As I return from Puerto Rico, I am full of many emotions, many thoughts, and many questions. I think about the things I saw, the stories I heard, the eyes I looked into, and the embraces I exchanged.
Returning to the island to assist my communal brothers and sisters and bring my mom back to the land she was born was something that was important to me. The son of a Yong Lord, the air I breathed while being raised was one of social consciousness, cultural pride, and communal responsibility. I have shared this often, but will never share it enough; my mother regularly took me to feed the homeless of New York City in various neighborhoods and when we were done she would ask if I felt we had succeeded in our efforts. When I would answer her “Yes”, she would drive me to another neighborhood, present me to homeless brothers and sisters in that neighborhood and ask me: “Do you think they would feel your efforts were successful?” The point was to understand that our commitment to the people was never ending as the needs of the people were never ending.
My mother was born in the Fort Brooke Hospital Installation of El Morro (known as Ballajá station prior to August 31, 1944). The symbol that would become synonymous with tourist propaganda for Puerto Rico, as well as a familiar landmark to Boricuas all over the world, would forever link my mom to her childhood and that connection was transferred to me.
We arrived in Puerto Rico with information in hand, commentaries of others in mind, and anxiety in our hearts. We had been prepared to be greeted by a fully functioning airport with souvenir shops selling Yauco Coffee but filled with the smell of Starbucks brand brews.
We knew that the area surrounding the airport would be “operational” and “back on track”; so, we went deeper into the island. We went to el campo. However, we also made our stops in the caserios, the urbanizaciones, the homes, the alleys, the blocked roads… we stopped wherever we could. We stood beside our gente wherever the opportunity presented itself.
Understand that my mother and I didn’t go to save anyone. We went to help. To do what we could. We understood that whether or not we had previously gone through the formalities of a physical introduction with the individuals we encountered was irrelevant, for they are our family. We are related by culture, heritage, tradition, island, and blood. We don’t need a DNA test to breakdown our connection. We understand that our relation by blood comes simply because we all bleed.
It took less than 30 minutes on the island for me to be face to face with the real crisis in Puerto Rico. While hurricane Maria is the focal point for many, I saw the true face of our demise and it returned my stare with a smirk as it extended its arms to accept one of our packages.
I saw the demise of our people in our people. Not all of them, but enough to feel like Roddy Piper’s character in the 1988 movie “They Live”, when he would put on those magical sunglasses and see who was alien and who was human.
I saw individuals dismiss the needs of their neighbors and care only about the fact that they had electricity so that they could turn on the Christmas lights. Stepping out of their home only to make sure the individual trying to read a piece of paper or a medicine label with the illumination capitalism was providing via the string of “dancing icicles”, hurried along and didn’t use up to much of their “shine”.
I saw people throwing garbage in the street from the soap box they were standing on as they were delivering a sermon on the atrocities of the garbage not being collected. When I asked why the community did not at least pile the garbage in a specific area, I was told that nobody cares. When I offered to bring some people to help me do it, I was told that I should leave it alone because: “Eso lleva tiempo alli y el gobierno tiene que hacer su trabajo”. When I responded that I agree, but we don’t have to live in filth like this, I was told: “Ay mijo… eso es la vida en Puerto Rico. Que se vas hacer”.
I saw people walking the streets and looking down on others who were homeless because they were “homeless before the storm and so they don’t matter”. Statements of this caliber were of course followed by accusations of the individual being an alcoholic or drug addict. The very thought that the individual was hungry was never given the light of day. When we would give them a bag or box we put together, we were scolded by those passing by as “wasting what others needed”.
I saw road rage come to a boil as intersections became obstacle courses while drivers feverishly fought to get into the mall “para hacer el shopping de navidad”.
In the campos, I heard the heart wrenching accounts of how everything was lost. I spoke with families who buried their loved ones in the yard. But standing on that land knowing it had been recently hallowed didn’t hit me as hard as when I was told: “Mijo, aqui estamos viviendo y moriendo. Nuestra familia nos llama a decirnos que no pueden llegar… pero tu llegaste y vives afuera. Ellos viven aquí en Puerto Rico y cuando llamen, tienen que hablar duro porque no se oye encima de todo el ruido de las tiendas”
Let me be clear; Not everyone in Puerto Rico is selfish, inconsiderate, or focused on taking what they can from others without reciprocating services, goods, and/or mere courtesy. However, I am not sharing my experience to speak about everyone on the island. I am sharing my experience to speak about the encounters that caused me pain, disappointment, and embrassment. I say embarrassment because when one chooses to proudly wave the flag that represents my culture, my traditions, and my roots while acting in a way that is contradictory to the principles of the afore mentioned, they are providing examples for the oppressive forces to draw from. When those forces move, they will move on all who call themselves Boricua without asking if they are any different than their neighbor.
To those who are building on La Isla Del Encanto, I thank you with more than words. I thank you with a commitment to do all I can to assist you and yours today and every day that I am breathing. To the children who are being raised with the warmth of elders who still teach the importance of knowing how to cook in the fogon detrás de la casa, I cherish you. To the elders, I celebrate you. To those who rise each and every day to give 100% to an honest living and treat their neighbors with a kindness and warmth that creates the colors of the Puerto Rico my mother was raised in, I commend you.
To the many organizations in the diaspora that are focused on rebuilding/reconstructing the island so that our people are not lost further in the swamp of oppression that can only be created by the imperialist government of the United States, estoy dispuesto hacer lo que puedo cada vez que me llames.
As we continue to provide aid and services, let us be sure that we are not feeding the mindset of dependency that plagues Puerto Rico. Let our services serve to plant seeds of self-determination watered by the realization that we are a community with borders that go beyond the islands.
Mi gente, in 6 months, when the 2018 hurricane season begins, let’s be better than: “I’m good. I survived Maria”.
©Dr William Q Ross 2017
#asheintl #puertoricolibre #reflectionsonpuertorico #prselevanta #boricua #community #juntos
