Fleeing An Island, With Guilt In Tow

CENTRAL ISLIP, New York — She had traded in her new normal in Puerto Rico — no electricity, no internet, no classes — for the suburbs of Long Island and the comforts of a hotel. Aurelys Alers- Ortiz traveled with other University of Puerto Rico law students who took up Touro Law Center’s offer to flee the devastation of Hurricane Maria and finish their semester here.

But as she returned to the rhythms of campus life, her mind has been pulled back home, where her family has stayed and where routines and livelihoods remain unraveled.

“I’m just lying in bed, with the air- conditioning,” she said, “and thinking of my mom.”

An influx of Puerto Ricans arriving in the continental United States has swelled in recent weeks, now reaching the tens of thousands, as a sluggish recovery compounds the island’s devastation. Officials in several states are grappling with how to accommodate the needs of the newcomers, who require housing and health care and are enrolling their children in school. In Florida, which has seen the biggest infusion of Puerto Ricans, the resettlement stands to reshape the state’s demographics, and perhaps its politics.

But the population shift poses a potentially much larger challenge for Puerto Rico, as it tries to stagger back not just from the disastrous toll of Hurricane Maria but years of steep economic decline that had left the island beleaguered even before the storm. Many who are leaving are professionals, students and other young people who would be essential to recovery.

The decision to leave is a fraught one. It has stirred questions about their bonds with the island and what responsibility they bear to help it heal. It has also spurred resentment among the people left behind with some viewing the departures with envy or even as a betrayal.

“We have a degree of guilt; everyone has a degree of guilt,” said José Camacho-Vazquez, 26, one of the stu-