Noble banditry and the question of morality in democracy

Esther Shakela

During the 20th century, there lived in Colombia a man called Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria who, upon discovering the profitability of cocaine, entered the trafficking fray and soon established himself as one of the most notorious drug lords in modern history.

The legacy of Pablo Escobar remains contested to date, with some viewing him as a ruthless criminal whose operations negatively impacted thousands of lives, while others, particularly in his country, regard him as a legend of Robin Hood proportions.

The latter group’s sentiment towards Escobar can be understood through the acts of service he carried out for the community: providing crucial goods and services such as housing, building sports infrastructure, financing the construction and repairs of churches, schools, and hospitals, and funding youth and professional clubs, not to mention occasionally handing out actual cash.

Most notable about Escobar’s life is that he had political ambitions that were not merely a product of his criminal dealings.

Numerous accounts of his life record that at a young age, he had sought to become a criminal lawyer and eventually President of Colombia.

In her memoir, his wife recalls this same ambition, writing that the late King of Cocaine once encouraged her to prepare herself for the role of First Lady, as he would become President of Colombia.

Establishing these facts is essential for the argument to be advanced in this article, which overall seeks to discuss the parameters of morality in a democracy and analyse the concept of noble banditry.

Marxist historian Eric Hobsbawm underscores social banditry as a form of resistance where an individual or group engages in acts of robbery and violence that are strictly illegal under state law but are considered legitimate and even heroic by the surrounding oppressed or peasant society.

This definition fits the personage of Pablo Escobar, who was dubbed “paisa Robin Hood” by the local population owing to his public acts of benevolence towards them.

It follows that his philanthropic acts were considered by many, and understandably so, as a mere facade aimed at concealing his illicit enterprise and acting as a front for fortunes he could not hold elsewhere.

While this is a plausible assertion, in light of his documented political ambitions, it is equally compelling to consider whether his beneficence was an illicitly funded extension of his broader aspiration to lead and shape the Colombian public sphere.

Beyond being a renowned criminal, Pablo Escobar was a formal political actor. In 1982, he entered parliamentary politics and won an election to serve as an alternate representative in the Colombian Chamber of Representatives.

Although the state ultimately viewed him as an outlaw, the electorate ruled in his favour at the ballot box. His popularity amongst voters stemmed directly from his provision of public goods and social services where formal structures were absent.

While his tenure in public office was short-lived due to the escalation of his criminal activities and eventual expulsion, his rise to office introduces fundamental questions regarding morality and legitimacy in democratic systems.

Colombia at the time illustrated the classic crisis of a fragile state. Despite gaining independence in 1819, it had failed to construct a functional republic capable of guaranteeing basic services, security, and dignity across its entire territory.

When a state fails to protect its citizens or provide essential infrastructure, lives are lost to quiet institutional neglect rather than at the barrel of a gun. Is death by governance deficit morally superior to survival guaranteed by criminal patronage?

When formal institutions abandon the vulnerable, the electorate recalibrates its understanding of legitimacy. Democracy, at its core, relies on majority rule.

Yet when a neglected majority democratically embraces a criminal provider, it exposes a troubling dilemma: does popular mandate morally vindicate the benefactor, or does it demonstrate how state failure distorts democratic choice into a tyranny of immediate need?

Escobar’s myth as a noble bandit eventually unravelled when his war against the state escalated into indiscriminate narco-terrorism, exposing the inherent instability of rule by criminal enterprise.

Yet the structural lesson of his rise remains urgently relevant today. Across the globe, non-state actors continue to step into state vacuums, trading public goods for political compliance.

To the United States, Escobar was an intelligence threat; to international observers, a criminal mastermind; and to his victims, a monster.

To a neglected populace, he embodied a dangerous form of magical realism, both extraordinary and commonplace.

Pablo Escobar’s legacy ultimately serves as a stark warning to modern democracies: where state institutions fail to deliver basic human dignity, the public will inevitably rewrite the parameters of morality, seeking salvation in the arms of the noble bandit.

Esther Shakela is a Chief Policy Analyst in the Government of the Republic of Namibia.