Johnny’s Newsletter

“I can’t tell if I’m a king or I’m a pauper.” — Can’t Stop, The Red Hot Chili Peppers Locals from Bed-Stuy aren’t especially fond of recent colonizing transplants. As a prep-school kid from the D.C. suburbs, I am more or less the poster child of gentrification. Shortly after I moved here in 2022, an elderly woman on my block invited me to “leave—and take all your little friends with you.” Four years later, my standing in the neighborhood has improved.

Arrived in Cali, euphoric after surviving the turmoil in southern Colombia “Listen, Johnny, I don’t know what to tell you…” Alex said ruefully, pulling me away from the group. “We are going to pay a truck to take us to the roadblock. The guerrilleros are there. They won’t bother us Colombians, but for you…” He didn’t need to elaborate on the risk of kidnapping—or worse. This was rural Cauca, the heart of Colombia’s Zona Roja, the guerrilla-controlled territory.