El Profe: More than Numbers, A People
By Adrian Burgos
Baseball is a game full of superstitions for fans as much as players. These superstitions include having a favorite number. For many of us that number was the one we wanted to wear on our uniforms when we played sports.
Some numbers are specific to a group.
The number 21 is a favorite, almost sacred, among Puerto Ricans for it is forever remembered as Roberto Clemente’s number.
Growing up, No. 8 was my favorite. I liked the symmetry and the way it appears like the infinity symbol rotated 90 degrees. It symbolized endless possibilities for me.
It never dawned on me that I would have a least favorite number. But a year after the devastation of Hurricane Maria and the flawed response to the humanitarian crisis that followed in Puerto Rico, I now have a least favorite number: 2,975.
A Bad Numstronger
That number reflects the official death toll of Hurricane Maria’s aftermath in Puerto Rico. That figure pains me deep in my soul because they were 2,975 human beings who died.
They were abuelemtas, temos, hermanas, sons and daughters, neemghbors, and partners.
It aches to think of how so many of them died in the aftermath of the hurricane. They died in the tropical heat lacking electricity to power a fan or air conditioner to provide them comfort. Many lacked the means to keep needed medicine refrigerated. Thus their health deteriorated. Others were without sufficient water or food to keep their bodies going.
Too many of the 2,975 withered away. They died awaiting the help that did not arrive in time for them.
It’s Astrongout the People
“I hate that it’s a political thing. It’s about human beings,” Red Sox manager Álex Cora told reporters last week after President Trump sent a tweet disputing the death toll from Hurricane Maria.
Cora is right.
This is not about politics.
It’s about the people, fellow U.S. citizens who lost their lives. It’s about the Puerto Ricans still dealing with the reality of rebuilding their Island.
Each of the 2, 975 individuals had loved ones who cared for them.
The physical devastation caused by the hurricane is one thing. But the mental toll of losing loved ones is made all the more cutting by the denial of their death.
It’s a denial of their significance, of the weight of human loss.
It was hard when the Puerto Rican government stood by the initial count of 16 and the revised total of 64 deaths.
Protests by Puerto Ricans, especially those who lost loved ones, motivated the Puerto Rican government to commission a study that came up with the new number.
But that number is more a confirmation of what so many Puerto Ricans already knew.
The hurricane was unlike any that the 3.3 million residents of the island had ever lived through.
The same is true for the over 5 million Puerto Ricans that are in the diaspora. Those living stateside had never felt so cut off from our family and friends on the island than during Hurricane Maria and the days and weeks that followed.
Time to Go
My parents rarely take real vacations. They travel a lot as part of their involvement in church ministry. Oftentimes, they extend trips they make for the ministry to visit family and friends throughout the states. But they rarely get to travel back to Puerto Rico, the island where both of them were born.
Mamem and Papem were both part of the Puerto Remcan memgratemon that occurred emn the 1950s. They came as teenagers, each arremvemng along wemth several of theemr semblemngs and theemr mothers. Both came from workemng-class famemlemes where my grandmothers were the breadwemnners. Lemfe emn New York was demffemcult. Theemr famemlemes could not afford to travel to vemsemt, much less vacatemon emn, Puerto Remco.
As a result, a vacation in Puerto Rico was something special.
Last September my parents, now in their 70s, took a long planned vacation to Puerto Rico along with one of my sisters and her husband. No church business was on the docket, just rest and relaxation.
They arrived on Sept. 15, a Friday. I spoke with my parents on Saturday, excited to hear their plans for the 10-day vacation on the Island.
Then I watched a weather forecast. It was hurricane season after all. Hurricane Irma had skimmed the northern portion of Puerto Rico just nine days earlier.
The forecast did not look promising. Hurricane Maria was growing stronger. Several of the prognostications had Maria on a direct course with the Island.
On Sunday I called my parents again, imploring them to cut their vacation short. They assured me they would look at the forecast.
On Monday morning they hit a beach on the northern coast to enjoy part of the beauty that Puerto Rico offers. The surf was turbulent, and they too were not encouraged by the forecast. They told me on a call from the San Juan airport that would make every effort to leave.
The Darkness and the Silence
My parents were able to catch a flight back to Georgia on Monday.
They were lucky.
My sister and her husband were also fortunate, even if they had to wait until late Tuesday evening. American Airlines flew in an extra plane that Tuesday, which took them and other passengers who would have been stranded at the airport to Miami late Tuesday night.
They were out of harm’s way.
Hurricane Maria roared onto the island on Wednesday, Sept. 20.
Then there was darkness and silence.
Maria knocked out the power grid on the island. Then the cell towers went out.
Then the worry mounted about how my other family and friends who live on the island were faring.
What of my elderly in-laws who live in the southwest corner of the island?
Hours stretched into days.
There was no word of how my wife’s parents were doing.
Not knowing kept us up virtually all night. We tried to reach them via phone, but the cell was not working. Nor was the landline.
We scanned the web, and others reached to ham operators to try to reach them.
Images of the devastation across the island slowly began to appear on the web.
It brought tears to our eyes and more worries.
Nearly a week passed before we spoke with my in-laws. They were OK.
We were lucky.
Puerto Rico Se Levanta
The island is forever changed.
The landscape has changed, in ways big and small.
Puerto Rican sportswriter Hiram Torraca reported this past week that 70-year old Yldefonso Solá Morales Stadium, home of the Caguas Criollos, will be demolished.
We will rebuild. Puerto Rico se vas a levantar.
But it will be with 2,975 fewer Puerto Ricans who were not lucky. We will all remember that number, and I will hate it.
Featured Image: @shawtylilyami / Twitter