On Puerto Rico, Part III
roofs of blue
A FEMA worker goes back to work on a household tarp installation after a food break in downtown Mayaguez, PR.
Being home for six straight weeks was something I thought would never happen again, or at least wouldn't get to experience until and if I move back to the island. One of the many blessings of this extended leave was the opportunity to become one again with the place I'd learned to love and care as I grew up, to break the ever-sickening boundary of being more of a tourist with every single visit. I was able to move around frequently and freely during my time at home, which in a way means my eyes were witness to many sights: people, nature, and gut-wrenching need. This need was highlighted in different ways as I moved from sector, to town, to general area, one of the most prominent ways being the blue roofs.
The blue roofs were everywhere: by the road that I took every weekday for 12 years on my way to school, on the dirt road to my favorite beach, along the highway, from the airplane as it departed. Standing at the top of Cerro Guilarte in Adjuntas, you could see them from afar, tucked away between mountain ridges, solitude, and desperation.
In this emotionally heavy time, the blue roofs were my breaking point. They slapped me in the face, exposing with a blow my ignorance and carelessness towards an issue so deep-rooted in my island's history. Their conspicuousness made me realize how little I knew about the place I still call home, how disconnected I'd allowed myself to be from the needs of the people of Puerto Rico.
Was (or am) I being too hard on myself? Maybe. I've had to, of course, own up to the responsibilities that come with being part of a new community in this "land of the free, home of the brave", which takes both time and energy. It shouldn't feel like sin to have put my old life aside to adapt to this new environment and issues that the country I live in now faces. I want to believe it's part of life, to move on like that....but the roofs of blue made me think otherwise.
Although the metropolitan area has one of the lowest poverty percentages in the island, it is clear there are sectors in need. Picture by David Ortiz (@_david1991).
The "roofs of blue sentiment" is not unique to me; in fact, many of my friends that visited the island during the holidays shared these feelings. With reflective posts following depressive airplane shots, it's clear we all struggle to accept the disturbing fact of our little piece of paradise's political, social, and now natural catastrophes that have resulted in widespread impoverishment.
Multiple grim statistics on Puerto Rico's economical status have surfaced in the last few years and obviously become better known since September 2017. According to the 2016 Census Bureau statistics, close to 1.5 million Puerto Ricans — 43 percent — live below the U.S. poverty line, almost double the rate of Mississippi, the poorest U.S. state. The University of Puerto Rico's Census Information Center in Cayey reported that since Hurricane Maria hit, poverty levels have risen from 44.3% to 52.3%, a direct result of thousands of people losing their income stream(s). In fact, my own parents had to lay off the farm workers after the hurricane, since there were no raw materials to continue operations in the small food processing facility of Hacienda Gosén. FEMA reports indicate that more than 55,000 blue roofs have been installed in Puerto Rico since the hurricane's disastrous landfall, which to me is an optimistic count, since I met more than a handful of people who, more than three months after the hurricane, had yet to meet a federal or local government representative that would help them rehabilitate their homes. A few days after I arrived, the cover page of El Nuevo Día showed images of entire families living in tents under a basketball court roof in Luquillo. It was all so real. How had I missed all this need before?
How Puerto Rico got to this point is a long story of corruption, destructive administration, and unjust colonial treatment in which both federal and local governments share the blame. In the words of Oscar Oliver-Didier, "what this dire aftermath and the subsequent relief and recovery effort have revealed is the island’s century-old unequal colonial relationship with the United States, and the local elites’ role in sustaining it". History that is not known and understood is bound to be repeated, so I suggest you to do some research on the subject. If nothing else, stay informed.
For us who went home, maybe for a long Christmas weekend or a bit longer, like I was able to, it's time to reassess our role in helping our island flourish. Our involvement in the communities that gave us so much is overdue, and if there's anything that the past hurricane season showed us is that Puerto Rico's salvation lies in its people, not in the United States, not in the island's elected government officials. There are ways to stay connected to sustainable long-term relief efforts, and there are more ways to make a difference regardless of our geographical location. The media may have stopped covering Puerto Rico's story, but we know that the journey towards recovery is far from over.
So I urge you: do your research, find ways to get involved, and commit.
It's time we own up to removing the blue sea of misery from the land we love.
Aerial shot of the mountain town of Yauco, Puerto Rico, about 5 months post-hurricane. Picture by Edwin Zambrana (@edwin_pr_07)