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    The Revolutionary Power of a Skein of Yarn

    Not long ago, Michelle Obama posted a black-and-white photo of herself on Instagram, cozy in an armchair, a nearby side table displaying an adorable baby pic of Malia and Sasha. She is barefoot, dressed in wide-legged jeans and a satin shirt, smiling widely as she looks down … at her knitting. “Every time I tell people how much I love to knit,” she writes in the caption, “They seem so surprised!”And I thought, why?I suspect it’s because knitters, unlike Mrs. Obama, are presumed to be aging ungracefully: prim, elderly (probably white) ladies rocking away on the porch in cultural irrelevance. Before I refute that — yarn lovers come in all ages, genders, sexualities and races — I want to ask, even if it were true, so what? The dismissal, the reflexive derision of women from midlife onward — especially if we stop chasing social media standards of beauty — is a nasty form of ageist sexism.Besides, that imagined innocuousness can be a strength, even a superpower. Knitting is considered a “craft,” one you begin by “casting on,” evoking spells and witchery, a kind of practical magic. What greater sorcery is there, really, than making something, whether turning raw fiber to thread or raw flour to bread or engaging in the ultimate creative act: conjuring new humans from nowhere at all?Our needles have also been a sharp political tool, wielded to fight injustice, to express both patriotism and protest, especially when other outlets were forbidden. No matter how you ended up feeling about those pink pussyhats, it was no accident that women’s first collective act of dissent after the election of President Donald Trump was to knit.Back in the days of the American Revolution, women’s boycotts of British cloth in favor of “homespun,” and their defiant public “spinning bees” were at least as instrumental in the fight for independence as the spilling of all that tea. Molly “Old Mom” Rinker, one of the era’s fabled spies, reportedly tucked bits of information about British troop movements into balls of yarn. Who would suspect an aging matron, placidly knitting socks at a scenic overlook, of tossing message-laced skeins to the patriots? Knitting’s benign reputation allowed her to subvert the very conventions she appeared to uphold.The French had their “tricoteuses,” which translates to women knitters (they have a word for that!), particularly those who, during the Reign of Terror, sat before the guillotines bearing grim witness to public executions. You may recall Madame Defarge from “A Tale of Two Cities,” whose stitches formed a Reaper’s roster of the condemned. Her real-life counterparts were equally complex, a mix of feminist hero and vengeful villain. Many (presumably savoring l’ironie) were said to knit liberty caps as the heads rolled: those red, conical hats with the point folded forward that represented freedom from tyranny. Marianne, a national symbol of France, is often depicted in a liberty cap. So, for reasons I cannot determine, is Papa Smurf.Sojourner Truth offered a different twist on yarn and femininity during the Civil War, posing for photographs with her knitting, a nod to her belief that education and industry were the key to her community’s advancement. Decades later, when troops in World War I were dying by the tens of thousands from an epidemic of trench foot, caused by persistently wet toes, it was knitters to the rescue. The best defense was to change your socks — a lot — but factories of the time couldn’t handle the load, so home crafters produced them. I’m not saying we won that war because of women’s knitting, but I’m not sure we would’ve won without it.Another activist first lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, was rarely without her knitting and began the Knit for Defense campaign during World War II. Similarly to Old Mom Rinker, female spies of the time used knitting as cover, one even parachuting behind enemy lines, then using her needles to transport secret code.Today’s public knitters — and crocheters — are arguably more radical, perhaps in part because making something with your own hands almost by definition pushes back against dehumanizing technology and consumer culture. Knitters have mobilized against nuclear proliferation and the decimation of coral reefs. They have made blankets to welcome refugees; crafted tiny sweaters to save oil spill-damaged penguins; knit “temperature scarves” whose rows and colors document climate change; stitched for racial justice; sent handmade uteri to Congress in support of abortion rights (an especially apt political statement, since knitting needles were notoriously used, to women’s peril, in back-alley abortions). During the second Iraq war, a knitter in Denmark swathed a tank in a massive, homey knit blanket. The Russian feminist punk group Pussy Riot famously masked their identities beneath brightly colored, knit balaclavas while performing songs such as “Putin’s Pissed Himself” and “Kill the Sexist.”Do such acts of “craftivism” ultimately make a difference? I can’t say. But I do believe that change starts with personal reflection, followed by connection to like-minded others, and, finally, engagement in repeated, targeted collective action. The conversations our projects inspire can jump-start that process, one stitch at a time.In that spirit, I’d like to see knitters, perhaps led by Mrs. Obama, next aim their needles at the fashion industry, pushing for the kind of large-scale overhaul here that is beginning in the European Union: an unprecedented series of measures addressing the catastrophic environmental and social impact involved in the making and disposal of our clothing. The goal by 2030 is for all textiles sold in that market to be, among other things, reparable, recyclable, often made from recycled fibers that are free from hazardous chemicals and produced with respect for labor rights.It’s a necessary start. Fashion is responsible for more greenhouse gasses than international flights and maritime shipping combined, not to mention a fifth of global plastics and trillions of microfibers: tiny plastic threads shed by clothing when laundered that have become one of the biggest threats to the ocean. Treatment of the industry’s largely female work force in Asia, long a human rights concern, has deteriorated so badly since the pandemic that some activists now refer to it as the “garment industrial trauma complex.” Not so pretty.This would be a natural fit for those who value the materials, skill and care that go into our garments. Besides, people who think about the ethics and planetary cost of what they put into their bodies ought to extend that “omnivore’s dilemma” to what they put onto them.Knitters might consider yarn-bombing the New York State Legislature (we like a little levity with our lobbying), where the recently-amended Fashion Act aims to hold large companies accountable for their environmental and labor practices. Or perhaps support the FABRIC Act, sponsored by Senator Kirsten Gillibrand, which includes increased safety and wage protections for American piece workers, for whom handicraft is decidedly not a luxury.So yes, knitting can be meditative, it can be relaxing, it may reduce vulnerability to dementia, anxiety and high blood pressure. It also results (if you’re lucky) in some pretty nice stuff. And maybe the demographic does still skew toward the older and the female. But why not embrace that?Because Michelle and the rest of us aging ladies? We don’t have to just sit and rock; we can rock it.Peggy Orenstein (@peggyorenstein) is the author of “Unraveling: What I Learned About Life While Shearing Sheep, Dyeing Wool, and Making the World’s Ugliest Sweater.”The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram. More

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    Colombia’s First Black Vice President Spotlights Afro-Caribbean Fashion

    The wardrobe of Francia Márquez, Colombia’s first Black vice president, is the creation of a young designer at the center of an Afro-Colombian fashion explosion.CALI, Colombia — At a premier fashion event in the coastal city of Buenaventura this year, a pair of towering models strutted down the boardwalk, one in a red minidress with a fluted top inspired by an open seashell and the other wearing a blue-and-gold gown fit for a modern queen.The models were Black and the fabrics imported from Africa — unusual for a major fashion show in Colombia. But what most distinguished them was the designer himself: Esteban Sinisterra Paz, a 23-year-old university student with no formal design training who is at the center of an Afro-Colombian fashion explosion.“Decolonization of the human being,” is the aim of his work, he said, along with showing the world an expansive view of “the elegance of identity.”Mr. Sinisterra is the man behind the wardrobe of Francia Márquez, an environmental activist and lawyer who on Sunday will become Colombia’s first Black vice president.The wardrobe of Francia Márquez, who on Sunday will become Colombia’s first Black vice president, is largely designed Mr. Sinisterra, a 23-year-old social work student with no formal design training who is at the center of an Afro-Colombian fashion explosion.Federico Rios for The New York TimesIn a nation where race and class often define a person’s status, Ms. Márquez, 40, has made a remarkable leap from profound poverty to the presidential palace, emerging as the voice of millions of poor, Black and Indigenous Colombians.In a matter of months, she has not only pushed racism and classism to the center of the national conversation, she has also revolutionized the country’s political aesthetic, rejecting starched shirts and suits in favor of a distinctly Afro-Colombian look that she calls a form of rebellion.Natural hair. Bold prints. Dresses that highlight her curves.But Ms. Márquez and Mr. Sinisterra are just the most visible ambassadors of an Afro-Colombian aesthetic boom that proponents say is part of a larger movement demanding greater respect for millions of Black Colombians.Mr. Sinisterra with some of the pieces that he uses to create a distinctly Afro-Colombian look.Nathalia Angarita for The New York TimesIn a nation where 40 percent of households live on less than $100 a month — a percentage that has grown during the pandemic — Afro-Colombians are among the poorest groups, with the regions where they predominate, including the Pacific Coast, some of the most neglected by generations of politicians.Officially, Black Colombians make up between 6 to 9 percent of the population. But many say that is an undercount that perpetuates a lack of recognition.“Colonization tried to erase Black people,” said Lia Samantha Lozano, 41, who began outfitting her hip-hop and reggae band, Voodoo Souljahs, in African fabrics more than a decade ago, positioning her as a pioneer in the movement.In 2014, she became the first Black woman with a runway show at Colombiamoda, the country’s biggest fashion event. Today, politically oriented Afro-descendant brands have proliferated on the internet, and in shops across Cali, a major hub of Afro-Colombian culture, with Black celebrities, models, politicians and activists increasingly using clothing as a political tool. And the Petronio Álvarez Festival, an annual celebration of Afro-Colombian culture that draws hundreds of thousands of people to Cali, has emerged as the movement’s fashion week. Ms. Lozano now sells a bright, hip-hop inspired line at a major shopping mall in the capital of Bogotá.“A big part of the plan was to make us feel ashamed of who we are, of our colors, of our culture, of our features,” she went on. “To wear this every day, not as ‘fashion,’ not to dress up for a special occasion, but as a way of life, as something you want to communicate every day — yes, it is political. And, yes, it is a symbol of resistance.”Mr. Sinisterra at a fashion show in Buenaventura with a model wearing one of his designs, which he called “Royal Imperialism.”Augusto GalloAmong the movement’s signatures are bright patterned fabrics called wax, which are wildly popular across West, East and Central Africa and famous for telling stories and sending messages through their pictures and designs. (Prints can celebrate everything from pop culture to religion and politics, featuring tubes of lipstick, the faces of religious figures or portraits of politicians and celebrities.)Afro-Colombian aesthetic often references nature — Mr. Sinisterra has a dress with sleeves like wings inspired by Colombia’s famous butterflies — and can incorporate elaborate beaded jewelry and woven bags by artists from Colombia’s many Indigenous communities.The movement’s leaders include not just Ms. Márquez, but also Emilia Eneyda Valencia Murraín, 62, a mentor of Mr. Sinisterra’s who in 2004 started Weaving Hope, a multiday celebration of Black hair in Cali.Emilia Eneyda Valencia Murraín, 62, is a mentor of Mr. Sinisterra’s.Nathalia Angarita for The New York TimesColombia’s sartorial moment is years, many would say centuries, in the making, drawing on activism in Latin America, Africa and the United States; the baggy street style of hip-hop and the sparkly astral vibes of Afrofuturism; the turbans of Colombian market women; the mermaid silhouettes of Senegal and Nigeria; and even the influence of Michelle Obama, who famously used clothing to make political statements.The aesthetic is also expansive and fluid, including everyday clothing — like tunics from the brand Baobab by Consuelo Cruz Arboleda — and showpieces like Mr. Sinisterra’s Royal Imperialism, a tight, ruffled strapless gown whose grandeur he said embodies the modern-day cultural empire that the descendants of Africa have constructed in the Colombian Pacific.“We are transforming the image that we have of power,” said Edna Liliana Valencia, 36, a popular Afro-Colombian journalist, poet and activist.Edna Liliana Valencia is an Afro-Colombian journalist, poet and activist.Nathalia Angarita for The New York TimesMr. Sinisterra is among this movement’s newest stars. Born into a poor family in the small town of Santa Bárbara de Iscuandé, near the Pacific Ocean, his family was forcibly displaced by armed men when he was 5, among the millions of Colombians victimized by the country’s decades-long internal conflict.In the nearby town of Guapi, and later in the port city of Buenaventura, Mr. Sinisterra learned to sew from his aunt and grandmother, whom he called “the designers of the neighborhood.”“Esteban African,” he said of his clothing line, “began out of a necessity to bring money home.”Mr. Sinisterra wanted to study fashion, but his father thought that was only for girls, so he entered university as a social work student.But he began building a name designing increasingly elaborate pieces for a growing list of customers, finding inspiration online and selling his work on Instagram and Facebook. Then, in 2019, Ms. Márquez called. She had been referred to him by a mutual friend and needed an outfit. Mr. Sinisterra is in his seventh of eight semesters at university. When he’s not in class, he sews the vice president’s outfits in a windowless room in his small apartment in Cali. His boyfriend, Andrés Mena, 27, is a former nurse who switched careers to become general manager of Esteban African.Mr. Sinisterra with his boyfriend, Andrés Mena, left.Nathalia Angarita For The New York TimesAmong the brand’s best known items are two pairs of earrings. One features the map of Colombia, etched with its 32 departments. A second looks like two gold orbs meant to evoke the mining pans Ms. Márquez used as a child miner in the mountains of Cauca, near the Pacific Coast, long before she became a household name.Ms. Márquez once slept on a dirt floor beside her siblings. She later worked as a live-in maid to support her children, went to law school and eventually won a prize known as the environmental Nobel.In an interview, she called Mr. Sinisterra’s work a critical part of her political identity. “He’s showing young people that they can succeed, using their talent, they can get ahead,” she said.Mr. Sinisterra has never been to Africa. A visit is his dream, along with studying fashion in Paris and “building a school where the children of the Pacific can have alternatives,” he said, “and their parents, unlike mine, will not think that sewing and cutting and making clothes is only for girls.”Today, he said, his father is proud of his work.Lately, he has been barraged by media and customer requests, and he manages his newfound fame by working around the clock.One day in July, barefoot and sweating, he laid a pair of fabrics on the floor, cut them freehand, then stitched them together using a new Jinthex sewing machine he’d bought with his now improving wages. He was making another dress for Ms. Márquez.On Election Day in June, he outfitted her in kente cloth, a Ghanaian print whose interlocking lines evoke basket weavings, to symbolize vote collection.Ms. Márquez wearing a kente cloth dress on Election Day in June.Federico Rios for The New York TimesThe dress had a ruffle down the front, representing the rivers in Ms. Márquez’s home region, and the jacket on her shoulders, all white, symbolized peace, he said, “in this country so torn up by political postures.”He’s made three outfits for inauguration day. “Whichever she chooses is fine with me,” he said.As he ironed the newly stitched piece, he said he was both excited and anxious about Ms. Márquez’s ascension to power.In the last few months, he has come to feel like a part of her political project, and she has made enormous promises to transform the country after decades of injustice.“The responsibility is going to grow,” he said.“My responsibility, Francia’s responsibility, backing this process so that the people — our people — don’t feel betrayed.” More

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    Francia Márquez lleva la moda afro a Palacio en Colombia

    El guardarropa de Francia Márquez, la primera vicepresidenta negra del país, es creación de un joven diseñador que protagoniza la explosión de la moda afrocolombiana.CALI, Colombia — En un destacado evento de moda en la ciudad costera de Buenaventura este año, un par de altísimas modelos se lucían en la pasarela ataviadas con un minivestido de torso acanalado inspirado en una concha marina abierta y un atuendo azul marino con dorado digno de una reina moderna.Las modelos eran negras y las telas habían sido importadas de África, algo inusual para un gran evento de moda en Colombia. Pero lo que más destacaba era el diseñador: Esteban Sinisterra Paz, un estudiante universitario de 23 años sin formación profesional en diseño que protagoniza la explosión de la moda afrocolombiana.El objetivo de su trabajo es la “decolonialidad del ser”, dijo Sinisterra. Así como mostrarle al mundo una visión más amplia de “la elegancia de la identidad”.Sinisterra es el hombre detrás del guardarropa de Francia Márquez, la abogada y activista ambiental que el domingo se convertirá en la primera vicepresidenta negra de Colombia.El guardarropa de Francia Márquez, que se convertirá en la primera vicepresidenta negra de Colombia, es diseñado en gran medida por Sinisterra, un estudiante universitario de 23 años que no tiene formación en diseño y que protagoniza la explosión de la moda afrocolombiana.Federico Rios para The New York TimesEn un país donde la raza y la clase a menudo definen el estatus de una persona, Márquez, de 40 años, ha dado un notable salto de la pobreza profunda al palacio presidencial para convertirse en la voz de millones de colombianos pobres, negros e indígenas.En cuestión de meses, no solo ha llevado el racismo y el clasismo al centro del debate nacional, también ha revolucionado la estética política del país al rechazar las blusas y sastres almidonados en favor de un look distintivamente afrocolombiano que ella considera una forma de rebelión.Pelo natural. Estampados audaces. Vestidos que destacan sus curvas.Pero Márquez y Sinisterra solo son los embajadores más visibles del auge de una estética afrocolombiana que, según sus partidarios, se inserta en un movimiento más amplio que exige respeto para millones de colombianos negros.Sinisterra con algunas de las piezas que usa para crear una apariencia distintivamente afrocolombiana.Nathalia Angarita para The New York TimesEn un país donde 40 por ciento de los hogares vive con menos de 100 dólares al mes —un porcentaje que ha crecido durante la pandemia— los afrocolombianos se ubican entre los grupos más pobres, y las regiones donde predominan, entre ellas la costa Pacífico, son algunas de las más olvidadas por los políticos.Oficialmente, los colombianos negros constituyen entre el 6 y el 9 por ciento de la población. Pero hay quienes dicen que se trata de un sub registro que perpetúa la falta de reconocimiento.“La colonización pretendía acabar con la gente negra”, dijo Lía Samantha Lozano, de 41 años, quien empezó a vestir a su banda de hip-hop y reggae, Voodoo Souljahs, con textiles africanos hace más de una década, posicionándose como pionera del movimiento.En 2014 se convirtió en la primera mujer negra con un desfile de pasarela en Colombiamoda, el principal evento de moda del país.Hoy abundan en internet las marcas afrodescendientes de orientación política y en boutiques por todo Cali, un gran centro de cultura afrocolombiana. Cada vez hay más celebridades, modelos, políticos y activistas negros que usan el guardarropa como una herramienta política. Y el Festival Petronio Álvarez, una celebración anual de la cultura afrocolombiana que atrae a cientos de miles de asistentes a Cali, se ha convertido en la principal semana de la moda del movimiento.Lozano ahora ofrece una línea colorida de inspiración hiphopera en un gran centro comercial de la capital, Bogotá.“Y gran parte de ese plan era que nosotros mismos nos sintiéramos avergonzados de lo que somos, de nuestros colores, de nuestra cultura, de nuestros rasgos”, continuó. “Llevar esto todos los días, no por una moda, no por disfrazarse para un evento especial, sino como un estilo de vida, como parte de lo que quieres comunicar todos los días, sí lo hace político. Y sí es un símbolo de resistencia”.Sinisterra en un desfile de moda en Buenaventura con una modelo ataviada con uno de sus diseños, “Imperialismo Real”.Augusto GalloEntre los elementos insignia del movimiento está el wax, esos textiles de patrones radiantes, tremendamente populares en África Oriental, Occidental y Central, y conocidos porque cuentan historias y envían mensajes a través de sus diseños e imágenes. (Los estampados pueden homenajear de todo: desde la cultura pop hasta la religión y la política y mostrar labiales, rostros de figuras religiosas o retratos de políticos y celebridades).La estética afrocolombiana a menudo hace referencia a la naturaleza —Sinisterra tiene un vestido con mangas como alas, inspiradas en las famosas mariposas colombianas— y puede incorporar joyería intrincada de chaquiras y bolsos tejidos elaborados por artistas de las muchas comunidades indígenas de Colombia.El liderazgo del movimiento no solo recae en Márquez, sino también en Emilia Eneyda Valencia Murraín, de 62 años y mentora de Sinisterra, quien en 2004 lanzó Tejiendo Esperanzas, una celebración del pelo negro que tiene lugar en Cali y dura varios días.Emilia Eneyda Valencia Murraín, de 62 años, mentora de SinisterraNathalia Angarita para The New York TimesEste momento sartorial en Colombia venía gestándose desde hace años, muchos dirán siglos, y se nutre del activismo en América Latina, África y Estados Unidos; del estilo holgado y urbano del hiphop y las ondas astrales brillantes del afrofuturismo; los turbantes de las mujeres en los mercados colombianos; las siluetas de sirena de Senegal y Nigeria e incluso de la influencia de Michelle Obama, quien célebremente usó su vestimenta para expresar posturas políticas.La estética también es amplia y fluida e incluye ropa de diario —como las túnicas de la marca Baobab de Consuelo Cruz Arboleda— y piezas de fantasía como Imperialismo Real, un vestido de noche creación de Sinisterra strapless, ajustado y con volantes cuya grandeza, según él, encarna el imperio cultural moderno que los descendientes de África han construido en el Pacífico colombiano.“Estamos transformando la imagen que tenemos del poder”, dijo Edna Liliana Valencia, de 36 años, una popular periodista, poeta y activista afrocolombiana.Edna Liliana Valencia, activista, poeta y periodista afrocolombianaNathalia Angarita para The New York TimesSinisterra está entre las más nuevas estrellas de este movimiento. Nacido en una familia pobre en la pequeña ciudad de Santa Bárbara de Iscuandé, cerca del océano Pacífico, su familia fue desplazada a la fuerza por hombres armados cuando él tenía 5 años, al igual que tantos millones de víctimas del prolongado conflicto interno del país.En el cercano pueblo de Guapi, y más tarde en la ciudad portuaria de Buenaventura, Sinisterra aprendió a coser con su tía y su abuela, a las que llamaba “las diseñadoras del barrio”.“Esteban African”, dijo sobre su línea de ropa, “nace de esa necesidad de poder aportar ingresos a mi casa”.Sinisterra quería estudiar moda, pero su padre pensaba que eso era solo para chicas, así que entró a la universidad como estudiante de trabajo social.Pero comenzó a hacerse de un nombre al diseñar piezas cada vez más elaboradas para una lista creciente de clientas, encontrando inspiración en internet y vendiendo su trabajo a través de Instagram y Facebook. Entonces, en 2019, Márquez lo llamó. Una amistad en común se lo había recomendado y necesitaba un traje.Sinisterra cursa el séptimo de ocho semestres en la universidad. Cuando no está en clases, cose los trajes de la vicepresidenta en una habitación sin ventanas de su pequeño apartamento en Cali. Su novio, Andrés Mena, de 27 años, es un exenfermero que cambió de profesión para convertirse en director general de Esteban African.Sinisterra con su  novio, Andrés Mena, a la izquierdaNathalia Angarita para The New York TimesEntre los artículos más conocidos de la marca hay dos pares de aretes. Uno de ellos muestra el mapa de Colombia, con sus 32 departamentos grabados. El segundo simula dos orbes de oro, concebido para evocar las bateas mineras que Márquez usaba de niña en las montañas del Cauca, cerca de la costa del Pacífico, mucho antes de convertirse en una figura conocida.Márquez alguna vez durmió en un suelo de tierra junto a sus hermanos. Más tarde trabajó como empleada doméstica para mantener a sus hijos, estudió derecho y acabó ganando un premio conocido como el Nobel del medio ambiente.En una entrevista, calificó el trabajo de Sinisterra como una parte fundamental de su identidad política. “Le muestra a la juventud que se puede”, dijo, “usando su talento se puede salir adelante”.Sinisterra nunca ha estado en África. Sueña con ir, así como estudiar moda en París y “montar una escuela donde los jóvenes del Pacífico tengan alternativas”, señaló, “y los papás, no como el mío, no piensen que solamente coser, cortar y hacer ropa es de chicas”.Hoy, contó, su padre está orgulloso de su trabajo.Últimamente, los medios de comunicación y los clientes lo bombardean, y él gestiona su nueva fama trabajando las 24 horas del día.Un día de julio, descalzo y sudoroso, puso un par de telas en el suelo, las cortó a mano alzada y luego las hilvanó con una nueva máquina de Jinthex que había comprado con sus mejorados ingresos. Estaba haciendo otro vestido para Márquez.El día de las elecciones, en junio, la vistió con tela kente, un estampado ghanés cuyas líneas entrelazadas evocan los tejidos de las cestas, para simbolizar la recolección de los votos.Márquez con un vestido en kente el día de las elecciones presidencialesFederico Rios para The New York TimesEl vestido tenía un volante en la parte delantera, que representaba los ríos de la región natal de Márquez, y la chaqueta sobre los hombros, toda blanca, simbolizaba la paz, explicó, “en este país que está tan desintegrado por las posturas políticas”.Ha confeccionado tres trajes para el día de la toma de posesión. “La que ella decida para mí está bien”, aseguró.Mientras planchaba la pieza recién ensamblada, dijo que estaba a la vez emocionado y ansioso por el ascenso de Márquez al poder.En los últimos meses, ha llegado a sentirse parte de su proyecto político, y ella ha hecho enormes promesas para transformar el país tras décadas de injusticia.“La responsabilidad va a crecer”, dijo.“Mi responsabilidad, la de Francia, respaldando el proceso en que la gente —nuestra gente— no se sienta engañada”.Julie Turkewitz es jefa del buró de los Andes, que cubre Colombia, Venezuela, Bolivia, Ecuador, Perú, Surinam y Guyana. Antes de mudarse a América del Sur, fue corresponsal de temas nacionales y cubrió el oeste de Estados Unidos. @julieturkewitz More