"The jersey belongs to everyone, and anyone can wear it whenever they want." That's what Pablo González, a 70-year-old De La Espriella supporter in Bogotá, says. Millions of Colombians disagree — and the fight has turned la amarilla into something far more complicated than a football shirt.
Right-wing presidential candidate Abelardo De La Espriella spent the final stretch of Colombia's presidential campaign encouraging his supporters to wear the national team's yellow jersey to rallies and, controversially, to polling stations — where campaign clothing is legally prohibited. They did it anyway, in numbers large enough to turn it into a deliberate act of political theatre. De La Espriella, endorsed by President Trump this week, finished first in the first round and will now face left-wing senator Iván Cepeda in a runoff.
A shirt that used to mean something else
Colombia adopted its distinctive yellow, blue and red kit in 1985 — colours that mirror the national flag. For four decades it was one of those rare objects that transcended politics. A World Cup shirt. Something that belonged to everyone when a goal went in.
That's gone now, or at least badly damaged. Cepeda accused De La Espriella of "stealing" the jersey. Colombia's football federation issued a statement saying it "deeply regrets" the jersey being dragged into "controversies unrelated to sporting glory." Adriana Salazar, a 27-year-old barista in Bogotá, put it more bluntly: "It's disgusting."
She's not wrong to feel that way. Wearing the shirt to a polling booth — knowing full well it signals your vote — isn't a celebration of football. It's intimidation dressed up as patriotism.
The right fired back quickly, resurfacing photos of current President Gustavo Petro wearing the jersey during his own 2022 campaign. It's a fair counterpoint in one narrow sense. But Petro didn't turn the shirt into his campaign's official uniform. There's a difference between a photo op and a mass mobilisation strategy.
Colombia kick off June 17 — if anyone can focus
The timing makes this worse. Colombia face Uzbekistan on June 17 in their World Cup opener, playing their group stage in Mexico and Miami after missing the 2022 tournament entirely. This should be a month of national excitement, the kind that briefly papers over political fault lines.
Instead, every time someone pulls on la amarilla in public between now and the runoff vote, it reads as a statement. Journalist Daniel Alarcón framed it well: "Once a national symbol like that gets associated with one political party or another, something is lost. An opportunity for an apolitical moment of transcendence vanishes."
Colombian presidential elections and the World Cup collide every four years. Politicians have always tried to leverage the team's popularity. But no one has done it quite this literally — turning the shirt itself into a campaign prop. Whatever happens in the runoff, that association won't disappear when the final whistle blows.
