Two Degrees of Separation

Until you’ve experienced it, it’s impossible to imagine how connected certain worlds are in Puerto Rico.

Consider—there are 3.7 million people in Puerto Rico; how can it be that everyone knows everyone else?

I exaggerate, of course, but not by much. And the first order of business of any two Puerto Ricans is to establish whom we both know in common, what high schools and universities we went to, anything that will make a bond, and assure us that we can cheerfully kiss and embrace at the end of trading reminisces about our friends in common. Six degrees of separation? Forget it—in Puerto Rico, it’s barely over two.

And when you get to the professional classes, it gets even lower.

“Tell Carlos Romero Barceló hello from Uncle Lemuel,” said Mr. Fernández, whom I had called from a party; I was using ex-governor Romero Barceló as bait to get Mr. Fernández to the party. Of course, Uncle Lemuel had been a law partner with Romero Barceló half a century ago; more to the point, Uncle Lemuel died before the turn of the century—but not a problem. He was still being social.

It was therefore no surprise that my friend Tony could tell me the whole story of the Sagardía family. They’re prominent on the island, and Antonio Sagardía is in the news, since he is expected to face charges of misuse of public funds, falsification of documents, and violation of government ethics. All this while he was in charge of the…

…Department of Justice.

I can hear the gasps of horror, of astonishment, out there. Yes, Horrified Readers, our top lawman, number three in the government, is going up against the very court system that he used to administer.

You’re wondering, perhaps, what the ex-Secretary of Justice did? Well, there was the little matter of the $7000 in credit card charges that the Comptroller deemed questionable.

“He whipped out a government credit card to pay $3.50 for two Tylenol for a headache he got while on a business trip,” Tony said.

“Well, was it an official headache?” I asked.

There are other charges as well. In May of 2009, Sagardía got into a shouting match with a legislator, when that legislator questioned why the Secretary of Justice was granting contracts to his former law firm, Aldaronda, López y Bras (Bras being a prominent family from Mayagüez, a member of which married Mr. Fernández’s sister—bijte?). Here’s the exchange, for which my mother—actually any mother—would have sent all parties to their rooms….

(My apologies for subjecting you to the infamous La Comay—but it was the only clip I could capture. Oh, and by the way, the fight begins at about minute 4….)

For those needing a bit of translation, the “gentleman” on the right is the legislator, Luis Vega Ramos, who has just asked why $25,000 this year, with an equal sum the following year, is going to Sagardía’s former law partner. “That’s my problem, not your problem,” replies Sagardía. Not so, retorts Vega Ramos, who points out that these are public funds.

You see how quickly it erupts—in five seconds, Sagardía is shouting at Vega Ramos not to point his finger at him. He then proceeds to call, in the words of Wikipedia, “a scoundrel, a chump lawyer, and an intellectual dwarf.”

What had provoked the response, and why was the Secretary so on edge?

Well, it had just been established that the Secretary had supported the release from prison of an ex-client of Sagardía’s former law partner. And not just a release—but Sagardía was arguing for a new trial. Ohh, and wanting the public to pay his old law firm to represent the ex-con….

It all gets down to a Latin thing—falta de respeto. It was one of the first phrases I learned in Spanish; I soon learned to invoke it in every discussion. Here’s how it works: at the first elevation of the emotional temperature, Puerto Rican men immediately raise the pitch of their voice by about a fifth—basses become tenors, tenors become altos. The hands are flying everywhere, and then something pisses off one or the other. In this case, was it the pointed finger? Was it the “my problem, not your problem?” It doesn’t matter—the term falta de respeto functions as the red cape in the bullring, with identical effects and consequences.

Well, Sagardía didn’t last long as Secretary of Justice; he resigned in October of 2009. And then guess what he did? He signed on as the lawyer for a woman, Ana Cacho, whose child was murdered 9 March 2010. But that wasn’t surprising, since Sagardía’s brother had represented Cacho’s primo hermano, literally a first brother, but actually a first cousin with whom you’ve grown up and whom you know like a brother.

Remember what I was saying about the degrees of connectivity in Puerto Rico?

Oh, and when did anybody ever hear about Ana Cacho’s primo hermano? In 2005, when he came to light in the investigation of the murder of Adam Anhang, the murdered rich Canadian whose widow was recently arrested in Spain, and is facing extradition. And what was the connection between Cacho and Anhang?

Business partners….

I rest my case.