Just after 1 p.m., the virtual curtain rose. On YouTube, the cast came into view: nine men and four women seated around an oval table. Three others joined remotely. The atmosphere felt heavy.
What was supposed to be the University of Puerto Rico (UPR) Governing Board’s first meeting of the year quickly became a spectacle of confrontations and grimaces, accusations of censorship, and parliamentary tangles and technicalities — material worthy of a soap opera but far removed from the minimum standards expected in a university setting.
Less than two minutes had passed when the first clash erupted. From her seat, student representative Simonely Hidalgo Rodríguez moved to remove from the agenda the presentation of a report by UPR President Zayira Jordán Conde.
“Our internal rules require that any document to be discussed be distributed [to board members] at least seven days in advance,” Hidalgo said. That had not happened.
The agenda amendment passed without opposition, sidelining a key element of the ‘script.’ The drama was just beginning.
Without the report and without a turn to speak, the president was left unable to account for her work since the previous meeting, held on Dec. 18, 2025. At first glance, it might seem like a mere technical tweak of the ‘script.’ But how does the person who has led the university since July of last year fail to ensure even the delivery — much less the presentation — of a basic task central to her duties?
As with any story adapted for the stage, there is context beyond the scene. In recent weeks, persistent demands have come from sectors of the university community calling for a formal evaluation of the president’s performance, arguing that she lacks the capacity to hold the post — an argument raised since word first spread of her intention to seek it.
Critics fault her for weak leadership, a confrontational style in meetings and the paralysis of the university’s transformation at one of the most critical moments in its history: a steady loss of funding amid changes and mandates from the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump and delays in rebuilding campus infrastructure. In a period of outside pressure, budget fragility and doubts about her ability, failing at the basics is not a simple administrative oversight. It reflects the kind of leadership she is exercising — or not — from her chair.
For 40 minutes, the story unfolded through the expected routine of debates and discussion, all the while setting the stage for conflict. Then, suddenly, someone raised his voice, and the plot took a new turn.
Faculty representative Rafael Méndez Tejeda said: “For more than 210 days, Dr. Zayira Jordán Conde has overseen the University of Puerto Rico. Her record has been marked by deficient leadership. The university community has faced constant instability, abuses, and uncertainty. Under her presidency, the transformation has been stalled. Information requests have not flowed. She has not responded to the Governing Board as requested. Administrative inaction cannot go unpunished. The university needs agile leadership.”
After a pause so slight it was almost imperceptible, Méndez Tejeda delivered his conclusion: “At this time, in light of this noncompliance and the board’s fiduciary duty, and in order to advance the interests of the University of Puerto Rico, I present the motion to remove Dr. Zayira Jordán Conde from the position of UPR president, effective immediately.”
The most visible grimaces appeared on remote participants’ screens. The board’s secretary, attorney Terlyn Sastre, let out a faint smile that hovered between discomfort and sarcasm. Minutes earlier, she had looked perfectly at ease on camera, Coca-Cola can in hand, as if the meeting were part of a domestic routine. Now her eyes drifted away from the scene, searching for a refuge that did not exist.
Professor Mayda Velasco, appointed to the board by former Gov. Wanda Vázquez Garced, kept her hand over her mouth, as if trying to contain her surprise at an unexpected development — or to stop herself from saying something that was not hers to say at that moment.
There is, without a doubt, a legitimate debate about the president’s performance and her ability to lead at such a critical time. It is also worth remembering that search and consultation processes for the job are long and complex. And it is fair to ask whether, amid the deep partisan political interference that has gripped the UPR, changing presidents right now would truly solve anything. Ultimately, the problem is not only Jordán Conde’s management but also the university’s autonomy, stripped away and left hollow.
Velasco let out a sigh, followed by an “Ay, ay, ay,” and suggested a recess to break the awkward silence ahead of the imminent vote. The board’s chair, Ricardo Dalmau, agreed after consulting legal counsel. At 2:20 p.m., the feed paused like a curtain falling on Act One. On screen, the message read: “Governing Board – Regular Meeting – Recess – Jan. 29, 2026.”
Act Two
At 2:35 p.m., the meeting resumed with the motion to remove Jordán Conde on the table. Dalmau opened with an attempt to calm tempers. He said that, after consulting the legal adviser, new matters not included on the agenda — particularly ones of this magnitude — are not typically taken up, but that he would decide to entertain it.
He argued that such decisions require approval by two-thirds of members present. But Méndez Tejeda interrupted: “That has never been the case. The same mechanism that elects is the same mechanism that removes. And the election mechanism was an absolute majority.”
Dalmau replied: “Well, after consulting legal counsel …”
The legal adviser spoke up: “Mr. Chair, when [the president] was elected, that matter was scheduled on the agenda. Because this is a matter of this magnitude that is not on the agenda, parliamentary procedure requires a two-thirds vote.”
The statement drew murmurs of disbelief. Méndez Tejeda could not hide his indignation. “This is unheard-of,” he said, turning to the colleague beside him, the other faculty representative, Professor William Muñiz Rivera.
Hidalgo stepped in to demand the parliamentary source and the legal authority “on which that decision is based, because it is not in our internal rules or in Bothwell’s manual. I would like the exact citation and the page.”
The exchange showed how power can also be exercised through technicalities, while the university’s real problems are pushed aside.
The second act opened with a confrontational tone that only intensified. The discussion grew more tangled when Muñiz Rivera argued that one of the remote participants should not be allowed to vote because he had not been present when the motion was introduced. It was businessman Julio Cabral Corrada, one of the board’s newest members, appointed by Gov. Jenniffer González, who joined the meeting 15 minutes after the motion to remove the president had been presented.
Cabral Corrada spoke in a combative tone, saying he was in a place with unstable internet access and therefore had not been able to follow the full presentation of the motion. After brief deliberations, he was allowed to vote, and the board decided to cast ballots secretly. Cabral’s internet problem appeared to have been resolved, and he was able to vote.
The vote ended seven against, five in favor and one abstention. It was close. The motion failed, but the tension did not dissipate. Dalmau’s remarks did little to contain the indignation in the room.
“I want to take this opportunity again and speak to you with sincerity and openness,” he began, trying to lower the temperature.
He spoke about the importance of working together and joining efforts: “So that we give the opportunity and work together, because what matters most is the University of Puerto Rico.”
“In one way or another, all of us have to work with resources that, perhaps, we believe other resources could do a more effective job … but what I want is to extend the invitation that we all work together. The university deserves that,” he concluded.
Because, of course, nothing says “working together” quite like hours of crosstalk, frustrated motions, a board member arriving late to vote on a motion to remove the president, and a minority that directly represents the university community forced into contortions just to have its proposals considered.
But that was not the end of it. As in any play, there was time for a monologue that left the audience holding its breath. Hidalgo took the floor:
“I believe this board lacks leadership. I believe the University of Puerto Rico is at a critical moment. I consider that Dr. Jordán’s track record has shown that she is incapable of running the University of Puerto Rico. I believe that since her arrival here on July 1 that has been clear: the transformation of the university has been stopped. We have spent months waiting for an organizational structure to be submitted so that we can approve it. There has been no progress with the Fiscal Oversight Board. No money has been disbursed…,” the student representative said.
“I think that at the end of the day, if there is one person responsible for everything that is happening at the university, and for maintaining and fostering incompetence, mediocrity and insubordination, it is the chairman of our board [Ricardo Dalmau],” he concluded, though he did not offer specific data or examples. I wondered: What does the student know that he chose not to say? It would have been a valuable opportunity to present evidence that could enable public scrutiny and accountability.
The second act built to a crescendo with accusations and confrontations. Participants denounced censorship and talked about a dictatorship.
Attacks became personal. Cross-accusations multiplied. Voices rose, as if volume could substitute for argument. And all of it came from a governing body that administers public funds and decides the future of Puerto Rico’s main public university.
A motion to end the broadcast — raised by Professor María Mulero Pastrana, representing Puerto Rico Education Secretary Eliezer Ramos Parés — set off a new wave of tension. She proposed closing the livestream proceedings for those of us following the drama virtually.
The proposal drew sharp backlash from Hidalgo and Muñiz, who, with gestures of disapproval and raised hands, argued that it violated the law requiring public meetings.
Mulero spoke: “I’m not proposing that we end the meeting — only that what we discuss off-camera, especially personnel matters protected by law, be handled outside the broadcast. I don’t want to limit your right to speak,” she argued.
The words were meant to calm the room, but instead they only intensified the conflict through further procedural wrangling.
“We have broadcast many matters live, and I would like to finish them, out of respect for everyone, but first we need to control ourselves and try to run this with elegance, avoid personal attacks, and proceed as we should, as we always have,” the board chair said. His remarks were an attempt to “leave for another time” the selection of a new vice chair after the departure of Jorge Valentín Asencio.
“Mr. Chair, it seems very troubling to me that there is an appeal of one of your decisions and you are now saying this can’t be addressed …,” Hidalgo replied, opening yet another exchange. It escalated into a direct challenge to President Jordán, who watched from her corner with a serious expression, almost imperturbable.
“Do you have a problem, President?” the student asked. The student pressed on, admonishing her: “It’s just that you’re making faces at me …”
Mulero took the floor again: “Let’s lower the tone. Let’s recenter, because, regardless, we have to work for the good of the university.”
After a vote to postpone the selection of a vice chair for two weeks, the drama seemed to reach its end. The tension barely eased.
For those of us watching as an audience, the outcome was deeply disappointing. What happened not only reflected disorder and a lack of direction; it also raised profound concerns about the current Governing Board’s capacity to address the structural problems confronting the university at a critical moment for its future.
That concern grew sharper when, during an informational session, the president announced the transfer of legislative funds originally earmarked for rebuilding Torre Norte, a student residence hall that has been closed since 2017. The money will instead go to the campus electrical substation and cooling systems, leaving student housing in limbo once again.
The result of a meeting defined by sterile confrontations, improvised interventions and fights over parliamentary procedure does nothing but sustain institutional paralysis, deepen distrust and push urgent matters affecting the university community — and the public whose resources support the UPR — into the background.
And, as in any play that leaves an audience thinking, the inevitable question remains: Is this the environment we want within the group charged with leading our university?
On YouTube, the cast came into view: nine men and four women seated around an oval table. Three others joined remotely. The atmosphere felt heavy.