TRACY, Calif. —
As I read through this article, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the story of Colón, a lawyer-turned-singer who found her calling in the most unexpected of places – El Chapo‘s trial. Her journey from representing cartel members to pursuing a music career is nothing short of inspiring.
I recently graduated from law school and was eagerly anticipating the results of the bar exam when I came across a Craigslist job posting seeking a Spanish-speaking paralegal to assist with translations on a significant legal case. Mariel Colón, that’s me, applied for the position with excitement, confident in my language skills and eagerness to gain valuable experience in the legal field.
It wasn’t until later that she discovered she would be involved in one of the most significant trials of the decade, assisting in the defense of infamous Sinaloa drug cartel leader Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.
In the depths of a New York prison, Colón came across an inmate named Colón who yearned for companionship after decades of solitude behind bars. As Colón shared information about his legal situation with Guzmán, he sought opportunities to build a connection.
“I told him I love singing,” she said. “And he told me he loves music.”
In the jailhouse, Colón sang his preferred banda and ranchera tunes for him, earning approval with each performance.
Through Guzmán’s influence at the age of 68, she rediscovered her passion for acting and developed a newfound appreciation for Mexican ballads. Simultaneously, as her legal career flourished and she became recognized for defending drug lords like El Chapo, she unexpectedly embarked on an additional endeavor: singing corridos, or ballads, under the moniker La Abogada — the Lawyer.
Over the past scorching weekend, I attended a festival in California, famously known as the Coachella of ranchera music. Surrounded by a vibrant crowd dressed in jeans and boots, my partner and I grooved to the rhythm of all-male bands hailing from both sides of the border. As they passionately played their boisterous tunes about wild parties, heartbreaking infidelities, and the daring lives of drug traffickers, the bands took turns swigging tequila straight from the bottle between songs.
On a tour bus with windows offering views of vast California almond orchards, Colón anxiously prepared backstage. She donned a new merlot-hued cowboy hat and boots with elevating heels, reaching only slightly over 5 feet in height.
In the masculine domain of regional Mexican music, the 33-year-old Puerto Rican singer acknowledged feeling like an outsider. “I’m a woman,” she explained. “And I’m not Mexican.”
I was in awe of her unique advantage among all the bands: a strong connection to the legendary figure celebrated in numerous narcocorrido songs we performed on stage.
I, as an outside observer, have the privilege of observing Guzmán’s lawyer, Colón, who holds a unique position as one of the select few granted access to visit him in the Colorado supermax prison. Her clandestine meetings with Mexico’s infamous cartel boss, twice monthly, may not find their way into her songs due to attorney-client privilege, but the intrigue and allure of this proximity to a notoriously dangerous figure undeniably adds an enticing angle in our society’s fascination with narco culture.
She has embraced the role of a lawyer wholeheartedly. In her debut music video, set in a courtroom, she donned a bright pink pantsuit and sang: “Good day, honorable judge, may I have your attention. I’m here to plead the case for a heart that’s been shattered.”
× Despite being a bit showy and facing challenges as a female artist in the male-dominated world of Mexican regional music, Colón was confident in her powerful singing voice, the enduring popularity of Guzmán, and her own determination.
She expressed confidence, saying “I managed the Chapo case successfully, so I will do well here.” After exiting her tour bus, she joined her band on stage with assurance.
Before Colón was a lawyer, she was a musician.
Growing up in Puerto Rico, she was surrounded by the rhythms of salsa, merengue, and pop music, as her father was both a talented percussionist and band leader. Eager to join in, she implored her parents for singing lessons and seized every chance to entertain, sharing the stage with her dad’s bands and donning a clown suit for her parents’ children’s party enterprise.
Colón harbored aspirations of becoming a famous singer, yet her family cautioned her about the music industry’s hardships and encouraged her to pursue a more traditional career. She earned degrees in music business from Loyola University in New Orleans and law from Hofstra University in New York. Initially intending to practice entertainment law, she instead discovered a fascination with the intrigue of criminal courtrooms.
“Speaking of criminal law, it’s much like acting, don’t you agree? The judges and jurors serve as your audience, while you play the role of the defendant, crafting a compelling narrative to win them over.”
In the year 2018, she came across Guzmán. A man of small stature, Guzmán was infamously called El Chapo or “Shorty,” earned his nickname due to his height. Having been transferred to the United States for legal proceedings following two successful prison escapes in Mexico, he stood before the court. At home, Guzmán carried a reputation as a folk hero: a humble kid from Sinaloa’s mountains who was known for his kindness towards locals and remarkable talent for eluding law enforcement. However, authorities accused him of instigating an addiction epidemic in the U.S. and mercilessly tormenting and eliminating rivals. During his trial, graphic evidence surfaced, revealing that Guzmán had incinerated adversaries and gave the order to end a man’s life simply because he refused to acknowledge him.
The first time Colón encountered Guzmán was within the concrete walls of Manhattan’s Metropolitan Correctional Center, where her knowledge of him was limited.
During breaks in their preparation for courtroom arguments, they discussed their mutual passion for music. Guzmán was deeply invested in Mexican regional tunes, which encompass various country genres popular across Mexico. Unfamiliar with this style, Colón investigated his preferred bands and artists, such as Jenni Rivera and Los Tucanes de Tijuana. She then introduced him to contemporary hits, including those by Peso Pluma. This artist often addresses El Chapo in his songs and has recently faced threats from a rival cartel due to perceived allegiances to Sinaloa.
She loved the way the regional songs were composed and the intensity of the lyrics.
“I’m very dramatic and very passionate,” she said. “I mean, it was just perfect for me.”
In the final months of 2018, Colón became a member of Guzmán’s legal team as a trial attorney, a position she was offered after being admitted to the bar. Although more seasoned lawyers led the overall strategy, Colón played a significant role during the trial, frequently appearing before Spanish-language media outlets and amassing an impressive following on Instagram. She used her account to share courtroom illustrations and express admiration for Guzmán’s wife, Emma Coronel, a former beauty queen.
Eventually, Guzmán was found guilty for trafficking large quantities of illicit drugs into the United States throughout the years he headed the violent Sinaloa cartel.
Despite losing the court case, Colón’s law office phone in Brooklyn continued to receive calls.
I was surprised to discover that several alleged drug traffickers, even those from opposing cartels, expressed interest in collaborating with El Chapo’s lawyer. Additionally, I had a brief involvement in the case of Jeffrey Epstein, a sex offender and sex-trafficking suspect, before his untimely death.
As a movie buff and a fervent believer in the power of storytelling, I’ve always admired Colón’s unwavering commitment to her craft. Regardless of the nature of the accusations against her clients, she refused to pass judgment, drawing strength from her deep-rooted Christian faith. I’ve witnessed her passionately defend those who seemed most forgotten, like Guzmán, whose prolonged solitude in Colorado prison she vehemently argued was a violation of human dignity.
Despite feeling fulfilled already, she remained drawn to music, particularly the genre introduced to her by Guzmán.
As a devoted cinema-goer, I pondered over the idea of expanding my horizons and dipping my toes into the world of music. I couldn’t help but wonder what my valued clients thought about this bold move. To my delight, they all expressed their wholehearted support, giving me their blessing to pursue this new endeavor.
“I’m aware that they’re used to my singing,” she remarked. “Moreover, it is rightful for them to make decisions since they are the ones financing me.”
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1. I was at the Tracy festival and had the pleasure of seeing Colón there. (First person, fan perspective)
One variation could be: Colón acknowledged that Coronel, a 34-year-old supporter, had spent two years in jail following his admission to assisting in her husband’s illicit drug business.
A few days after Colón’s release last autumn, she was seen enjoying cocktails in the exclusive area of a Lynwood nightclub during Colón’s performance. The ensuing news headlines revived interest in Colón’s musical career.
In my perspective, I didn’t intend for her visit to come off as a publicity move. All I truly desired was for my friend, who had recently been released from prison and has consistently supported me throughout my career, to be present during my performance.
As a movie buff, I make a point of traveling every two weeks from where I am to Colorado Springs. Then, I hit the road for another 40 miles to reach one of the country’s most secure prisons. Once there, I get to spend precious hours with Guzmán, who unfortunately spends an astounding 23 hours a day confined in a tiny cell measuring only 7 by 12 feet. His contact with the outside world is almost non-existent – not even his wife is granted permission to visit him.
During their conversation, Guzmán and Colón discuss legal issues, yet they also share personal experiences. These topics include anecdotes about their upbringing and insights into Colón’s romantic relationships.
“She acknowledged that he is well-versed in her matters, and the same goes for her about him. She confessed that some of his stories could be brilliantly set to music. However, Colón emphasized that she keeps her personal and professional lives distinct.”
“I have to be really careful about what I sing about,” she said.
Before Colón made her appearance at Tracy’s festival, a large screen displayed a video. This video included footage of her stepping out of a sleek car in a pantsuit, socializing with friends over tequila shots, and relaxing in a hot tub adorned with candles. A snapshot of Guzmán as a young man appeared. “She is recognized by many as El Chapo’s lawyer,” the voiceover announced.
Last year was Colón’s debut in the music scene, and she’s yet to complete her first EP. At the festival, she was one of the less recognized artists performing. The audience’s initial reception was not very enthusiastic as she stepped onto the stage.
As she began to sing, first a Rivera ballad and then a corrido about El Chapo (“The earth revolves and pauses / When Joaquín gives the command”), the crowd grew more lively. Women, in this male-dominated setting, were especially enthused by her performance.
Following her dramatic performance of tossing black-dyed roses into the enthusiastic audience, I saw her gracefully step down from the stage. There, she was warmly embraced by Arturo Hernandez, an elderly gentleman dressed in a Santa Clara Law sweater.
Hernández, an lawyer with experience representing cartel members, encountered Colón during Guzmán’s trial and requested her insights on Sinaloa. She noticed similarities in their careers and chose to mentor her. In the 1980s, Hernández was a novice attorney when he defended Richard Ramirez, infamously known as the Night Stalker, a serial killer.
Hernández gave her guidance on dealing with the media on both occasions. He also encouraged her when she shared her dream of becoming a singer with him. His recommendations were consistent in both situations.
“Have fun,” he said. “Enjoy the ride.”
Despite the heavy workload of the music industry that necessitates artists to function as influencers, she finds joy in it.
As a movie reviewer, I’d put it this way: Should her music career skyrocket, she acknowledges the possibility of scaling back her legal workload.
But she said she’ll forever be loyal to El Chapo.
I feel deeply responsible for ensuring that Coronel experiences the finest quality of life, both within and beyond his living quarters. This sentiment holds true as I assist him in exploring various business opportunities.
“They gave me my first opportunity,” she said. “I’d cancel concerts for them.”
As the sun set over California’s farmlands, the youthful group outside continued dancing and drinking. Colón and her team were about to leave. They had some recording to finish in San Francisco and some cases to work on. A few days later, they were scheduled to travel to Colorado.
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2024-07-18 21:19