122 Days Living Without Water
![]() June 26, 2026 Greetings, Meteor readers, My kid demands to listen to the K-Pop Demon Hunters soundtrack every night before bed, and I’ve started turning it into an opportunity for aerobics. Last night she looked at me and said, “Why you dancin’ like that, mama?” Rude. ![]() Today we bring you an update on a state of emergency that hits uncomfortably close to home. Plus, it’s primary day for Michigan, Kansas, Missouri, Virginia, and Washington. Go get your stickers! With love, Shannon Melero ![]() WHAT’S GOING ONEmpty faucets: For the last 122 days, Puerto Rico has been experiencing a severe water crisis. An estimated 180,000 households have lost running water for days at a time, and while the situation has slightly improved, many homes and businesses are still experiencing hours of either total water loss or potable water loss. The National Guard has been delivering potable water to affected areas in repurposed milk trucks. On Monday, conditions had reached such crisis levels that the government announced a plan for water rationing across the island. How did we get here? In June, power failures, which have become a near-daily occurrence over the nine years since Hurricane Maria, caused service disruptions at a water filtration plant. Then, a few days later, massive ruptures were found in the Superacueducto, a major pipeline that carries water from treatment centers into cities like San Juan, Carolina, and Loíza. Residents there were left without service while the Puerto Rico Aqueduct and Sewer Authority (PRASA) attempted repairs. But the work has been slow, and as water spills from the Superacueducto and electricity becomes spottier at filtration centers, another problem compounds this horrific situation: There’s a drought. More than 82% of the island—which is home to a rainforest—was under abnormally dry conditions as of the end of July. Officials have been confounded. At one point, Governor Jeniffer González Colón “even invoked God, begging him for rain,” Susanne Ramirez de Arellano, a journalist living in Old San Juan, tells The Meteor. “We’re left wondering what kind of a plan she actually has to face this water crisis besides asking for divine intervention.” ![]() WATER TRUCKS PREPARING FOR DISTRIBUTION IN MID-JULY. (VIA GETTY IMAGES) Meanwhile, “abuelas are hauling five-gallon buckets up three flights of stairs to flush a toilet and wash a plate,” writes activist and movement strategist Luis Jonathan Hernandez. “Mothers are heating bottled water on a stove to bathe their kids.” Ramirez de Arellano says although residents are “furious to say the least,” they’re also “resilient. Life must go on. But this water crisis has brought many, including myself, to the end of their tether.” These problems are not new; they are the result of decades of neglect, fiscal mismanagement, and, as always, colonialism. Aqueducts don’t break overnight. Infrastructure does not erode in a weekend. These things are guided to failure by malicious hands. And a coarse salt in the wound is that, as Hernandez puts it, “This is the same summer everybody decided they were Puerto Rican.” It was only a few short months ago we bore witness to Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show and the internet was awash in praise and cultural dissection of Benito’s message. Everyone seemed to understand that they were witnessing something powerful, something bigger than a singular event. And yet, as Hernandez reminds us: “At that Super Bowl, in front of the whole world, he climbed an electrical pole to point straight at the island’s power crisis, and the crowd cheered the spectacle and let the meaning slide right off them.” It is a cruel irony that a small island surrounded by ocean, known for some of the most beautiful waters on the earth and besieged by rain on a semi-reliable schedule, is experiencing such a massive drought. It is perhaps even more cruel that they are enduring this completely alone. When I talk to people about the crisis they have one of two responses: I thought that ended or I didn’t know that was happening. In his writings, Hernandez gives marching orders to Puerto Ricans living in the diaspora: Don’t just carry the flag, carry the water. So to you, my dear Meteor reader, I step out of my journalist chair for a moment to deliver a personal plea. Do not forget about my people. Help us carry the water. AND:
IS THE SCHIAPARELLI IN THE ROOM WITH US? (SCREENSHOT VIA YOUTUBE)
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