“The silences of the law have, or can have, social consequences,” writes Efrén Rivera Ramos, a professor, lawyer, and journalist. That is why, when courts remain silent in the face of attacks on fundamental rights, the effect can be to allow injustices that undermine their institutional legitimacy in the eyes of the public.
A few weeks ago, the “deafening silence” of a majority of the Puerto Rico Supreme Court, as Associate Justice Ángel Colón Pérez called it, appears to have nullified the historical understanding and legal scope of the press credential issued by the Puerto Rico Department of State. Twenty-eight years ago, the Supreme Court itself had ruled in the Disidente Universal case that the “only benefit” of holding that “official” press card was obtaining a license plate to park in spaces designated for journalists. In a foreshadowing of the future, in 1998, two justices dissented from that interpretation and said they would have declared illegal and unconstitutional even the mere existence and issuance of that credential. They explained that the ruling established “a dangerous precedent” for press freedom because endorsing such a scheme would allow the state to “arrogate to itself the right” to determine “who may cover public events.” Three decades later, that concern became reality with a terse “certiorari denied,” without explanation, from our highest court when it considered the matter.
In a democratic society where judges are not elected, unlike officials in the political branches, their legitimacy comes from the trust and respect the public grants them. That is why, for the “persuasive power” of courts to be felt, my father, Professor Carlos E. Ramos González, says “their decisions must be accompanied by adequate legal grounds, and in turn supported by a foundation full of legitimacy.” When there are no adequate explanations, the judiciary begins to lose and diminish its reservoir of legitimacy and, in turn, to erode that trust, which is neither granted freely nor guaranteed in perpetuity.
This erosion is not merely theoretical; it is already visible. In the United States, a survey published in April 2026 showed that only 22% of Americans have «great deal» or «quite a bit» of confidence in the U.S. Supreme Court. In Puerto Rico, we do not have data as recent, but the available figures point in a similar direction: 19% confidence in the Judicial Branch, according to a 2016 report by the Universidad del Turabo; and 36%, according to another report by the Puerto Rico Institute of Statistics in 2019.
The Centro de Periodismo Investigativo (CPI), sued Gov. Jenniffer González Colón for requiring this credential from our journalists to access press conferences at La Fortaleza, Puerto Rico’s executive mansion. With the decisions by the Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court upholding the governor’s requirement — both issued with little or no explanation — the Judicial Branch’s capital of legitimacy suffered major losses.
The intermediate appellate court merely noted that the CPI had filed its brief on time. At no point did it explain why the news organization’s legal arguments might be wrong, if that were the case. It neither considered nor rejected them; it simply ignored them. Worse still, it completely overlooked Disidente Universal, which states that the “only benefit” of the credential issued by the Department of State is granting a parking license plate. The appellate panel adopted the government’s position almost robotically, using a weak and slipshod legal analysis. The judges emulated decisions by federal courts during the administrations of U.S. Presidents Joe Biden and Donald Trump involving White House measures that limited journalists’ access — decisions that are not binding in Puerto Rico’s jurisdiction. The court concluded that requiring the press ID is a “neutral” and “reasonable” measure because, supposedly, it applies equally to all journalists who enter the executive mansion.
But reality already shows this is not a “neutral” matter. There is a pattern of selectivity at La Fortaleza press conferences, and we have documented it. When WAPA-TV journalist Mónika Candelaria asked when the credential requirement would take effect, Public Affairs Secretary Jean Peña Payano responded: “Starting with the next press conferences.” Candelaria, from the press room of the Palacio Rojo, which CPI journalists cannot access without the Department of State credential, said: “By the way, I don’t have one. Not in the 16 years I’ve been in news.” The secretary replied: “But the channel (WAPA), remember, there are other matters there, it’s not the same.”
One can only ask: What other matters is Peña referring to? What is “not the same”? Is there a different treatment for commercial television outlets? Do government advertising buys count for more than a press credential?
That same day, on a program on the radio station NotiUno, the governor’s lawyer in this case, Ramón Rosario Cortés, asked journalist Normando Valentín, almost jokingly, whether his Department of State credential was up to date. The journalist responded that it was not, that he always uses his WAPA-TV ID, that he had not obtained an “official” credential since 1994 and that he does not show “any credential” — that “my face” is enough to enter La Fortaleza.
Could it be that the “faces” of CPI journalists, such as Luis Valentín Ortiz — who was denied entry after years of covering governors at the Palacio de Santa Catalina, another name for La Fortaleza — do not carry the same weight? And what about international journalists, citizen reporters or the independent press? What value do those “faces” have in a democracy whose Constitution protects anyone who gathers and disseminates information of public interest?
Last week, Spanish Foreign Minister José Manuel Albares visited La Fortaleza, accompanied by journalists from the EFE news agency and Radio Nacional de España, among others, who traveled with the diplomat during his tour of Latin America and the Caribbean. They were welcomed with great fanfare. Did they obtain an express official press card, or is there a different standard for U.S. and international media? Could David Begnaud return to the executive mansion if he comes back to cover a natural disaster in Puerto Rico? Will those reporters’ media credentials be enough — the same identification the government deemed insufficient for the CPI?
Puerto Rico’s highest court, where most justices chose that “deafening silence,” did not evaluate the controversy on its merits or consider the practical consequences it would bring. They upheld a lower court ruling that reinterprets a precedent nearly three decades old. Only three justices had the decency to offer explanations: Chief Justice Maite Oronoz Rodríguez and Associate Justice Luis Estrella Martínez said they would have taken up the case, stayed the intermediate court’s ruling and held a public oral argument; while Justice Colón Pérez, the only one to issue a dissenting opinion, explained in detail and with serious legal grounds why it was necessary to overturn a decision that restricts the fundamental press freedom rights.
What does this silence tell us about our justice system? Are we facing an act of indifference? Or an endorsement of the authority that silences a certain sector of the press? Why remain silent in the face of a decision whose practical effect is to silence those who independently scrutinize, investigate, and question power?
In practice, this silence allows the executive branch to decide which press it considers “convenient” or “valid” enough to ask questions. And in a democracy, that is a decision the state should never have in its hands.
The public affairs secretary announced that La Fortaleza is working on a new “protocol” to establish rules for access to the sede of the executive branch. The González Colón administration told the CPI last year that this “protocol” already existed and promised to provide it. But it never did.
Between a lack of legitimacy and a lack of credibility, which is worse?
Confronting the silences of the law that carry social consequences, Efrén Rivera Ramos concludes in his speech upon being admitted to the Puerto Rican Academy of Jurisprudence and Legislation that “perhaps the only possibility of justice lies in what the law does not say” and that those silences “force us to seek solutions we had not anticipated.” The independent, incisive press, which seeks to inform, always persists and finds ways to tell the stories. To those aiming to wear it down, I will say this now: You will not succeed.
This translation was generated with the assistance of AI and reviewed by our editorial team to ensure accuracy and clarity.
