Cartagena, Colombia – The rooftops that shelter dreams in Cartagena may hide a deadly secret. In nearly every barrio, from the bustling market of Bazurto to the ancient cobblestone streets of the Historic Center, the specter of asbestos hovers quietly above. Seventy percent of the homes in Cartagena are covered in asbestos, a material whose fibers—though invisible—threaten to choke the very breath of life.
There is a deep and painful irony in the knowledge that these roofs, which were meant to protect families, now hang like guillotines above their heads. Asbestos, once praised for its durability and low cost, is now revealed for what it truly is—a slow poison. For decades, its fibers have embedded themselves into the lungs of the innocent, into the earth, into the very waters that weave through this ancient city.
A Legacy of Poison
The use of asbestos is a betrayal that stretches across generations. It is an inheritance of illness, a dowry of death. Manuel Saba, a professor at the University of Cartagena, mapped 11 square kilometers of roofs draped in asbestos, roofs that stretch across 180 barrios, roofs that people touch, roofs that children play beneath. His findings are not mere numbers; they are the silent cries of a city held hostage by a material that the World Health Organization declares carcinogenic.
It was not meant to be this way. Five years ago, the Ana Cecilia Niño Law was passed, its words like a breath of hope. It promised the people of Colombia a future free of asbestos, banning its use, sale, and exploitation. Yet, here we stand, the promises still unfulfilled, and the threat of asbestos remains—its fibers unwinding like threads of fate that bind the people of Cartagena to sickness and despair.
A Debate with Life at Stake
In the capital city of Sibaté, on a quiet Wednesday morning, Senator Nadia Blel stood firm in the face of bureaucratic silence. She carried with her the weight of the millions of Colombians still breathing in asbestos, demanding that the government make good on its promises. Her words were not mere rhetoric; they were a call to arms, a plea for justice, and an acknowledgment that the health of a nation is measured not by its wealth but by the care it gives its people.
Yet, here in Cartagena, it is the people who bear the cost of inaction. The city is wrapped in a cloud of asbestos dust, and the fibers drift silently from roof to rooftop, school to school, market to market. Even the waters of the city are tainted, carrying traces of the deadly material.
Lives Bound by a Name
It was Ana Cecilia Niño who gave her name to the law that promised to rid Colombia of asbestos. Her life was short, her suffering long. Like the fibers of asbestos, her story became intertwined with the lives of those around her—her family, her community, and a nation. She fought for a future where no one else would suffer as she did. And yet, here we are. Millions of tons of asbestos still cling to the buildings across the country, a cruel monument to the inaction of those in power.
Her family, like so many others, knows too well the pain of watching a loved one waste away, their lungs filling with the invisible dust of asbestos. In 2024, a sliver of justice was handed down when Eternit Colombiana S.A. was ordered to pay a $16.5 billion settlement to victims like Ana Cecilia Niño. But no amount of money can bring back the lives that asbestos has stolen.
A Call for Change
The path forward is clear, though littered with obstacles. Replacing the asbestos in Cartagena will not be easy, nor will it be quick. But it is necessary. The alternative is unthinkable. Every breath that draws in the fibers of asbestos is a gamble, a roll of the dice that may one day lead to cancer, asbestosis, or the slow and suffocating death that follows.
Cartagena’s rooftops, once a symbol of shelter, must now become a symbol of change. The Ana Cecilia Niño Law is a promise waiting to be fulfilled. The city must rise, its people must demand the safety that is their right, and the government must answer with action, not silence.
The Urgency of Now
The time for waiting has long passed. The fibers of asbestos do not wait, and neither can we. Every moment of delay is another moment where a child inhales what should not be in the air. Every day is another chance for the fibers to weave themselves into the very fabric of life in Cartagena. It is time for the government to act, time for the people to be heard, and time for the city to breathe freely once again.
Until then, the rooftops of Cartagena will remain as they are—silent but deadly, holding within them the untold stories of those who will one day join the long list of names claimed by asbestos.
