Pablo Escobar's son in Barcelona: "Netflix glorifies, I try to raise awareness about drugs"

"Now I am the protagonist, not my father," says Sebastián Marroquín, born Juan Pablo Escobar, the son of the most notorious drug trafficker of the 20th century.

Marroquín visited Barcelona on Wednesday to present his latest work: a graphic novel in which he tells the story of his childhood through the eyes of a boy babysat by sicarios.

Published in Spanish last May by Norma Editorial, 'Escobar: A Criminal Education' marks the first time he opens up about his own story, after years of writing extensively about his father's.

"I confronted my own story, and that's been hard. It's always easier to talk about someone else. My father's presence is undeniable, but I wanted him to stand at the very end of the line," he explains.

Having lived through extreme situations and narrowly escaping death on several occasions, the author delves into the part of his childhood when his father was in hiding, and he was cared for by the trusted men of the cartel, who became his babysitters.

"Being brave enough to publicly acknowledge how much violence you witnessed as a child, when so many people were harmed by that same story, has been difficult," he admits.

The author chose the graphic novel format, with co-writer Pablo Martín Farina and artist Alberto Madrigal, because it allowed him to "reconnect with his childhood."

"Dreaming wasn't an option. Life was constantly at risk, and you couldn’t think about the future because someone died every day. It is a miracle that I'm here," he adds.

Amid that violence, he formed strong bonds with the sicarios. "I developed a deep connection with many of them. Life was fragile, you might say goodbye and never see that person again, so relationships became very intense," he says.

During that time, he was looked after by about fifteen sicario babysitters, though for storytelling purposes, he "merged" their traits and experiences into a few characters. One of them, Gatillo, holds special meaning.

"With him, I shared a brotherhood. We went through extreme situations together, and he saved my life more than once," he recalls.

Although his father doesn’t appear physically in most of the book, his presence looms large.

"He was a caring dad. Very few kids receive weekly letters from their father asking how they are and worrying about them, or cassette tapes he recorded to talk to me," Marroquín says.

What he struggled with most, he admits, was separating the mafia boss from the loving parent.

"It was a permanent paradox: he was responsible for 80% of the world's cocaine trafficking, but when I was twelve, he told me drugs were evil and corrupting," he explains.

Now, in an era where TV shows and streaming platforms continue to romanticize the lives of Pablo Escobar and other drug lords, his son is on a mission to show young people the reality behind that illusion.

"Netflix glorifies, try to raise awareness," he says. "Drug trafficking is a curse. Nothing you have lasts. I had the privilege of being a millionaire as a child, but it never made me happy."

He recalls a time when he was hiding with his father, "eating rotten soup, even though we had enough money to buy every supermarket in the city."

"I see young men tattooing my father’s face or name, thinking his life was a success story. I try to dismantle that myth. Success is something lasting, my father's didn't last at all," he adds.

Marroquín says he has faced "rejection and prejudice" his whole life for being Pablo Escobar's son, which has made it difficult to find his own path.

"I'd rather die than repeat my father’s legacy. He ran every red light, but I'm the one paying the fines," he says.

He also explains that he has spoken with more than 150 families of his father's direct victims and advocates for dialogue as a way to heal old wounds.

"The past can't be changed, but only through dialogue and reconciliation can we change the present and the future, and build a better society," he says.

Reflecting on Colombia's current situation, Marroquín notes that no strategy has succeeded in eradicating cocaine production. In fact, it has only expanded.

"We no longer talk about cartels, but corporations. When my father was alive, there were about 50,000 to 80,000 hectares of coca crops. Today, there are over 300,000," he explains.

Marroquín advocates for legalization. "If this graphic novel was banned, it would sell far more. That's how prohibition works. This is a public health issue that's being treated as a military one, and those strategies only perpetuate violence," he says.