“Just saw the Puerto Rico news! Y’all got power yet?”
E
ven though I saw the lights flicker in my hotel, I’m not sure I would have noticed the exact moment that Puerto Rico completely lost power across the island–had I not been explicitly informed that it had happened.
I just happened to be changing for lunch at the Grand Regency Hyatt Reserve Puerto Rico when our lights and air conditioning flickered off, and then promptly snapped back to life. Fully immersed in family vacation–my husband and I were taking our 5-year-old daughter on a spring break trip to San Juan and beyond–I was doing my routine best to stay present, off the news, and away from my phone. I chalked up the electrical flash to the daily thunderstorms, though it wasn’t raining. The blip wasn’t worth a second thought until I got a message from a colleague: “Just saw the Puerto Rico news! Y’all got power yet?”
My heart started to race. I grabbed my phone to search, and there it was: “’Massive Blackout’ Leaves All of Puerto Rico Without Power.” The f-words flew out of my mouth. (Sorry, kiddo.)
All week while visiting the island, I’d been reading Xochitl Gonzalez’s 2022 hit novel, Olga Dies Dreaming, the story of Nuyorican (a term for Puerto Ricans located in or around New York City) siblings who grapple with identity, class, and power, as well as the national and local response to Hurricane Maria in 2017, which caused the largest blackout in U.S. history and second-largest in the world. It took nearly a year to completely restore power after the Category 4 hurricane smashed into the island. For more context on the issues, I interspersed The Battle For Paradise: Puerto Rico Takes on the Disaster Capitalists to expand my understanding of the electrical grid “situation” in Puerto Rico, which makes Texas’ recurring blackout problems seem like a minor inconvenience. But the state of Texas isn’t like Puerto Rico. As an unincorporated territory, Puerto Rico lacks full protection under the U.S. Constitution.
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As recounted in The Battle for Paradise, the Puerto Rican collective Professors Self-Assembled in Solidarity Resistance (PAReS) convened to determine how to address the challenges wrought by Hurricane Maria. Besides the immediate need to respond to the damage, the group’s major concern regarded pressure from the federal government to initiate a wave of privatizations. The Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority (PREPA), one of the largest public power providers in the United States, was among the first entities targeted for privatization.
“We knew that the real disaster was not the hurricane but the terrible vulnerability imposed by Puerto Rico’s colonial relationship to the United States, as well as the forced privatization of health and other services; massive layoffs; huge numbers of school closures; reductions in social rights and in investments for collective well-being; abandonment of social and physical infrastructure; and high levels of government corruption and ineptitude.”
The storm underscored the ongoing effects of Puerto Rico’s colonial status. The U.S. government’s response was widely criticized as slow and insufficient, further highlighting the island’s marginalization. This historical context is essential for understanding the depth of the crisis and the obstacles Puerto Ricans face as they work to rebuild. And a consideration for any visitor to the island.
But though I was immersed in the literature, my in-the-moment brain still wasn’t making the connection. After all, the lights were on, and the stuff I was reading centered around Hurricane Maria, which happened in 2017. How could there currently be an island-wide blackout? Imagine if an entire mainland state lost power! The media and government response would be frenzied, encompassing, and exigent. Instead, the news guessed that the American colony could be without power for 72 hours. I gulped. Technological catastrophes weren’t in my vacation contingency plans.
And yet, my air conditioner hummed. I looked out the window at the expansive resort, families and couples wandering the grounds, partying in the pool, ordering drinks at the swim-up bar and lunch from the food truck. Staff busied themselves calculating tabs, coordinating guest excursions, and driving golf carts. Operations appeared to be running smoothly. No one seemed in the least bit perturbed. The lights were on.
So there weren’t any issues at the resort where I was staying, but I had much more planned for my family than just lounging at the pool. What was it like beyond the gates?
“It’s not a good way to be, jerked around by the mainland, by the power companies,” said Ruben, a guide with Pepeko Tours who has 30 years of experience taking visitors through El Yunque National Forest, the next day. En Yunque is the only tropical rainforest in the U.S. National Forest System. The land is under federal management, another reminder that the U.S. has responsibilities here. Ruben dropped us off at a burbling river beneath the canopy where we could swim and scramble over boulders, feral chickens pecking at the shore beside us. “But we have to handle it.”
I reached out to a representative at the next stop on our trip, a stay at the Caribe Hilton in San Juan, to find out what sort of expectations I could have about disruptions in power. The news noted that only 12% of the island had power back, and I was suspicious that everything would continue to go on without a hitch. The response was absolute: We have generators! All good over here.
Though the Caribe Hilton would have electricity, what about the rest of our vacation plans? What of our meticulously planned itinerary packed with cultural experiences, adventurous expeditions, and top-notch restaurants?!
At Caribe Hilton, things appeared to be perfectly normal: guests lounging in the open-air lobby and sipping rum flights at the world-class bar (home of the original Piña Colada). Outside, I could see a pool full of tanned bodies imbibing the signature drink, spraying sunscreen, and bobbing in rafts. Behind me, the elevators dinged as they ferried travelers back and forth. An electronic key wristband made me pause–would I be able to access my room?
“The thing that gets really bad [on the island] is when people don’t have water. Living without air conditioning for a while is bearable, living without water isn’t,” said a marketing manager at the Caribe Hotel whom I flagged down for a chat at the hotel’s famous bar.
“There’s nothing to worry about while you are here,” she said, gesturing to the hotel. “It’s not an issue. We are totally ready.” (She then brought me a rum flight with a very heavy pour and confirmed my aromatherapy massage. This hospitality group understands how to get guests relaxed.)
She also proved right: to my relief, the hotel operated seamlessly. I think any of my frantic catastrophizing came from the fact that my family was traveling with me, and I worried about their ability to cope. Sure, I could be content with the stunning ocean views from our romantic balcony, but my daughter needed downtime with Moana 2.
And it extended beyond the hotel. San Juan was alive with electricity both figuratively and literally. At the marina, we’d arranged to drive a speedboat with East Island Tours and zip around the bay. I’d read that there were lines at the gas pumps as people prepped their generators. I looked for stations while driving to our mini speed boat excursion–would there be issues with the boats? With credit cards? No lines at the gas tank. The businesses at the marina were bumping with life. Our speedboat tank was full and ready for zooming.
In Old San Juan, arguably the most touristic spot in the city, the chocolate shop whipped up choco frios while the cafes served coquitos. Wandering El Morro, the fortress and citadel overlooking the Caribbean Sea, I pondered on the many colonizations of Puerto Rico, its unique struggles and attributes. I couldn’t help thinking about the United States’ responsibility to manage island-wide catastrophes, not for tourists like me, who were doing just fine through the outage, but for the citizens–U.S. citizens–who live here.
Despite whose responsibility it should be, the hospitality and tourism industry has taken on the task. Not a single bump in my vacation plans occurred due to power issues, including at the airport. Contingency plans or no, Puerto Rico reassured me that guests would always be welcome.
Our Uber driver noted the difference. “The traffic is lighter–maybe some people can’t work, but things go on, we keep doing. This is how it goes.” The traffic lights lit up as faithfully as ever.
“This isn’t our first blackout and it won’t be our last,” he said.
