Well, a simple reading of the New Day, the preeminent newspaper of Puerto Rico, tells the story.
We’re screwed.
This morning at 12:30 three hundred federal agents of the Bureau of Prisons entered the federal prison here—the first operation of its kind. They literally went cell by cell, confiscating everything from drugs to cell phones to homemade weapons.
The prison, according to the New Day, has been without contact from the outside world since the murder of Osvaldo Albarati—no calls out, not by cellular phones, and not by landlines. Visits have also been suspended.
It all started a week or so ago when Albarati, a prison official, got killed driving home from work one night. It was a clear execution—21 bullets shot into his car, the paid assassins speeding away. And nobody had much doubt who had paid for the killing—two inmates who were directing the drug cartels from behind bars. For this they needed cell phones, which the prison official had found and confiscated. So the inmates got together and paid to send a message to any other honest guy in the prison system who might think about doing his job.
Things are a little different, here in Puerto Rico.
“The inmates are in control of the prison,” a friend who is a doctor and who was hired to give medical services in the prison system told me. “They even control who can be held in the prison. That’s because each prison has a gang associated with it, a gang that operates inside and outside the prison. And a member of an opposite gang will be killed in days. So the prisoners vet the incoming convict, and the prison administration listens. They have to.”
It appears that this mentality is lost on the Feds, though, and the prisoners, as reported by the New Day, were a little stunned by the severity and thoroughness of the search.
The situation of the prisoners running the prison all started in the late seventies, when a guy named Carlos Torres-Irriarte—OK, call him by his nickname, La Sombra—decided to form a little group to protest abusive prison officials and abusive gang activity. And La Sombra must have been a charismatic man, because very soon the Ñetas had gained control of the biggest prison on the island, Oso Blanco, or polar bear.
Well, you don’t go places without stepping on a few toes, which in this case was—of course—the rival gang. So that gang—called “Group 27,” or “The Insects”—decided to kill Irriarte, which they did, with the help of a prison guard.
Or was it just the rival gang? Irriarte, it seems, had come down hard on one thing—no drugs. And soon after his death, the Ñetas had cornered the market on drugs.
They also had a little score to settle with their rivals, so they tunneled for days to reach the leader of the Insects, a guy nicknamed Manota. Then, according to street legend, various body parts were sent to family members, gang leaders, and interested others.
Here’s Wikipedia on what happened next:
The news soared and the media depicted the story as a hostile takeover. Used to their advantage, they used the media coverage as a means to send out messages to other members in different prisons across the island. Their message was clear: They wanted justice and they meant business. They warned the administration and let them know that if their needs weren't met about improving the living situations within the facilities, there would be bloodshed and an all out war. By the middle of 1984, their numbers multiplied excessively. They took over 7 major prison facilities across the island and ruled them with an iron fist.
Well, well—what else is going on in Puerto Rico? Well, the New Day has been looking at the tax returns of our senators and legislators, and comparing them to the financial statements they are required to file. And guess what? The legislators are far more able to make laws than follow them—some serious discrepancies came up. How is it that a senator making over 80,000 dollars a year—the third highest salary on any legislature in the states—only got around to paying 12 dollars in taxes? The matter is under investigation.
And it’s a shame that the legislators aren’t paying their taxes, because we are, frankly, broke. So broke that we can’t pay the 100 million owed to government employees for unused sick leave—and that isn’t making the police and the teachers (the two largest groups affected) happy. Yes, it’s true that the government workers have some nice perks—not the least of which is the thirty days of vacation, the eighteen days of sick leave, and the twenty holidays. Uncharitable minds—perhaps warped by having worked in private enterprise—call this excessive.
So the governor has declared…well, what has he declared? It’s a little uncertain—if he can find the money, he’ll pay; if not, well, he’s not gonna issue checks with insufficient funds. So people will have to wait.
Oh, except for the judicial and the—you were waiting for this, right?—legislative branches.
They’ll get paid.
In Germany, the situation is serious but never critical; in Austria, the situation is critical but never serious.
And Puerto Rico weighs in on the side of Austria. The island is busying itself with chismes de la farándula or jetset gossip. Will our local bombshell Maripily—rumored to have more on the outside than in the penthouse—be on People’s Most Beautiful list? And what about the Lady of Fire, Olga Tañón? Will her newest song take off?
I leave you with this story—perhaps true—of García Marquez, who was once asked why he didn’t write about Puerto Rico.
“They didn’t believe me when I created Macondo,” he said, “just imagine what they’d say if I wrote about Puerto Rico!”
