After Watching After Maria
I have watched my share of documentaries in my life, particularly during my early 20’s. I have watched the intentionally infuriating (Bowling for Columbine, Fahrenheit 9/11,Michael Moore Hates America) and the unintentionally incendiary (FBI File’s Rebellion in Paradise). After Maria is a special documentary that belongs in a category all its own: the ambiguously intentionally offensive.
At its surface the documentary shows the struggles of a Puerto Rican family forced to move to the Bronx after the devastation brought by Hurricane Maria on September 17, 2017. The short begins well enough with just the right amount of solemnity and bitter nostalgia that the average Puerto Rican feels when thinking of life before Maria: the beauty of our Island and our people, the joy of living in this troubled paradise, etc. The first five minutes of this documentary are rightfully solemn and bleak, with our main protagonists exploring the ruins of their humble home, wrecked by the hurricane. Images of houses left in worse states (some no longer even standing) are interspersed with the narration. It’s perfect, giving an emotional impact to the viewer to remind them that people suffered because of this hurricane.
Then at the five minute mark we’re shown a birthday party. Suddenly the bleakness of the first five minutes is forgotten and its replaced by the joy of being with family, goofing around. The air is filled with mirth when just three minutes ago we were discussing the devastation the hurricane wrought on the Island. This is called Mood Whiplash, but it is not the main reason for why this documentary is so offensive.
The rest of the documentary follows the exploits of this family, particularly the women, as they attempt to survive the day to day in the Bronx, while awaiting the deadline for their FEMA stay in their hotel. We see these women shopping, walking around, talking about what it means to be Puerto Rican, while on occasion making references to the difficulties of life in Puerto Rico after the hurricane. There are quick mentions of familial deaths, the US government’s abysmal reaction to the disaster, and the four thousand people who lost their lives due to the hurricane.
The problem is that these issues are then set aside to make room for the personal lives of these women, whose names are seldom mentioned. I kid you not, I cannot remember any of their names. We spend more time hearing about how the youngest got her cellphone stolen at school than we do about the four thousand Puerto Ricans who lost their lives. More focus is given to a street party in the Bronx than on how President Trump disrespected the victims of the hurricane by outright stating that hurricane Katrina was a far worse disaster.
We Puerto Ricans are then represented as a people who do little more than party and smile, even in the face of utter disaster. The utter strength of the people who endured MONTHS without electricity or water, who suffered the loss of homes and family, is only given a passing glance. We instead focus on one family who managed to avoid the absolute worst of post-Maria by living in the Bronx.
Not to say they did not face their own difficulties, but they also avoided the difficulties millions of Puerto Ricans faced. They did not face months of zero electricity or water. They did not sleep in the living room floor with a knife in hand just to avoid the September heat. They did not wait in line hours on end for a bit of gasoline, or to withdraw a maximum of one hundred dollars in cash just to buy groceries. They did not have to spend hours upon hours under the blistering heat just for the chance to get a few gallons of water from the local watering hole, or go up to the mountain stream just to wash their clothes.
It was the Islander Puerto Ricans who did, the ones who stayed. And it is those Islanders who feel insulted by this documentary. We feel insulted because our struggle was ignored, because the ONE chance we had to tell our story, we were passed over in favor of the Diaspora. Beyond that, we feel insulted that our STRENGTH was not put on display, and that we instead come off as party people who strut around the streets half naked listening to Salsa.
And why was our story ignored? Because it’s discomforting. It’s discomforting because people died mostly due to the failure of our Island’s infrastructure; what took Cuba two weeks to repair took us five months. It’s discomforting because more people died than the US government would care to admit; seventy times more people than the official account. But most of all, it’s discomforting because the aftermath of Hurricane Maria proved just how little the US (the government and the people) care about Puerto Rico.
When my Island was hit, many Americans questioned why they should help us. I’ll never forget (or forgive) the words I heard and read; many questioned if we were citizens or not, as if that made us more or less worthy of aid. Some even went so far as to say the US was helping us TOO MUCH, and that the money spent on Puerto Rico was better spent on the States hit by the hurricane. I need not look any further than the color of my skin to know why so many Americans shared (and continue to share) this sentiment.
Words cannot describe the absolute disgust I felt after watching this wretch of a documentary. I would have greatly preferred if such a waste of time never have been filmed, but some good came out of it. We Puerto Ricans who live in the Island now have many new memes to make fun of the documentary, because that’s who we really are: a strong people who can take the worst insults in stride. We cannot be knocked down; not by a hurricane, and not by the ignorance of the Americans. We’re stronger than that.
