Of Tigers, Hearts, and Masculinities

A tiger, a military gesture, and the Colombian flag are some of the symbols that Abelardo de la Espriella has used during his presidential campaign. In his posters, he appears staring fixedly at the horizon with an unperturbed expression. His body conveys control. His posture suggests vigilance. He does not smile. He does not doubt. He has eyes, but he does not see. He extends his ears, but he does not listen. He has touch, but he does not feel.

After the first presidential round, many people were surprised, because what for months seemed to be merely a media extravagance ended up becoming a political tide capable of mobilizing ten million Colombians. The question in this case is not only who Abelardo de la Espriella is, but what desires, fears, and expectations he manages to represent. I am particularly interested in a paradox. How does a figure who at different moments has been perceived as distant from the country’s everyday cultural expressions, who has shown himself to be a violent figure and has committed sexist acts, manage to embody an idea of nationhood for millions of people? Why do so many Colombians find in him a legitimate representation of their aspirations?

As he himself has insisted, he is a lawyer, but one who has profited from defending “the bad guys.” He was the defense attorney of Álvaro Javier Gámez Torres, evangelical pastor of the Salem Church in Pasto, accused in 2012 by 23 women of having committed sexual crimes, abusive sexual intercourse, and rape through psychological and spiritual manipulation. During the public hearings, De la Espriella argued that the sexual relations had been consensual and stated verbatim: “That these women are social climbers is not a legal problem.” Additionally, the law firm of the current presidential candidate represented Alex Saab, investigated in Colombia for money laundering and internationally identified as Nicolás Maduro’s main front man. And in 2004, he appeared as legal adviser to several commanders of the AUC during negotiations with the government of then-President Álvaro Uribe.

Moreover, during his campaign several episodes have occurred that have revealed the candidate’s sexist character. Of these, there were two that captured media attention. The first occurred at the radio station Piso 8 FM. During the interview, the candidate took out his cellphone showing a photograph of himself and stated that with it he had won “some pretty cool votes from the female electorate.” Immediately afterward, he extended the cellphone toward the only female journalist at the table, Laura Rodríguez, insisting that she stare fixedly at the image where his intimate parts were visible. De la Espriella pressed her, saying verbatim: “What do you see here, darling? Bring it closer and tell me what you see there. Zoom in… No, my love, what else do you see? Don’t be shy.” Following the incident, the 129th Municipal Criminal Court of Bogotá concluded that the candidate’s attitude and expressions reproduced gender stereotypes, and he was formally required to retract his statements and publicly apologize for what had happened.

The other episode occurred during a live television interview with María Lucia “Malú” Fernández, a well-known journalist from Noticias Caracol. During the interview, Fernández asked him a question based on previous statements made by the lawyer regarding his views on ethics, morality, and the practice of law. Malú asked: “If ethics has nothing to do with the law, in a possible government of yours, can one govern without ethics?” The candidate, with furrowed brows, chin raised, and hands fluttering, looked at Malú and told her he would explain a philosophical discussion that he had not invented. I quote: “The question comes with its poison. You don’t understand it because you haven’t studied law or legal philosophy… Ignorance is daring, and forgive me, because if you had done your research, you would know…” De la Espriella not only disqualified the journalist’s knowledge and professional trajectory for asking the question, but, as on other occasions, incurred in a phenomenon widely documented by feminist movements: mansplaining, which refers to the action in which a man explains something to a woman—usually with a condescending and paternalistic attitude—falsely assuming that she knows nothing about the subject and when no explanation has been requested.

On the other side of the road: a heart formed by the thumb and index finger is the most visible symbol of Iván Cepeda’s presidential campaign. In his posters, he appears looking straight ahead, with a serene and kind expression. His slogans—”The Power of Truth” and “We’re Betting on Life”—reinforce a political image built around care, honesty, and hope. His body does not convey vigilance or physical strength. He smiles. He listens. He waits.

Analyzing Cepeda’s public appearances is to think about a politics of a different rhythm. He has built an image associated with pause, deliberation, and serenity. His interventions rarely appeal to direct confrontation; rather, they suggest a disposition toward dialogue and listening.

The son of Manuel Cepeda Vargas—a senator from the Patriotic Union assassinated in 1994—he founded the National Movement of Victims of State Crimes and has focused much of his career on the pursuit of justice regarding events that occurred during the armed conflict. He has defended human rights, demonstrating his commitment to a negotiated solution to war and advocating for progressive policies. During his career as senator, he led historic political oversight debates on the links between drug trafficking, political leaders, and paramilitarism in Colombia.

At the same time, he has promoted legal proceedings against former President Álvaro Uribe Vélez for alleged bribery in criminal proceedings and procedural fraud, a case in which the Supreme Court declared him a formal victim. He has remained close to social and youth movements in Colombia, defending social protest as a legitimate means of citizen participation. One of his political banners for a possible government is, furthermore, respect for diversity in its many expressions.

In the interviews he has given during his campaign, Cepeda has remained calm. He does not raise his voice or interrupt his interviewer, and in the face of the sexist episodes carried out by his opponent, he has openly expressed his rejection and called for the overthrow of patriarchy. He has also appeared on digital channels aimed at young audiences, where he is shown smiling and even using some symbols associated with K-pop.

The electoral support received by De la Espriella cannot be explained solely by his government proposals. His success also reveals the persistence of a particular way of understanding male leadership in Colombia. A masculinity that associates authority with strength, security with control, and the capacity to govern with a willingness to confront. De la Espriella embodies a hegemonic and heteronormative masculinity, willing to “tear apart” anyone who thinks or speaks differently from him.

Despite decades of armed conflict, political violence, and drug trafficking, a significant part of the population continues to place its hopes in a figure who promises order through violence, who promises to resolve conflicts and improve security in the country with even more violence—a strategy that, thanks to extensive research conducted in the country and institutions such as the JEP and the Truth Commission, we know does not solve the problem but rather worsens it. What is worrying is that this promise of a “firm hand” relies on a very specific idea of what it means to be a man: not to doubt, not to listen too much, not to show vulnerability, and to be willing to impose one’s will on others. The support this candidacy has received is an X-ray of accepted masculinity, of the place that part of the country believes men should occupy and, consequently, the place women should occupy.

In contrast, Iván Cepeda’s candidacy seems to rehearse another possibility. Not necessarily the absence of authority, but an authority built from other affective repertoires: listening, dialogue, memory, care, and recognition of difference. It is what we might consider an alternative masculinity, which precisely because it is alternative has received criticism.

It is no coincidence that one of the most frequent objections to his candidacy is the alleged lack of a strategy sufficiently “strong” to confront armed groups and the different expressions of violence that persist in the country. Behind this criticism seems to lie an idea deeply rooted in our political culture: the belief that governing necessarily implies imposing, punishing, or exercising force. The masculinity embodied by Cepeda is unsettling because it challenges that association. It suggests that authority can be built through words and not only through threats.

For that reason, the electoral contest does not only pit two political projects against each other. It also confronts two imaginaries of masculinity. And the outcome of that dispute says as much about the candidates as it does about the country that elects them.