The signs of resistance before us
I was looking for La Fortaleza square, ground zero for protests in Puerto Rico.
I couldn’t find it when it was right in front of me, distracted by the floating butterflies.
“Is this La Fortaleza?” I asked the employee of the gelato shop next door. “What?” I could hear how horrible my pronunciation had been when I asked the question. “La Fortaleza,” I said more slowly, working on my diction. “Where protests happen?” He told me I was in the right place, but it was still hard for me to believe.
I looked out the window to the very spot. There were dozens of tourists taking selfies. That had been me just 30 seconds earlier, taking pictures for strangers, then snapping a selfie for myself. It didn’t make sense to me; this is the part of Old San Juan that I always see on Instagram, known for its colorful umbrellas hanging overhead, only this week it featured soft white butterfly wings.
The cobalt blue bricks that line the street are positioned right in front of the governor’s mansion, which is also the key spot for Puerto Ricans to protest anything from PROMESA to government corruption.
We first breezed by protest central a few days earlier on a walking tour. It was our first day in San Juan after flying in overnight. My family was operating on a half night’s sleep. Half of my thoughts were full of regret for dragging my 5 year old, too old for a stroller and too young to care about anything other than chasing pigeons, onto a historical walking tour. I tried to be kind to the other tourist who had no idea she’d signed up to chum around with a preschooler and his weary parents for a couple hours.
“The governor’s mansion is just behind these hanging butterfly wings, past the gates,” our tour guide explained. I glanced and quickly looked away, one eye on my child and the other on keeping up with the tour.
The tour ended just after dusk in a plaza under the dull gaze of yet another white man perched atop a column. As we drew closer we learned this square’s centerpiece is Cristóbal Colón – Christopher Columbus to the anglicized tongue; the notorious sailor who was held in high regard in classrooms throughout my childhood and now has come under scrutiny for his record in colonization and slavery.
I was astonished to hear the guide say Puerto Ricans are generally unbothered by the nation’s colonial history, and therefore didn’t mind Colón’s statue. Especially compared to the toppled Columbus statues in the U.S. mainland, the guide said it wasn’t as big of an issue in Old San Juan.
“If you’re looking for a place to eat during your stay, try this place, Eñe in the Plaza de Colon,” the guide chirped, referencing a business within eyeshot of the square. “Good food and good presentation.”
I looked back to the colonizer’s statue. The indentations on Colón’s robe worn to time and to the evening’s low light left me filling in the details. His left hand is holding… a roll of fabric? No. A flag, I think? There was a cross on top, notably the tallest point on the statue. Colón’s right hand is lowered to his side, holding yet another object that’s difficult to make out, but is most likely a hat. His chin is held high as though he’s looking deep into San Juan Bay, or at least to the present-day San Juan cruise port terminal.
Columbus statues popped up across cities in the United States mainland in the late 19th century, and the same was the case for this statue in Old San Juan. Commissioned in 1893 to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Columbus setting foot on the island, it was unveiled the following year, just fours years before Puerto Rico would become a possession of the USA as a result of the Spanish-American war.
The marble Colón found its home in the plaza that is now named after him, but what was originally called Santiago Square due to its proximity to the Santiago gate, one of only a few entrances that would let people into the old walled city. Most of those walls would eventually come down to accommodate a growing city no longer fearful of attacks from empires interested in Puerto Rico’s strategic placement in the Caribbean.
A statue of Juan Ponce de León was moved to another plaza in Old San Juan so Colón’s statue could call this its final resting place. That same statue of Ponce de León unexpectedly moved again in January 2022. Activists brought the statue crashing down in protest just hours before a visit from Spain’s king.
On our last full day in Puerto Rico, we returned to Old San Juan in search of a decent meal. It was the last full day of the trip and the inevitable moment where the exhaustion of several days on the go had compounded into crankiness. After circling the crowded Sunday streets, our rental car caught a break with an empty parallel parking spot not far from Old San Juan bay. We walked up the hill dotted with outdoor diners until we saw a familiar sight. “This is the restaurant the tour guide recommended,” we recalled as the air conditioning greeted us through the front door.
A host directed us upstairs to a table in a crowded walkway, one chair squeezed just underneath the edge of the bar. “The musicians are taking a break, but the entertainment will start again soon,” she explained. I sat down with the bar poking my back, but I didn’t care as long as I got to eat.
The sound of Gracimá’s drums hit our ears just as a waitress placed a plate of hot piononos on our table. The stiffness in our bodies drifted away with the restorative rhythms of La Bamba, Puerto Rico’s music rooted in its Afro-heritage. We knew we’d stumbled onto something special.
When they concluded their performance, we shared our enthusiasm for the music with anyone who would listen to us. “This is how we celebrate our African heritage in Puerto Rico,” one man said. “It’s so important that we do it in this place, so the music spills onto the square outside our doors.”
I asked him what made this location significant to play La Bamba.
“Outside is this statue of Colón, you call him Christopher Columbus,” he said. “We play this music to keep up the resistance we’ve always had to our oppressors.”