Most of us in Puerto Rico are used to it by now. The lights sputter, the fans shut off, the microwave stops working—rooms plunged into utter darkness are nothing new. Power outages are greeted with the same practiced resignation as an uncomfortably warm rainy day, or a particularly awful traffic jam; intolerable, but ultimately unavoidable. On the occasional evening that we decide to watch the news—logging into the latest feed, turning on the radio, or lounging on the couch to watch TV—we are welcomed by blaring, bright headlines: another politician has been caught in a scandal. Racketeering? Fraud? Nothing new. We sigh, mutter something half-hearted about how they’re all the same, and how we really shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Bored of the media circus already, we take out our phone and check our calendar. That medical appointment you made months ago? It’s still a few weeks away. Waiting lists are miles long, desperate parents and sickly patients are forced to quarrel over a limited number of slots—all the while doctors and nurses are short-staffed and run themselves ragged.
The worst thing we can do is be resigned.
Image from Pinterest.
Yet, when we turn to the radio, to the TV, and see what our politicians and parties extol, it’s one singular thing: the island’s status. Not fully annexed, yet never completely brought into the fold, Puerto Rico exists in a drifting liminal state in the realm of politics. The Puerto Rican Commonwealth is its own hybrid, defined by both degrees of freedom and control. Whether it’s effective or not is another question—its cultural implications another entirely—and the answers are vast and diverse, tinged by political strife, bitterness, and longing for a change. They’re dreams, ideas of a new future for the island. But they’re just that: dreams. We have spent too long squabbling over what Puerto Rico might be that we have forgotten what it is. We have allowed party lines—which were drawn over matters that aren’t even in our hands (they lie in the United States)—to color our perceptions of certain candidates and political platforms. Here is the cold, cruel truth: plebiscites will never determine the relationship between Puerto Rico and the mainland. It isn’t even a factor at play. We may rage, we may protest, but it’s just that way. Instead of worrying over some nebulous future that might never come, it’s time to look down to the earth, where our feet are always firmly planted.
Our relationship with the United States isn’t ours to define.
Image from Pinterest.
The healthcare crisis, the failing electrical system, the soaring inflation rates, the crumbling education system, the loss of working professionals—those are all problems that demand our attention, clamor for it—and they are all issues which are much more acute to our current lifestyle than the question of “status.” Then, why do we continue to allow ourselves to be distracted with such shiny baubles and insubstantial promises? Our relationship with the United States is defined by Congress, the Financial Oversight and Management Board decides our budget, so are we trying to fight battles that aren’t even ours? Instead, we should concern ourselves with problems that affect us directly and push our public servants towards accountability and transparency. We should support motions that intend to restructure our healthcare system, impose stricter anti-corruption measures, and allocate more care towards our schools and university buildings. We should advance local initiatives, volunteer, and encourage others to vote. The question of status will always rankle, and will always be a contentious and bitter issue for most of us. Yet, by focusing on matters closer to home, we can secure a future for our island beyond flighty and vague political games.