When we first heard that people were rioting, it seemed like news from a distant planet. After two weeks of spotty Wifi and seemingly endless team-building exercises, the volunteer base high in the rural mountains of Yabucoa, Puerto Rico had become my entire universe. After Hurricane Maria decimated the small island my grandparents had once called home, I’d jumped at the chance to lend a hand. We weren’t curing cancer or achieving world peace; we were rebuilding a tiny, underserved town one mold-infested roof at a time. I’d expected to spend some time on the island, patch a few roofs, and go home. What I hadn’t expected, but what I ultimately got, was a front-row seat to the biggest revolution in a generation. We first heard about the government leak when Vicky, our resident social media guru, printed out the stories and pasted them on the wall of the communal kitchen. It seemed that Puerto Rico’s top officials — including Governor Ricardo Roselló himself — had participated in a private group chat that had leaked to reporters. The contents of the chat included a litany of offensive statements including threats to assassinate political opponents, sexist profanity and even homophobic comments about recently-outed singer Ricky Martin. When I heard that last part, I immediately knew there’d be hell to pay. Every Puerto Rican knows — you don’t mess with Ricky Martin. Most offensive of all were comments mockingly referring to the rising number of dead bodies post-Hurricane Maria. “Don’t we have some more cadavers to feed our crows?” one politician joked. Days before, two government officials had been arrested for funneling $15,000,000 out of the country at a time when many residents were still using tarps to patch holes in their homes. As we scraped toxic mold from children’s bedrooms almost two years after Maria, billions in federal aid had yet to be allocated by the government. The attitude of the government exposed in the leak was more than just nasty — it was criminal. Still, when I rolled into San Juan on my birthday weekend, I wasn’t there to protest a corrupt government - I was there to party. As I stepped onto the familiar cobblestone street, reggaeton thumped from every car window. The sun set in deep violet streaks over the old El Morro fort. Walking past the Puerto Rican flags that proudly decorate each storefront, I noticed that something was different: every single flag had been painted black. As we approached the Governor’s mansion on Calle Fortaleza, I could sense a trembling energy I’d never felt before. We heard the protesters before we saw them, their voices ringing out with a clear message: Ricky, renuncia! - Ricky, renounce! Hordes of people gathered in front of Roselló’s home, banging drums as though preparing for war. Those without drums banged pots and pans, calling out for justice over the fracas. Behind me, a man stood silently raising a sign above his head: Sin Mascara! Sin Lighter! Sin Miedo! — Without a mask, without a lighter, without fear. I looked up and saw that someone had spray painted over the street name and replaced it with “Calle Revolución” - Revolution Street. I never made it back to base that night. The next morning, I joined a coalition of LGBTQ+ youth and marched from San Juan onto the Las Americas Expressway, blocking all travel to or from the city. Trucks flying black flags parked in the middle of the highway, blasting protest music. When it began to rain, protestors formed conga lines and danced in the storm. By day’s end, 500,000 people had taken to the streets. Two days later, Governor Roselló resigned in disgrace. I returned to Yabucoa to find that inside the bubble of the base, nothing had changed. We put on our boots and headed out to the worksite like any other day. Now, however, I’d experienced the resilience of a people who refused to be ignored. I’d witnessed a powerful politician bend to the will of everyday folks. For every inch of roof we patched, we supported a movement that connected the entire island. Wiping sweat from under my hard hat, I looked over the mountains and thought, “the revolution is here.”