Where is the national outrage?
More than a year has passed since back-to-back Hurricanes Irma and Maria devastated Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands, killing thousands of people—not on direct impact, but in the days and months of neglect from their government and their “president,” aka Donald Trump, that followed.
The situation remains grave for the survivors. Contrary to much of the published mainstream media reportage, not everyone has power, more than 60,000 people are living under leaky tarps, schools have closed, there is a mental health crisis, and we are in the middle of hurricane season 2018. New storms form each week and people who live in the Caribbean live with the daily anxiety of weather watching.
This is a powerful read from the Miami Herald titled “Puerto Rico recovery: roofless homes, closed schools, an island left to fend for itself”:
Stability of any kind — economic, political, demographic, in daily life — remains a scarce commodity in Puerto Rico, a U.S. territory of 3.3 million people who are American citizens by birth, and also survivors of one of the most devastating natural disasters in U.S. history.
Nearly every one of them lives today with some portion of the emotional and physical trauma that accompanied the storm’s far-reaching devastation and its grueling aftermath: the weeks and months without power, reliable healthcare, basic government services or many of the conveniences and safeguards of modern life to which they were accustomed.
For many, it’s far from over.
Where is the mass outrage?
This is my first thought each morning that I wake up in comfortable conditions here on the mainland. My roof doesn’t leak. The weather forecast doesn’t scare me. I have power. My well works, and I have clean water. I have my small pension. My husband has a job. I have health coverage—for now.
Why do I care so much about Puerto Rico and the fate of Puerto Ricans? I have to think about this when I question why the majority of my fellow citizens don’t seem to give a damn.
I don’t mean to imply that there aren’t people who do care. Millions of people have donated to a variety of hurricane disaster charities. Others have actually gone to the island to give aid and assistance. Some are still there.
However, when doing my daily tracking of stories about Puerto Rico (and, when I can find them, the USVI), which I post each morning to Abbreviated Pundit Round-up (APR), I am deeply saddened by the fact that the political and humanitarian demonstrations and protests I have seen were mostly peopled by Puerto Ricans. They have not been massive. Some were only attended by a handful of people.
I ask my activist friends and fellow Daily Kos bloggers: “Why?”
I get a variety of answers, which often sound like excuses. “So much is going on, Trump controls the news cycle, we are a country in crisis … Democrats don’t have power, as the minority party …”
I know, I know, I know. That still doesn’t change how I feel.
It doesn’t change how my Daily Kos hermano Bobby, who is in Puerto Rico feels.
Someone once told me, “Well of course you care and are dedicated to this issue since you are Puerto Rican.”
Here’s the rub: I’m not.
I’m a black American.
Yet this issue cuts me to the quick, as many issues do. However, I ponder why I was moved to dedicate a majority of my blogging time to Puerto Rico, and what can be done to get other not-Puerto Ricans engaged.
This is a discussion I have often, offline, with friends who are not Boricuas.
They don’t have answers either.
I ask you to join me in my musings today. Perhaps a little brainstorming will help. Perhaps not. I’ll feel better, however, by finally getting these feelings aired.
Think about this: Maria is the largest natural disaster to hit the United States in recent history—“claiming more American lives that 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina combined.”
Most of the deaths could have been prevented and weren’t, and we watched the train wreck occur. We watched the president of the United States ignore it, dismiss it, blame Puerto Ricans, and ultimately deny those deaths. Maria would grab headlines for a day or two, then Trump would say something outrageous and then ongoing disaster would sink back into being ignored.
There was a Unity March for Puerto Rico in Washington, D.C. last November 19.
A majority of the few thousand folks who showed up were Puerto Ricans.
And still later: “Still waiting for power: Six months after Hurricane Maria, frustrated Puerto Ricans rally in D.C.”
Organizers as well as those who attended the rally on the six-month anniversary of Maria’s knockout blow hope it helps keep the grueling struggle of the island’s residents and its refugees in the American consciousness.
Around 250 people gathered in front of the FEMA headquarters under a cold rain, carrying blue tarps like those provided by FEMA. “These tarps still say SOS,” said Julio Lopez Varona, a senior adviser on Puerto Rico at the Center for Popular Democracy, an economic and social justice advocacy group.
Again: mostly Puerto Ricans.
I made a “promesa” that I would keep writing and sharing stories that I find about Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans, in hopes that others would pass them on, and keep the island’s plight visible. That perhaps, some readers who are not Puerto Rican would adopt PR as one of their many causes.
For me, a promesa is serious. It is a spiritual thing.
What is a "promesa"?
A promesa is a vow or religious offering that is made with a petition to God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, a saint or another important character of a religion. Promesas are part of the traditions of Catholicism.
The practice of this custom usually involves asking a saint to grant a favor (or intercede for the person asking the favor) in exchange for a personal sacrifice.
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A promesa is sometimes extended over the life of the person or it can even become a family tradition. Some people celebrate the promesas that were offered by great grandparents, and the tradition is passed on to each generation.
Some people promise a personal sacrifice. Among Puerto Ricans, even today you can see a person dressed in a simple white habit with a cord tied around the waist. This dress indicates that the person is "paying" a promesa. In America, it is a tradition among Catholics to stop eating a kind of food, like chocolate during Lent. This action does not imply a particular request, but represents the devotion of the person.
I grew up in New York City, spent years living and working in neighborhoods populated with many Puerto Ricans: family, friends, neighbors and co-workers. My husband is Puerto Rican. Many of my past lovers and significant others have been Puerto Rican. My madrina (godmother) and padrino (who died after he moved home to Puerto Rico), godbrothers, and godsisters are Puerto Rican. I spent years as part of a predominantly Puerto Rican leftist organization, The Young Lords Party (one third of the members were African-American). Our slogan was “Tengo Puerto Rico en mi corazón” (I have Puerto Rico in my heart).
Living and working in El Barrio (Spanish Harlem) every day I saw people, mostly women, who had made promesas, dressed in distinctive white garb.
I am not a Catholic. I am a Santeria practitioner. We also dress in white frequently as part of our practice. Making a spiritual vow is something we do not take lightly. For me, it meshes with my political commitment.
So when Irma and Maria ripped Puerto Rico and the USVI to shreds, affecting not only those on the islands but millions of people of the diaspora, I realized that though I couldn’t go to PR, and didn’t have much money to give—but I could give my and time and keyboard to my brothers and sisters of the heart.
Years before Maria, using the example of Black Kos, I founded LatinoKos —because as a non-Latinx, I felt strongly that writers and readers of this blog, even though it was founded by a Latino, did not pay enough attention to the issues and cultures of our Caribbean and Latin-American neighbors and communities. As of today the group only has 172 members. We were never able to do a weekly diary, but it does serve to republish stories of interest to the larger community here.
That leads me to the point of these ramblings and musings. In conversations with friends here, I realized that I’ve been blinded by assumptions. Because, as a New Yorker, growing up in and out of Puerto Rican homes, partying in clubs where we danced salsa together till dawn—Puerto Ricans and blacks and whites—Puerto Rico was not a foreign county or culture. There was no “otherness.” I didn’t realize that for a vast swathe of people who live in the mainland U.S., Puerto Ricans are “others.” Foreign. They’re not even thought of as U.S. citizens, if thought about at all. Even for many of you who read Daily Kos, Puerto Rico is perhaps an afterthought. You more than likely got taught nothing about its history and culture in school. You may not have ever met a Puerto Rican. And though you are Democrats and probably left-of-center, your “key issues list” may not even have Puerto Rico on it.
Those of you who have been reading me here regularly, since I made the promesa to continue to write about PR and the Caribbean in this Sunday space, have clearly exhibited an interest.
I tacked a poll onto the end of this story. It’s a totally unscientific one. I’m curious about your relationship to all things Boricua. Please take it and then discuss in comments.
Many of you over the last year have asked what you can do to help Puerto Rico.
I ask that you make a promesa.
Not a Catholic one. Not a spiritual one.
A political one.
Take 10 minutes out of your day (or week) and share tweets and articles about Puerto Rico. Pressure your congresscritters to put Puerto Rico on their agenda. It should not be only the legislative responsibility of the Puerto Rican reps in Congress, like Nydia Velázquez, and a few senators who have large Puerto Rican constituencies like Elizabeth Warren and Chris Murphy. It shouldn’t only a major issue for a governor of a state with a large Puerto Rican population, like Andrew Cuomo, who has done more for PR than the POTUS.
Yes, there are local Puerto Rican elected officials who speak out and fight back. It is not enough.
Most of all, talk to your not-Puerto Rican family, friends, and co-workers. Ask them what they know about Puerto Rico, and how often they read or think about it.
I’d like to know what they answer.
Perhaps if we can get more mainlanders to say something, and demonstrate that they give a damn, we can begin to lift spirits on the island. And it won’t help matters when mainland non-Puerto Ricans lecture at folks on the island what they should be doing about the status issue. That won’t put a roof on the house.
Frankly, many Puerto Ricans feel—and rightly so—that a majority of folks here don’t give a sh*t about their plight. They aren’t only talking about the openly hostile racists, egged on by Trump and his followers.
It’s the rest of us.
Rant over. I look forward to reading your comments.