THE rural population of Porto Rico may be roughly divided into the
landowners, or planters, and the wage-earning countrymen. The planters
are usually people who in many ways closely resemble the country
gentleman or squire of England. They are people of considerable
importance in their communities, frequently well educated and widely
traveled, men who do not hesitate to spend their money freely for their
comfort and that of their families when the crops are plentiful and the
prices good. They exercise a sort of patronage over the country people
who work for them, many of whom live in houses on land provided by the
landlord. The laborers look to the landlord for guidance and for advice
in practically all matters pertaining to their economic life, and the
planter usually reciprocates by caring for the welfare of the countryman
to the best of his ability.
Many of the planters, especially such as are located in the coffee
districts, have been badly handicapped by the partial destruction of
their coffee plantations through cyclones, and by the low price for
their product, since they have had to compete with South American coffee
in the European and American markets. In addition to this economic
disadvantage, the planters are also handicapped by the infirmity of
their laborers, most of whom are sufferers from anemia, and few of whom
are able to work without the immediate direction of a foreman. The
economic and social condition of the planters is not a matter of
particular interest to us in this connection, inasmuch as they are so
situated that they enjoy all of the advantages of an advanced stage of
civilization. The problem that confronts the progress of Porto Rico is
to be found in the day laborer of the country districts. The following
is taken from the book on _Uncinariasis in Porto Rico_, by Doctors
Ashford and Gutierrez:
"Our patient has been in times past the _jíbaro_ and will be in time to
come. As we have seen already, while all country districts furnish an
incredible number of sick, the great breeding places of _necator
americanus_ are the coffee plantations, and this is the home of _el
palido_ (the pale man) of Porto Rico.
"The _jíbaro_ is a type to be well studied before we essay to interest
him in bettering his own condition. Many have written of his virtues,
many of his defects, but few, even in Porto Rico, have seen through the
mist of a pandemic the real man beyond.
"Coll y Toste says that the origin of the word _jíbaro_ proceeds from a
port in Cuba (Jibara), and that it is composed of two words of Indian
origin, _jiba_, meaning mountain, and _ero_, man. We cannot see the
necessity of invoking this port of Cuba with the excellently applicable
philology he gives us.
"Brau says that the term is applied to-day to a laborer, but that its
true significance is 'a mountain dweller.'
"Our understanding of the term, as it is applied to-day, is a peasant,
a tiller of the soil, a man whose life is not that of the town, and who
lacks its culture. And when we say that a man is a _jíbaro_, we put him
in a separate and distinct class, a class of country laborers. These
people 'live now as they lived 100 or 200 years ago, close to the soil.'
The _jíbaro_ is a squatter and does not own the land upon which he
builds his modest house, nor does that house cost him anything save the
trouble of building it. It is a framework of poles, with walls of the
bark of the royal palm (the _yagua_), with roof of the same material or
of a tough grass which is used for thatching, and with a floor of palm
boards. Generally the floor is well raised from the ground on posts, and
the family is truly a poor and miserable one which is content to have an
earthen floor. As a rule, there is but one room for a family, which
rarely goes below five, and whose upper limit is measured by the
accommodation afforded for sleeping. The cooking is done under a shed on
a pile of stones. Weyl says that the house should be valued at about
$20.
"The food of the _jíbaro_ is poor in fats and the proteids are of
difficult assimilation, being of vegetable origin, as a rule.
"He arises at dawn and takes a cocoanut dipperful of _café puya_ (coffee
without sugar). Naturally, he never uses milk. With this black coffee he
works till about twelve o'clock, when his wife brings him his breakfast,
corresponding to our lunch. This is composed of boiled salt codfish,
with oil, and has one of the following vegetables of the island to
furnish the carbohydrate element: banana, platano, ñame, batata or
yautia.
"At three in the afternoon he takes another dipperful of coffee, as he
began the day. At dusk he returns to his house and has one single dish,
a sort of stew, made of the current vegetables of the island, with rice
and codfish. At rare intervals he treats himself to pork, of which he is
inordinately fond, and on still rarer occasions he visits the town and
eats quantities of bread, without butter, of course.
"Of all this list of country food there are only three elements that are
bought--rice, codfish, and condiments. Rice is imported from the United
States and codfish from Nova Scotia. The bread he eats on his visits to
town is made of American flour.
"This is a normal _jíbaro_ diet. With the wage paid him he can get no
better, but aside from this he is wedded to cheap bulky foods, chiefly
for reasons to be stated, and is completely ignorant of the importance
of certain foods which any hygienist would like to add to his bill of
fare. If the normal food of the _jíbaro_, as stated, were his usual
food, it would not be so serious a matter, nor would the _jíbaro_
complain so bitterly of his wretched ration, but the fact is he does not
get the menu detailed above save when he can be said to be prosperous.
Only a few cents difference in wages will cut out the small proportion
of animal proteids he obtains, the codfish, and a cyclone will drive him
in sheer desperation to the town.
"Aside from all this, if wages were better, it is said, he would leave
his ration as it now is and spend his surplus otherwise. This has not
been given, however, a very earnest trial. He takes also more rum than
he is given credit for by those who have accepted the formula that the
_jíbaro_ does not drink, but it is true that he is not usually
intemperate in this sense. One of his vices is _la mascaura_ (the wad of
tobacco), and he believes the juice of the tobacco to be beneficial in
warding off tetanus.
"The _jíbaro_, mountain bred, avoids the town whenever possible, avoids
the genteel life of a civilization higher than that of his own. He
instinctively tucks his little hut away in the most inaccessible spots;
he shrinks from the stranger and lapses into stolid silence when brought
face to face with things that are foreign to his life. He does this
because he has been made to feel that he must do all that he is told to
do by established authority, and he knows that this authority never
takes the trouble to look for him unless it expects to get something out
of him; because he is suspicious of outsiders, having been too often led
astray by false prophets and disappointed by broken promises; because he
realizes that he is not a free agent anywhere save in the mountain
fastnesses. In other words, he seeks liberty in his home, freedom from
the constant repression of those he recognizes as his superiors, and
exemption from a repetition of deceptions that have been so often
practiced upon him. He has always been made to stay strictly in his
class, in the _jíbaro_ class. Frequently when he tries to express
himself he is laughed down, frowned down, or growled down. '_Tu eres un
jíbaro_' is not a term of reproach exactly, but it means 'You are not
in a position to express yourself, for you are only a mountaineer. You
know nothing of our world; you are still a child. Your place is under
the shade of the coffee tree; the mark you bear is clear to everyone;
you are a _jíbaro_.' Thus there is a great difference between the
_jíbaro_ and those who are not _jíbaros_, _i.e._, those who live in
towns or those who command in the country. This distinction is neither
made unkindly nor roughly. All the Porto Rican people are kindly and
they love their _jíbaros_, but nevertheless they treat them as though
they were children. And the _jíbaro_ loyally follows his educated,
emancipated fellow citizen, perfectly satisfied to be guided as the
latter sees fit.
"Much of this guidance is excellent, and it is not our mission to seek
to break down barriers which to-day, may be needful. The _jíbaro_ is
respectful and obedient, fearful of the law and never defiant of his
superiors; he is generous to a fault, sharing with any wayfarer his last
plantain; he is devoted to his family and to his friends. Had he been
ill treated by the educated and controlling class in the island he would
be sullen and savage, but this has not been the case. If it is true that
the _jíbaro_ is in many ways differentiated from the upper classes, it
is equally true that there is no masonry so strong as that existing
among the _jíbaros_ of Porto Rico. Bound to each other by the most
intricate ties of relationship and by a still more potent one, the
eternal bond conferred by the title _compadre_ or godfather, they share
their troubles and shield each other as though they belonged to one
great family. It is really wonderful to see how quickly and with what
complete self-abnegation an orphaned child or widowed mother is gathered
into some poor neighbor's hut and there cared for. For these very same
reasons search for a miscreant in the mountains is a formidable
undertaking. On inquiry no one knows him, never saw him, never even
heard of him, and the closest scrutiny of their faces will not detect
the faintest trace of interest or even of intelligence.
"Care must be taken in deducing facts from questioning a group of
_jíbaros_ even in the most unimportant matters. They are tremendously
suspicious and generally let someone among them who is _leido_ (one who
has established a local reputation for worldly wisdom) speak for them.
One can be pretty sure that the rest will say 'amen' to all of his
remarks. It is said that this deep suspicion of a strange investigator
proceeds from the methods employed by the Spanish _guardia civil_ or
rural guard, to run down those suspected of unfaithfulness to the
administration, petty infringement of the law, etc.
"The _jíbaro_ is equally superstitious and very quickly impressed by a
supernatural explanation of any phenomena he cannot understand. The more
outlandish the explanation of a disease the better he likes it, and for
this reason the _curandero_ or local charlatan is so popular and
powerful in the mountains. We very much fear that our abrupt tumbling in
the dust of an ancient explanation of his for anemia, our assertion that
it was due to 'worms' and our administration of 'strong medicine' which
practically put him _hors de combat_ for the day, accounts for part
of our early success. In spite of this lack of knowledge of the world
above him he has one quality which is his ever ready defense, his
astuteness. There is one phrase much used in describing the _jíbaro's_
acuteness of observation. Referring to a trade it is said: '_Para un
jíbaro, otro, y para los dos, el demonio_,' which means, 'To get the
best of a jíbaro, employ another, and to catch both, Satan himself must
take charge of them.'
"This astuteness, despite all of the great obstacles in the path of our
work among them, was what chiefly led to success in bringing these
people under treatment. They soon saw that we got results, and with a
fact capable of sensational proof in our hands, the _jíbaro_ accepted us
and we joined the 'order' to which we have made reference. From that
time he has been our friend, and better friends no man ever had, for his
entire support is given us; he preaches our 'new medicine' and wherever
we have expounded these things to him by word of mouth and by virtue of
proof he takes pride in explaining, better than any representative of
the upper classes, how the disease is acquired and how it may be
prevented.
"The prime fact, however, is that he has, until recently, been much
neglected, neglected by those who are not of his class, neglected by the
authorities. There are municipalities whose town forms but a tenth of
the population of the outlying country, whose taxes are collected to
support it, yet which seem to forget the submerged mass in the
mountains. This being so for the towns which are surrounded by these
people, how attenuated the interest becomes in the capital and larger
cities of the island, and how extremely diluted that of the continental
American who neither knows his needs nor even what _jíbaro_ means.
"Education will transform this _jíbaro_ into something much better or
much worse, for he will not remain content as he is when he can read,
write, and see the world with his own eyes. In this education the
respect he bears his more fortunate compatriots, the power for good they
have over him, and the confidence he reposes in them must be preserved.
The labor he must perform to enrich the island must be dignified by his
employer and by himself, or else the hills will be deserted and the
_jíbaro_ will become a vicious hanger-on of towns. Better homes, better
means of communication with towns, now becoming an accomplished fact,
better food, education, in which remarkable progress is being made at
this day, better habits of life, especially in the modern prevention of
disease, must form a part of any plan adopted to improve his condition.
The planter who to-day sees the laborer must see in him the man whose
bodily, mental, and moral development will make the plantation a
success. The planter is the man of all men in Porto Rico who must begin
to help the _jíbaro_ upward in order to emerge from his own present
industrial depression. This lack of mental contact, of a common ground
of interest between the _jíbaro_ and the better class of Porto Ricans
drives the former to charlatans for his medical advice, to the wild
fruits and vegetables of the interior for his food, and to weird creeds
for his religious comfort.
"His dependency causes him to look for protection, for direction and for
ideas from the planter, from the municipality, and from the Insular
Government. He considers himself a ward of his employer and of those
placed in authority over him. He does not care to accept any
responsibility for the simple reason that he has always been made to
feel that he is not a responsible person. Therefore, how can we blame
him when we find him without shoes, knowing that by wearing them he will
protect himself against a dangerous infirmity; without bacon and corn,
without household furniture, with but one room for his entire family.
"It is a specious excuse, nothing more nor less, which avers that the
_jíbaro_ is born the way he is and cannot be changed at this late day,
that we must await a new generation, etc. On that principle we could
expect very little from the antituberculosis crusades in New York. The
truth is that to change the _jíbaro_, we must convince him that he will
be bettered by the change, and he is sharp enough to change then, but
the gist of all is that these changes must be begun by the men to whom
the _jíbaro_ has always looked for light, and this means good hard work
and much perseverance, tact, and genuine personal interest. From our
acquaintance with the men to whom this burden will fall we should say
that they are not only sufficiently good business men to realize the
benefit they would get out of a healthy laboring class, but that the
innate patriotism of the Porto Rican agriculturist and the deeper
underlying sympathy for his _jíbaro_ will some day bring about reforms
that they alone can make possible.
"Agricultural laborers, in spite of the small wages they receive, are
nearly if not quite as expensive as those in the United States, for with
50 per cent less of efficiency from disease and wasteful methods of
work, the difference in wage is of small advantage. Weyl states:
'The small equity which the planter holds in the estate which he
cultivates does not permit him to pay any higher wages, and the
poverty of the planter prevents him from making the outlay
necessary for the proper cultivation of his land.'
"Few coffee planters have anywhere near a reasonable amount of their
land under cultivation for the reason that with the poor help and
methods now existent they are unable to extend their plant. The regular
labor, employed all the year round, the peons--who form a relatively
small percentage of the entire number available for work--are paid for a
full day's work, and their degree of anemia is such as to prevent their
doing but about 50 per cent of what they are paid for doing. Our
estimate of the relative efficiency of labor was made from what the
planter himself told us and by a simple experiment which we tried upon
about 500 adult workers in different parts of the interior. We
questioned each one as to the amount of coffee he could pick in a day
and found that from two to three _almudes_ was the utmost the majority
could do, and that one _almud_ was too much for many. Some stated that
after picking a sack full in a remote part of the plantation they were
unable to get it in to the mill without a mule, on account of the fact
that their limbs refused to bear them up. When these people were working
at light work, and at a time when the more they picked, the greater the
profit to themselves, is it reasonable to suppose that when working for
a wage without this incentive this 50 or 60 per cent labor would be any
more efficient? This reduction in laboring capacity demonstrates what a
heavy toll is paid by both employer and employee to uncinariasis in
Porto Rico.
"As to absentee landlords, Weyl says:
'Many of the absentee owners of Porto Rican properties and many of
their agents in Porto Rico consider the island and its population
as equally fit for the crassest exploitation, and are as
contemptuous of the people as they are enthusiastic about the
island. The current use by many Americans of an opprobrious epithet
for Porto Ricans bespeaks an attitude which takes no account of the
human phase of the problem, but considers the population as
composed merely of so many laborers willing to work for such and
such a price.'
"Thus the poor laborer, his earning capacity cut down by his disease,
with employment which is at best very irregular, with his sick wife and
children for whom he has to buy 'iron tonics' that cost all that he can
rake and scrape together, without money for clothes, much less for
shoes, with a palm-bark hut not too well protected against the damp cold
of the grove in which he lives, with not a scrap of furniture save,
perhaps, a hammock, and, worst of all, with a miserable diet lacking in
proteids and fats, lives from day to day, saving nothing, knowing
nothing of the world beyond his plantation, working mechanically simply
because he is not the drone he has been too frequently painted outside
of Porto Rico, but without any object save to keep on living as
generations have done before him. It has been our experience that when
he is asked 'Why have you sought our dispensary?' the answer has almost
invariably been, 'Because I can no longer work.' The _jíbaro_,
nevertheless, has ever been the lever which has raised the bank account
of Porto Rico, and with an average of 40 per cent of hemoglobin and two
and a half millions of red corpuscles per cubic millimeter he has
labored from sun to sun in the coffee plantation of the mountains, in
the sugar estate of the coast land, and in the tobacco field of the
foothills, in addition to his personal coöperation in other industries
and commercial enterprises. He is a sick man and deserves our highest
respect, and merits our most careful attention as a vital element in the
economic life of the island. The American people should take seriously
into account his future, which is at present anything but promising."