Mourning for paradise
It was almost exactly 88 hours after Wednesday 9/20/17 12:04 AM that I finally heard news of my family's well-being following Hurricane Maria's destructive passage through Puerto Rico. After 3 and a half restless, daunting days of painful silence, knowing they were safe felt like floating up to the surface and gasping for air after too much time under water. However, as if going through an aftershock, I am still at a loss of words over the true significance of Maria's passing, the damage, the hurt, and the uncertainty that remains.
Puerto Rico está destruída
I'd seen the pictures, I'd read all the articles, I'd witnessed the devastation through videos... but hearing my dad say it... my dad, an engineer, a naturally objective, factual man, made it so much more real. My home is unrecognizable. The place I've loved and known for 25 years, that tiny corner of the world that steals the hearts of the people that visit, is no longer the same. The road to recovery will be long, arduous, and will bring about its own set of unique challenges... I don't think many people are fully aware of those implications right now. It will put into question (once again - however in a graver context) the logic (if any) of our social and political status as a colony, the inadequacy of the Jones Act (what's up with that?), and the roots of the economical turmoil we were already victims of before Maria hit. Here's some background story on Puerto Rico's struggles before the devastation caused by Hurricane Maria, and what needs to happen for the island to recover.
After the storm and before hearing from my family, I spent almost all my time trying to be proactive. I looked up donation sites, wrote an e-mail to my employer's community service team, shared articles and local updates on the conditions of different areas of the island, and kept up with many other people who were also desperate to hear from their own loved ones. It gave me something fruitful to do while I waited. The necessity in the island for food and emergency supplies is alarmingly urgent as thousands of people lost everything during the storm. The government has reported almost twice as many refugees than was initially expected and planned for. With no electricity or running water (services that will be completely interrupted for at least a few months), the streets at night are becoming dangerous with people willing to steal from their neighbor at gunpoint. Stagnant flood water, dead animals, and the smell of rubble & trash is becoming a major health concern.... I wish I was exaggerating. I've copied the links for different donation sites below if you would like to help.
After I got word from my family though, I've turned to retrospect and thoughtful analysis of the situation, and truth be told, I'm saddened and worried about was has and will become of our little slice of paradise. How will we efficiently and intelligently address infrastructure reconstruction? Will small business owners find the help they need to push back and reopen their doors? What will become of the UPR? Small schools? How will we establish a sustainable, robust electric grid after the one we had was reduced to rubble? What will be the future of our agriculture? How will be better prepare for natural disasters in the wake of a massive restructuring that will take months, maybe even years? And I'll stop here, because if not I would never stop.
I've read a few posts that make an effort to cheer people up.
"Paradise not closed, just under construction"
"We will make you prettier than you were before"
"Your beautiful mountains will restore their green soon"
“There will be time to be optimistic. There will be time to say that my country is strong and that we have survived violence that hurt as much as a hurricane. There will be time to remind ourselves that we have survived for decades a colonial regime that second by second steals our air away - and that we are still here. There will be time. But for now, l just want to say that my country is no longer the place were I grew up, and that it hurts in an indescribable way. Every single death, destroyed house and synonym of collective anxiety: hurts.”
I wholeheartedly believe latching on to optimism is key in trying times like these, and I want to believe that our island WILL rebuild and "come back stronger", but I also think we should allow ourselves to mourn. It's almost necessary. Puerto Rico has suffered social, political, and financial strangling for many years now, and when it seemed things could not get worse, Maria's fury took apart a lot of what was left. Mourning doesn't mean we let go of hope, it doesn't mean we cease our efforts to support one another in this time of great immediate need, but it allows us to experience catharsis and get ready for what's to come. It gives us a time to let go of what is no longer there and face with a sound mind and clear judgment all the questions that need to be answered... because we will have to if we're committed to seeing our island flourish. Nuestra isla del encanto nos necesita.
Please click on the following links to support Hurricane Maria relief efforts for Puerto Rico and the Caribbean islands. There are many smaller organizations without registered online funding accounts, so if you wish to cooperate with those entities instead, please contact me using the available channels and I will get that information to you.
Hurricane Maria Community Recovery Fund
Hurricane Maria and Irma Relief Fund for the Caribbean
*I understand this post is not related to solo travel and I understand if anyone feels disappointed with its content this time. However, Puerto Rico and my family are two of my ultimate "Why" and there is no other topic I would like post about this week.
*Thumbnail and right-side Crash Boat pictures are not my own.