Puerto Rico is still a ruin 6 months later
When Josh Rivera returned home, he found the stats don’t reflect reality
I never walk up to the casket to pay my respects during funerals. I don’t want to associate the image of a loved one with death. As I boarded a plane to go home for the first time after Hurricane Maria, I felt as if I were going up to the casket of my homeland.
When I landed, I was greeted by 20foot ocean waves and another massive power outage on the western side of the island. Parts of Puerto Rico are still faring the same six months later as the day after Hurricane Maria.
Life continues, of course. People go on with new daily routines, seemingly unfazed. Living in the aftermath of a natural disaster has made my compatriots numb to their own struggles.
I left the island four years ago. Back then, I did not have to ration water. My grandfather didn’t have to run a power generator to get water pumped up to his house. And my neighbors didn’t have to park by the side of the road and cross a river by foot to see family members.
As of now, the government is reporting 99% of Puerto Ricans have running water and 99% have electric power. These statistics certainly appease those who just want a high number, but they do not represent the reality I saw on the island.
Tourist areas like Old San Juan and Condado seem to have recovered nicely. In the mountainous area where I come from, far away from tourists and big cities, it’s a different story.
These are the unknown places that news cameras don’t usually visit. But there are people here, good people who are dying, people who don’t have a way of getting their voices heard.
At 87, my grandfather Jose “Cheo” Jimenez has had to endure the loss of his wife of 64 years, the second floor of the house he built himself, and his beloved crops — all during the same year. His firstborn, Jose Luis, was a state representative in Puerto Rico for the district his father lives in. You’d think that could get you a voice in San Juan. But Cheo still wakes up every morning and relies on another of his sons to make sure there’s a generator running so the pump that transfers water from the nearby creek to his house is working.
I went down to the creek with my uncle. I asked him whether the government had given an update on when they could expect power again. “After the hurricane, they kept saying ‘tomorrow’ and ‘tomorrow’ pretty frequently,” he said, “but as time has gone by, less and less updates. I think they lost their way here.”
Speaking to other locals, they happily tell me that “power outages are short” now. “When the government says that there will be an outage from one to 16 hours, that’s a good day,” cheered Laura Ortiz. “When the power goes out, I just unplug the computer from the wall, plug onto a portable battery and keep working,” Alex Reyes said. “After the sixth hour, it starts getting a little hot, though,” he laughed.
I wanted to shake everyone I spoke to and remind them that life this way is not normal.
“We get used to anything. Life goes on,” added Reyes. And that’s when I realized I would accomplish nothing by reminding them of the subpar situation they already know they’re living in. The reminder I need to deliver is to local government, my fellow Americans on the mainland and the U.S. Congress.
Thankfully, local government has been working with Congress to speed up recovery efforts. And while I can’t expect everyone to care, Puerto Ricans everywhere would be honored if our fellow citizens called on their congressional representatives to focus attention back on the island.
In the week I was home, I almost got into four car accidents because streetlights and traffic lights weren’t working. When you can’t even guarantee the safety of people just trying to get home from work, statistics showing “how well we’re doing” don’t paint an accurate picture of life on the island.
Seeing my homeland was a relief in at least one way. Puerto Rico isn’t lying in a casket. But she is struggling in the hospital while fewer and fewer people seem to care.