My family and I visited Vieques for vacation last month. Vieques is a small island off the east coast of Puerto Rico. For many years it was essentially invisible to the world, as the island was a U.S. military base, and therefore not on most maps. Protests against the United States using the island as a bombing range and testing ground led the military to leave about 20 years ago. To this day, the scars of occupation remain, with rusted military vehicles still dotting the island, and whole sections still quarantined, waiting to be restored after ordinance and worse is removed. Estimates are that it will be decades before we return the island to its people.
But the island is stunning, with wild horses roaming everywhere, and beautiful beaches with vibrant reefs all but abandoned. The people — about 10,000 — are friendly and welcoming, as tourism has only slowly developed across the island, especially in the south.
And the people are striking as well in their vigilance against COVID. That makes sense: There is no real hospital on the island, and the disease would therefore be devastating to anyone who contracted it. Family members would have to move to the main island to support any sick family member. Most obviously could not afford that.
So everywhere, there are proud announcements about how effective the people have been in protecting the island against the virus. Reports are that there have been no cases so far. Every store has disinfectant available as you enter; most have an automatic thermometer measuring your temperature. And everyone wears masks everywhere — including outside, walking along the streets.
Except the American tourists. And ever wanting to believe in US, this just astonished me.
There is no ambiguity about the local rule. It is advertised everywhere, with a punch line at the bottom of every sign, “our house, our rules.” But many many tourists, presumptively American, refused to follow Vieques’ own rules. In one restaurant, my family had reluctantly decided to eat inside, as the space was not occupied and it was early. Everyone on the staff was wearing masks. For about 45 minutes, it felt very safe. But then about 10 Americans came inside, all standing around a bar, either trying to order food or find a place to sit. Only 2 wore masks. The rest, mainly men, but not exclusively, were almost proud in their defiance. “Screw you, Vieques. We own you. This is an American territory. We get to set the rules.”
When I was growing up, the “ugly American” meme felt like a fashion statement. We were loud, differently dressed; we stood out from the Italians or Parisians, because we looked and sounded so different. Now it feels like a moral statement. We act as if to declare, “We’re better than all of you, more powerful, more entitled.”
Such a declaration would be ugly enough even were it true. Are we really the last to recognize how obviously false it has become?
