I went to watch this documentary full of apprehension, I had to try and summon the courage to face some old demons. This story for me was personal on many levels. I am Colombian; I grew up in Medellín in the 1980s. I went to school with Andrés Escobar's fiancé. And I was at the Rose Bowl in 1994, when Andrés scored the infamous "auto-goal" in a failed attempt to prevent the ball from going into the net. As I drove to the theater last week, I could feel my emotions gathering up in my chest, and old forgotten wounds felt suddenly brand new. I've tried very hard not to think of that day in June of 1994, but I remember it well. Even though the disappointment was palpable, there was no shame in our defeat. I was proud of our team! It was difficult to feel proud of anything Colombian in those days. Perhaps it was fortunate that I didn't yet know of the insurmountable amount of shame that would fall upon all of us a few days later, on the day Andrés was killed.
I've lived in the U.S. for over 25 years now, and I've learned to suppress pain and anger when both strangers and friends make "funny" drug related comments in my presence. Few non- Colombians have been able to grasp the magnitude of the damage Andrés' senseless murder caused. It wasn't about "bad sportsmanship". This was more than another black mark on our well-tarnished national image. The death of Andrés branded all Colombians as savages, it vanished the role models of millions. It stole the hope of an entire nation. It made us all infamous!
The Two Escobars utterly surprised me. Although the title might suggest an emphasis on the similarities of these two men, it really highlights the vast difference in their moral fiber. Two young American brothers were able to weave this documentary, that eloquently expresses what an entire nation hadn't been able to verbalize in over a decade. The Zimbaslist brothers didn't tell us what happened. They showed us what happened using Colombian footage, using our own words, interviewing the surviving protagonists—villains, heroes, and victims alike. The documentary is well balanced. They not only show the horror of what we Colombians have lived through, but also how far we've come. I am so immensely grateful for this film, and to Michael and Jeff Zimbalist for their commitment to tell a story that wasn't their own. I want to dare everybody I know to go see it, not because it paints my compatriots in a good light, but simply because it is honest and enlightening, and I hope it shatters some tiresome stereotypes. It's important to remember that every time we label something or someone based on a generalization, we betray our own ignorance. Every story has a Pablo Escobar—a despicable characters that makes headline news—but fortunately every story also has someone like Andrés Escobar.
