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Your honor, what you have here against
me is banditry
I have three children that were made in Vieques
and were born in Fajardo. They returned. They are still Fajardeños.
There are many, upon many. I cannot give you exact numbers but that
was a conspiracy between the Navy and the government, to limit the population
born on this island because bombing could not occur whever the population
exceeded 10,000 people.
One's desire is to not have to leave here for anything, that what one
has to leave to find in Fajardo, they can find here. To not have to
do as hundreds of Viequenses do each day when they must take ferries
to transport themselves to Fajardo to go to clinics, to see doctors,
others to shop because they cannot buy here because things are too expensive.
I would like for everything to improve and that my children would not
have to opt to leave to another place; that they could stay here; that
they give their talent to the land in which they were born. (Well they
were born in Fajardo....)

Bandidaje's son alongside his dad's portrait.
Photo: Mary Sefranek
The last line of Bandidaje's featured quote says it all. He makes
the point about his children being able to have all they need in
Vieques, their homeland, the place where they were born. BUT, they
were not born there. As the featured quote points out, the United
States Navy controlled the number of people born in Vieques. With
a limited population they could continue to subject the island to
bombings. The Navy did not permit maternity facilities on the island.
Laboring women had to board a plane or ferry to Fajardo on the main
island of Puerto Rico. Stories exist of women giving birth on the
plane or in the bathroom of the airport, unable to hold out for
their arrival at the hospital in Fajardo. Consequently the majority
of young people who call Vieques their homeland, did not have the
privilege of being born there.
Much like removing this birth right, so many other necessities have
been robbed from Viequenses. Cancer patients, of which there are
disproportionate numbers of them in Vieques, have no real treatment
facilities on the island. They too must board a plane or ferry to
the main island of Puerto Rico. You can shop on Vieques, but groceries
are much more expensive. Vieques residents prefer to catch a ferry
to the main island, shop there and bring the groceries back by boat.
These things stir up rage and sadness in Bandidaje. He, like many
other Viequenses respond by spending much of their time in St. Croix.
When the US Navy took lands away from thousands of families to build
the base, many of these people were displaced to the main island
of Puerto Rico, but others were forced out to St. Croix. To this
day a large community of Viequenses still lives in St. Croix. Nearly
everyone in Vieques has either spent time living or working there
or has a close relative who has had this experience. For Bandidaje,
he finds solace escaping there half of the year. It is where he
has access to "development," to some of the simple pleasures
he enjoyed in his Vieques childhood, such as a movie theater for
example (not one exists on the island today).
Bandidaje, though bitter about the situation in his island, has
an unforgettable sense of humor. Many other Viequenses that I interviewed
recounted his many jokes from the days tearing down the Navy fence
and protesting. No one calls him by his given name. In fact few
people even know what his real name is. He is greeted with "Que
bandidaje!" (What banditry). It is all a reference to
the first quote featured on the painting, something he said to the
judge after his arrest in protesting the Navy. In a trip where he
took my husband and I to the gorgeous Punta Arenas, the
Western tip of the island, he crafted a subtle, developing joke,
to illustrate the deficiencies suffered by his community. Mind you,
I write all this in English, robbing you of the poetry of his words.
In any trip to the Western tip of Vieques one passes the almacigo
trees on route to the airport, the horses running wild on pastures
around la Capilla Ecunemica, Rompeolas, the old Navy magazines
and bunkers, the entanglement of tropical trees, the scrurrying
jueyes (land crabs), the enormous puddles in the dirt roads,
and finally where the serene southern waters ripple towards the
turbelent northern waters at the tip of the island, with the Yunque
rainforest clouds hovering over the hills of the main island of
Boriken. Along the way, at various stops, as my husband
and I commented on Vieques' beauty, Bandidaje would say, "Vieques
is beautiful, Vieques is great. The only thing is that you need
a horse to get around." Then, "Vieques is great, the only
thing you need is a horse and a jeep to get you through all the
unpaved roads." Later, “Vieques is great, the only thing
you need is a horse, a jeep and maybe a jet ski for entertainment
and to get around the beaches." That graduated to "Vieques
is great. The only thing you need is a horse, a jeep, a jet ski,
and a lancha (small boat) so that you're not land locked
once the ferries stop running." Eventually he tacked on a plane
to get you off the island during emergencies and to enable to you
to get back and forth when needing supplies, medical attention,
etc, among other amenities.
Bandidaje was not at the opening reception of the exhibition in
October of 2009. He had escaped once again to St. Croix, what he
calls Vieques’ sister island.
© Copyright 2010, Yasmin Hernandez. Under no
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