The Trail of Erased Carnivals: The Calle 10 Troupes That Defied the Mayor's Office in 1984
In Santa Marta, Carnival was not always an official event. There was a year, 1984, when the Mayor's Office decided to ban it entirely. They cited "public disorder," "excesses," and "lack of budget." But in the working-class neighborhoods, the party doesn't die with a decree. That night of February 17, while tourists took shelter in the hotels of the Centro Histórico, the troupes of Calle 10 took over the darkness. They danced to the rhythm of improvised drums, wearing costumes made of trash and scraps. The police arrived. There were blows, chases, and arrests. But that dawn, the people of Santa Marta showed that culture cannot be erased with rubble. This is what happened that night, and why its echoes still resonate in the dusty streets of the city.
Origins
To understand '84, you have to go back to the 60s and 70s. The Carnival of Santa Marta was not that of Barranquilla, but it had its own soul. The troupes were not born in the salons of high society, but in the peripheral neighborhoods: Pescaíto, El Pando, La Lucha, and above all, Calle 10. This street, which runs parallel to the sea, was the pulse of the popular city. There, fishermen, street vendors, bricklayers, and prostitutes mingled. In February, when the heat was intense, the dance crews went out without permission. They used what they had: chicken feathers, plastic bags, cardboard painted with lime. The music was the tambora, the guache, and the gaita. There were no sponsors, just a desire to laugh at poverty.
📌 Transparency
This article contains sponsored/affiliate links. We may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you.
The Mayor's Office at the time, under a conservative mayor, looked down on these expressions. For the elite of Santa Marta, Carnival was synonymous with drunkenness and fights. In 1983, after a brawl that ended with a death in the San Martín neighborhood, the Municipal Council approved a resolution banning any unauthorized parade. The measure was a direct blow to the popular troupes. The wealthy neighborhoods, like El Rodadero, had their own private events in clubs. The poor were left without a party.
But Calle 10 did not obey. Since January 1984, the leaders of the troupes began meeting in secret at the home of Doña Matilde, a neighborhood matron who sold empanadas on the corner of Carrera 3. There they planned a flash parade. They did not notify the press. They did not ask for permits. They only relied on word of mouth. The motto was simple: "On February 17, at 8 p.m., we meet at the Plazoleta de San Francisco."
Timeline or historical milestones
January 1984: The official ban
On January 15, the Mayor's Office published a decree in the Municipal Gazette. The text read: "All parades, troupes, or costumes in public spaces during the carnival festivities are strictly prohibited." The fine was 5,000 pesos of the time, a fortune for a worker. Local newspapers, like El Informador, supported the measure with editorials that spoke of "civilizing the party."
February 1984: The clandestine preparation
During the first two weeks of February, the troupes rehearsed in backyards and vacant lots. In Pescaíto, a group of young people built a "devil caiman" costume out of newspaper and wire. In the El Pando neighborhood, women sewed skirts with scraps of fabric bought at the public market. Everything was done at night, to avoid raising suspicion.
February 17, 1984: The night of the confrontation
At 7:30 p.m., the Plazoleta de San Francisco was empty. At 8:00 p.m., groups began arriving on foot. At 8:30 p.m., there were already more than 300 people. At 9:00 p.m., the first drums sounded. The police, alerted by a neighbor, arrived in two trucks. What followed was a pitched battle. The protesters chanted: "Carnival is not banned, it is lived!" There were 23 detainees, including three pregnant women. The costumes were burned in a bonfire in the same square.
February 18, 1984: Repression and silence
The next day, the Mayor's Office justified the action. They said it was "for the good of the city." But in the neighborhoods, anger grew. In the following months, meetings of community action boards emerged to demand the right to party. They achieved nothing. The official carnival did not recover until 1992, and it never regained the strength of those street troupes.
Key characters or events
Doña Matilde "La Caimana"
Matilde Rodríguez, known as "La Caimana," was a fried fish vendor on Calle 10. She was 52 years old in 1984. She was the one who organized the secret meetings. Her house, at Carrera 3 # 10-25, was the general headquarters. On the night of the 17th, she led the troupe wearing a caiman costume made of sacks and dried fish scales. The police arrested her, but released her the next day due to her age. Today, at 94, she lives in the same neighborhood. In a 2023 interview for a local documentary, she said: "They took away our party, but not our laughter. We have that stored away."
Jorge "El Tamborero" Díaz
Jorge Díaz, now 78, was the lead musician of the troupe from the La Lucha neighborhood. He had been playing the tambora since he was 12. That night, his drum was confiscated and destroyed by the police. "They slashed the drumhead with machetes," he recalls. After '84, Jorge continued playing at private parties, but never again on the street. In July 2026, he still lives in the same neighborhood and plays at the town church on Sundays. "The drum doesn't go silent, it just changes places," he says.
Subintendent Pedro Martínez
Martínez was the head of the police operation that night. In a 1990 interview, already retired, he confessed: "I didn't agree with the order, but I had to obey. Those troupes weren't dangerous, they were just poor people wanting to have fun." Martínez died in 2005 without having publicly apologized.
Current status
Today, in July 2026, the Carnival of Santa Marta exists, but it is a shadow of what it could have been. Since 1992, the Mayor's Office organizes official parades in the Centro Histórico, with sponsored floats and private security. The popular troupes have been marginalized to the neighborhoods, without support or visibility. Calle 10 is no longer the epicenter of the party; it is now a commercial street full of clothing stores and fast-food restaurants. However, in some corners, the memory persists.
In Pescaíto, a group of young people called "Comparsa La Resistencia" tries to keep the tradition alive. They meet on Saturdays at the neighborhood court, rehearse with recycled drums, and make costumes from waste materials. They receive no money from the Mayor's Office. Their leader, Carlos, 28, says: "What happened in '84 taught us that the party is ours, not the politicians'."
The Plazoleta de San Francisco is still there, but now it is a motorcycle parking lot. There is no plaque, no monument, no sign to remember what happened that night. The few remaining witnesses are elderly people who tell the story to their grandchildren. In 2025, a group of amateur historians launched a project called "Carnaval Prohibido," which collects testimonies and photos from the era. But the archive is small, and many images were lost in a house fire in 1998.
The legacy of that night is contradictory. On one hand, it showed that popular culture can resist repression. On the other, it highlighted the fragility of collective memory in a city that prefers to forget its conflicts. The reference prices in July 2026 for an empanada on Calle 10 are $3,000 COP, and a taxi from el Centro to Pescaíto costs about $8,000 COP. But the cost of remembering is higher: it requires will.
If you lived through that night, or have a photo or memory of the 1984 troupes, share it in the comments. Help us rebuild this collective memory before time erases it completely. Because the carnival was not banned: it was hidden, and only we can bring it to light.