THE STORY OF U.S. PUERTO RICANS – PART THREE

Hola amigos: Today I bring you “The Story of US Puerto Ricans’ – Part 3, by Virginia Sanchez Korrol and The Center for Puerto Rican Studies: Puerto Rican New York during the Inter-War Years, what a story! ES

PR Flag East Harlem Image

 

by Virginia Sanchez Korrol

Centro Puerto Rican Studies

http://centropr.hunter.cuny.edu/education/puerto-rican-studies/story-us-puerto-ricans-part-three

 

 

Puerto Rican New York during the Inter-War Years:

What was it like to stroll through Spanish Harlem streets on a warm spring day in the 1920s, to chance upon Puerto Rican pioneers playing games of dominoes before neighborhood bodegas or meet the legendary figures of future colonia history? Tradition has it that one such individual, Rafael Hernández, sometimes took his guitar and steaming cup of black Puerto Rican coffee out to the sidewalk, sat on the curb, feet resting in the gutter and created music. There, he filled the streets of el barrio with strains of Puerto Rican danzas, wafting nostalgic remembrances of the homeland.  Almacenes Hernández opened for business in 1927 and held the distinction of being the first Latin record store in East Harlem. Owned by Victoria Hernandez, sister of the acclaimed composer Rafael, the store served as a magnet for aspiring musicians.  Victoria, a trained musician and entrepreneur gave piano lessons in the back of the store while Rafael created his famous melodic compositions. These compositions, especially the revered Lamento Borincano, became so synonymous with the island home that many believed they were written there.[1]

The barrio community inhabited by Hernandez and his musician friends originated with the arrival of Puerto Rican compatriots at the Brooklyn docks in the first decades of the twentieth century. The Borough of Brooklyn offered sparse opportunities that nonetheless, seemed abundant by comparison to the difficulties that they had left behind.

 

Rafael Hernandez Image

 

Since the occupation of the island, an agrarian economy, based on the commercial cultivation of one crop—sugar—predominated. Over 65% percent of the industry was controlled by four absentee American companies, which siphoned profits away from Puerto Rico contributing to a dramatic decline in the island’s employment and a small, but steady stream of out migration  Debilitated by hurricanes in 1899 and 1926, the unprotected coffee sector received the lethal blow with American preference for Brazilian and Colombian imports. The profitable tobacco sector and needle trades industry were also U.S.-controlled.  Moreover, the American tariff system bound the island into paying the same prices for imported goods as did the people in the United States, even though the standard of living in Puerto Rico was considerably lower.  Such goods consisted of basic foodstuffs, tools, textiles and other consumer commodities. An export trade could not be sustained because the island was forced to utilize a United States shipping monopoly. In sum, life in the U.S. colony of Puerto Rico was characterized by extreme poverty.  For increasing numbers of Puerto Ricans, opportunities for a better life existed elsewhere.

Pioneer migrants came in search of that better life. Each individual believed he or she embarked upon a personal odyssey, voluntarily executed.  The fact remained that island conditions visibly eroded with each passing year and held little promise for conceivable futures. The Socialist, cigar maker Bernardo Vega described life in the United States, especially New York City, between 1916 and the aftermath of the Second World War. The years spent as a political and community activist, writer and intellectual began inauspiciously as narrated in the following passage:

The topic of conversation, of course, was what lay ahead: Life in New York. First savings would be for sending for close relatives. Years later the time would come to return home with pots of money. Everyone’s mind was on that farm they’d be buying or the business they’d set up in town . . . All of us were building our own little castles in the sky.[2]

As a young, single woman, Elisa Santiago Baeza’s journey was somewhat different. The oldest daughter of impoverished farmers, Elisa came to work as a nanny and remained in the city for over 30 years. Eventually, she formed part of the return migration when she retired to Puerto Rico in 1966.  She came because, “We were eleven, six females and five males. My father always provided for us selling fruits and vegetables at the Puente de Balboa. But we were poor and as the oldest female, I was like a second mother. The burden of caring for the younger children was always on me. In 1930, I was invited to go to New York to live with my cousin. I went and stayed.”[3]

Jesùs Colòn stowed away in search of adventure and opportunity. At the tender age of 16, Colòn simply walked up the plank to board the S.S. Carolina in 1918, where a friend sequestered him inside the linen closets. Colòn records his experiences in his essay, “Stowaway.”

 

Jesus Colon Image

Thus passed the days and nights traveling under strict war regulations, darkness during the night—for the United States was at war with Germany. During the day, I was shining dishes and pans or collecting china from the tables. During the night I went to bed too tired even to be able to dream about them. . . . As the ship dropped anchor alongside a Brooklyn dock and a plank connecting dock and ship was securely fastened in its place, I went ashore as unobtrusively as I had come into the boat in San Juan Bay in Puerto Rico. I never came back to accept the steward’s offer to remain on the ship.[4]

Still others followed the trek of the seasonal worker whose propensity to leave the island for employment was already well-embedded in the Puerto Rican psyche.

The community the pioneers conceived soon spread beyond the boundaries of Brooklyn, spilling across the East River into Manhattan and the South Bronx. Puerto Ricans would predominate among a Spanish-speaking population that included Cubans, Venezuelans, Dominicans, Mexicans, Colombians and Spaniards. Low-cost tenements, cold water flats and railroad apartments that previously sheltered Jews, Italians, Irish and other immigrants now anchored Puerto Rican colonias distinct in their composition. Proximity to employment and/or access to the public transportation system that traversed the city characterized overwhelmingly working class barrios sprinkled with a Hispanic-Caribbean flavored commercial, political, religious and organizational network. These, in turn, energized the formation of tightly-knit and self-sustaining neighborhoods.  Bodegas and other small businesses supplied basic consumer needs. Information spread, not only through oral exchanges in informal familial settings, churches, schools or social-cultural clubs that soon dotted the neighborhoods, but also through a prolific network of Spanish language broadcasts and print media. The latter encompassed an impressive array of periodicals, dailies, newsletters, radio, stage and cinema. Regardless of national origin, media bonded together a broad, diverse Hispanic community.[5]

Language and cultural maintenance bonded inter-ethnic relations, connected island with New York colonias and the broader Spanish American Caribbean world. New York Latinos read Spanish newspapers, listened to Spanish language radio stations, joined groups that promoted language and cultural concerns, danced and listened to Latin music and patronized Spanish language films and stage presentations. The writer activist, Erasmo Vando (1996-1988), along with fellow artists like playwright Gonzalo O’Neill, among others, made impressive contributions in this regard. An actor, Vando produced and directed original theatrical and musical presentations. These were often staged at the Union Settlement House, the Audubon Ballroom, Town Hall, the Park Palace or Carnegie Hall and played to Puerto Rican and Latino audiences. [6]

Foreign and domestic politics also influenced inter-war enclaves, uniting them in common cause with non-Puerto Rican Latino communities. Organizations such as The Porto Rican Brotherhood of America, founded in 1926 or the Liga Puertorriqueña e Hispana, 1927, addressed collective national interests, which included advocacy for civil rights. Aware of the powerless position of U.S. Puerto Ricans, a 1927 editorial in Gráfico laments:

The most vulnerable group of those who comprise the large family of Ibero-Americans in New York City is the Puerto Ricans. Truly it seems a paradox that, being American citizens, they should be the most defenseless . . . For these reasons it is here that Puerto Ricans require a knowledgeable individual authorized to represent and advise them in those relationships which, by virtue of the environment in which we, as aliens, find ourselves, must be maintained with other social groups. [7]

Socially and politically oriented groups labored to protect the civil rights of all Hispanics, a preoccupation that included monitoring international affairs of state in the countries of origin. Puerto Rican groups joined other associations in support of the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.  Hundreds of barrio residents took to the streets to protest the slaying of innocent Nationalist victims, an event bitterly recorded in island history as the Ponce Massacre. Organizations demonstrated against Fascists in Spain and dictatorships in Cuba and Venezuela. Such lessons in solidarity stemmed from a shared heritage in Latin America and the Hispanic Caribbean but even then forecast manifestations of a collective Hispanic or Latino identity in stateside communities. Both Bernardo Vega and Jesus Colòn, long time activists and community supporters, gave importance to a unified Puerto Rican and Latino pueblo, often articulating sentiments of solidarity in their writings.[8]

Leadership was more often internal, seldom recognized as such by the wider non-Hispanic society.  Pura Belpré was one such individual. The first Puerto Rican librarian in the city’s public library system, Belpré recognized the need to maintain traditional family values and a sense of identity against the institutionalized process of Americanization.  She figured in the founding of numerous organizations dedicated to promoting such ideals, among them the Liga Puertorriqueña, Alianza Obrera, Puerto Rico Literario and the Asociaciòn de Escritores y Periodistas Puertorriqueños. A folklorist, writer and story teller, Belpré incorporated traditional Puerto Rican tales into oral and written children’s literature. She developed innovative programs for the city’s libraries, schools, settlement houses and community centers. Her audiences were of mixed heritage, representative of New York’s diverse ethnic communities,  many of whom were budding teachers preparing to instruct Latino children in the public schools.  In many ways Belpré’s legacy foreshadowed contemporary Head Start initiatives; she deliberately utilized the migrants’ island experience, as well as bilingual and multicultural elements in her programs. The artistic and literary giants of the Spanish-speaking world, including the Puerto Rican tenor, Antonio Paoli, the Spanish scholar, Federico de Onis and the Chilean Nobel Laureate, Gabriela Mistral, added cultural luster to Belpré’s library programs and professional associations.  Engaging and enthusiastic, she managed to enlist their participation whenever they were in the city. Local activists also lent valuable support.[9]

In great measure, the people’s grass-roots leaders shared a commitment to work towards the betterment and advancement of the Puerto Rican and Latino community. They expressed concern for preserving the group’s rich heritage even as they formulated strategies for claiming their rights as American citizens. A mark of their leadership abilities rested on their intimate knowledge of neighborhoods and the local bureaucratic structure confronted on a daily basis. Leadership emerged within a variety of contexts, including the ranks of labor, politics, group formation, and in a small professional class composed of physicians, lawyers, dentists, teachers and social workers. It arose among entrepreneurs, bodegueros (grocery store owners) and owners of botanicas and was evident among the clergy, nuns, Protestant ministers, missionaries, santeros and spiritualists. Some leaders remained within the regional confines of the barrios, providing insulation against the hostile environ, but many emerged as brokers between the world of their compatriots and the city’s overarching organizational and bureaucratic structure. Intermediaries, visionaries, organizers, spiritual and social service providers, all engaged, nonetheless, in performing a multitude of mundane daily tasks and personal interactions required of them in the business of building community.

Contrary to popular notions, women played major roles in this regard. The Reverend Leoncia Rosado Rousseau, or “Mama Leo,” as she was known to her followers, embraced pastoral service from the moment she arrived in New York City during the 1930s. Some 20 years later, she launched an impressive campaign within the Pentecostal Church against drug abuse. Centered on innovative rehabilitation programs, addicts received religious orientation as motivation for a productive life. Among the first to shatter gender barriers in what was then a closed profession, Reverend Rosado Rousseau was also among the earliest to guide her fundamentalist sect into the service of community. Her contemporary, Carmela Zapata Bonilla, or Sister Carmelita, was the first Puerto Rican Trinitarian nun in the city. She became an advocate, specifically in the interests of Brooklyn’s Puerto Rican barrios, where she spent a major part of her life. Her missionary work nurtured all of the poor multiethnic children in the borough, but it was the plight of the Puerto Rican migrant that sparked personal compassion. An activist since the period of the Depression, Sister Carmelita advocated for the homeless before authorities and helped reinstate evicted families into apartments. At a time when social welfare services were virtually nonexistent, Sister Carmelita developed health, housing and educational programs through Church auspices such as Catholic Charities. She was also among the first to admit that she capitalized on personal connections with influential figures within the Puerto Rican community, regardless of their spiritual leanings, to secure necessary resources for her programs.[10]

The reality of life in poor, working class barrios meant inadequate health, housing and sanitation conditions, pitiful wages, uncertain employment outcomes, limited access to education and other training opportunities, and exploitation and discrimination. The crumbling tenements or cold water flats that sheltered most Puerto Rican migrants compounded the inhospitable psychological ambiance they inhabited.   Accustomed to life in a multi-racial society, where color barriers played secondary roles to class and culture, Puerto Ricans entered a biracial world where white was viewed as positive, while blackness was devalued. They now found themselves perceived as blacks, sharing the brutal racist discrimination that permeated African American life in the United States. Ethno-racial discrimination, restrictive residential, employment and union practices exacerbated a situation already compromised by the migrants’ limited occupational skills and low proficiency in the English language. Sociologist Felix Padilla confirms the fact that this negative atmosphere was not confined to New York. Writing about Puerto Rican Chicago, he interjects, “Puerto Ricans were perceived as lazy in an ambitious culture, improvident and sensuous in a moralistic society, happy in a sober world and poor in a nation that offers riches to all who care to take them.”[11]

Inevitably, enforced lifestyle alterations resulted from the migration experience bringing about changes that were sometimes assimilated into the culture and at other times rejected. Women increasingly shouldered more of the economic burden. In spite of the fact that women in Puerto Rico already comprised some 25 percent of the work force in the early decades of the century, they were nonetheless conditioned to marriage and motherhood as traditional female roles and expected to be supportive mates in a male-dominated society. In the New York colonias, many women assumed responsibility for providing supplementary or even primary household incomes, a situation that often provoked a shift in gender roles within the family. Working wives with unemployed husbands tested traditional familial codes.

Skilled in the sewing of garments, Puertorriqueñas soon predominated in the clothing manufacturing industry. They worked in restaurants, laundries, factories; as nannies and as housekeepers in domestic service. They contributed to both the formal and informal financial sectors of the economy, becoming adept at juggling home and child rearing obligations, while working as piece workers in the home needlework industry. In their domestic surroundings, in the company of other women and children, Puertorriqueñas produced blouses, handkerchiefs, undergarments; embroidered and crocheted fine garments; fabricated flowers and decorative lamp shades; made belts and other accessories. Such settings provided the context for the transmission of cultural values, personal beliefs, reminiscences of the island ways and work skills. A sector known for exploitative practices, salaries ranged between six and eight dollars a week. In 1933 some 402 Puerto Rican women were known to have worked in the home for manufacturers, sub-contractors or personal clients, but these figures may have been inaccurate, as the practice continued well into the decades of the 40s and 50s.[12]

In addition, Puertorriqueñas pioneered numerous entrepreneurial ventures not unlike those traced to the experiences of other immigrants and African Americans. In Puerto Rican barrios these included institutionalizing the business of caring for children whose mothers worked outside the home and providing room and board for paying non-family members. Significantly, women’s enterprises enabled the cohesion of inter-war communities during their most formative and vulnerable stages. As women fostered socio-cultural links; ritual kinship networks, such as god-parenting (compadrazgo); and the raising of foster children (hijos de crianza), they extended communal bonds at a point when nuclear families predominated over extended family composition. It was often through such cooperative networks that life-long friendships formed and marriages were made. As had been customary in Puerto Rico, family units provided the basic economic source of support. Families shared apartments during difficult times and opened their homes to recently arrived migrants regardless of their economic straits. As social-cultural activities anchored togetherness in the home, so did economic ventures. In times of need, rent parties, complete with live music and comida criolla, were held in the home to aid the destitute. Fortunate was the family that included restaurant employees or musicians, for these talented individuals were frequently positioned to provide for the survival of the family unit.

The work experience of the pioneer migrant generation, particularly those who came during inter-war years, was varied. Skilled cigar workers, accomplished in union organizing, committed to socialism and aware of their place within a global working class structure stood firm in their resolve to advance diaspora communities.  The collapse of the tobacco and munitions industries in the 20s relegated Puerto Rican labor to mostly unskilled work in factories, manufacturing, light industry, manual labor, restaurants, laundries and other blue-collar sectors. There they remained concentrated throughout the ensuing decades. Within a decade, the onset of the Great Depression forced Puerto Rican workers into fierce competition with other groups, including American ethnics, now reduced to extraordinary measures in order to make ends meet. The more fortunate survived through state programs in construction, the building of roads, repairing streets and other public works spurred by federal relief funds. Others returned to Puerto Rico in the earliest of a return migration that verified the close relationship between economic cycles and the island’s population movements. The period of the 40s found Puerto Ricans in civil service and supplying labor to war-related industries once again.  Dozens of Puerto Rican men and women, especially those fluent in more than one language, became post office employees during the Second World War. Others found work in transportation, communication and other essential industries. More women migrated than men, particularly as the war came to an end. They were deemed an essential labor force in the garment industry by the decade of the 50s.

 


[1]   Ibid.

[2]    C. A. Iglesias, Memoirs of Bernardo Vega, 6.

 

[3]   Virginia Sánchez Korrol, From Colonia to Community, 41.

 

[4]    Jesús Colón, A Puerto Rican Migrant in New York and Other Sketches, 22–4.

[5]   Virginia Sánchez Korrol, From Colonia to Community, 69.

[6]   The Erasmo Vando Papers Finding Aid (Evelina Antonetty Library, Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, Hunter College, CUNY, 1995), 5.

[7]   Gráfico, March 27, 1927, 2.

[8]   Although Vega was 15 years older than Colón, both began their literary and activist careers in New York at about the same time.   Vega arrived in 1916 and Colón in 1918.   Both expressed Socialist solidarity in their writings. For backgrounds see Iglesias (1984), Colón (1982), and Acosta Belén and Sánchez Korrol, eds. The Way It Was and Other Writings.

[9]   Sánchez Korrol, From Colonia to Community, 69.

[10]   Virginia Sánchez Korrol, “In Search of Unconventional Women: Histories of Puerto Rican Women in Religious Vocations Before Mid-Century,” in Ellen Carol DuBois and Vicki L. Ruiz, eds., Unequal Sisters: A Multicultural Reader in U.S. Women’s History (New York: Routledge, 1990), 322 – 32.

[11]   Felix Padilla, Puerto Rican Chicago (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987), 59.

[12]   Altagracia Ortiz, Puerto Rican Women and Work: Bridges in Transnational Labor (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Temple University Press, 1996), 56. See also Lawrence Chenault, The Puerto Rican Migrant in New York (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938; New York: Russell & Russell, 1970), 72.

 

A Puerto Rican in New York, and Othe…

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THE STORY OF U.S. PUERTO RICANS – PART TWO

Hola amigos: Today I bring you “The Story of U.S. Puerto Ricans – Part 2″

by Virginia Sanchez Korrol and The Center for Puerto Rican Studies.

The Puerto Rican Diaspora Image


by Virginia Sanchez Korrol

Center for Puerto Rican Studies

ttp://centropr.hunter.cuny.edu/education/puerto-rican-studies/story-us-puerto-ricans-part-two

 

 

Labor Migration and U.S. Policies:

The invasion of Puerto Rico during the Spanish-Cuban-American War bound the island within a U.S. political-economic orbit and promoted in turn the continental emigration of countless workers to American cities and possessions. U.S. occupation accelerated a foreign-controlled capitalist agrarian system. It ushered in decades of neglect and chronic underemployment connected with a metropolis-owned and protected sugar plantation monopoly.  Virtual eradication of coffee, tobacco and other agrarian sectors became the norm. Almost immediately, emigration loomed large as an escape valve for an increased population, viewed by U.S. government officials as excess and, therefore, fodder for relocation as a cheap source of labor. Recruitment of contract laborers by Caribbean plantation owners had drawn some Puerto Rican workers to the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Venezuela and Ecuador in the waning years of the nineteenth century, but this worker exodus paled in comparison to what transpired in the twentieth century.

Within the first decade of American control, Governor Charles Allen lent full support to emigration as he surmised, “… the emigration of these people can do no harm to the island. Out of a population of nearly a million, not more than 5,000 or 6,000 have emigrated—scarcely one half of one percent. They will never be missed in making up the census returns of the next decade. Porto Rico has plenty of laborers and poor people generally“.[1] Recruitment centers opened in the coastal cities of San Juan, Ponce, Aguadilla, Arecibo, Mayaguez and in the western mountain areas of Adjuntas.  Between 1900 and 1901 eleven expeditions consisting of over 5,000 men, women and children were recruited by the Hawaiian Sugar Planters’ Association to work alongside Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, Portuguese and Italians in the pineapple and sugar fields of those Pacific islands.  Contractual accords stipulated incentives—credit for transportation expenses, the availability of public education, opportunities to worship in Catholic Churches, decent wages and standard living accommodations.

[2]  However, contractual abuses abounded. The voyage to the Hawaiian Islands proved cumbersome, inflicting undue hardship and distress on the contracted workers. The trip originated in one of several ports, including the Capital City of San Juan, Ponce or Mayaguez, the island’s second and third largest cities. From there, the ships steamed to New Orleans, where the workers boarded trains bound for Los Angeles or San Francisco. The last leg of the journey was from San Francisco to Hawaii, where the workers’ contingents were parceled out in small crafts to plantations on several of the islands.

Families were particularly attractive to recruiters as they were known to provide stability and greater length of service. Women, therefore, were as important for a successful recruitment effort as were the men. Salary differentials as stipulated in the labor contracts placed women and girls at a distinct disadvantage, but this was not an uncommon situation, as female labor had been traditionally undervalued in Puerto Rico. Women were conditioned to work for considerably lower wages. Their primary function, after all, was perceived in conventional terms: the reproduction of children, integration of the family unit, transmission of cultural values and traditions and, by extension, reproduction of the workforce. Nevertheless, the contracted workforce found great distinctions between the agricultural system as practiced in Hawaii and what they were used to in Puerto Rico. Many of the workers came from the island’s depressed coffee sector, characterized by paternalistic relations between landowner and worker. In Hawaii, the Borinkis, as they were called, were used to temper the organizing efforts of the Japanese. Puerto Ricans were segregated in work camps surrounded by groups who spoke different languages, conducted different lifestyles, utilized different modes of transacting trade and worshipped different gods.

As early as 1903, 539 Puerto Rican children were enrolled in Hawaiian schools. Within three years this figure rose to 650, and there are indications that Puerto Rican women were already employed as teachers as early as 1924. Puerto Ricans constituted 2.2 percent of the Hawaiian population in 1923, just over 5,000 individuals. Despite increased outmarriage, dispersal and isolation of Puerto Rican workers throughout the islands and limited involvement with the homeland, 9,551 individuals claimed a Puerto Rican identity in the 1950 census.[3]

Unrest among the worker contingents surfaced almost immediately as reports describing the migrants’ horrendous ordeals appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, The New York Times and newspapers in Puerto Rico.Desertion was not uncommon, and tales of individuals who refused to board Hawaii-bound vessels account for the emergence of the earliest Puerto Rican settlements in California. Men and women deposited on San Francisco wharves ultimately secured employment in Alameda and Santa Clara counties and went on to form the earliest Puerto Rican organizations in California. The Puerto Rican Club of San Francisco (1911) and the Club Puertorriqueño de California(1923) promoted progressive agendas pledged to advancement and maintenance of the island’s cultural heritage and values.[4]

Despite the fact that a small contingent of contracted workers was brought into Hawaii as late as 1926, labor recruitment virtually ends in the first decade of the century, influenced in great measure by island protestations.  Puerto Rican leaders blasted the controlled emigration, citing a weakening of the island’s social and cultural fabric.  Others, intending to justify recruitment, called into question the civil status of the workers: “If the island is an integral part of the U.S., so is Hawaii, and there is no law to check the passage of laborers from one domestic point to another; and second, if Porto Rico is not an integral part of the United States, neither is Hawaii; and therefore federal laws do not apply.” [5]

Less than a hundred Puerto Rican workers were repatriated, but others remained in Hawaii and, in time, managed to make productive lives for themselves. Some became landowners, homesteading on several of the islands. Such possessions remain in the hands of these early families to the present.

As would be the patterns in other stateside colonias, organizations soon emerged to structure and coalesce the small communities. Among the earliest in Hawaii, the Puerto Rican Welfare Association appeared in the 1920s, followed in 1931 by the Civic Club. The latter sought to change the situation of Puerto Ricans. Their charter pledged to promote the general welfare and prosperity of Puerto Ricans in Hawaii and to “improve by any and all lawful and honorable means their status and condition in order to attain highest order of American citizenship.”[6]  The need to promote themselves as the American citizens that they were arose on numerous occasions. Historian Norma Carr cites several attempts to deny Puerto Ricans the right to vote. Debates over the rights of citizenship, granted to all Puerto Ricans under the Jones Act of 1917, seemed to indicate the group’s intention to stay in Hawaii. Hawaii’s Puerto Ricans had all but created their own culture by the decades of the 50s and 60s, fusing elements of both their Atlantic island heritage and their Pacific island home. Although many would continue to identify with their country of origin, they spoke English, knew little about Puerto Rico, “poured Shoyo on their bacalao and sang Hawaii Pono’i” as their native anthem. Puerto Rican-Hawaiian musicians played the ukulele instead of the ancestral quatro and, in essence, became keiki hanau o Ka’aina— children of the land.

[7]  Nevertheless, a significant Caribbean presence did reemerge with the stationing of Puerto Rican military personnel in Hawaiian bases, enriching and replenishing the contemporary community.

As Puerto Rican contract workers emigrated to various countries and American states between 1900 and 1924, they set into motion a continuum of emigration and permutations that persist to the present. Justified by the premise of overpopulation, emigration was promoted as a temporary but valuable measure. Puerto Rican men and women were openly encouraged to leave their homeland, not only for Hawaii but to set the rails in Ecuador, harvest henequen in Yucatan, work in agriculture in Colombia, as industrial workers in St. Louis, Missouri, and pick cotton and fruit in Arizona and New Mexico.[8]  Viewed from another perspective, the ten women from “good families” contracted to work in the American Manufacturing Company in Brooklyn, New York, in 1920, the earliest documented couple to arrive in Meriden for work in a Connecticut ball bearing factory in 1925, and the 20 or 30 families recruited to live and work for the Arizona Cotton Growers’ Association in 1926 set the stage for a procession of migrants that would intensify with the coming years.[9]

The dynamics of migration were inextricably linked to economic considerations and fluctuated according to market cycles. During the First World War, a shortage of semiskilled and unskilled labor in the United States stimulated the migration of 13,000 contract laborers for employment in war-related industries.  American citizenship facilitated the transfer of thousands of Puerto Ricans to mainland communities, as their relocation encompassed nothing more than was required of individuals crossing state lines. Two other factors encouraged Puerto Rican migration: the decline in the U.S. labor force due to immigration restrictions accruing from the National Origins Act in 1924 and conscription into the U.S. military. Overall, some 83,000 individuals saw action in the two World Wars, and many would use their military experience as a springboard for living in the continental United States.[10]

Between 1909 and 1916, some 7,394 individuals emigrated from Puerto Rico to the United States, but in 1917 that figure rose to 10,812 migrants.  An estimated 52,000 Puerto Ricans resided in the United States between 1920 and 1930. The prosperous period following the Great War drew Puerto Rican migrants to employment in the lowest paying sectors of production—manufacturing and light factory work, hotel and restaurants, cigar making, domestic service and laundries. However, between the period of the Great Depression and the end of the Second World War, there was a marked decrease in the annual average net migration. By the decade of the 30s, Puerto Ricans already made up over 40 percent of the New York City’s Latino population—61,463 out of a total population of 134,000.[11]

For the next 30 years, this city, so important in the earlier struggles for independence, would continue to attract the major portion of the migration.

 

[1]   First Annual Report of Charles Allen, 1900 –1901 in History Task Force, Sources for the Study of Puerto Rican Migration, 1879–1930 (Centro de Estudios Puertorriquenos, Hunter College, CUNY, 1982), 14–15.

[2]   Two important studies on Puerto Rican migration during this early period are: History Task Force, Sources for the Study of Puerto Rican Migration, 1870–1930, and Norma Carr, The Puerto Ricans in Hawaii, 1900–1956 (Ann Arbor, Michigan: University Microfilms, 1989).

[3]   Norma Carr, The Puerto Ricans in Hawaii, 182–3, 465.

[4]   Virginia Sánchez Korrol, “In Their Own Right: The History of Puerto Ricans in the U.S.A. in Alfredo Jiménez ed., Handbook of Hispanic Cultures in the United States: History (Houston, Texas: Arte Público Press, 1994), 286.

[5]   The Daily Picayune, “Porto Ricans Classed as American Citizens,” in Norma Carr, The Puerto Ricans in Hawaii, 93, 158.

(6]   Ibid., 243, 267, 272.

[7]   Ibid., 318.

[8]   Newspapers remain the best sources for this information. See Preliminary Guide to Articles in Puerto Rican Newspapers Relating to Puerto Rican Migration Between 1900 and 1929 (Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, Hunter College, CUNY, 1981). See also Articles in the New York Times Relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans, 1899–1930,  (Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños, 1981).

[9]   History Task Force, Sources for the Study of Puerto Rican Migration,  4, 187–193. See also Virginia Sánchez Korrol, “In Their Own Right,” 286 and Ruth Glasser, Aqui Me Quedo:The Puerto Ricans in Connecticut, 31.

[10]   Arturo Morales Carrión, Puerto Rico: A Political and Cultural History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1983), 257–8, 285–6.

[11]   Virginia Sánchez Korrol, From Colonia to Community, 11–47. See also Gabriel Haslip-Viera, “The Evolution of the Latino Community in New York City: Early Nineteenth Century to the Present,” in Gabriel Haslip-Viera and Sherrie Baver, eds., Latinos in New York: Communities in Transition (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1966), 3–29.

 

THE STORY OF U.S. PUERTO RICANS – PART ONE

Hola amigos: Today I bring you “The Story of  US Puerto Ricans – Part 1″. This historical narrative  of the migration of Puerto Ricans to the US starts with an introduction to the world of 1898 and the Spanish American War when the Treaty of Paris ceded the Puerto Rican Archipelago to the United States. From that date on(1898), all puerto ricans were born in the US, citizens (1917) or not.  ES

 

The Statue of Liberty and the PR Flag Image

 

by Virginia Sanchez Korrol

Center For Puerto Rican Studies http://centropr.hunter.cuny.edu/education/puerto-rican-studies/story-us-puerto-ricans-part-one

 

The Historical Narrative

Introduction: To Angel Rivero, the young Puerto Rican Captain charged with defending Fort San Cristóbal in San Juan that fateful night of August 13, 1898, the signs of peace were all but secured. Articles in praise of the American flag had appeared in La Prensa, and censorship had generally been relaxed. At one thirty in the morning he received the dreaded news that Spain renounced its sovereignty over Cuba and ceded Puerto Rico to the United States. “Such a sad night!” he writes. “I spend it, all of it, seated upon a cannon; as the sun comes out I affirm my resolution, taken before the war.  As soon as the peace is signed, I will leave the Spanish army and return to civilian life so as to share in whatever fortunes befall my country”.[1]  

 

For close to 3 million American citizens of Puerto Rican ancestry living in the United States, and the 3.5 million who reside in Puerto Rico, 1998 commemorates the historical episode recorded so eloquently in Rivero’s Crónica de la guerra hispano americana.  It marks the centenary of official United States–Puerto Rico sociopolitical and economically motivated connections that began one hundred years before, when the Treaty of Paris ceded the Puerto Rican Archipelago to the United States as indemnity to cover the costs of the Spanish-Cuban–American War.

 

The second largest among the Hispanic/Latino population of the United States, Puerto Ricans have figured in the making of U.S. history since before the nineteenth century, when the colony was still a major fortification of defense for the Spanish New World Empire. Puerto Ricans reside in all fifty of the United States, with significant concentrations in New York, New Jersey, Illinois, Florida, Pennsylvania, California, Connecticut and Massachusetts.

 

Among the earliest of crossroads in the Americas, Puerto Rico reflects the mestizaje that defines the hemisphere and encompasses historical legacies from indigenous, African, European and Anglo American peoples. American citizens by congressional fiat, Puerto Ricans enjoyed a long, well-documented history, before the passage of the Jones Act in 1917. That past incorporates over three millennia of Indigenous experience. Incorporated as well are the importation of enslaved Africans and the landmarks surrounding their struggles for liberation from the moment they set foot on the island until abolition in 1873.

 

The fusion of these major strands molded a people who have historically struggled for political self–definition, determination, and cultural affirmation, first under Spain and in the twentieth century under the United States. In sum, while Puerto Rico was shaped by its own combination of historical forces, it shares an ineffaceable Spanish American and Anglo American heritage. That duality is aptly conceptualized in the statement coined by sociologist Clara Rodríguez when she wrote, “Since 1898, all Puerto Ricans have been born in the U.S.A.”[2]

 

To interpret a balanced history and understand the unique position of mainland Puerto Ricans without distortion requires educators to take several factors into consideration. First, the complexity of the island’s political status cannot be underestimated, for it directly impacts the creation of diasporic communities in the United States. Neither a state nor an independent nation, Puerto Rican affairs are as much a part of U.S. history as they are the history of the Puerto Rican people. Indeed, hegemonic deliberations and decisions about commonwealth, statehood or independence status ultimately rest with the Congress of the United States, albeit promoted by a steadfast patriotism on the part of the people of Puerto Rico. Second, the involvement of Puerto Ricans in the United States predates the nineteenth century and refutes popular notions that place this relationship at the moment of the groups’ post World War II arrival on U.S. soil, the first airborne migration of American citizens in the mid-century. Third, Puerto Ricans comprise diverse socio-economic mainland communities, two-thirds of which exist outside of the historically significant New York City. Each has its own unique heritage and experience, yet each is connected to the others primarily through cultural identification. Fourth, the study of U.S. Puerto Ricans increasingly incorporates the transnational nature of the Puerto Rican people.

 

Described as a commuter nation, a people without borders, the experience is rooted in a nation with a shifting configuration of mainland settlements. In the words of sociologist David Hernández, “One must begin to take the position that Puerto Rican identity is not a local or insular matter but a transnational reality.”[3] Their story, then, signals a complex process incorporating elements of both conventional manifestations of the immigrant experience in the United States and that of American ethnic and racial minorities. Their role in shaping continental communities and institutions begins in late eighteenth century, when Puerto Rican merchants traded in cities such as New Orleans, Philadelphia, New York, Bridgeport or Boston. The urban and rural sectors in which they interacted nurtured small exile enclaves by the early nineteenth century.

 

These grew to influence migratory patterns and destinations, socio-cultural traditions, political and economic factors, language, literary expression, attitudes and ideas both on the island of Puerto Rico and in the continental United States. American citizenship made possible unencumbered population movements from the island to the U.S. mainland. The twentieth century communities Puerto Ricans forged throughout the United States bear witness to their place in American history, particularly in the arenas of labor, community building, bilingual and higher education, politics and organization. Their struggles for justice, equality and inclusion have strengthened American democratic principles. Too often, these are dismissed, misunderstood or homogenized into the more generic Latino experience.

 

Migratory Roots: Some scholars date the earliest contacts between the United States and Puerto Rico to the exploratory voyages of Juan Ponce de León, who set out in 1513 to realize mythic fables in the sixteenth century spirit of Spanish conquest, exploitation and colonization. The island’s first governor laid claim instead to the Florida peninsula. Although this historic moment hardly blossomed into reciprocal interactions between island and mainland, the associations between the thirteen original American colonies and the former Spanish colony indeed predate 1898 by several centuries. The eighteenth century revolutions that sparked American independence in the United States found support among Puerto Rican Creoles, as the island harbored American ships flying the stars and stripes and raised money for the war effort. The emergence of the hemisphere’s first African American republic, the climax of the Haitian Revolution (1792–1801) and the transfers of French Louisiana (1803) and Spanish Florida (1819) to American sovereignty launched a flow of emigrants from the United States and Hispaniola. Many of the exiles sought and received refuge in Puerto Rico. As a major presidio in the Crown’s fortification system, guardians of the Caribbean gateway to the territorial riches of the Spanish New World empire, Puerto Rican immigration was further augmented by Mexican deserters, fugitive enslaved persons, an imported labor force, expanded military personnel and European and South American immigration. By the last half of the century, Spanish colonial ports were thrown open to foreign trade in which the newly created United States of America would play a dominant role.[4]

 

It was, however, the emigrations of the nineteenth century that set into motion patterns of population movements within the Americas reflected in the diasporic communities of the present day. The Latin American wars for independence (1810–1824) spurred waves of immigration to the Hispanic Caribbean as loyalists and rebels alike opted to leave war-torn regions of the crumbling empire. Many with expertise in plantation economies and capital to invest relocated to Cuba and Puerto Rico, last bastions of conservative Spanish power. In the Hispanic Antilles, especially Puerto Rico, an increased military presence maintained firm control throughout the period of Latin American conflicts, despite repeated attempts to liberate the islands by Venezuelan and Mexican revolutionaries. Expeditions to free Puerto Rico came also from geographic sites in the United States financed by Cuban and Puerto Rican natives who sanctioned New Orleans, New York City and Philadelphia as conspiratorial bases. As late in the conflicts as the 1820s, groups of Puerto Rican men and women joined Cuban counterparts in unsuccessful attempts to include the Hispanic Caribbean in the Latin American struggles for independence. Their covert actions formed an extensive network, with benefactors in the United States, Venezuela, Colombia and Mexico and were centered in ports of call that included the principal cities of San Juan, Caracas and New Orleans.[5]

 

As independent nations took form throughout Latin America, Spain tightened political and economic control in Cuba and Puerto Rico. Such suppressive acts provoked further departures to the United States and other regions of the hemisphere, even as Puerto Rico witnessed unprecedented immigration from Spain, the Canary Islands and other Catholic European countries. Due in great measure to Crown concessions and grants like the 1815 Cédula de Gracias, a royal decree that encouraged immigration to Spanish possessions, such relocation continued to parallel political and commercial connections established in earlier decades.  More significant, legal and clandestine immigration marked a dramatic decline in Spanish exclusivity. When the Crown decreed permission for foreign trade with Puerto Rico and Cuba in 1824, including the establishment of official consular representation, increased commercial bonds between the United States and the islands was all but assured.   Along with Western European countries, the United States supplied the islands with furniture, machinery, steel and iron parts, jute, hemp, wheat, flour and hog by-products. By the last third of the century, Puerto Rican agricultural production depended heavily on American markets, and almost half of the island’s imports consisted of U. S. products vital for human consumption. Based initially on a flourishing ultramarine exchange of Puerto Rican rum, molasses, sugar and tobacco for American foodstuffs, Puerto Rican merchants ultimately accompanied cargo across the ocean. As early as the 1830s, trade networks expanded sufficiently to warrant the establishment of commercial brokerage houses in northeastern Atlantic cities including New York, Hartford and Boston. The Cuban–Puerto Rican Benevolent Merchants’ Association dates to that period. These commercial establishments facilitated trade and advanced the well being of its merchant members.   Trade routes and their resultant regional ties continued to link Puerto Rican emigrants to New Orleans as well as key cities in the Northeast. Before and just after the Civil War, New Orleans predominated as the center for commercial and political activities, a place where Antillean annexationists and independence seekers could meet under a variety of guises. Among the earliest emigrants involved in trade and other enterprises in the Northeast during that period was the merchant family of José de Rivera, a wealthy sugar and wine trader who lived in Bridgeport, Connecticut from 1844 to 1855. The New Haven, Connecticut census for 1860 lists the names of ten Puerto Ricans, one of whom, Augustus Rodríguez, fought in the Civil War. Records indicate he became a city firefighter following the War.[6]

 

The Puerto Rican abolitionist, Julio Vizcarrondo (1830-1889), scion of a privileged family, found his way to Boston in the 1850s, not for purposes of trade but for political reasons. In Boston he was free to join anti-slavery movements and publish provocative political tracts read throughout Europe and the United States. Along with his Bostonian wife, he returned to continue his abolitionist mission in Puerto Rico in 1854.[7]

 

The last half of the century witnessed increased emigration from Puerto Rico, as individuals were ousted from the island or left of their own accord to escape tyranny and exploitation or search for economic opportunity.  Like Julio Vizcarrondo, many emigrated as political exiles. Others were artisans in search of opportunity or labor leaders disenchanted with the island’s political authoritarianism. Still others comprised contingents of contract and non-contract workers. A few left the island to enroll as students in American universities.  Who were the Puerto Rican students and what was their role in the fledgling communities?   Among those who obtained university degrees in the nineteenth or early twentieth centuries were well-known figures who changed the course of history through their leadership and actions and lesser-known individuals whose legacies were equally as important.  Puerto Ricans earned degrees from a number of colleges and universities, including St. Joseph’s Academy in Brooklyn, New York. A handful, among them Rafael Janer, established educational institutions directed towards fulfilling the intellectual aspirations of Caribbean or Latin American students.[8]

 

José Celso Barbosa (1857–1921) studied in the United States and saw political alternatives for the future of the rigidly stratified colony, particularly in the practice of democratic ideals, race relations and the treatment of American blacks in the North. Celso Barbosa was born into an extended family of free black artisans and rose to graduate first in his medical studies at the University of Michigan in 1882. Returning to Puerto Rico, he founded the Republican Party pledged to promote statehood, prosperity and civil liberties. His daughter, Pilar Barbosa de Rosario (1898–1997), the first woman to teach at the University of Puerto Rico, received master’s and doctorate degrees from Clark University. Celso Barbosa’s contemporary, Felix Córdova Dávila(1878–1938), provides another example. Córdova Dávila studied at Howard University and later at National University in Washington, D.C., earning a degree in jurisprudence. Córdova Dávila served as the fourth Resident Commissioner for Puerto Rico in the U.S. Congress, from 1917 until 1932.[9]

 

From the early 1920s on, numerous Puerto Rican students, like the aforementioned Barbosa de Rosario and her contemporary Amelia Agostino del Río (1896–1996), who likewise earned impressive credentials from American educational institutions, opted to study in the United States.  The venerable nationalist and independentista leader, Dr. Pedro Albizu Campos, was a product of the University of Vermont and Harvard Law School. He completed his studies in the first decades of the twentieth century. Albizu Campos’ contemporary, Luis Muñoz Marín, the statesman whose leadership defined the epoch of Puerto Rican modernization and industrialization, was educated at Georgetown University. Similarly, the leader of the island’s Union Republican Party, Celso Barbosa’s successor, Rafael Martínez Nadal, graduated from Johns Hopkins University.   Agostino del Río is among the many interesting people excluded from the textbooks. Nonetheless, she personifies the growing numbers of young men and women whose careers directly affected continental communities. She was born in Yauco in 1918, and moved to New York after teaching in island schools. A Spanish teacher, she worked her way through Vassar College. By 1929, she had received a master’s degree from Colombia University and an appointment to the faculty of Barnard College. She is credited with writing more than 45 books of essays, plays, poetry, short stories and art history. Along with her husband, Mrs. del Río authored Antología de la Literatura Española, considered a classic in the teaching of Spanish literature.[10]

 

A survey of Puerto Ricans educated in the United States would undoubtedly reveal that they too comprised an important human resource for developing continental communities. Some, like Luis Muñoz Marín, a young Bohemian poet in Washington, D.C., and later in New York City, participated wholeheartedly in the affairs of U.S. enclaves; others did not. Many lived full lives in the service of advancing diasporic communities, while others chose to make their marks in the island society. Yet others emigrated because of harsh political or economic conditions beyond their control and were forced to divide their lives between island and U.S. communities. Among these were significant numbers of political exiles and workers, whose experience bridged the transfer of power from Spanish to American possession.   An émigré colony of Puerto Rican and Cuban political exiles, believed to date to the first stirrings for liberation in the late 1820s, surfaced again as the focal point for Antillean independence activities in the late 1860s and again in the 1890s. There were many reasons for political unrest in nineteenth century Puerto Rico, not the least of which was the failure of the Spanish Juntas Informativas in 1867. These representative commissions to the Córtes in Madrid assembled to draft provincial ultramarine legislation, Leyes Especiales, for governing Cuba and Puerto Rico. Rejection of the special laws’ framework fueled renewal of political activism in New York.

 

A key figure in the liberation movement was Segundo Ruiz Belvis, emissary to the Juntas, but his arrival in New York in 1867 with the patriot, Ramón Emeterio Betances, considered the architect of Puerto Rico’s abolitionist and independence movement, signaled a rethinking of political priorities. Determined to achieve Puerto Rican independence through whatever means necessary, Betances and Ruiz Belvis believed that liberation could no longer depend on Spain’s good intentions.

 

Two years later Eugenio María de Hostos, leading educator, philosopher and liberal reformer, and Dr. J. J. Henna, as well-known for his involvement in politics as he was for humanitarian deeds, joined the exile group in the New York colonia. The earliest political and socio-cultural organizations stem from these encounters and indicate close connections between Cuba and Puerto Rico. The Puerto Rican arm of the Sociedad Republicana de Cuba y Puerto Rico, headed by Cuban Juan Manuel Macías and Puerto Rican Dr. José Francisco Basora, offers a good example.[11]

 

Along with New York City, the Floridian cities of Tampa and Key West comprised a pivotal triangle of revolutionary action from 1892 to 1898. Support for Antillean liberation came from several sources, including some five hundred Hispanic-owned cigar factories in New York—bodegas, barber shops, restaurants and boarding houses. Associations sprang up dedicated to supporting the war effort. These provided arms and medical essentials, disseminated propaganda and raised funds. They proliferated in the cities of New York and Brooklyn, not yet incorporated into the larger metropolis.

 

Similar groups were also found in other cities, such as Boston, Philadelphia and Hartford. Tobacco workers, tradesmen, skilled and unskilled laborers constituted the bulk of the membership.  This was of particular importance, as cigar makers and others in the tobacco industry were known to be at the vanguard of workers’ movements in the Hispanic Antilles.  Such experience would aid in the formation of stateside communities.   Key to radicalization and consciousness-raising among the workers was the practice of la lectura (the readings) in the cigar factories.  In firsthand accounts, chronicler Bernardo Vega and essayist Jesús Colón convey the significance of the lectura in island society and in the New York communities.[12]

 

The readings stirred a sense of camaraderie among the workers, regardless of national origin, and engendered political reformist ideologies as well as literary erudition. In New York, la lectura flourished in Hispanic-owned factories that maintained the custom of reading aloud to the workers as they engaged in the various tasks of cigar making. Readers came from among the workers themselves; they organized the readings into current events and other non-fiction material, literature or political tracts. Vega recalls: During the readings at “El Morito” and other factories, silence reigned supreme—it was almost like being in church. Whenever we got excited about a certain passage we showed our appreciation by tapping our tobacco cutters on the tables…. At the end of each session there would be a discussion of what had been read. Conversation went from one table to another without our interrupting our work. Though nobody was formally leading the discussion, everyone took turns speaking.[13]

 

For Puerto Ricans and Cubans alike, New York continued to be a choice site for expatriation. The diverse community in exile found in that city included banished Latin Americans as well as individuals from the Hispanic Caribbean, with whom Puerto Ricans could form alliances.

 

Associations connected with Antillean independence reflected diversity, cutting a wide swath across class and racial lines. They recruited recent arrivals into their midst, among them former landowners, women, seasoned political activists, skilled and unskilled laborers and professionals. A notable example is the poet, Lola Rodríguez de Tió, staunch supporter of Puerto Rican independence, who lived much of her life in exile because of her liberal political convictions. A New York resident at the height of the conflict, she enhanced the cultural dimensions of exile community groups with piano recitals, poetry readings and fiery discourses for political change.

 

The emigration to New York in 1891 of the young Puerto Rican, Arturo Alfonso Schomburg, coincided with such political activities. The future archivist of the African diaspora devoted his life to fighting injustice against Africans and their American descendants. Schomburg proved instrumental in the development of the barrio Latino in his early years by founding associations dedicated to Antillean liberation.  Although faced with racial discrimination from the wider, non-Hispanic society and institutionalized residential segregation, black Puerto Ricans, like Schomburg, interacted in the fraternal life of the Puerto Rican community.  Along with Rosendo Rodríguez, he headed Las Dos Antillas, a racially integrated organization, and participated in the activities of numerous others. Among others, these groups formed bulwarks of the revolutionary movement.

 

In 1895 conflicts between Spain and Cuba erupted into open warfare. In New York, the composition of the Puerto Rican branch of the Cuban Revolutionary Party ranged from avowed independence supporters to annexationists, testimony to the growing diversity of the colonia.  Typesetter and essayist Sotero Figueroa, journalist Antoñio Vélez Alvarado, and the poet who would give his life for the cause, Francisco Gonzalo (Pachín) Marín, joined forces with annexationists Dr. José Julio Henna, Roberto H. Todd and Manuel Besosa, who favored tighter U.S. political connections.

 

Finally, community presses were particularly instrumental in disseminating revolutionary ideology. The first issue of Patria surfaced in March 1892. Edited by Figueroa, Patria, the newspaper of the Cuban Revolutionary Party, followed in the traditions of earlier newspapers published in the U.S., La Revoluciòn (1870s), La Voz de Puerto Rico (1874), and El Porvenir (1888).[14]

 

Clearly, the historical antecedents of community development are laid with the alliances and activities of U.S.-based revolutionary enclaves from 1860 to 1898.  Exile colonia aspirations firmly grounded in homeland concerns articulated an independent Antillean future for which U.S. settlements were merely stepping-stones. However, the culmination of Spanish colonialism in 1898 arrested many individual and communitarian agendas.

 

New coalitions sprang forth prepared to broker the plight of continental communities, particularly in New York, which would garner the bulk of the migratory flow until the 1960s.  These groups would increasingly turn towards appeasing the circumstances of Puerto Ricans in the United States. Pioneer twentieth century hometown and social clubs, mutual aid societies and political, professional and social-cultural groups bridged the gap between associations that hinged on Antillean independence and those that followed in the wake of the new political order: the colonization of Puerto Rico under the United States.

 

Emergent and experienced leadership forged from past organizational encounters stimulated a nascent communal structure poised to cushion and mold the migration experience, ameliorating its inherent ruptures, relocation and renewals. Inasmuch as they continued to articulate Puerto Rican interests on both sides of the ocean, individuals and the organizations they spawned stabilized and advanced important communities within the North American setting.

 


[1]   Kal Wagenheim and Olga Jiménez de Wagenheim, eds., The Puerto Ricans: A Documentary History (Princeton, New Jersey: Markus Weiner Publishers, 1996), 100.

[2]  Clara E. Rodríguez, Puerto Ricans: Born in the U.S.A. (Boston, Massachusetts: Unwin Hyman, 1989), 1.
[3]   David Hernández, “Puerto Rican Geographic Mobility: The Making of a Deterritorialized Nationality,” in  The Latino Review of Books (University at Albany, SUNY, Vol. II, No. 3, 1996 – 97), 5.
[4]   For excellent histories of Puerto Rico detailing 16th through 19th centuries see Francisco A., Scarano, Puerto Rico: Cinco Siglos de Historia (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1993) and Arturo Morales Carrión, Puerto Rico and the Non Hispanic Caribbean: A Study in the Decline of Spanish Exclusivism (Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico: University of Puerto Rico Press, 1952).
[5]   Scarano, Cinco Siglos de Historia, 388 – 9.
[6]   Ruth Glasser, Aqui Me Quedo: Puerto Ricans in Connecticut (Connecticut Humanities Council, July 1992), 2.
[7]   Scarano, Cinco Siglos de Historia, 446.
[8]   C. A. Iglesias, Memoirs of Bernardo Vega (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1984), 90. Vega lists Augustín Fernández, Miguel Angel Muñoz and Gustavo Amil as students during this early period. Rafael Janer founded a college in Baltimore, Maryland, patterned after the Cuban leader, Tomás Estrada Palma’s in Central Valley. For a reference to Janer see also Virginia Sánchez Korrol, From Colonia to Community: The History of Puerto Ricans in New York City (Berkeley, California: University of California Press, 1994), 244.
[9]   For more about Celso Barbosa see Loretta Phelps de Córdova, Five Centuries in Puerto Rico: Portraits and Eras (San Germán, Puerto Rico: Interamerican University Press, 1988), 66–68. See also Scarano, Cinco Siglos de Historia, 526–7; See Phelps de Córdova, 99–102 for more about Córdova Dávila.
[10]   The New York Times, Obituaries, January 24, 1997, B6.
[11] C. A. Iglesias, Memoirs of Bernardo Vega, 48.
[12]   Ibid., 19–26. Jesús Colón’s “A Voice Through the Window” in A Puerto Rican in New York and Other Sketches (New York: International Publishers, 1982), describes the political and educational value of the practice, especially in raising the consciousness of workers who could barely read or write. See also Edna Acosta Belén and Virginia Sánchez Korrol, eds., The Way It Was and Other Writings (Houston, Texas: Arte Público Press, 1993).
[13]   C. A. Iglesias, Memoirs of Bernardo Vega, 22.
[14]   Edna Acosta Belén, “The Building of a Community: Puerto Rican Writers and Activists in New York City, 1890s–1960s,” in Ramón Gutiérrez and Genaro Padilla, eds., Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage (Houston, Texas: Arte Público Press, 1993), 179–195. See also Nicolás Kanellos, “A Socio–Historic Study of Hispanic Newspapers in the United States,” in Recovering the U.S. Hispanic Literary Heritage, 107–128.

Voices Barrios/ Florida

Hola amigos: The eMagazine Voices from the Center for Puerto Rican Studies of the Hunter College gives us the Barrios, this time Florida Barrios: by patricia.silver@hunter.cuny.edu.

This section of Voices: Barrios will focus on Florida — home to about ¾ million Puerto Ricans. Since 1990, Florida’s Puerto Rican population has grown to become the second-largest in the diaspora. The most dramatic increase has been in Central Florida, where the percentage of Puerto Ricans to total population in the Orlando-Kissimmee area is now larger than that of New York.

Florida Barrio Image

Barrios – La Florida stretches the definition of the barrio. Florida is a big place with many Puerto Rican communities spread from Tampa through Orlando to the Space Coast and from Miami to Jacksonville. We want to use this space to explore all of them. The spring 2010 issue of CENTRO Journal reports on some of the earliest research on Puerto Rican Florida. The “La Florida” section of the Barrios series is intended to augment the work begun in CENTRO Journalby offering a space for scholars and artists to tell the stories of “La Florida.” This section is about the history and actuality of Puerto Rican Florida. We invite submissions of oral histories, photo essays, interview excerpts, brief analyses of qualitative or quantitative research, and other pieces that together will make a mosaic of the Puerto Rican barrios of La Florida. Submissions may be in English or Spanish.

In this issue, we have included a statistical presentation of Puerto Rican Florida demographics (Demographic Overview), an excerpt from an oral history about Puerto Rican experience in Florida in the 1950s (Oral Histories), a photo essay about one community in Central Florida (Barrios of La Florida), and an archival document from the 1930s that invites further investigation (En los Baúles). In the future, we hope to see Barrios – La Florida grow with information on art and culture, education, history, health, housing, politics, economics, and other topics that you might propose to us. For more information, or to submit materials, contact Patricia Silver, section editor Voices: Barrios – La Florida patricia.silver@hunter.cuny.edu.

Reflections from the Field:

A Photo Essay of Buenaventura Lakes, FL

Simone Delerme

  In June of 2010, I relocated from East Harlem, New York toKissimmee, Florida to begin my ethnographic fieldwork in theBuenaventura Lakes (BVL) Subdivision. BVL is situated in the Orlando-Kissimmee Metropolitan Area, located within a 20-mile radius of several international tourist destinations, most notably Disney World. According to the 2006-2008 American Community Survey, BVL has a total population of 25,343. At the time of the survey there were 10,514 Puerto Ricans, 615 Cubans, 210 Mexicans, and 5,278 individuals that identified as “other Hispanic or Latino.” Buenaventura Lakes was incorrectly labeled as Yeehaw Junction in the 2000 Census and the 2006-2008 American Community Survey.

Given the large number of Puerto Ricans, I was surprised to observe the following street names within the vicinity of my home: Mexicali Way, Oaxaca Lane, Toluca Drive, Guadalajara Drive, Merida Drive, Campeche Lane, Vera Cruz Avenue, and Acapulco Drive. These street names are derived from place-names in Mexico. I later learned about the Mexican millionaires who were responsible for the BVL project. In the 1970s there was growing fear that Mexico would nationalize, therefore Mexican land developers decided to invest in the United States. Their initial intention was to sell plots of land, but they transitioned to home sales after swampland scandals affected Florida land sales operations. The land developers initially created the Real Estate Corporation of Florida to sell plots of land, but they later created the Landstar Homes Corporation when they went into home sales.

In 1978, Landstar Homes constructed their first home in rural Osceola County. Long-time residents mentioned that BVL was all farmland back then and described the cows and ducks that would obstruct the area’s one road, Boggy Creek. Landstar opened sales offices in New York, Chicago, and New Jersey offering “Affordable Luxury” and “Country Club Living.” Sales offices were also opened in Mexico, Venezuela, and Puerto Rico, which contributed to the influx of Puerto Ricans in the 1980s.

       Fast forward to 2010, where the Puerto Rican and Hispanic presence demands attention. Numerous supermarkets (Publix Sabor, Bravo, El Aguila) restaurants (Pioco’s Chicken, La Carreta, Delicias, Sebastian Café, Churro Mania, Tropico, La Caribeña) and other small businesses cater to the Hispanic residents of BVL, and dominate the commercial landscape.

Buenaventura Lakes Bodega

       Upon first glance, it is not always obvious that the residential spaces of this suburban subdivision house such a large concentration of Puerto Ricans. However, a Puerto Rican flaghanging in a garage, window, or as an insignia on a car serves as a reminder.

At the same time, I have observed space being used differently than what I have been accustomed to in other suburbs where I have lived or visited. In suburban developments, social life often occurs within the house or in the rear of the home, within private backyards that are equipped with pools and grills. In BVL it is not uncommon to observe residents sitting on lawn chairs in front of their homes, socializing in garages that have been converted to common areas with tables, chairs, and couches, or performing mechanical work in their driveways and garages.

       The weekends bring a plethora of garage sales, yard sales, and the occasional poster board advertising alcapurrias (meat fritters) or pinchos (shish kebab) available from a grill that has been set up on the front lawn or in a garage. These practices, the concentration of Puerto Ricans, the presence of Hispanic and Puerto Rican businesses, and the absence of a regulatory Home Owners Association have earned BVL the nickname Boricuas Viven Libre.

Still, the community faces a number of challenges. Residents have mentioned the need for increased code enforcement, infrastructural improvements, beautification projects, the debate over incorporation, and the lack of social spaces and social activities. The closure of both BVL golf courses, and the country club was a disappointment to the residents who bought into the country club lifestyle. While there is a great deal of “crime talk” about drugs, gangs, and graffiti, the mortgage crisis is what I find most visible. It is hard to go down a street without passing a “For Sale” sign or a vacant property (oftentimes a foreclosure) that has been neglected.

Since 2008, Florida has ranked amongst the top states in the country for foreclosure filings. In 2009, the Orlando Sentinel reported that a majority of foreclosed homes in Central Florida were located in two predominately Puerto Rican communities, one of which was BVL. During the next two years I will be investigating Puerto Rican migration to Osceola County, social class formation, the homeownership experience, and the effects of the mortgage crisis. Social class can be an ambiguous, fluid, and complex category when used to describe populations that have been traditionally homogenized as “underclassed” and racialized as non-white, as has been the case of Puerto Ricans. My research will address the fragility and ambiguity of social class identities by examining how Puerto Ricans articulate, perform, and protect their class identities, particularly in light of an economic crisis in both Puerto Rico and the U.S. mainland.

Puerto Rican Florida: Demographic Overview

“Puerto Rican Florida: Demographic Overview” is taken from a power point presentation prepared by Lucas Pedraza and Patricia Silver and presented at the “Summit on Puerto Rican Affairs: A Vision for the Future” in Kissimmee, Florida, on May 21, 2010. [1] Maps included in each of the entries give visual representations of population density for Puerto Rican populations living in each of these metropolitan areas as well as in the state of Florida by county and by census tract. The data tables presented here include economic, occupational, educational, and demographic data for four metropolitan areas of Florida. For each of these metro areas, there are tables for age and population, housing tenure, educational attainment, income, employment, and poverty rates. The tables for “Florida in the Diaspora” include comparative data on each of these for the state of Florida and the U.S., as well as data on occupation, industry, and class of worker for Florida and the U.S.

The entry called “Florida and the Diaspora” compares these data described above for Puerto Ricans and for the total population in the state of Florida and in the U.S. as a whole. “Florida and the Diaspora” also includes graphs. The first compares population figures for each of the above metropolitan areas of Florida to New York City and the statewide population of Puerto Rican Florida. The other four give a comparative view of the following data categories across each of the four Florida metropolitan areas, New York City, statewide Florida, and all of the U.S.: (1) the percent of Puerto Rican population to the total population and to all Hispanics; (2) median age and percent of Puerto Rican population over age 18; (3) median household income; and (4) education levels for over age 25.

The data tables organized by data category rather than by metropolitan area allow a comparative view across the Orlando-Kissimmee, Tampa – St. Petersburg, Miami, and Jacksonville areas. To access the data tables organized by category and a PDF of the original power point presentation, click here. Florida data project ppt 2010 / Puerto Ricans in Florida Data Tables

 

[1]Source: U.S. Census Bureau, 2008 American Community Survey 1-Year Estimates, Selected Population Profile; U.S. Census Bureau, 2008 American Community Survey 3-Year Estimates, Selected Population Profile; U.S. Census Bureau 2000, Summary File 1.

 

 

 

 

 

Digging Los baules

Days of digging through archival collections in all kinds of places will usually turn up one or two documents that give a glimpse of Puerto Rican experiences in Florida at a time when social research attention given to Puerto Ricans in the U.S. was largely focused on northern U.S. communities. In this section, we will from time to time present one such document together with a brief account of its historical context. We invite you pursue the research lines you find in the document and help us to make this a collaborative effort at unearthing Florida Puerto Rican histories. We also invite you to submit your own intriguing discovery that you may have run across in your research.

 

As an example, here is a document from the Archivo General de Puerto Rico in San Juan (Fondo: Oficina del Gobernador; Tarea: 96-20; Caja 269: Correspondencia General, Emigración, 1932-47). When Robert Gore was inaugurated as Governor of Puerto Rico in 1933, he came to Puerto Rico from Florida and brought a wreath for Ponce de León’s tomb. Although originally from Kentucky, Gore spent his winters in Florida, where he had acquired newspapers. In his inaugural speech, he suggested that bringing Puerto Ricans to Florida was a possible path to resolving both Florida’s need to populate its vast lands and Puerto Rico’s “population problem.” The archives in San Juan have a small collection of letters to Governor Gore from several people of all kinds of backgrounds, each with their own plan for making good on the Governor’s idea.

Uploaded – 2010.

 

Quebradillas, P.R.
July 5, 1933

 

Mr. Robert H. Gore

Our Dear Governor:

We every one here signed is head of a big family. Each one of us has a family compound from five to ten kids in each family.

We are ten good American citizen families. Our occupation is agriculture laborers. All catholics and belong to the white people race.

We are sure you are going to send us soon to Florida. We have not property in Porto Rico. We hope to be in Florida in a pretty soon.

God bless your project of prosperity in our country and let you realize the emigration project to Florida. We hope to be the first ten families enlist to emigrate to Florida. We will start to help you in your emigration project. In God we trust that everything will be right.

Yours very truly and fellow citizen.

Signed

Mariano Gamet
Ramón Losado
Santos Buttler
Domingo Vargas
Santiago Fernández
Jacinto Vargas
Agapito Fernández
José Rivera
Jesús Morales
José Rosado

Vieques y Santa Cruz – Segunda Parte

Hola amigos: Continuamos con el barrio de los puertorriqueños en Santa Cruz y las relaciones de  nuestra Isla Nena, Vieques  con esta isla cercana, Santa Cruz ( St. Croix). Es parte de “Voces” del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños del Hunter College. Este  estudio es auspiciado por el Concilio de Humanidades de Islas Virgenes  y la Fundación Puertorriqueña de las Humanidades (FPH).   ES

 

Imagen Isla de Santa Cruz

 

Relaciones Históricas entre Vieques y Santa Cruz – II Parte

Roberto Rabin

 

Sobre el viaje entre Vieques y Santa Cruz, doña Guillermina ofreció los siguientes comentarios,

“el viaje fue en barco de vela. Duró muchísimo (se ríe), muchacho, como de un día para otro. Salimos de Morropó (Punta Mulas, Vieques) hasta Frederiksted. El viaje costaba unos cinco pesos en ese tiempo (se ríe). Viajé con mis dos hijos. Había tres barcos que llevaba la gente y las traía; después una lancha rápida de motor grande, y después el avión. El mar se ponía malo. La gente pasaron muchos problemas, pero yo no; pero mucha gente sí. Mucha gente pasaron sustos grandes; a mí no, siempre tuve buenos viajes, yo no me mareo”.

Y sobre Santa Cruz dijo, “bueno, es el mejor sitio del mundo. Yo he ido a los Estados Unidos, a la Isla Grande (Puerto Rico), y en ningún sitio encuentro un lugar como esto”.

Entre otros puntos interesantes doña Guillermina señaló que no sabía inglés, y que todavía habla inglés con señas. Hacía veinticinco años que murió su esposo al que enterraron en Santa Cruz. Al preguntarle de su identidad cultural dijo, con una sonrisa,

“yo soy puertorriqueña, y mis hijos también. No soy inglesa, yo no sé inglés, tantos años que vivo aquí (…)”.

Terminó diciendo, “me gusta Vieques (…) pero (…) me gusta más Santa Cruz”.

Otra entrevistada fue doña Marta Benítez de Suárez, nacida el 16 de abril de 1914, en Fajardo, Puerto Rico. Su mamá llevó a Marta, sus dos hermanas y un hermano a vivir en Vieques, donde estuvieron por quince años. Emigró hacia Santa Cruz el 14 de mayo de 1935, siguiendo a su hermana mayor, que era como su mamá. Fue en Santa Cruz que conoció a su esposo de cincuentaisiete años, Ángel Suárez Figueroa, otro viequense emigrado a Islas Vírgenes.

El viaje entre Vieques y Santa Cruz fue una experiencia “inolvidable” para doña Marta,

“Tuvimos un muy mal tiempo. Primero tuvimos una calma que nos cogió toda la noche sin casi el barco moverse. Era un barco de vela. Pasamos toda esa noche del catorce hasta el quince de mayo. Entonces, de pronto nos cogió un temporal. Por poco el barco se parte. Pasamos todo el resto del día en ese temporal. Llegamos al puerto aquí en Santa Cruz, en Frederiksted, ya de noche. Se ve’ian los marullos que se levantaban los buildings que est’an all’i en frente, la aduana, que estaba para ese tiempo, frente a los muelles.

No hubiéramos salido a tierra esa noche porque no se podía, pero que venía una familia de Vieques que venía mudándose para aquí, era de apellido Lanzó. Venían de mudanza; eran gente que se dedicaban a la pesca y traían un bote de ellos, una yolita.

El barco tuvo que bajar bien hacia abajo, no por el muelle (debido a la tormenta) y las personas que estaban en tierra esperando al barco, que se suponía que llegaba a tal hora y tardó casi dos días, ya la gente pensaba que el barco se hundió y que la gente perecieron.

Entonces esa gente que venían con esa yolita, la tiraron al agua y allí nos sacaban. Los que estabanen tierra, entre ellos un cuñado mío, entonces nos ayudaron a desembarcar.

Había un puertorriqueño aquí de nombre don Isaac González, que vivía frente al mar, era comerciante. Al regarse la voz desde temprano de que ese barco tenía que llegar y que no llegaba, ya todo el mundo estaba alarmado. Pues, ese señor, que Dios lo tenga en la gloria, abrió su casa para recibir a todo el mundo. Nos dio ropa seca… esa noche no pudimos pasar por aduana por el tiempo…”.

Doña Marta lleva cincuentaisiete años en Santa Cruz. Junto a su esposo establecieron un supermercado en queen street, Frederiksted. Va a Vieques solo de visita.

Don Basilio Félix Rodríguez habló con los estudiantes sobre su vida en Vieques, la emigración a Santa Cruz, y su amor por su tierra adoptada,

“nací el 5 de enero de 1927. Vivíamos en un sitio aislado, de mucho ganado, en Puerto Negro (…) había seis u ocho casas nada más. Ahora todo eso desapareció dentro de la base”.

Don Basilio entregó un manuscrito de sus memorias, que había preparado para nuestro proyecto. Comienza en la siguiente manera su escrito:

“Corría el año 1939. La marina de los EE.UU. compraba y expropiaba familias a su forma y antojo (…). La central Playa Grande expropiaba, su gente y propiedades, así los barrios de Resolución, Mosquito, La Miray, Ventana, Barrio Palma y así todo el oeste de Vieques (…). En 1943, mi padre se encuentra sin trabajo y cinco hijos que mantener, sabrá Dios qué pensaba. Un día nos dice que nos mudaríamos a Santa Cruz. Nuestras mentes no podían asimilar aquello. ¡Dejar a Vieques! Imposible. Nuestra escuela, nuestras amistades, nuestros vecinos y demás familias. Era algo así como cosa de loco.

Vimos en barco de vela. Nuestra partida a Santa Cruz fue un martes de septiembre (1943) como a la una de la tarde, bajo un sol candente y en un barco llamado El Arturo, capitaneado por su dueño, don Jorge Carrillo. Veníamos, aparte de muchos otros pasajeros, mi cuñada y mis dos hermanas. Mi papá y mi hermano menor se quedaban para unirse a nosotros un mes después. Ya a Santa Cruz habían llegado dos hermanos mayores que yo. Llegamos a Santa Cruz, al puerto de Christiansted, al otro día, miércoles, como a las dos de la tarde. De esto hace casi cincuenta años. Todo, gracias a Dios, nos ha ido bien en Santa Cruz, donde hemos crecido. Hoy en Santa Cruz, nuestra familia Félix es una de las familias hispanas más numerosas. Gracias a esa decisión de nuestro padre que a principio no aprobamos. Después de cincuenta años de haber dejado a Vieques no lo he podido olvidar a pesar de que no tengo nada que quejarme de Santa Cruz”.

Expulsados de Vieques por el fracaso de la industria azucarera y las expropiaciones militares de los 1940’s, los viequenses emigraron en grandes números a Santa Cruz, donde había trabajo disponible en las plantaciones azucareras, en una naciente industria turística y luego en las plantas petroquímicas. En las últimas décadas, personas de todas clases de la sociedad viequense han emigrado a Santa Cruz en busca de un mejor futuro. Mientras el número de puertorriqueños en Islas Vírgenes se estimó en 3,000 en 1950, 6,000 para 1960 y 9,700 en 1965, los estimados actuales son de 20,000.

The Center for Puerto Rican Studies 38 Years Later

Hola amigos: The Center for Puerto Rican Studies (Centro de Estudios Puertorrriquenos ) of the Hunter College, celebrates their 38 year of opening  it’s doors. It’s a wonderful resource that I always recommend and use. Happy 38 years, Centro! ES

 

 

Centro de Estudios Parade Image

 

By Sandra E. Garcia

Fox News Latino
http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/community/2011/12/12/inside-el-centro-for-puerto-rican-studies/#ixzz1gW9XMrFf

Founded in 1973, El Centro for Puerto Rican Studies in New York City has become more than an archive. It’s more than a library. The center has become a reference point for the heart of Puerto Rican culture.

El Centro holds some of Puerto Rico‘s most prized historical literature and references in an attempt to answer some of people’s most introspective questions, including: What does it mean to be Puerto Rican?

“We are in charge of conserving that heritage, that legacy,” said Edwin Meléndez, El Center’s director.

El Centro is trying to make sure that everyone with an affinity for the culture has a destination where they can go and study its history, the merging of two ancestries. It holds over 250 collections from some of the top names in Puerto Rico’s American history. Its archives are donated by the authors of the work.

“These are one-of-a-kind pieces that you can’t find anywhere else in the world,” said Meléndez. “These archives document the cultural mix of Puerto Ricans and American culture.”

Many of these pieces surround the history of New York City, which has the largest population of Puerto Ricans outside of Puerto Rico. According to the U.S. Census’ American Community Survey, the city is home to some 800,000 Puerto Ricans.

Pieces include Oscar García Rivera’s political artifacts. García Rivera ran for New York State Assemblyman as a Republican in 1937, and was the first Puerto Rican to be hold political office in the US. El Centro has everything from pamphlets to posters of the campaign.

Meléndez says among his favorites are the first Puerto Rican librarian, Pura Belpre’s puppets and the Presidential Medals awarded to Tony Pantojas and Helen Rodríguez. Or maybe a hat signed by Pedro Pietri, a Nuyorican poet and playwright.

“There are many candidates for the best,” he said.

The archive contains collections from people like Olga Méndez – the first Puerto Rican woman elected to a state legislature in the US. Her memorabilia includes plaques, files from her time in office and correspondence. Mendez represented the 28th District in New York City for 28 years, until she was defeated by José Serrano in 2004.

“I think that New York City holds a special place in the history of the Puerto Rican community in the United States,” Meléndez said. “New York City has been the birth place of the Puerto Rican Diaspora. To date, Puerto Ricans are the footing of Latino culture in the city.”

These collections share a grand gray area with the history of New York City. It’s what makes El Centro an important historical place for the city.

Funded by the State of New York, The City University of New York, and Hunter College, El Centro grew as an idea from CUNY students in the late 60s and early 70s who were fighting for a tuition-free public college.

El Centro does not stop at collecting and archiving original works – it also operates educational programs for students who want to learn about their Puerto Rican heritage and people who want to teach Puerto Rican studies.

“Having the collection is just the first start,” Meléndez said. “We are trying to help people find answers to guide them to better understand the Puerto Rican community.”

Housed in Hunter College, Meléndez said students and researchers are welcome at El Centro to “promote cultural continuity.”

“We often work together,” Meléndez said. “We have students here with an affinity for the Puerto Rican history. They want to know about the roots of their parents and grandparents.”

He said what he wants is to start conversation. To try and answer the question that people keep asking.

“What defines us as Puerto Ricans has evolved over time and has increased in complexity. What does it mean to be Puerto Rican? It’s an evolving question that we may never have a response to,” he said. “This never ending, revolving question is what the center is all about. All of this translates into how people can become leaders and make a difference in their community.”

Vieques y Santa Cruz – Primera Parte

Hola amigos: Continuamos con el barrio de los puertorriqueños en Santa Cruz y las relaciones de  nuestra Isla Nena, Vieques, con esta isla cercana, Santa Cruz ( St. Croix). Es parte de “Voces” del Centro de Estudios Puertorriqueños del Hunter College. Este  estudio es auspiciado   por el Concilio de Humanidades de Islas Virgenes  y la Fundación Puertorriqueña de las Humanidades (FPH).   ES

 

Santa Cruz Image

Relaciones Históricas entre Vieques y Santa Cruz

by Roberto Rabin

Archivo Histórico de Vieques

“De Papa dem (puertorriqueños) son nuestros hermanos.
Somos del mismo árbol. Sus raíces son nuestras raíces.
Se extienden cientos de años hacia atrás, hasta África.”
Del libro Kallaloo de Richard A. Schrader, Sr.

Introducción:

Esta publicación es parte de un programa de investigación y divulgación sobre las relaciones históricas entre las islas de Vieques (Puerto Rico) y Santa Cruz (Islas Virgenes de Estados Unidos),  auspiciado por el Concilio de Humanidades de Islas Virgenes (VIHC, por sus siglas en inglés) y la fundación Puertorriqueña de las Humanidades (FPH).

Durante el año académico 1992-93, el historiador residente en Vieques, Robert Rabin, con fondos del VIHC, ofreció una serie de conferencias en las escuelas de Santa Cruz y para la comunidad en general sobre el proceso centenario de migraciones entre nuestras islas.

Otro aspecto importante del proyecto fue la participación de estudiantes de la Central High School(CHS) en una serie de talleres sobre las relaciones históricas entre Vieques y Santa Cruz. Los participantes aprendieron también sobre el proyecto de entrevistar a personas mayores (Historia Oral) para “rescatar” información importante sobre nuestro pasado colectivo. Los estudiantes de la CHS incluyeron a Maribel Chaparro, María Charriez, Merari Cordero, Glendalee Cruz, Jay Cruz, Kareem Francis, Marisol Ramos, Flordaliza Reyes, Dayanara Rivera, Celinés Rodriguez y Alex Romero. Las profesoras Leonor Gillete y Luz Hyfield de la CHS ayudaron con la coordinación de los talleres.

Con la ayuda de Vanesa Ayala Berg, humanista residente del VIHC en Santa Cruz y consejera de la Universidad de Islas Vírgenes (UVI, por sus siglas en inglés), se logró la participación de los siguientes estudiantes de la UVI: Rudolph Albert, Clint D. Ferris, Glendina Mathew, Armando Muñoz, Paulina Ramos, Aymee Santana y Luz Rivera.

Los estudiantes grabaron las historias de sus padres, abuelos y vecinos ancianos relacionadas con la migración viequense a Santa Cruz. Se entrevistaron a veinticinco personas durante el proyecto de cuatro meses. Las grabaciones, notas y otros documentos recopilados están disponibles para los investigadores y otros interesados, en el Archivo Histórico de Vieques.

Parte1:

    • Apuntes sobre las relaciones históricas entre Santa Cruz y ViequesLas relaciones históricas entre las Islas Vírgenes y el archipiélago puertorriqueño son abarcadoras. Puerto Rico y las islas de Santa Cruz, St. John y St. Thomas comparten muchas similitudes en sus procesos de desarrollo y transformaciones socioculturales: población indígena de raíz araucana; destrucción de las culturas autóctonas con la llegada de los europeos hace cinco siglos; la esclavitud como la base del sistema de plantaciones azucareras; resistencia contra la opresión y los abusos de amos y gobernantes coloniales; continuo movimiento migratorio intraisleño y relaciones coloniales con potencias metropolitanas europeas y, en nuestro siglo, norteamericana.Es la relación entre Vieques y Santa Cruz, sin embargo, que representa la máxima expresión de la conexión histórica entre Puerto Rico e Islas Vírgenes. Desde temprano en el siglo pasado, existe un movimiento migratorio entre Vieques y Santa Cruz que ha creado fuertes enlaces entre ambos pueblos. Estos nexos no se limitan a lo económico y político, sino que se extienden a las relaciones culturales y sociales. Un alto nivel de relación familiar se ha generado entre viequenses y cruzanos. Existe entre la población de ascendencia puertorriqueña residente en Santa Cruz, estimada en unas 20,000 personas, un notable sentido de identidad “cruzana”.Durante el siglo XIX y a principios del siglo XX, Vieques proveyó trabajo y un nuevo hogar para un gran número de personas de las Islas Vírgenes. Miles de hombres, mujeres y niños emigraron a Vieques desde las colonias danesas e inglesas del Caribe a trabajar en los cañaverales, ingenios y puertos en aquella época cuando el azúcar era “reina” en esta región. Aunque muchos de estos inmigrantes eran naturales de Tórtola, Antigua, Anguilla, Virgen Gorda, St. Kitts y Nevis, la proximidad entre Vieques e Islas Vírgenes convirtió a estas últimas en el puente que unía a Vieques con el resto de las Antillas Menores.A principios del siglo XX, obreros de Islas Vírgenes representaban una parte sustancial de la población de Vieques. El censo poblacional de Vieques para 1910 provee información sobre cientos de personas naturales de Islas Vírgenes residentes en Vieques. Emilia Crahmar, de Santa Cruz, entró a Vieques en 1866 y trabajó como labradora, según el censo. En 1867, Samuel Williams salió de Santa Cruz para Vieques donde trabajó en uno de los muchos ingenios en la isla. Carlos Charles, carpintero de 29 años para el 1910, llegó a Vieques desde Santa Cruz en 1891. Otros artesanos emigrados de Santa Cruz a Vieques fueron George Onfri, herrero, quien vino en 1878 y Joseph Anduce, hojalatero de 45 años de edad en 1910, quien se había mudado a Vieques en 1868. Abraham Emery y John Fermin llegarón a Vieques de St. Thomas en 1879 y 1898 respectivamente y trabajaron como labradores, según el censo.también de St. Thomas fue AgustinaGatlif, residente en Vieques desde 1872, donde vivió como dulcera.La dirección del flujo de gente entre nuestras islas cambió marcadamente a finales de la segunda década de nuestro siglo. Ya para 1927 habían cerrado operaciones las centrales de Vieques La Arkadia, La Esperanza, y La Santa María. Había sido la prosperidad de estas operaciones azucareras el principal atractivo para los muchos “peones extranjeros” de las cercanas colonias británicas y danesas que emigraron a Vieques y la fuente de trabajo para la población nativa viequense. La grave crisis en la economía mundial que comenzó en 1929 y que continuó hasta el inicio de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, tuvo serias repercusiones en Vieques. Una situación de pobreza y desesperación empujó a miles de viequenses a buscar oportunidades en otros lares.Varios acontecimientos en el primer tercio del siglo facilitaron y promovieron la migración de viequenses a Santa Cruz. La compra de las Islas Vírgenes danesas por parte de Estados Unidos en 1917 y la aprobación del acta Jones otorgándoles la ciudadanía estadounidense a los puertorriqueños en ese mismo año, eliminarón las barreras legales al movimiento de gente entre estos territorios norteamericanos. La aplicación a las Islas Vírgenes estadounidenses de las leyes de inmigración norteamericanas en 1927 también tuvo un fuerte impacto en este proceso. Anterior a esta fecha los agricultores daneses importaban obreros para la industria de la caña de las cercanas islas británicas. Las nuevas leyes paralizaron esta práctica y obligó a los azucareros a buscar en otros lugares para su mano de obra.En la cercana isla de Vieques encontraron una situación ideal: condiciones deprimentes de la industria azucarera viequense empeoradas con la Gran Depresión de los años ’30, obligaban a los trabajadores de Vieques a emigrar en busca de empleo. Agentes de las compañías azucareras de Islas Vírgenes reclutaron gangas de obreros en Vieques para transportarlos a Santa Cruz. Muchos de estos trabajadores “temporeros” se quedaron, trajeron sus familiares de Vieques y se establecieron en Santa Cruz permanentemente.La situación crítica de Vieques llegó a su auge a finales de los 1930’s. Un artículo del periódico, El mundo, del martes, 6 de junio de 1939 lleva como título, La isla de Vieques se está quedando desierta. El subtítulo lee: “las familias emigran por centenares rumbo a Santa Cruz huyéndose de la espantosa situación de miseria que allí (en Vieques) prevalece”.Un miembro de una comisión viequense que había viajado a San Juan en busca de ayuda del gobierno central, declaró lo siguiente a la prensa,”ahora mismo debe estar el nene llorando por hambre. Hay veces que, por no dejar de ser honrao’, me tengo que contener pa’ no llevar a mis hijos alguna de las reses que tiene la central por allí cerca”. Ante la “pavorosa situación de miseria” que afligía la isla, la emigración fue una de pocas alternativas. El artículo de El Mundo señala que más de tres mil personas ya habían emigrado a Santa Cruz. Los miembros de la Comisión preguntaban a los representantes del gobierno: “…que piensan hacer de nuestras esposas y de nuestras madres, de nuestros hijos y de nuestras hermanas. Estamos dispuestos a liar los trapos y marcharnos también para Santa Cruz, dejando desierta a Vieques”.En 1941, comenzaron en Vieques las expropiaciones de la marina de guerra de Estados Unidos que terminaron a finales de esa década restando de manos viequenses el 72% del territorio de la isla. Desaparecida la última central, la Playa Grande, como consecuencia de la llegada de la marina, la situación socioeconómica empeoró. Doña Guillermina Nieves Nieves, nacida en Vieques el 8 de julio de 1913, relató a las estudiantes de la Central High School, Marisol Ramos y Maribel Chaparro, sobre su decisión de emigrar a Santa Cruz.

      “La situación en el ’44 estaba mala. Yo tenía cinco hijos, se había terminado la construcción en la base naval y no había trabajo en Vieques. Cuando quitaron la central Playa Grande, entonces, ¿dónde había trabajo y dónde había dinero? Qué íbamos a comer con cinco muchachos y nosotros dos, ¿qué comeríamos? Por eso la gente emigraron. Fuimos buscando ambiente. Uno tiene que ir donde haiga (…) donde no haiga, ¿por qué? Aquí (en Santa Cruz) habían muchos puertorriqueños. La familia de mi esposo ya estaba aquí (…) después yo vine. Yo fui la primera y detrás de mí se vinieron todos, mi mamá, mi papá y todo el mundo (…) era bueno porque había trabajo (…) se trabajaba (…) vinieron muchos puertorriqueños (…) casi todos los puertorriqueños que hay aquí, los mayores, casi todos eran de Vieques (…) todavía hay muchos viviendo aquí (…) muchos han muerto”.

      Nota: Expulsados de Vieques por el fracaso de la industria azucarera y las expropiaciones militares de los 1940’s, los viequenses emigraron en grandes números a Santa Cruz, donde había trabajo disponible en las plantaciones azucareras, en una naciente industria turística y luego en las plantas petroquímicas. En las últimas décadas, personas de todas clases de la sociedad viequense han emigrado a Santa Cruz en busca de un mejor futuro. Mientras el número de puertorriqueños en Islas Vírgenes se estimó en 3,000 en 1950, 6,000 para 1960 y 9,700 en 1965, los estimados actuales son de 20,000.

Voices – The Barrios

Hola amigos: today I present you : Barrios – from The Center for Puerto Rican Studies of the Hunter College.. We will start with the Barrio of  Puerto Ricans  in St. Croix.  Enjoy! ES

Voices Magazine Image

The Barrios series promotes ties with communities by focusing on the physical neighborhoods that are home to most diasporic Puerto Ricans, as seen through the eyes of historians, artists, social scientists and other researchers. Barrios will investigate the history of the barrios, and concern itself with architecture, commerce, community-based organizations, art, social movements, and the impact of gentrification and dislocation in each community.

Featuring in Barrios

 

 

 

 

 

 

Content credits: Center for Puerto Rican Studies

Introduction

Nadjah Ríos-Villarini

Universidad de Puerto Rico, Río Piedras

[Translated by Aitza Maldonado Martich]

When we think about the Puerto Rican diaspora, we traditionally locate it in continental US in cities like New York, Chicago, and most recently in Orlando. Nonetheless, we barely remember a Puerto Rican migratory movement that since the 1920s found in the United States Virgin Islands, particularly in Saint Croix, an economical, climatic, and cultural refuge. Who are these Puerto Ricans? What motivated them to migrate? How did they work and what cultural traditions do they preserve? These are some questions we try to answer in this edition of Cento Voices: Barrios.

From here to there:

The 1920s dramatically stressed the economy of the nearby Puerto Rican islands of Vieques and Culebra. The military presence of the United States Navy on both islands propelled the rapid decay of the sugar cane industry motivating the movement of the workforce in two directions: the big island and Saint Croix. The movement to the nearby island was possible because in 1917, the United States had acquired the islands of Saint Croix, Saint Thomas, and Saint John for $25 million as part of a strategic measure to protect the Panama Canal and the Caribbean.

The island of Saint Croix offered several advantages such as: the transportation between islands was trouble-free, the climatic conditions were very similar, there was a need for someone to work the land, and the United States government was searching to promote an American ideology in a recently acquired territory. However, the Puerto Ricans faced obstacles that troubled this migration, marking a unique hue on this Diaspora. Among the distinctive elements between these islands, the linguistic factor and the cultural customs were the first manifested.

Saint Croix, cultural meeting point:

At present times, the United States Virgin Islands have been administered by Spain, Great Britain, Holland, France, the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, Denmark, and the United States. Each administration has imprinted characteristics that even today can be observed in the architecture, gastronomy, and cultural practices of the inhabitants.

Saint Croix is divided into two main towns: 
Christiansted
 and Frederiksted. Initially, the

Puerto Ricans arrived at Frederikstedwhere they were processed and examined by a doctor which certified that new immigrants were in good health. There, they were received by family members or acquaintances already established on the island. They immediately began to work the land and harvest sugar cane until collecting enough capital to bring the rest of their family. The Bethlehem Central was a home to these first immigrants.

Other Puerto Ricans arrived at Saint Croix as merchants and established small businessessuch as markets, clothing stores and selling of essential articles. The production of coal was an industry that emerged among Puerto Ricans. Some say that a Puerto Rican man called Don Capuleto organized all the charcoal producers until he formed a type of cooperative for the selling and distribution of what they called “electricity” during those times.

This workforce migration lasted until the end of the 1950s. By then, the Puerto Rican population was so numerous that the Department of Education began recruiting teachers for the establishment of the Bilingual Education Program. This program mainly looked after the educational and linguistic difficulties produced by the cultural shock experimented by new migrants. This second migratory wave was constituted by teachers knowledgeable in all subjects, arriving at Saint Croix with an academic and professional preparation that gave prestige and recognition to the community. This political phenomenon arrived at its highest level toward the end of the 1970s when Juan Francisco Luis, a viequense raised in the Virgin Islands, was elected governor in 1978; he was reelected on several occasions and his administration lasted nine years.

Puerto Crusians, Crusian Rican y Papa Them:

Currently, the population of Saint Croix is recorded to be 53,324 inhabitants. According to the Census on 2000, this is almost half of the population of the Virgin Islands, which is estimated to be 108,612 inhabitants. From the total of inhabitants, 15,196 were identified as Hispanic, and from this amount, 8,558 specified to be Puerto Rican. These numbers have to be handled carefully because the concepts of ethnicity and race are object of negotiation in everyday life and they are manifested in multiple ways.

Aside from the Puerto Ricans, other groups converged in this diaspora proceeding from the islands of Saint Kitts, Nevis, Antigua, Bermuda, Saint Lucia, and Dominica. Although American English is the official language, we can also listen to several inhabitants’ dialectic variants of Spanish and two other Creole languages, one with an English base and the other one with a French base.

Santa Cruz @ Centro Voices: Barrios:

This edition of Barrios offers to our readers historical articles regarding to Saint CroixPuerto Rican diaspora that includes “Relaciones históricas entre Vieques y Santa Cruz” by Roberto Rabin, as well as ethnographic accounts of the diasporic community in “Alianzas, tensiones y contradicciones en la vida social de migrantes puertorriqueñas en Santa Cruz, Islas Vírgenes Americanas: tres experiencias de vida” by Mirerza Gonzalez.

In addition you will have the opportunity to read life stories in the articles “Narrative of People from the Puerto Rican Community in St. Croix” written by Brenda Dominguez Rosado. Another interesting contribution form an ethnographic point of view is the work of graduate student Kathering Miranda. Finally you will find an interview with distinguished photographer Diego Conde who has spent the last 40 years documenting with images the history of this migration.

Classic Bike Helps Tell a Tale of Puerto Rican Migrants

Hola amigos: Classic Schwinn Piece is part of exhibit at new home of Center for Puerto Rican Studies

http://www.nydailynews.com/latino/2011/10/19/2011-10-19_centro19.html#ixzz1bL3zXHhj

 

Classic Schwinn Bike Image

BY ED MORALES

‘It started with a bike,” said Miguel Luciano about his art installation “Porto Rican Cotton Picker.”

“I’ve been wanting to do a project with the Puerto Rico Schwinn club for a long time, because bikes tell stories about the Nuyorican community,” added the Brooklyn-based Puerto Rican artist.

Luciano’s work is part of “Labor,” the first exhibit at the gallery of the new home of the Center for Puerto Rican Studies in the recently inaugurated Hunter College School of Social Work in East Harlem (Third Ave. at 119th St.).

The show, opening Friday, also features works by Melissa Calderón, Juan Sánchez, Nitza Tufiño and Antonio Martorell, whose woodcuts depictPuerto Rican migrants on New York rooftops.

The centerpiece of Luciano’s installation is a painstakingly restored 1971 “Cotton Picker” Schwinn bicycle, as well as a photo of Felícita Méndez, a Puerto Rican migrant and the bike’s imaginary “rider.”

In his research, Luciano found a line of bikes Schwinn made in the 1970s called Krate Bikes – each one was named after an occupation, like the Pea Picker and the Cotton Picker.

“I decided to have the bike tell the story,” said Luciano, 39, whose work has drawn on popular culture to explore symbolic connections between Puerto Rico and its diaspora. “So I started researching Puerto Ricans who picked cotton.”

He found a 1926 issue of the Arizona Labor Journal with the headline, “Further Entry of Porto Ricans Protested.”

“The fact that Arizona was the site of such immigration and labor-related controversy in the 1920s seems all the more relevant today,” said Luciano, referring to the state’s notorious laws against the undocumented. “But as much as it was a story of exploitation, it was also a story of resistance.”

Among those cotton pickers, Luciano encountered Felícita Gómez, whose family was part of a group of Puerto Rican pickers who protested against poor working conditions. By 1927, most Puerto Ricans had left Arizona, and Gómez’s family moved to California, where she met and married Gonzalo Méndez, a Mexican immigrant who was a naturalized American citizen.

The Méndezes prospered, operating a successful cantina, the Arizona Café, in Santa Ana, Calif., the heart of Orange County. But when their children were not allowed to enroll in a segregated white school called Westminster Elementary, the Méndezes used their earnings to hire lawyers to sue the school system.

The case, known as Méndez vs. Westminster, went all the way to the Supreme Court in 1946, where the court found in favor of the Méndezes, predating the famous Brown vs. Board of Education ruling in 1954.

“The case is often framed through the story of Gonzalo, but Felícita’s role isn’t usually prominent,” said Luciano.

“My mother always stood up for her rights,” said Sylvia Méndez, Felícita’s daughter, who received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Obama this year.

For Luciano, the revelation of Puerto Rican involvement in an iconic moment for Mexican-American civil rights echoed in the origins of the bike itself. “I bought it from a Mexican owner,” he said, “who had bought it from a Puerto Rican family.”

edmorales@edmorales.net

The “Labor” exhibition opens Friday, Oct. 21, at the Center for Puerto Rican Studies, 2180 Third Ave. at 119th St., from 5 to 8 p.m. Sylvia Méndez will attend a screening of a documentary about the Westminster case followed by a panel discussion on Dec. 7, also at the Center.
http://www.nydailynews.com/latino/2011/10/19/2011-10-19_centro19.html#ixzz1bL4KmL5B