For many, the year 1984 comes to mind more easily than 1981. 1984 is after all the title of one of George Orwell’s novels. It was also the aesthetic and thematic of one of Apple’s most famous Super Bowl ads aired on January 22, 1984. To me, however, 1984 is just another year. 1981 on the other hand, became one of the most unforgettable years thus far.
I was a freshman at the university. Not any university, mind you. At that time, the University of Puerto Rico had the prestige of being the best higher education institution in the country. To be admitted was a tremendous honor, at least in my Dad’s eyes.
For a while, I was not sure I would make it. I was an honor student but my score on the College Board was either 2,872 or 2,812 out of 4,000 max. When I received the news, my heart sank. I felt dumb. The school’s principal came directly to my desk to congratulate and encourage me. My friends, who made over 3,000 were going to be photographed for the paper. As an honor student, it was expected that I would be part of that crowd. But, I have never been consistently good at exams. I figured out that there was a trick to them and became better but I still dread exams.
When I finally received my yellow envelope from “la UPI” I jumped out with joy. My grandpa, Bernardo could not handle my enthusiasm and tried to quiet me. But, there was no silence for this girl who just found out she was admitted. I called my Dad right away.
This excitement, amazement, and sense of accomplishment came to a halt when the university student body declared a general strike that year. We were advised not to break the line and stay out of our classrooms. I felt caught between a rock and a hard place. The more I found out about the issues the more I realized the underhanded way in which the university’s administration decided to raise the tuition. Nevertheless, I wanted to be at school, I wanted to take classes, and I wanted to learn.
My desires were short-lived as I found myself barricaded in a hallway along with other students. We all got out easily but it was daunting. The desks were piled up on exits and entrances. Protests were going on continuously. And the overall environment was one of insecurity.
In spite of the turmoil, I never really felt unsafe. I did feel discouraged but not unsafe. No one had weapons. No one was looking out to hurt other students. That is the students were not looking to hurt anyone. Before you think I am biased, bear in mind that at a young age, I had confronted face-to-face one of the leaders of the movement demanding a logical explanation to understand why their right to protest should trump my right to learn. So, no. I am not biased. I was there. Granted, others might have had other experiences.
The sense of safety, however, came to a rude awakening on the day of the biggest student assembly and demonstration. An assembly had been called to determine the future of the strike and make decisions. The leader, Roberto Alejandro had been banned from stepping on campus. Thus, a platform was raised on the sidewalk for him to address the students. On claims that there was a traffic violation, the government sent “La Fuerza de Choque” or you can say, Special Forces or Tactical Police to address the aforementioned traffic violation. This resulted in what some consider the most violent demonstration of force towards unarmed students on the island.
I will never forget that day. It was a Wednesday. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving that year. I had a pre-calculus assignment to turn in. We did not have internet or a site to turn in assignments. Neither did we have cell phones to call in or text. These were the days of normal news on TV, radio, and newspapers. I had to turn in this assignment. For someone who grew up believing math was her mortal enemy, taking a pre-calculus class was a serious business. Rain or shine I was going to turn in that assignment.
Yet, as I approached the classroom in the Natural Sciences building, I could not help but notice the emptiness of the parking lot, the hallways, and in general feeling of where everyone went. I knew about the demonstration and the assembly but my thought, as naive as you might imagine, was that people would attend their classes and then go.
I decided to start walking towards the campanile grounds where everyone was going to listen to Roberto Alejandro. But, as I am getting closer people are running in every direction. I was startled and did not know where to go. I kept walking forward towards the main gate amidst the chaos. Suddenly I felt a hand on my forearm stopping me and a voice saying “Not that way. This way.” I looked and it was one of my friends. He said that we needed to run and hide. We could not go to take the bus because the entire town was flooded with the cops in full armor. That was sobering.
As we were running, I suddenly noticed I was standing in between the human chain formed by students and the police on the other side in formation. On the student side, I recognized my former high school teacher Ms. Orraca. I wanted to go to her. We locked eyes and acknowledged each other. My friend said that we needed to hide. So, we ran. We ran as fast as we could between the cars in the parking lot until we felt we were away from the heat. I wanted to cry. I could not.
As we were hiding between cars, we noticed two cops in full armor beating and kicking a man dressed in a suit. I got up to scream to leave him alone. Once again, my friend held me back and told me to be quiet. We could not help him and intervening would probably make us targets. I acquiesced feeling he knew something I did not.
When things died down we realized that home meant different towns for both of us. I opted to go with him, to take his route because I did not want to be alone. I needed to be with someone who lived through it. And that was the thing: we lived through the most violent demonstration against a student body in our country. I did not know it then but I know it now. I am still not sure how I made it.
The news was everywhere. The more I learned about these events, the participants, the armed police, and the rumors that there were snipers in the towers, I could not help but wonder what would have happened if I had not tried to turn in my pre-calculus assignment.
After I arrived at my friend’s house, I called my mother to pick me up. She came. When I entered the car, she asked me “Why did you not come straight home?”
I simply couldn’t.