A superhero called Peatónito is on the prowl in Mexico City, defending the rights of pedestrians—in the crosswalks and on the sidewalks. Photo: Jorge Cañez.

MEXICO CITY—If you ever get stuck in gridlock at an intersection in this crowded capital city, you can't expect help from a street cop. But you might try "Peatónito," the protector of pedestrians who dresses as a Mexican wrestler.

When a car blocks a crosswalk, from out of nowhere appears Peatónito ("little pedestrian" in Spanish), in a cape and wrestler's mask. He stands directly in front of the car and tries to push it back with his bare hands—often to the astonishment of the drivers. If a motorbike is parked on the sidewalk blocking the way, Peatónito lifts it up and puts it on the curb where it belongs.

No crosswalk at an intersection? No problem: Peatónito travels with a can of white paint and a few official-looking stencils, ready to paint the crosshatches where they might be needed. It is a pity he can't be everywhere at once.

"Peatónito is the favorite wrestler of pedestrians, wrestling for their

Wrestling for Mexico's Pedestrians


Jorge Cáñez as Peatonito, the Mexican wrestler in Mexico City Jorge Cáñez

rights," he said recently. "The pedestrian is king."

Mexico City has terrible traffic and too many cars. City folk deal with pedestrians in the road about the same way country folk deal with stray chickens. If crossing the road is bad, try walking on the broken sidewalks. As the mustachioed Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata once put it: "The moment I get on one of those sidewalks, I start to fall down."

Peatonito shook hands with a police officer. Jorge Cáñez

There is no one more neglected than Mexico City's walkers, says Peatónito.

"The pedestrian is nobody in this city, he has been forgotten by authorities and our own citizenry," Peatónito says. "The curious and paradoxical thing is that we are all pedestrians at some moment. As such, we have forgotten ourselves."

Peatónito wouldn't be the first Mexican dressed as a wrestler to protect the capital. There was Superbarrio Gómez, who helped displaced Mexico City dwellers find housing after the 1985 earthquake. He wore a red suit.

Peatónito helped people across the street. Jorge Cáñez

And there was El Santo ("The Saint"), Mexico's famous wrestler-hero who rose in the 1950s and branched out into beating the bad guys in films, such as "The Mummies of Guanajuato" (1972).

"Mexico is a culture of wearing masks, it has been that way since pre-Hispanic times," says Lourdes Grobet, who is considered the dean of Mexican wrestling photographers, its own genre here.

Sipping coffee near a park, she comes up with another: Fray Tormenta ("Friar Storm"), a Mexican Catholic priest who opened an orphanage and celebrated Mass in his outfit. He became the loose inspiration for the 2006 Hollywood movie "Nacho Libre."

Peatónito, who doesn't actually wrestle in a ring, has an alter ego, of course. His name is Jorge Cañez. The 26-year-old is studying for a degree in political science and works at a consultancy that advises the Mexico City government on planning. There, it is brain not brawn that matters: At his desk one day recently, he rattled off the number of pedestrians in Amsterdam.

Like Clark Kent before him, he takes his disguise seriously—at least according to his boss. She had seen the masked Peatónito at rallies, even followed him on his Twitter account, but hadn't realized he was Mr. Cañez until he confided the secret to her one day. "I could have gone years without realizing it was him," says Mariana Orozco.

Ask this hero who his hero is and the answer is simple: Antanas Mockus, the math professor and former two-time mayor of Bogotá, Colombia. Mr. Mockus—who resigned from his university job after mooning a group of students—also used to dress up as a masked vigilante to urge better public behavior. His own efforts to curb traffic involved firing the city's traffic cops and turning enforcement over to a troupe of 400 mimes.

On a recent overcast Thursday in Mexico City, Peatónito prepared for duty. In his fourth-floor apartment under a wall-size map of the city's streets, he patted down his hair, put on a cape and mask and stepped out onto the street.

"Are you Peatónito?" asked a little girl.

Peatónito on the street in Mexico City Jorge Cáñez

"I am he," Peatónito replied, kindly autographing a napkin with the pen she handed him.

On the corner of Nuevo León and Michoacán Street in the city's leafy Condesa neighborhood, a traffic light turned green, but pedestrians at the curb hesitated at the intersection. Several motorists made left-hand turns zooming over the crosswalk.

Enter the wrestler. His cape flowing and hands raised, he stared down an oncoming S.U.V. and made like he was about to grapple it. And then something remarkable happened: The motorist stopped. The driver started to laugh. Peatónito later celebrated by climbing up a traffic light and waving the pedestrians ahead.

Memories of that afternoon were still fresh when later that month a Skype call came through on Mr. Cañez's laptop. It was the ex-mayor Mr. Mockus calling.

With his urbanism icon on the other end of the line, Mr. Cañez suddenly lacked his typical wrestling bravado. "Mr. Mockus," he asked politely. "Could you please explain to us how you made the decision to send in the mimes?"

Mr. Mockus's answer wasn't easy to follow. It mainly dealt with 20th-century philosophers who specialized in performance theory.

"Your project, though," Mr. Mockus said. "I have given it some thought."

Once, Mr. Mockus said, he attended a wrestling match in the 1990s. Peatónito was on the right track bringing it into the street, but something was missing.

There was a brief silence. "You need a commentator!" shouted Mr. Mockus. All wrestling matches have an announcer narrating the wrestlers' moves over a loudspeaker to the audience, he added. Peatónito should be no different.

The two men seemed to understand each other completely.

"Now go find someone with an amplifier," said Mr. Mockus.

Write to Nicholas Casey at nicholas.casey@wsj.com