Environmental issues and human rights in popular culture (#15)

Process, Grieving, and Reflecting

                         

                      

    1.)  Armig Santos, Procesión en Vieques III, 2022. Acrylic and oil on canvas, Collection of the artist; courtesy the artist

    2.) Santos, Yellow Flowers, 2022. Oil on linen, Collection of the artist; courtesy the artist

    The two paintings above, dark, haunting, and deeply reverent, form a visual elegy for the thousands of Puerto Ricans who lost their lives during and after Hurricane Maria. At the center of both images is a white cross, heavy and unavoidable. In the first, it's carried solemnly by a procession of silhouetted figures, each etched against a dirt-brown and ash-blue backdrop that evokes both scorched earth and stormy skies. The people walk with flowers in hand, with tools, with grief. Their postures are burdened but determined, embodying a quiet resistance. In the second image, the figures are distant scattered across a yellow field under a rainy midnight sky. Again, the cross appears. Again, the people gather. But now the grief feels more communal, more overwhelming. They’re dwarfed by the landscape and the darkness, suggesting the vast scale of loss.

    These works come from a collection that centers on “Process, Grieving, and Reflecting.” And they do exactly that. They remind us that the number 4,645 is not just a statistic, it’s seared into the collective psyche of the Puerto Rican people. This number, revealed by Harvard researchers, stood in stark contrast to the government’s initial claim that only 64 had died. That discrepancy wasn’t just inaccurate, it was dehumanizing. It denied the pain of communities that watched loved ones die from treatable conditions, mental health crises, and neglected infrastructure. These paintings challenge that erasure. They honor the dead. They give space to grieve publicly, and politically.

No Existe Un Mundo Poshuracán

    The PBS NewsHour segment on the Whitney Museum's exhibition, No Existe Un Mundo Poshuracán, offers a touching exploration of how Puerto Rican artists have grappled with the aftermath of Hurricane Maria. This exhibition, marking the first major U.S. museum showcase of Puerto Rican art in nearly half a century, features approximately 50 works by 20 artists from both the island and the movement, created over five years following the hurricane.

    Curator Marcela Guerrero elucidates that the exhibition's title, translating to "a post-hurricane world doesn't exist," signifies that the hurricane's impact transcends the physical storm. It symbolizes ongoing challenges such as political corruption, environmental degradation, and infrastructural decay. Guerrero emphasizes that the hurricane serves as a metaphor for the mass systemic issues Puerto Rico faces, suggesting that the island remains in a perpetual state of recovery.

    One notable piece highlighted is a video by artist Sofía Córdova, blending documentary footage with poetic imagery. This work captures the surreal reality of the hurricane's devastation, illustrating how artists use multimedia to process trauma and convey complex emotions.The exhibition underscores the role of art as a means of healing, resistance, and storytelling. It provides a platform for Puerto Rican artists to express their experiences and challenges, fostering a deeper understanding of the island's ongoing struggles and the indomitable spirit of its people.

From Bomba to Perreo Combativo

                

        Watching From Bomba to Perreo Combativo in Puerto Rico made me realize just how deeply music runs through the veins of Puerto Rican culture and not just as sound, but as survival, storytelling, and protest. PhD student Kiana Gonzalez-Cedeno’s exploration of how Afro-Caribbean traditions like Bomba evolved into more contemporary forms like perreo combativo was powerful and deeply moving. I found myself thinking about how rhythm becomes resistance when words aren’t enough.    

    Bomba, rooted in the history of slavery and colonialism, wasn’t just a cultural performance, it was a way for communities to express pain, joy, and resilience. What struck me most is how Gonzalez-Cedeno showed the continuity between past and present. The struggles may look different now, but the energy and urgency remain. Perreo combativo isn’t just dancing or reggaetón; it’s reclaiming space, voice, and visibility, especially for marginalized communities.

    As someone who's been reflecting a lot on Puerto Rico’s colonial status and the trauma following Hurricane Maria, this video reminded me that resistance can take many forms. Sometimes it’s a march, sometimes it’s a mural, and sometimes it’s a beat that make you move. I think that’s what makes Puerto Rican culture so beautiful. Even in grief, there’s rhythm; even in disaster, there’s art.