On January 2nd, we visited Ponce, Puerto Rico. It is the second largest city on the island and a beautiful one. In addition to a handful of other names, we learned that Ponce is sometimes referred to as "Ciudad Señorial" (Majestic or Noble City), because of its many beautiful neoclassical buildings and facades. We took a trolley tour of the city and saw Parque de Bombas and Casa Alcaldía (city hall). Ponce is brimming with symbolism. Black and red are the official colors of the city. Red stands for blood and fire, black for mourning and ashes. The lion is another symbol of the city. When you cross the bridge, on one side there is a young lion statue that represents children and the future of the city. On the opposite side, there is an old lion, representing elders and wisdom. There are countless statues and tributes to individuals from history who have left their mark on the city for a variety of reasons.
In the midst of all the beauty and symbolism is a less charming, subjectively more important destination, Museo Casa de la Masacre de Ponce. The museum is located on the same corner where, on Palm Sunday 1937, a peaceful march planned by the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party turned into a police shooting. (http://vimeo.com/25564907) 21 people lost their lives and more than 150 were injured. The majority of those who were killed were shot in the back. The march was planned with the purpose of celebrating the abolition of slavery in Puerto Rico and with the imprisonment of the Party’s leader, Pedro Albizu Campos, by the United States coinciding.
The museum covered the details of the massacre, including a map of the march and the police forces, along with photos and video from the event. During a brief video, quotes were scrolling over the black and white picture. “Grown men killed boys whose only protection was their noble hearts.” They were unarmed. This quote is one I lingered on for a long while, and it has stayed with me. On our way to the museum, we touched on the parallels between this historical event and the current events in the United States, particularly those revolving around police brutality. We discussed that what we are currently living and experiencing will be our nation’s history one day. I was flooded with questions from recent conversations I had had back in the US:
“Does history repeat itself?”
“How do peaceful protests become violent?”
“What’s at the root of the problem?”
“What role do I/we play in this?”
“What is the role of the police?”
“Did the Twin Cities handle the latest demonstrations appropriately?”
Did the weight of this event make an impact on our group? Did it make an impact on the people of Puerto Rico? Missing pieces of history started to emerge on the streets of Ponce when one of our group members mentioned a friend who grew up there and had never even heard about the massacre. Another missing piece arose later in the day when discussing environmental issues and their relation to social justice. These pieces prompted more questions to resurface:
“What was intentionally (or unintentionally) left out of our history books?”
“What do I still not know about?”
“Whose voices have been excluded in the past and whose are being excluded now?”
“How does what we are taught (and not taught) inform our understanding of culture and society and of ourselves?”