So Where Is Everybody?

So where is everybody?

That’s what a friend, José, wanted to know. He’s up on the news, he reads all the island’s newspapers every day; then he reads The New York Times for national and world news. Like me, he’s a news junkie; also like me, there are writers and journalists in his family.

And journalists, as I heard in exhausting detail—OK, I confess it. When the old man was lecturing on the importance of a free and objective press, I tuned him out, those many years ago. Look, does any 15-year old hang on his father’s lips?

Now, of course, it’s different. I see him, in my mind’s eye, listening on Tuesday nights to the City Council meetings, which were broadcast over the radio. Jack, my father, was probably the only guy who ever listened, but that was OK. If only one guy listens, but then goes and writes a blistering editorial in the newspaper the next day—well, the system works.    

There’s a real question, however, if the system works down here. The island is mesmerized by the capture of la viuda—the widow—who is in fact quite a merry widow. Here’s a pic….

Well, I confess it, I spent several hours of my life yesterday poking about and hanging with the widow as well. But today, la viuda is still splashing around on the front page of the New Day; I, however, am moving on.

“No, José, no. It can’t be….”

He swore it was. And then he told me the story.

In 1993, our governor, who was by the way a pediatric orthopedic surgeon, instituted a health plan. Essentially, he did away with the socialized health system and spent the money giving it to private insurers. The system continues to this day, said José, with 1.6 million patients.

“What,” I squawked at José, “are you telling me that half of the island is on the government’s health plan?”

Yes.

The island, for the purpose of the health plan, is divided into 8 regions, and various health providers are asked regularly to submit bids. Thus, it was no surprise when the new providers were announced last Thursday. What was the surprise?

For the first time, the entire island is going to be insured by one company—Triple-S.

Is that a big deal? Well, the doctors aren’t too happy. Here’s one:

“Tanto pacientes como médicos estamos a merced de esta organización, llámese como se llame. Le da un poder de casi $2,000 millones a una sola empresa, le da más que eso, le da una arrogancia sin límites. Va a disponer de pacientes, de clase médica, como le da la gana”, afirmó el doctor Eduardo Ibarra, presidente del Colegio de Médicos Cirujanos.

 (“Patients as well as doctors are at the mercy of this organization, call it what you will. It gives the power of almost 2 billion dollars to one enterprise, more than that, it gives unlimited arrogance. They can do whatever they want to patients and doctors,” stated Dr. Eduardo Ibarra, president of the College of Medical Surgeons.)

The politicians aren’t happy, either:

 “Preocupa grandemente que se conceda casi un monopolio de los servicios de Salud a Triple S. Sobre todo, se ha señalado constantemente que el secretario de Salud, Francisco Joglar Pesquera, ha tenido serios conflictos de intereses con dicha compañía y que esta contratación no abona a la confianza pública sobre dichos procesos de contratación”, afirmó el expresidente de la Comisión de Salud.

(“I worry greatly that this concedes almost a monopoly on the services of Health to Triple S. Above all, it’s been shown constantly that the secretary of health, Francisco Joglar Pesquera, has had serious conflicts of interest with this company and that this contract does not meet the public’s trust about the process of awarding contracts,” the former president of the Health Commission stated.)

Conflict of interest?

“What’s that all about?” I asked José.

Francisco Joglar Pesquera’s previous job?

Senior Vice President and Medical Director for Triple S.

“What?” I’ve gone beyond squawking, now I’m just squeaking.

“Yes,” said José.

I’m dumbfounded.

“This is blatant.”

“Don’t worry,” said José so seriously that I knew he was joking. “Joglar took himself out of the whole process. He recused himself, and gave it all to his sub-secretary. Then he went into his office, shut the door, closed his eyes and covered his ears. And when the sub-secretary knocked on the secretary’s door five minutes later, Joglar was just as surprised as the rest of us. So it was fair. See?”

Oddly enough, the essential health of the political system of the United States is that people are pissed off. We’re angry, frustrated, and—some of us—almost explosive. But that’s good—all that energy and foment can lead to change.

“Los pillos,” people say, with a shrug of the shoulders, a glance skyward.

The thieves.

Speaking of our elected officials as thieves is dangerous. It implies a cynicism, a consent to be stolen from, an apathy that nothing can change. And that means, of course, that nothing will change.

José was right….

Where is everybody?

Death of a Rich Canadian

Every evening at seven or eight, most of the women (and some of the men) on the island plant themselves in front of a television and gorge themselves on several hours of steamy romance, diabolical intrigues, crimes of passion combined with greed, incest, infidelity, and virtually every other crime or vice that you can imagine. They’re watching las novelas, technically las telenovelas, or the soaps.

There are, however, occasions when life imitates art, and one of them is unfolding today on the island. Because yesterday, Áurea Vázquez Rijos was arrested in Madrid when arriving at the airport from Italy, where she had been living.

Why was she arrested?

Well, the FBI is curious to know what really happened sometime on the night of 22 September 2005, when Vázquez and her husband, Adam Joel Anhang Uster, were brutally attacked. OK—Anhang was murdered, she sustained a head injury that required surgery, and was hospitalized. And the murder was not a particularly well thought out affair: it took place in the old city slightly after midnight, and was witnessed by several people.

Murders in Puerto Rico usually take place for only a couple of reason: drugs and passion. But this case was interesting because it featured that very well worn but still very powerful motivator…money.

Lot’s of it.

Anhang was Canadian, 32, an entrepreneur who had been CFO for Dr. Ho Casino (an on-line gaming operation) and the CEO of CWC Gaming, as well as being a part owner of a luxury hotel on Vieques, a small island off the coast of Puerto Rico. Apparently, he was well liked, very intelligent, and, as one business partner said, “frail and nerdy.” Not, in short, a difficult man to kill.

The couple met in 2002, began dating, going out to the movies, and going to parties. He praised her, she teased him by saying that he would never take her seriously: she was Latina, and so off limits. Well, he called her bluff, and they were soon living together. In 2004, the parents and little sister of Anhang came to Puerto Rico, and stayed with the couple. Here’s what Vazquez says about the visit:

Ellos no aceptaban que yo era latina y que no era judía ortodoxa. Lo más que odiaba el papá era que yo era latina (se ríe al decirlo). Lo odiaba. Pero nunca tuvimos problemas mayores con su familia. Él tenía problemas con su papá normalmente, como todo hijo con su padre. Pero nunca hubo guerra. Yo no podía ir a tantas cosas porque no era judía. Pero ya había conocido primos, algunos tíos, fui a Canadá tres veces con él. Conocí sus amistades.

Loose translation:

They didn’t accept me because I was Latina and not orthodox Jew. The father hated me the most because I was Latina (laughs while saying it). He hated it. But I never had major problems with his family. Adam had problems with his father—normal things like any son with his father. But there was never a war. I couldn’t go to so many things because I wasn’t Jewish. But I had met his cousins, some uncles, I went to Canada three times with him. I met his friends.

The relationship went sour—according to Vázquez, Anhang was under the sway of his business  partner, Roberto Cacho, who hated her because of previous business dealings that had gone west. In the days after the murder, rumors whirled that Vázquez, who had bought a bar in the old city, was having an affair. At any rate, the couple sought marriage counseling, which proved fruitless. Anhang filed for divorce.

 En caso de un divorcio, ella recibiría anualmente entre 126,000 dólares y $180,000 durante dos años, o hasta que volviera a casarse. Si Anghan moría antes del divorcio, la viuda recibiría 23.1 millones de dólares.

Well, the economic incentive is pretty clear—a max of $180,000 for two years after a divorce, or $23.1 million bucks if Anhang died before the divorce. All this from the prenuptial agreement they signed.

In a crime like this, you’d expect some action—money may not talk, but it can whisper very effectively. And Anhang’s father came to the island, to rattle cages and get some justice done. Significantly, nothing happened. Vázquez remained in the hospital for a month, during which she received—according to her—one visit only from the police. That occurred two days after her surgery, when she was sedated with morphine.

If this case is anything, it’s a magnificent demonstration of the colossal ineptitude of our police force. Anhang’s father came right out and said it—the couple was going through a bitter divorce, Adam had no enemies, Vázquez had to have something to do with the murder of her husband. Vázquez, in turn, alleged that she had been the victim of physical abuse at the hands of her husband.

Predictably, the fight about money began. Anhang had a life insurance policy for ten million. Vázquez tried to collect—rumor is that she never did, because Anhang’s father came down and spent a couple of years fighting to make sure she didn’t get her hands on the dough. Also, of course, pressing for justice to be done.

Which it was. Or rather, an appearance of justice occurred in October of 2007, when our local police decided to run down to the seaside slum that lies outside the old city’s walls, La Perla, and arrest one of the boys.

OK—so there was no physical evidence against him. Worse, an eyewitness testified that the man, Jonathan Román, was definitely NOT the guy who had murdered Anhang. But if a grieving and very rich Canadian man needed a trial and conviction—the thinking may have gone—well, not a problem! So the jury declared him guilty, and the judge sentenced him to 105 years in prison.

“Of course he’s being framed,” said Mr. Fernández, about to enjoy his postprandial cigar. “Everybody knows that. The guy probably made a deal, or the street was too hot for him, or they’ll wait until the Canadian is off the island and then he’ll ‘escape.’’

He went on to propose other possibilities, logical and or possible only in the Caribbean.

Then something happened, perhaps related to the nonpayment of the three million dollars that allegedly Vázquez was to pay the real hit man, Alex Pabón Colón, who is known on the streets as Alex el Loco. Letters surfaced in which it was clear that el Loco had conspired with Vázquez and her sister to relieve Anhang of the tedious chore of living. El Loco wanted his money—well, what professional wouldn’t—and also his saxophone, which was at the bar Vázquez owned. He made several not very original threats, and dismissed as unlikely her pleas that she was broke; she had sold her business, after all.

When confronted, el Loco confessed, and that meant that the ostensible killer, who had spent two-and-a-half years in jail, could be set free. Which he was, with everybody declaring that they had never, never believed that he was guilty, and much patting on the back! Justice had been done! The truth—as God ordained it—had come out! The system worked, and the public trust had been restored! (Word on the street, by the way, is that he got half a million not to sue....)

Curiously, this interpretation, which captivated and conquered the warm Latin imagination, was unconvincing to colder temperaments to the north. Anhang pere said, “won’t you please the hell get involved,” or words to that effect, to the FBI. So the FBI came down and came very soon to the conclusion—as had 3.7 million people of the rest of the island—that Aurora Vázquez, in conspiracy with several others (her sister, et al), had caused el Loco to kill Anhang.

Well, things were looking rather hot for Vázquez, when she decided or discovered that she had a passion for art. (Confession—this is the way I remember it; I can’t be sure that’s what it was). And where do you go to satisfy a taste for art? What country is utterly saturated with art?

Italy.

Which has—good Roman Catholics that they are—an extradition policy that states that no person who might face the death penalty can be extradited. And Vázquez, of course….

So Vázquez had been cooling her heels for five years, having twins by her new Italian lover, working at a travel agency, and dealing occasionally with whatever pesky press bothered her with events long gone.

Then she got careless. She used her American passport to fly to Spain last weekend. And that tipped off the FBI and Interpol, who contacted Spanish authorities. And Spain, which may be just as Catholic, tends to be a bit more bloodthirsty than those merry Italians.

Extradition will take time, but it will take place.

Readers, stay tuned!