November 11: The Day Puerto Rico Reckons with Its Veterans

On November 11, 1918, the armistice whistle sounded in Compiègne, France. World War I ended. A year later, President Woodrow Wilson declared that date Armistice Day. In 1954, following World War II and Korea, the U.S. Congress changed the name to Veterans Day to honor all who served, not just the fallen of 1918.

Puerto Rico adopted the date in 1917, when the Jones Act granted U.S. citizenship to Boricuas. Since then, more than 300,000 Puerto Ricans have worn the uniform. They served in the 65th Infantry Division, the Borinqueneers, in Korea. They were in Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan. They returned to an island that sometimes forgets that November 11 is not just a day off, but a day of reckoning.

The federal government estimates that between 11 and 20 out of every 100 veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan live with post-traumatic stress disorder. In Puerto Rico, the lack of updated official data makes it difficult to know the exact figure, but the Veterans Administration in San Juan treats thousands every year. Many wait months for an appointment. Others seek relief outside the traditional system.

José "Cheo" Rivera, 68 years old, Vietnam

Cheo Rivera arrived in Da Nang in 1969 at age 19. He worked as a combat medic. He saw things he still cannot fully recount. He returned to Bayamón in 1971. He slept three hours a night. Alcohol kept him awake until he was 45.

"One day my daughter told me I smelled like death. That woke me up more than any bomb," says Rivera. He started therapy at the VA. They prescribed antidepressants. They left him more asleep than awake. In 2015, a comrade from the 65th told him about medical cannabis. Rivera obtained his license. He started with low doses of CBD oil and THC flowers at night.

"Now I sleep six hours. They're not the twelve I would like, but they're six without screaming. Cannabis doesn't take away the memories. It gives me space to breathe between them."

Rivera combines cannabis with acupuncture once a month at a community center in Río Piedras. He says the needles lower the pressure in his chest that he feels every time he hears fireworks.

María "Tita" Santiago, 52 years old, Iraq and Afghanistan

Tita Santiago served 22 years in the Army Reserve. She did three deployments: two in Iraq, one in Afghanistan. She drove supply convoys. She saw explosions. She lost two friends in an IED attack in 2006.

She returned to Ponce in 2011. She couldn't enter a shopping mall without checking the exits. Her husband found her one night crying in the bathroom with a knife in her hand. She didn't want to take her life. She wanted to feel something other than fear.

The VA prescribed sertraline and exposure therapy. It worked for a while. Then the side effects took away her libido and raised her blood pressure. In 2019, a veteran friend took her to a yoga workshop for veterans at the San Juan Convention Center.

"The first class I cried the whole time. The instructor didn't say anything to me. She just let me be," Santiago recounts. She began practicing yoga three times a week. She added cannabis in sublingual drops before sleeping. She says the THC turns down the volume on the memories. Yoga taught her to breathe when her chest tightens.

"I'm not cured. PTSD doesn't get cured. But now I know when it's coming and I have tools. Before I only had the knife."

Luis "Luisito" Morales, 41 years old, Afghanistan

Luisito Morales was a sniper in the Army. He served in Kandahar province between 2009 and 2012. He counted 47 confirmed shots. He doesn't talk about that. He talks about what came after.

He returned to Carolina in 2013. He worked in private security. One day a car backfiring in the parking lot knocked him to the ground. He spent 20 minutes in the fetal position. He resigned that week.

He tried cognitive therapy. He tried medications. Nothing pulled him out of survival mode. In 2020, his cousin took him to a medical cannabis grow operation in the eastern part of the island. Morales started working there. He learned to cultivate. He learned to dose.

"When I'm among the plants, my head calms down. I don't think about Afghanistan. I think about nutrients, pH, harvest," says Morales.

He uses a high-CBD strain during the day and one with balanced THC at night. He also practices boxing three times a week at a veterans' gym in Trujillo Alto. He says hitting the bag gets out the rage that cannabis can't reach.

"Cannabis isn't magic. It's a tool. Like the rifle they gave me over there. The difference is that this tool helps me live, not kill."

The Road Ahead

Puerto Rico legalized medical cannabis in 2015. The Department of Health reports more than 100,000 registered patients. It does not break down how many are veterans. The Veterans Administration cannot recommend cannabis because it remains illegal at the federal level. Veterans who use it do so at their own risk.

Organizations like Veterans for Cannabis Puerto Rico offer educational workshops. The Veterans Hospital in San Juan has a complementary therapies program that includes yoga and acupuncture. Demand exceeds capacity.

November 11 should not be just parades and speeches. It should be the day Puerto Rico asks its veterans what they need. And listens when they say that sometimes the answer doesn't come in a pill from the VA, but in a plant that grows in the backyard or on a yoga mat in a community room.

Cheo, Tita, and Luisito are not movie heroes. They are people who came back broken and found pieces of peace where the system couldn't reach. This November 11, the best way to honor their service is to ensure they don't have to seek that peace alone.