of conviction. She joins the hip-hop collective Casa Kolacho. A group of young people fighting against being forgotten with spray cans, rhymes, and beats. No heroes—just survivors who have rediscovered their voices. "Our art isn’t decoration. It is our history." Graffiti becomes a public archive. Every image is an act of remembrance. "We don't have monuments," says Yolanda. "So we build them ourselves."

The city recognizes the neighborhood's potential. And then something unique happens.

The Escalator to the Future

2011.

In the middle of Comuna 13, something is being built that seems like a futuristic alien object: free-standing escalators, over six floors, across the slum. The idea seems absurd – but it changes everything. Suddenly, the comuna is no longer isolated, but connected.

"Finally, we could get down to the city without climbing. Finally, we were seen."

The escalators attract tourists. And with them: lights, cameras, perspective.



Yolanda begins giving tours. She talks about Escobar, Orión, her brother. And about the art that remained when nothing else was left. "Comuna 13 wasn't saved. Comuna 13 saved itself," she says. Then she stops.

Next to her is a mural: the portrait of a young woman, looking forward, determined, hopeful, confident. It seems as if she wants to say that something better is coming. Yolanda stares motionless at the mural. For a moment, it's as if she's looking at herself. "They wanted to silence us," she says later. "But our walls still scream. For those no one can hear anymore."

And while tourists turn around, take photos, gather memories, Yolanda Ramírez pauses for a moment. Alone. And vigilant. Because she knows: The pain remains. But so does the memory.

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