AsPuertoRicans prepared to welcome 2025, we woke up Tuesday morning to find the island in complete darkness. A blackout that began at 5:30 a.m. on Dec. 31 left nearly all of Puerto Rico’s 1.47 million utility customers, including me, without power.
For my family, adapting to the circumstances became part of the day’s narrative. We headed to the beach in Guánica, hoping the power would be back by the time we returned. It wasn’t.
As the sun set, I rushed to shower before utter darkness, leaving my hair unstyled — a rarity on New Year’s Eve. On social media, dozens of Puerto Rican women shared similar stories, from running extension cords to a neighbor’s generator to get their hair and makeup done, to ironing clothes using borrowed electricity.
Yet, as night fell, hundreds gathered at La Parguera’s iconic New Year’s Eve street party in Lajas, a small city on the western side of the island, determined to celebrate. Mayra Ortiz, a 21-year-old from nearby Cabo Rojo, described the morning’s power outage as an all-too-familiar ordeal.
“Another papelón in Puerto Rico,” she said, using local slang for a messy situation. “There are so many families who were planning to have their New Year’s Eve dinner, and now they won’t be able to. It’s frustrating to keep living under the same circumstances.”
For Ortiz, the blackout wasn’t just an inconvenience, it was a reflection of deeper systemic failures that have plagued the island. “We think things are going to change with a new government, but no, everything is still the same,” Ortiz told me, expressing her disillusionment with the island’s new governor, Jenniffer González Colón.
Ortiz’s frustration mirrors the simmering anger across the island, which came to a head during González’s swearing-in ceremony on Thursday. Before the event, a protester disrupted a Mass the governor attended, yelling, “Jenniffer, we came for you! Puerto is without power.”
During her gubernatorial race, the candidate for the New Progressive Party (PNP) assured that, if elected, she would cancel the LUMA Energy contract. LUMA Energy is the private company managing Puerto Rico’s power grid since June 2021, following a controversial government-awarded contract, and has been widely criticized for power outages, surges and rate increases. LUMA has faced ongoing protests fueled by concerns over mismanagement and lack of public input in its selection.
Though power was restored to most of the island by Wednesday afternoon, the blackout disrupted New Year’s Eve celebrations and underscored the frustrations of many Puerto Ricans. Cesar Causal, who turned 62 on New Year’s Day, lamented the lack of maintenance and investment in the island’s electrical grid, which has led to constant power outages. “I was born in the ’60s, and power was a luxury then,” he reflected. “I’m accustomed to these events, but it’s sad that in the 21st century we’re still dealing with this.”
In 2017, Hurricane Maria devastated Puerto Rico’s already fragile electricity grid, leaving customers on the island in darkness for up to 328 days — the longest blackout in U.S. history — and exposing years of underfunding, mismanagement, and the Puerto Rico Electric Power Authority’s $9 billion debt crisis, which had led to its bankruptcy just months before the storm.
Not much progress has been made since. Despite it all, Causal has remained positive, saying, “A mal tiempo, buena cara,” which translates to, “In bad times, we put on a good face.” Nothing, he insisted, would stop him from celebrating. Yet his optimism carries a warning. “It’s up to the people we choose to govern to fix this problem once and for all,” he said. “We can’t continue living with such a fragile electrical infrastructure.”
For others, the blackout was a harsh reminder of why they decided to move away from their home. Joel Negrón, now living in Augusta, Georgia, had returned to Lajas for the holidays, eager to spend time with his children. “I came to enjoy my island, and this is what I encountered,” said Negrón, who works as a federal monitor on reconstruction projects tied to Hurricane Maria. “We may be cold and without our loved ones in the U.S. but at least we have our basic necessities met,” he added, alluding to the difficult trade-offs many Puerto Ricans face when moving abroad.
As the crowd continued to gather in La Parguera to count down the final moments of 2024, a presenter on stage tried to uplift the crowd: “No matter what happens in Puerto Rico, tonight we celebrate the new year!” The crowd cheered, but one voice punctuated the moment with a frustrated cry: “Pal’ carajo, LUMA!” or “F**k LUMA!”
The sentiment was echoed by many, including Beatriz Vélez, a 49-year-old from San Germán, who held little back when expressing her frustration to me. “It’s chaos, especially during New Year’s,” she said. “Can I be sincere? F**k LUMA.”
Despite the challenges, many Puerto Ricans refused to let the blackout dampen our spirits. Jeannette Montalvo, 69, from Guánica, went to extraordinary lengths to ensure she could celebrate. “I came back home and warmed water bottles under the sun to shower because no power means no heater for me,” she told me.
Living alone, Montalvo relies heavily on electrical appliances, many of which have been damaged by recurring outages. “Everything I own is electric. These constant outages have ruined my refrigerator, washing machine and stove,” she said. “But I wasn’t going to stay home with no electricity — it’s depressing.
Before midnight, my family went back home, lit candles and watched fireworks illuminate the sky, all while my mom made asopao de camarones over a gas stove, and we opened the windows to let in the cool night air, hoping the new year would bring back the power.
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The blackout served as a sobering reminder of the ongoing struggles Boricuas are forced to face — struggles that, for many, have become a way of life. We’ve mastered the art of survival, what many call “resilience,” turning these hardships into moments of community. Yet, this relentless strength should not be mistaken for acceptance of our broken system.
With electricity rates set to rise in January, many are questioning the future. “If things don’t change, it’s complicated envisioning a future for myself here on the island,” Ortiz said.
Whether fueled by frustration, determination or sheer grit, one sentiment seems to unite us Boricuas: No matter what, we celebrate, holding on to hope that 2025 brings light — and also change.