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Philanthropy Journal-- stories about bold people changing the world.

Puerto Rico occupies a unique place in American identity.

Definitively American and yet distinctly apart, it exists in a strange limbo between statehood and independence as an unincorporated territory of the United States.

It has a long history of colonizers and would-be colonizers that have deeply impacted the national psyche.

We're off to meet some of the luminaries that bring form to a broader Puerto Rican identity.

From a Nuyorican expat poet and performer to an international artist from the unique community of Loíza, and a famous, sometimes infamous, kayaking environmental activist, these are some of the people that represent the beautiful menagerie that is Puerto Rican identity.

[lively percussion music] El Yunque, the only rainforest in America that is also a National Park.

Its vast canopy of trees and sprawling mountains are where La Bruja, the good witch, asks us to meet her.

A native of the Bronx, Caridad de La Luz is a poet, actress, and activist who has captivated audiences since the debut of her first production, Boogie Rican Boulevard.

One of the foremost spoken word poets in the world, she has continued to represent her Nuyorican heritage and her Puerto Rican foundations in performances across the globe.

[sighs deeply] This is a sacred place.

El Yunque is a Taíno name, so I feel like this is a beacon for our Taíno ancestors as well as being the lungs of our island and of the planet.

Who are the Taínos?

The Taíno are the Indigenous people of Puerto Rico and the Caribbean.

That name, Taíno, they say that it means "the noble people."

Boricua comes from-- like, that term of being Boricua is-- That means "Puerto Rican," but it's really a Taíno word.

That's right.

From Borikén, because the Taíno name of Puerto Rico is Borikén.

So all of this, to me, is like ancestors watching.

So even driving up here to meet with you, I get full of emotion.

That idea of obliterating of people, you know, it's in the history books that the Spaniards came, and that the Taíno no longer were here, but you know, that isn't true.

Because luckily, we have DNA testing.

And you know, I have Taíno blood in me.

And I'm so proud to know that, despite colonization, they still found a way to survive.

When the Spaniards came, it was called encomienda.

And that was kind of like the feudal system that they established in colonization.

And if a Taíno was clothed, Christian, and capable, then they were able to integrate.

Obviously, they were able to assimilate and survive as a survival tactic and technique.

But then there are these mountains where there are caves, where they were able to hide and live and survive.

It really speaks on the resiliency of our people.

Wow.

So Caridad, you're from New York.

Yes.

I'm born and raised in the Boogie Down Bronx.

Puerto Rico has always healed me in ways that no other place in the world has.

Coming back-- this is the longest that I've been here now.

I've been here-- And why is that, again?

Well, my grandmother was put into a senior citizen home, and I wanted to be close to her.

And a friend of mine, Yasmin Hernandez, who is a beautiful muralist, she calls it rematriating.

So I have returned and I have rematriated-- Ooh, I love that.

--to my indigenous land.

And I wrote a poem, recently, about returning home because of gentrification, colonization.

We don't want to Puerto Rico without Puerto Ricans.

So it's important that all of the Puerto Ricans in the diaspora return home.

Return home.

We retired to nearby Degree 18 juice bar to learn more about her passion for this island.

Being born in the Bronx, you know, the Bronx is the home of hip hop, the home of salsa as well.

So growing up with that musical element informed so much of my style, my delivery.

And then being Puerto Rican, I created hip hop that was a fusion of all those things that I was.

And at the time, it wasn't mainstream.

It wasn't accepted.

There were no Latina rappers.

So I felt a pushback but did it anyway.

And then, inside, we had salsa, and rice and beans, and all of that.

And then, outside, we have pizza and hamburgers.

So I have always lived in two worlds.

I realized that I didn't have to choose, that I was equally both.

So I feel like my purpose has been to be a bridge between generations, between cultures, and between lands.

I've been La Bruja 25 years now.

And to come to this point, to be speaking here, on those things, is a dream for me.

But the emotion I feel is just joy and-- Happiness.

I am happy.

At one point, "Nuyorican" was kind of almost pejorative, right?

Was it?

It was.

When I learned that there was a Nuyorican culture thriving, I felt at home.

People think that Puerto Ricans went to New York as a choice.

You know, it was actually-- my family was displaced by the military bases here in Puerto Rico.

it.

Was a way to survive.

Sometimes I felt more Puerto Rican because I was in New York, because I felt like I had to defend this paradise that my people were from.

And then using those arts and elements that I learned in New York, that toughness, that grit, putting it into that passion and love.

Popular culture knows you from HBO and all these different shows and things, spoken word, and all the things you do.

Do you feel like you're a voice for Nuyoricans?

I love being Nuyorican, and I love what I do.

And I do feel like I speak for many that cannot be heard, past and present.

And I feel privileged.

So you have a particular spoken word piece, "Poor to Rico."

"Poor to Rico," right.

We know Puerto Rico.

Poor, to, and rico being "rich."

And I feel that no matter how financially strained we are, when we know our history, it makes us rich.

And when I wrote "Poor to Rico," I was thinking of, if Puerto Rico could speak, what would she say?

Puerto Rico me llaman, I am Puerto Rico.

That is what you call me.

Yo me llamo Puerto Rico.

If you came from me, you will go from me.

You will come to me.

You will grow from me.

Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico, poor to rico, poor to rico, poor to rico, poor to rico.

Africa, Spain, Taíno, Madre de Jibarito, defended por Albizu.

I've made many sacrificios.

[speaking spanish] I have taught all of my people to turn the other cheek though.

I've been a refuge politico to the French, the Dutch, the Spanish, the English, the Catholics, the soldiers, the tourists.

I've treated everyone as equal, but now there is a war against all Puerto Ricans.

We are fighting an elusive creature that owns me as it's [speaking spanish] I am not poor but rico.

We were offered fool's gold while they robbed us of a share hold.

While Nacionalistas foretold the takeover of control, we danced and fell into the American mold.

We warmed ourselves with tropical memories while facing the American cold.

But what is untold, we will expose, because there are no more cheeks to turn.

Though the hypocrisy has left us holding two faces, we've been slapped with debt we didn't earn, told to strap up our boots but left without shoelaces, not welcome in one, but living in two places.

Between here and there is no place for me.

Oh say, this rape culture, oh, say, can you see?

It is always to victim-blame so the truth you won't see.

And they've asked me how I let it go this far.

Beneath the shirt off my back that I gave are the scars.

This patriotic love of one flag.

This promised freedom of one star.

While there's 50 United States, but not room for one more.

My children, since birth, have been treated as whores.

And what was mine was mine but mistaken as yours.

Collectors of foreign sectors are banging down my door.

The first mass exodus was in the '50s.

And we're witnessing the sequel.

And it's past 2020.

If you ask me, right now, what it is that I'm thinking, I'm holding my people up to stop them from sinking.

They would see the richness of my power if they started interlinking and the colonial mindset would start collectively shrinking.

So stand up, my children.

We will always be connected, por el cordon umbilical maternal por el ombligo, with my mangroves and my mangoes, yo los purifico.

[speaking spanish] If you came from me, you will go from me, you will come to me, you will grow from me.

Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico, poor to rico, poor to rico, poor to rico, poor to rico.

We are not poor, but rico.

We are not yours, but equal.

[chuckles] Wow.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

That was beautiful.

[music playing] With La Bruja's beautiful vision of Puerto Rico still in the air, we're off to meet Daniel Lynn Ramos.

He's an acclaimed international artist and recipient of a MacArthur Fellowship who hails from the predominantly Black community of Loíza.

From the gigantes traditional coconut masks to Bombay music Loíza is renowned across the island for its unique culture and heritage.

His work is an exploration of Puerto Rican identity as a whole through the unique lens of his own upbringing in Loíza.

We caught up with him at the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico in San Juan, where some of his work is on display.

I wasn't quite good in baseball.

Really?

The earlier image that I have doing something that I remember, I was drawing the walls of my house.

Really?

On the wall?

Right.

And my mother and my uncle kept allowing me to draw because they were doing something too.

My mother was sewing and knitting.

My uncle was making mask.

So it's like I joined them.

But I knew that I wanted to be an artist, not a baseball player.

Not a baseball player.

So tell me a little bit about this piece.

In this case, 1797, the day when the English army tried to seize Puerto Rico, and they received a very strong resistance from Puerto Ricans in general, but specifically the Black militia from Loíza took a very important part in the defeat-- in defeating of the English army.

And that's a fact.

So I wanted to play with tools that are related with Loíza, with laborers.

Like the one in the center, this is a real one from my community.

Ah.

And so it's historical.

Yes.

Because I knew the person that used to work with it, cutting coconuts.

Then I wanted to relate labor, I wanted to relate community, I wanted to relate my family with an event, which is a victory against the English army.

So that's the reason why I painted the coconut, suggesting the color of England flag.

Those are masks that we used to do in Loíza.

And as you see, they also have the point.

So there is a relationship with the warrior, with the worker.

One of the customs of the Loíza fiestas, El Viejo, "the old man," the old man who knows the history of the community, of the region, blah, blah, blah.

And it connects back to Africa.

Of course, there are other ways of reading this that I will leave it in the mystery.

Yeah.

Let someone else decide.

Right.

Does Loíza feel like a large portion of who you are?

Yes.

I mean, I develop a sense of belongingness because of those beautiful experiences that I have had there.

And and you know, artists talk about what they have experienced if you are honest.

But there's a history of Puerto Rico where it's been colonized.

One would say, even now, it is still.

Where you have a piece that shows that there has been-- Resistance.

Resistance-- memory as a resistance.

Artwork has that power.

Art has the power.

I'm glad you didn't go into baseball.

[laughter] Daniel is also developing a community center to help expose the often marginalized communities of Loíza to the arts and culture he was privy to in his own childhood.

Because so early in my life, I have the opportunity to see pigment, brushes, painting, a lot of people working, doing things with hands.

So I was thinking about all those children that didn't have the experience that I had when that studio was there.

Then I bought the house where I was born.

And I am fixing it because I would like to have a space where I could show my finished work.

But I will have a place and a space where I could develop activities, cultural activities related with art so the community could participate.

So if you have a space where you could bring, like, artists workshops-- and when I say artists, I'm talking about music, poetry, literature, because I have a lot of friends that would love to go there to do that and share it with the community.

And I think that that would be beautiful.

Is it possible for a young child in Loíza that will be introduced to this project, is it possible for that person to dream that, one day, they become a Daniel?

You know, I don't think in those terms.

[laughs] Well, I used to teach in Loíza, high school.

And it was beautiful when I saw a few of them that follow the arts.

I am not only talking about children, I am also talking grown-up people that maybe were longing to have an opportunity to like that and they didn't have the chance.

If you have something to say, I think, sometimes, this medium of art is the best way to express or understand or communicate or explore.

Right, yeah, yeah.

And there's a legacy-- there's a history, really, that through the arts, it's a trail of the community, a physical thing that will always be there, hopefully.

Yeah.

And there are other people that do the same thing in other media, like cooking, poetry, as I told you, dance, songs.

So everybody's reacting to their own experiences.

And that's what I have in mind when I'm talking about this place.

Art and poetry have the power to transform our world, but some people are a little more direct.

Not many people have an anti-protesting law unofficially named after them.

Tito Kayak is one of the few.

An electrician by trade, we first met him in the wake of Hurricane Maria, when he was single-handedly restoring power to remote regions the government couldn't get to.

And that is at the center of everything he does-- action.

A man of controversy, he's best known for protesting environmental causes around the Naval occupation of Vieques, often equipped with nothing more than a flag or kayak and peaceful action.

We met up in the heart of Old San Juan at the wonderful spot, El Boqueron.

I talk to a friend, a professor, I say, hey, let's go.

I'll make something.

And we go to the Statue of Liberty.

He says, crazy.

How you are going to climb the Statue of Liberty.

I don't know how.

But I close my eyes, and I see myself in the top.

I was very crazy.

We call a lot of people.

All the people say, no, don't do that.

The wind's so heavy.

No.

Another day, we make it, with the Vieques flag.

We put two banners-- "free Vieques."

It was important to make the action because we send the message to the world.

And at least the Navy get out of Vieques.

I remember one of the stories.

One of the stories that was very popular was when you were on top of a crane, was it?

You were protesting on top of a crane.

Five to six days in the crane.

Yeah.

Five or six days in the crane.

And by that time, the police are surrounding you.

What were you protesting at that point?

What was the action?

All the shore, it belongs to the people.

And in the place they are making the building, it's supposed to [inaudible] like window to the sea.

The shore belong to everybody and to the ecosystem.

Later, we're supposed to go down the-- how you say that in English?

What is it in Spanish?

Rappelling.

Oh, rappelling.

Oh, that's English.

Well, OK. [laughter] When I go down, they put a kayak.

I go to the kayak.

There was another boat-- police boat, jet ski boat.

There was a lot of people in the water trying to stop the police.

I go to the kayak, I paddle, go behind a bridge, and then I change with another guy.

Oh, and another guy-- you switched with a guy-- Yeah, I switched.

And then a helicopter continued to follow the guy, and I swam to other place.

And the other guy's just paddling away.

Yeah.

And it was very funny, because it was the police with the helicopter, follow the guy.

And I moved along to the shore.

And it was close to here, close this place.

I was in La Perla.

And there, the people took me to be out of the police.

Yeah, it's Tito, and it's a kayak, and very little else, but the actions that you do have a ripple effect.

They make a big statement.

But tell us what it is that drives you.

You know, in 1995, I made an environmental group.

I put the name, Amigos Del Mar, "friend of the sea."

It's an environmental revolutionary movement.

Wants to send a message to the people-- everybody have a responsibility with environmental.

At the same time, send a message to the government.

And we are going to Vieques, and we are going to take the Navy out.

Tito, it's impossible.

Hey, we are going to see, no matter how little we are.

And it's important to say our message to our people in Puerto Rico.

But at the same time, the same message that we send to all the people in the world.

And that's what I love about people like yourself that represent a big portion of who Puerto Rico is.

Because they're independent, they're fighting the colonization, they're making their own actions.

And you guys, you've done such a great job inspiring people that you can do something.

You don't have to sit back and do nothing.

You can do something.

The owner of the bar, Percy, interjected here with a special drink in honor of Puerto Rico-- the jellyfish.

[music playing] For all the people that belong to-- once belonged to Amigos Del Mar, for all the people that helped me, [speaking spanish] for Puerto Rico, all the people that believed in the environmental or belong to Puerto Rico, and [speaking spanish] [speaking spanish] Vieques and all of those personas.

Gracias.

One shot.

[music playing] Oye, amigo.

Yes.

I love it, Percy.

Excellent.

Gracias.

Thank you, Percy.

Identity is a complicated thing, something unfixed, plastic, subject to the effects of time.

Art, poetry and activism are all ways to explore and parse that complexity and fluidity.

Sometimes it's not about knowing who you are or where you're from, it's about passionately exploring the unknown, the mystery of our heritage, our memory, and our beliefs.

There's so much more to explore, and we want you to join us on The Good Road.

For more in-depth content, meet us on the internet at thegoodroad.tv.

Hear more great stories, connect to organizations, and make sure you download our podcast, Philanthropology.

Funding for The Good Road has been provided by-- Every road is a good road when you're behind the wheel of a Toyota electrified vehicle, from the hybrid Sienna and plug-in hybrid RAV4 Prime to the fuel-cell Mirai and all-electric BZ4X.

And with available all-wheel drive on select models, they're designed to go the distance.

Whether you're driving to work, school, or down the Pacific Coast Highway, proud sponsor of the good road.

Toyota-- let's go places.

Technology changes the world, but not on its own.

Hardware needs heart.

Software needs soul.

When we match compute power to instinct and acceleration to imagination, tomorrow comes alive.

For us, it's not what we achieve alone, but sharing a vision to solve the world's most important challenges.

Because together, anything is possible.

AMD-- together we advance.

And by Uncommon Giving, the generosity company.

At Plow & Hearth, we believe that the place you are in become the place you want to be.

Philanthropy Journal-- stories about bold people changing the world.

[music playing]