I am writing today from within. I write from the roots of my being. I am an American, a Puerto Rican. I am the daughter of an island born on the mainland of a country in turmoil over identity. Today, I see inaction on behalf of other American citizens, on inhabitants of an island in despair. Americans absent from inclusion, they live on an island bombarded by the waters of grief and we are all hurting. Our island is in trouble and we are stranded on the mainland, hopeless, fearful, and desperate.
La isla del encanto, la isla de mi niñez, drowned by a storm— is surfacing for air.
And I see all of us crying out for our people.
I see humanity emerging from the depths of tragedy.
We cry out with memories of a coqui singing, the sounds of parrandas bellowing through the night, el cuatro is the…
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My family is heartsick and furious. We’ve given what limited money we can. Beyond that, there is little we can do beyond prayer. We live in DC so like Puerto Rico we have no voting representation, nobody to pressure. Our friends feel as we do, too no one to convince. What’s with the governor? He wouldn’t defend Carmen Yulín Cruz. If he didn’t want to offend the administration, he could have, at least, complimented her. Inexcusable.