When I started presenting my research on the University of Puerto Rico student movement, I was often confronted with one question, "But, why Puerto Rico?" I suppose people ask me because based on a few cues, they decide that I'm not Puerto Rican and can't imagine why someone who isn't Puerto Rican would choose to focus on Puerto Rico as their primary case of study.
There is a notion that people only study issues that pertain to them (you know, women study gender, black folks study race, gay folks study sexuality); however, at the same time, if you are too close to your case or community of interest, people are also dissatisfied by your lack of objectivity. Who is too close? Who has enough distance? Who is "in" with the community? Who can be critical? Who has access? Therefore, people wonder, how someone who looks like me came to study a radical student movement at the University of Puerto Rico. Yes, they want to know my credentials. Yes, they want my street cred. In other words, they want to know if my nickname was the "French Hammer" a la Wacquant-style.
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| Bathroom Graffiti in UPR Bathroom, June 2010. |
I find it disturbing to have to answer this question. Why not Puerto Rico?
For one, Puerto Rico is positioned as a place that is "in between" just about everything, while at the same time it is not necessarily in between, as much as it is both of everything. It is not necessarily North America, nor necessarily Latin America. But it is sort of, kind of, both North and Latin American. (Yes, the ambiguity and vague wording is on purpose). It is not necessarily part of the United States, but it is part of the United States. The awkward positioning of Puerto Rico in terms of identity makes it an incredibly rich place in which to explore identities and culture, particularly in respect to boundaries.
Secondly, culture and politics are interwoven on the island, which is related to the first point, particularly as Puerto Ricans-- both on the island and those who have migrated to the United States-- express great concern about preserving the "Puerto Rican" identity. Of course, what this identity constitutes is up for debate. However, concern over the cultural identity of the people of Puerto Rico is an issue that becomes entangled in political campaigns and debates over the status of the island.
Third, Puerto Rico has long been considered a site for scientific experimentation by the U.S. government and corporations, particularly unethical medical and military research. However, a less known story is the history of financial experimentation on the island. Since the U.S. handed the receipt to Spain at the end of the war for the island of Puerto Rico, the U.S. has engaged in financial experiments, such as tariffs and free-processing export zones. More recently, the current governor of Puerto Rico, Luis Fortuno has referred to his austerity measures (put more simply, budget cuts to public expenditures) as a model that could be applied to "any other state." Thus, Puerto Rico is an important case in understanding how these austerity measures (and anti-austerity protest actions) may unfold here in the United States. Undoubtedly, there are also strong distinctions between "any other state" and the island; however, that is a subject for another time.
While these three reasons are certainly reason enough to make Puerto Rico an interesting case in which to uncover relationships between culture, identity, boundaries, and politics, these are not the reasons I was led to conduct fieldwork in Puerto Rico. No, it was for a very different fourth reason.
Fourth, have you been to Puerto Rico? It is an absolutely
beautiful island. This is how I ended up focusing my research on Puerto Rico. It all started with a vacation to a beautiful island.
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| First Trip to Puerto Rico with Jennie Ann in 2009. |
The Story
In the spring of 2009, I was in my first year of graduate school at Vanderbilt University. My best friend, Jennie Ann Cole (also a sociologist by training and currently working on her PhD in Social Work at the University of South Carolina) and I were celebrating our 15th year anniversary of best friendship. We decided we should celebrate by taking a trip together during my spring break. We had a few requirements for the proper trip: 1) an island or coastal destination; 2) warm climate; 3) frozen beverages; 4) inexpensive travel; and 5) no passport required. If you've been to Puerto Rico (any time of the year), you'll understand exactly how these five requirements led us straight to the island.
With the excitement that frozen beverages and an ocean view bring, I did not spend much time inquiring as to why exactly I was able to travel to this foreign locale without a passport or why it was inexpensive. I thought briefly about the only thing I really knew about the island-- which came from a lecture on race and ethnicity in an Introduction to Sociology course I taught. I knew that Puerto Ricans were the most disadvantaged group when compared to other Hispanic groups. I knew this was because of the "relationship of the island to the United States" (a standard quote in any generic Intro textbook). But I didn't have a clue as to what this relationship was or why it would impact the levels of poverty among people on the island and migrants to the United States.
However, as sociologists-in-training, it wasn't long before Jennie Ann and I began to analyze the environment around us. We stayed in one of those atrocious inclusive-resorts. I don't mean all-inclusive in terms of cost-- as it was anything but, rather, it was inclusive in that it was akin to a compound. The kind of place you can't really escape. Trust me, we tried several times; however, the area surrounding "the compound" was not easy to navigate or walkable. One day, we finally made our way to Old San Juan (one of the primary tourist destinations) via taxi, incidentally also a location where locals avoid if possible. (For those of you in Nashville, it is similar to the only time you visit Lower Broadway, the site of the Honky Tonks, when your have guests in town.) We wandered the idyllic streets of Old San Juan with a sense of wonderment, snapping photos at every turn as we walked along the cobblestone streets.
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| Tapas Restaurant in Old San Juan, February 2009. |
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| Old San Juan, February 2009. |
One night back in our hotel room, Jennie Ann and I flipped through travel books looking for "must-do" items; however, we found ourselves reading the history of the island. After we finished reading, we both paused, looked at one another, and said, "Wait, Puerto Rico is a colony of the United States? How did we not know this? What does that mean? Wait, the U.S. still has colonies?" Yes, our understanding of the history was still cursory, but it sparked intrigue.
One afternoon, I ventured to the coffee shop in the lobby of the resort to submit my statistics homework (shout out, Mike Ezell and Stats class!). I must have looked out of place with my laptop and STATA textbook, as one of the baristas approached me and inquired as to why I was working while on vacation. I explained to him that I was a graduate student in Sociology. He asked about my research. I told him I was interested in protest art-- particularly, music. With great enthusiasm, he told me about a young man, Jorell, who worked at the coffee shop and played in a political band on the island. He provided a description of Jorell and told me to stop by and introduce myself to him the next day.
The next day I stopped down; however, I did not see Jorell, but rather the same barista I had spoken to the day before. When I informed him that I had not met Jorell, he ran to the back and pulled a young man matching the description from the day before out. It was awkward. Totally awkward. Jorell and I nervously engaged in conversation. I told him I was interested in protest music. He told me his band was playing that evening at a festival. I asked where. He said something that I could not understand. He wrote it down on a receipt and passed it to me. I told him I'd try to make it to the show.
That evening we were both thrilled to leave "the compound" and venture somewhere we imagined "real Puerto Ricans" might go. We approached the concierge to call a taxi. I handed him the receipt with the name and address of the festival. I told him we would like a taxi to this location. The concierge paused and looked up at the two of us. He said, "You know this is a leftist event you are attending?" We shrugged our shoulders, looked at each other and back at him, "Annnndddd?" He responded, "This is a festival in support of independence
from the United States."
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| The receipt from my first trip to the island. February 2009. |
When we arrived at the annual
Claridad festival, we were able to speak enough Spanish to pay our admission and order a couple of
Medalla (the local beer). Walking around the festival, I was fascinated. There was an energy that I had not experienced at political events in the United States. There were information booths for socialist and human rights organizations, posters about political prisoners held by the U.S. government, book vendors with every conceivable text written by Marx in Spanish, and food and drink vendors. Music poured out from two stages. And, there was a merry-go-round. I felt like I was at a state fair, except it wasn't like any state fair I had attended as politics played a vital role in this festival. Despite my limited ability in the language, I was still able to observe political markings present in the musical performances and the audience-- as they symbolically raised a fist into the air or musicians made comments about
Estados Unidos that elicited laughter from the audience. Standing in the middle of the field, I looked around, taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells of the festival. I was enamored by the ways in which politics and art intertwined to create an exciting, dynamic atmosphere. It was then, I knew I wanted to focus my dissertation research on the island. Besides, have you been to Puerto Rico? It is beautiful there.
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| Claridad Festival, February 2009. |
Before I left the island on that trip, I dropped a note by the front desk for Jorell, asking if he could help me learn about political music on the island. By the time I arrived back to my apartment in Nashville, I received an email from Jorell with at least 20 links to punk bands from the island with brief introductions to each band and the overall history of punk music on the island. Over the next few months, Jorell and I continued to get to know one another until I made my second trip to the island with my mom in the summer of 2009.
On this second trip, my mom and I were welcomed into the home of Jorell and his wife, Magaly, for dinner. I should take this moment to throw tons of accolades to Magaly, as she is the most amazing chef. After dinner, Jorell and Magaly took us to a bar in Rio Piedras,
El Boricua, where we were introduced to the infamous drink, chichaito, and Jorell and I talked about Marx for a few hours. Later that week, Jorell drove me and my mom around the island, so we could see other cities, like Ponce and Aguadilla. It was very important to both Jorell and Magaly that we see places outside of typical tourist destinations.
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| Jorell and Magaly, July 2009. |
Before we left the island, I asked Jorell to take us over to Rio Piedras during the day, as I wanted to document the use of graffiti in the neighborhood. As I walked around snapping photos, Jorell explained to me how the neighborhood was being gentrified. He showed me the Plaza which was being torn up and re-built (a la Miami-style, as I later discovered). We discussed how art, such as graffiti, can be used as resistance in the face of gentrification. In other words, business owners and artists marked space in the neighborhood to resist gentrification and its aesthetic.
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| Rio Piedras, July 2010. |
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| Rio Piedras, July 2009. |
When I returned home, I spent all my time reading about the island, seeking ways to conduct research and live on the island for the summer, if not longer. I applied for and won a summer research grant (with the College of Arts and Sciences at Vanderbilt) to conduct ethnographic fieldwork on art and gentrification in Rio Piedras. As I prepared to spend six weeks conducting research on the island, the students of the University of Puerto Rico went on strike. I had no idea how drastically this would change my life and academic career.
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| University of Puerto Rico Student Strike, 2010. |
I still remember the first day of the 48-hour strike in April 2010. My friend Jorell texted me that the students had shut down the university. I watched from my apartment in Nashville, as the students guarded the gates of the university and requested a meeting with the administration. When the administration refused to negotiate during the 48-hours, the students activated the second part of the strike, the
huelga or indefinite strike. The students would continue to occupy (and shut down) the university until the administration agreed to negotiate. They would stay no matter how long it would take. As the movement unfolded, I sat glued to my computer watching this dynamic movement take place. Although I was in Nashville, I felt as if I spent most of my time in Puerto Rico, as I navigated the virtual terrain of the movement. I monitored the online newspapers, student blogs, and Facebook pages of students and activist groups. I watched performance groups dressed as clowns parodying police officers. I watched videos of police brutality. I watched videos of daily updates from inside the strike. I navigated back and forth between mass and social media coverage on the island.
In the month before I was scheduled to leave Nashville for San Juan, I came to the realization that the student strike at the UPR was the perfect place to explore my interests at the intersection of art and politics. It was a timely matter due to the fact the movement continued to unfold, shift and transform everyday. It is rare that movement scholars have an opportunity to immerse themselves in a social movement as it is taking place. Keep in mind, the UPR occupation took place in the spring of 2010, which was approximately a year and a half before occupations in parks and government plazas spread across the United States within the Occupy movement. It was also before students in Chile, Mexico, and Quebec took to the streets to protest budget cuts of public education. Particularly interesting is how these movements resembled one another, whether in its use of the aesthetic or organizational infrastructure or the ways in which social media was not only used to help mobilize constituents, but also in turn impacted the on-the-ground structuring of the occupation or protest happenings.
I would arrive in San Juan on June 23, 2010. It was the same day student activists at the UPR declared victory and were celebrating the ratification of their negotiations on the south coast of the island in Ponce. It was also the same day I attended my first protest on the island at La Fortaleza (see below).
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| Protest at La Fortaleza, June 23, 2010. |
From that moment on, as I watched the students protest outside of the Governor's mansion, I was hooked. I watched as they thrust the Puerto Rican flag into the air. I took photos as they formed a larger and larger picket line and marched in a circle. I took video as they sang songs of protest and clapped their hands rhythmically. For the next six weeks, "La Gringa" (yes, this became my nickname, more on that later) stood over to the side of the protests, taking notes, photos, and videos. The student activists came to recognize me on the sidelines. They would wave and smile as they walked pass. I suppose that is one of the things that made me enjoy the student protests so much. There was joy. And there was power in that joy.
