HowTaekwondoCametoColombia:Pioneers,Masters,andFoundationalDojangs

The history of Taekwondo in Colombia is told, above all, through proper names. Korean masters who accepted traveling to a country they did not know, Colombian students who trained in garages and sports complexes, and federations that took time to organize but ultimately produced Olympic medalists. In this journey you will find the key dates, the pioneers who laid the first stone, and the dojangs that served as the cradle for entire generations.

It is not a closed chronicle. Some early documentation was lost or remained in personal archives, and the coexistence between the ITF and WT branches adds nuances that are often oversimplified. What follows attempts to organize what is verifiable and point out where oral history still carries more weight than paper.

The history of Taekwondo in Colombia begins consistently in the early seventies, when a first wave of Korean instructors arrived in the country following the same pattern that occurred in Argentina, Peru, or Venezuela. South Korea, in the midst of a cultural diffusion policy, encouraged practitioners with advanced rank to travel to Latin America, and Colombia entered that map through a mix of economic opportunity and diplomatic contacts.

The first training sessions did not take place in formal schools but in borrowed gyms, parish halls, and school courtyards. The aesthetic was spartan: little equipment, imported doboks in short supply, and Korean vocabulary that students memorized by imitation. Charyeot (차렷), Kyeongnye (경례), and Junbi (준비) were repeated without translation, and respect for the master functioned as the only pedagogical structure.

It is in this period that the differentiation that would mark the country for decades is sown. Some instructors brought training under the Kukkiwon and the Taegeuk system, while others had been direct students of General Choi Hong-hi and taught the ITF tul. That dual heritage explains why Colombia, unlike other Latin American countries, always maintained robust ITF and WT communities in parallel.

By the mid-seventies and early eighties, the first stable dojangs began to appear. Bogotá concentrated most of the pioneering academies, with schools in neighborhoods like Chapinero and Teusaquillo, where proximity to universities guaranteed a steady flow of interested young people. Medellín and Cali followed closely behind, supported by instructors who traveled between cities to give seminars and rank examinations.

These dojangs served a function that went beyond the sporting. They were centers of socialization where manuals were translated, regulations discussed, and the first internal tournaments planned. Many of the current Colombian sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-degree masters began as children in those halls, formed by instructors who barely spoke Spanish but demanded absolute discipline.

In those early years, obtaining an authentic dobok meant waiting months for someone to travel to Seoul. The black belt was hand-sewn and cared for like a document.

The Colombian Taekwondo Federation, affiliated with what is now World Taekwondo, was formally established in the second half of the seventies and gained institutional recognition throughout the following decade. Its initial task was not easy: unifying rank criteria, organizing national championships, and sending delegations to Pan-American competitions required resources that Colombian amateur sports barely had.

Taekwondo's entry as a demonstration sport at the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games changed the conversation. Suddenly there was a clear path to the Olympics, and that attracted state support, modest sponsorships, and a new generation of competitors focused on Gyeorugi (겨루기). Colombia began participating regularly in Pan-American and World championships, laying the foundation for results that would come in the twenty-first century.

Professionalization also brought tensions. Poomsae were standardized according to the Taegeuk system and Dan grades began to be processed directly with the Kukkiwon, which left much of the practitioners trained in the ITF tradition out of the official circuit.

While the WT branch consolidated its federative structure, the ITF maintained its own life in Colombia, sustained by masters who refused to abandon the original tul and General Choi's methodology. Regional associations, independent schools, and links with the international headquarters allowed the ITF never to disappear, although its media visibility was lower.

This branch produced outstanding competitors in ITF World championships and kept alive a pedagogy that emphasizes power theory, the wave principle, and the 24 tul. In cities like Bogotá, Bucaramanga, and Pereira, ITF lineages exist that can be traced back to foundational instructors without interruption, something uncommon in the region.

Coexistence between both branches was not always amicable, but over time it became normalized. Today it is common for a practitioner to be aware of the existence of both branches and understand that they respond to different historical projects rather than mere bureaucratic division.

The history of Taekwondo in Colombia is also measured by its results. Óscar Muñoz, bronze medalist in London 2012, and subsequent Olympic medals solidified the country as a regional power in the WT category. Behind each of those podiums is a chain of masters that traces directly back to the Korean pioneers of the seventies.

The base of practitioners grew steadily. According to federation figures, thousands of active black belts now exist in the country, distributed among municipal clubs, departmental leagues, and private academies. Taekwondo entered school programs, compensation funds, and social projects in vulnerable areas, multiplying its reach beyond elite competition.

That growth does not erase the challenges. The training of masters with high ranks still depends largely on travel to Korea or regional headquarters, and the historical documentation of the foundational period is still dispersed in private archives.

Reconstructing the history of Taekwondo in Colombia is ongoing work. Biographies of the first masters are needed, collections of photographs of the original dojangs, and interviews with students who lived that transition from the inside. Each regional club holds a piece of the story.

If you train at a Colombian school, ask about your master's lineage. Probably, in three or four jumps backward, you will reach one of those Koreans who stepped off a plane at El Dorado not quite knowing what they would find. That chain is the real history, and it is worth preserving.