“It’s called underdevelopment,” said a friend over coffee. He’s not only Puerto Rican, he’s an independentista, but he’s lived in the states for years now.
What did he mean? Well, let’s revisit the gentlemen who sell parking on the streets. They are indignant because the police are harassing them. The police are responding that they are merely enforcing the law. They also argue that making a statement like, “hey, gimme five bucks and I’ll make sure nothing happens to your car,” is slightly intimidating. In addition, no one “owns” the street, and these gentlemen have effectively usurped public parking and made it private. “Hey,” say the guys, “you should be glad we have a job! The government hasn’t given us a job, so we made one ourselves! Bíjhte? You see?”
You get that?
If not, you may be living in a developed country—meaning that there is a common agreement, a social contract that is understood and honored. Laws are obeyed, efficiency is the norm, the system works.
What works in Puerto Rico is the human connection. And it applies to basic things. Years ago, I had a problem with my phone. I did what any normal person would do—went to the phone company and got a work order number.
Absolutely the correct thing to do.
What did I do wrong?
I omitted step two. Because the second part of the process is to locate a pala or shovel. That’s anybody who works for—or knows somebody who works for—the telephone company. You need the work order number not to get the work done, but to tell your friend—or the daughter of the hairdresser of the assistant to the division of customer service.
You know what happened. I waited and waited and waited some more. Then, I mentioned the situation to a student at La Fortaleza—the governor’s mansion. The words were barely out of my mouth when she was calling….
…the president of the telephone company.
I live three blocks from the mansion. And how many telephone company trucks were outside my building 45 minutes later?
Look—it shouldn’t be that way. The president of the telephone company shouldn’t be getting calls about a work order. Nobody can have a friend in every one of the hundreds of government agencies. And sending three trucks to my house that day was just a bit overkill….
A friend in Puerto Rico is like a friend nowhere else. A friend will move the firmament to help you. A friend will cheerfully pick you up at the airport at three o’clock in the morning, bringing along his entire family and all of their boyfriends / girlfriends and take you home where his wife is making an asopao (a Puerto Rican stew / soup) and everybody will crack open numerous beers and tell stories and jokes.
In short, we do people very well here.
Animals?
Err, no. Yes, there are people who are ardent in their love of animals. But at virtually every restaurant, there are stray dogs hungrily staring at you, imploring you for food. To an animal lover, it can be a shock coming to Puerto Rico.
Which is what a woman did. Christina Beckles, a former Golden Glove boxer and a major animal lover, was here on the island with her husband. A professional stunt man, he was filming a miniseries here on the island when the chauffeur of the van he was riding in deliberately ran over one of the 150,000 stray dogs that haunt the island. Shocked, he ordered the driver to stop the van, got out, and rescued a group of puppies.
They discovered that there were several known dumping places for unwanted animals. And that the island’s five shelters had a euthanasia rate of 97%. So they went to one of the most notorious of the dumping places—Dead Dog Beach—on the southeast coast.
Dead dog because the kids do a little target practice after hours, and leave their kill on the beach.
Well, Christina decided to do something about it. And so far, she has rescued 60 dogs and given them away to good homes. She started The Sato Project, sato being the Puerto Rican word for mongrel. She visits the island four or five times a year, and is in daily communication with a woman who feeds the dogs at the beach.
She is—you might have guessed—British.
Oh, and also a saint….
