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After graduating, I found my thoughts returning to an idea I had written about repeatedly during my degree: international image and power. At university, it felt abstract, something you debate in seminars and footnote in essays. But once academic life ended, the concept followed me into the real world. I began to wonder what international image actually does to a country once theory gives way to politics.

Over the past six months, I explored this question by traveling to places where international image is not just a reputation but a political reality. My first case study was Colombia. It stood out because its global image is instantly recognizable and remarkably fixed. For many people outside the country, it remains closely associated with drugs, cartels, and violence. Despite profound changes over recent decades, that image continues to shape how the country is treated internationally.

What became clear very quickly is that Colombia’s image does more than attract tourists or fuel popular culture. It shapes politics. Internationally, Colombia is often approached first and foremost as a security issue. Its relationships with powerful states have long been built around counter-narcotics strategies, military cooperation, and crime prevention. While this has brought financial aid and political backing, it has also narrowed the space in which Colombia can act. Rather than being treated as a political equal or a regional leader, it is frequently positioned as a problem to be managed.

This framing is not produced by governments alone. Global media plays a central role in keeping this image alive. Series like Narcos have reached audiences worldwide and, for many viewers, offer a first, and sometimes only, exposure to Colombia. These portrayals are compelling and often rooted in real events, but they focus heavily on violence and criminal figures. Over time, repetition turns storytelling into assumption. When people believe they already understand a country, they rarely question that understanding.

The political consequences of this framing become visible in international discussions. For example, in late January 2026, Gustavo Petro publicly called on the United States to return Nicolás Maduro to Venezuela to be tried by Venezuelan courts after he was captured and brought to New York earlier that month following a U.S. military operation. Petro made this demand in the run-up to a scheduled meeting with Donald J. Trump, framing the issue around sovereignty and legal processes rather than security cooperation. Trump, however, used the same backdrop of drugs and criminality to criticize Petro and deflect from Colombia’s own concerns in that diplomatic exchange.

This kind of constant association with security and crime limits the country’s ability to redefine itself on the world stage. When a state is repeatedly framed through a single lens, it struggles to introduce new priorities. whether in diplomacy, environmental policy, or regional leadership.

There is also a clear power imbalance tied to this kind of image. Countries perceived as unstable often have less room to negotiate. Colombia’s reliance on international security assistance has, at times, required aligning domestic policies with foreign expectations. These expectations do not always reflect local needs, yet they carry weight because they are tied to funding, legitimacy, and international approval. In this way, international image quietly but decisively shapes internal political decisions.

What struck me most while in Colombia was the contrast between how the country is lived and how it is imagined from the outside. Cities like Medellín tell stories of transformation, resilience, and social change. Yet these realities struggle to compete with a global narrative that has been repeated for decades. Image moves more slowly than reality, and politics often responds to image rather than conditions on the ground.

Colombia has not ignored this problem. Peace processes, cultural diplomacy, and deliberate efforts to promote new narratives show a clear desire to move beyond the past. But changing how the world sees a country is a slow process. Once an image becomes embedded in international politics, it does not disappear simply because circumstances improve.

Looking back, Colombia helped me understand something textbooks only hint at: international image is neither symbolic nor harmless. It shapes alliances, limits options, and defines how much political space a country is allowed to occupy. In Colombia’s case, global visibility has brought attention and resources, but it has also imposed boundaries that are difficult to escape.

This is why international image deserves serious attention in international relations analysis. It is not just about reputation. It is about power. Colombia’s experience shows how a single dominant narrative can shape political relationships long after the conditions that produced it have changed. The challenge now is not erasing the past, but preventing it from becoming the only story the world is willing to hear.