What the Cuban Exodus Brought
Miami has a growing population of 2.7 million in which more than half of people come from Cuban origins. That said, growing up in Miami as a Cuban-American was quite the norm. Spanish quickly becomes your first language and you learn how to speak English through shows like Barney, or if you’re lucky, through the perseverance of your 4-year-old older sister who likes to play pretend as a teacher. You grow up with your uncles, aunts, and grandparents all within a short distance away because it takes a village to raise a child. As a 5-year-old, you spend your Saturday nights watching Sábado Gigante while drinking café con leche with your family close by. Your holidays mirror that of what was done in Cuba with traditions like a pig roast on Noche Buena (Christmas Eve) as you pass the night listening and dancing to salsa music. Miami is a city made up of wonders, built on the backs of people who had to leave their beloved countries behind just like my family did.
My family in Miami, FL circa 1994. Top row: My Uncle Yayo, cousin Evelyn, Uncle Juan, Abuela Mami, and my mom. Bottom row we have (left to right): my sister Lilly and me
Both my parents came to Miami in the 1980s; my mom came from a town called La Vigia in Camaguey, Cuba and my dad from Matagalpa, Nicaragua. By the time I was 10, I had a full understanding of how and why my parents left their country, but didn’t fully grasp the implications and trauma associated with this immigration. My mom’s story particularly stands out to me because she has not been back to Cuba in 41 years, but can still recall every single memory with such vivid detail and fondness that you feel as if you were experiencing those moments with her. Even after all these years, she gets passionately worked up when she recalls what happened to her and her family as they left Cuba, but how could she not? At 22 years old, my mom had no choice but to leave the majority of her family behind and get on a boat to a world that was deemed better than what she had known her entire life. To be stripped away from everything and everyone she knew, the life and status she had, is something that simply does not wash away overnight. I want to share some of these stories because it’s important for people to understand the sacrifices of our plight.
My mom and her brothers in Cuba, in 1979
My family’s immigration story starts in the spring of 1980 when the dictator Fidel Castro announced the port of Mariel would open up to any Cuban that wanted to leave the island provided they had transportation. Over the span of 5 months, 125,000 Cubans came to South Florida during the Mariel boatlift including my mom and Uncle Juan.
I want to stress that even though Cubans were given the ‘okay’ by Fidel to leave Cuba, getting to the Mariel Port was far from easy. In the eyes of the communist government and Cubans who subscribed to the communist ideology, you were considered escoria (scum) and actos de repudio (acts of repudiation) were rampant across the island; my family was definitely no exception to these acts.
Newspaper listing the names of the Cuban refugees that came to the U.S during the Mariel Boatlift. Highlighted are my mom and uncle’s name: Marta Espinosa Dieppa and Juan E. Espinosa Dieppa.
Poster on the left reads “Anti-Socialists get out!” and the poster on the right reads “Get out, scum!”.
Scenes like the picture above mirrored my family’s act of repudiation when their town of La Vigia found out they were trying to leave Cuba. Neighbors and students from the nearby university were brought to my family’s house to participate in the act of repudiation. This is a common act done by the Communist government in which they force students and employees to participate in demonstrations whether they like it or not. They pass roll call in the morning to ensure everyone is accounted for and during the middle of the demonstrations will call roll again to confirm you haven’t run off. The consequence of not participating is expulsion from school or being fired from your job.
Many came with signs like the ones above and some just used their words to get their point across. They chanted “¡Escoria!” (scum!) and “¡Saquenlo, mátenlos!” (get them out and kill them!). At one point, a handful of people tried to force themselves into the house by ramming a trunk into the front door. My mom recalls that my grandfather came out of the house towards the police screaming, “Don’t you see what they are doing to us?!” and the police replied, “We can’t stop the fury of the town” as they continued to guide people and cars to the act of repudiation. With that, my grandfather returned to the house, pushed a heavy bookshelf up against the door with the help of my uncles and gave everyone items they could use as weapons as he noticed their livelihood was in their own hands.
As the act of repudiation continued, the local government went ahead and turned off their electricity and cut off their phone line to lure them out of their house and ensure they could not ask for help. As the sun set, my family made the decision to prioritize my grandfather’s safety. With the help of their neighbor, my uncles helped my grandfather climb over the fence into the neighbor’s house where he was able to escape to a friend’s house and hide for several weeks. The rest of my family followed suit shortly after and dispersed amongst friends that had told them they could stay with them if need be, which they did in fear of what could await them if they stayed home. After around 40 days, my family made their way back to their house as the people that graciously let them hide out had to leave for the Mariel Port. What awaited back at their house was pure sadness. Their home that had been built by my great-grandfather in the 1930s was completely trashed; the townspeople had vandalized their home by breaking most of the windows and throwing trash all throughout the house inviting rats and roaches inside.
People from La Vigia to this day talk about the act of repudiation against my family and call it the worst and most traumatic one of their town. Truly, the horror stories are endless. I have other stories of what my family went through leading up to the act of repudiation, what they went through as they got to the Mariel Port, and their experience of traveling to Florida on boat for 24 hours where 12 hours in the boat’s motors broke down.
In the end, only my mom and her younger brother, Juan, were able to leave as they were still in college. Castro did not allow professionals to leave the country as he saw it as a wasted investment if they left. Because of that, my mother’s two other brothers and parents were denied their leave because they were doctors and engineers. My mom and uncle were reunited with their family throughout the upcoming years in Miami. They saw their parents again 3 years later, their brother Eduardo ‘Yayo’ 4 years later, and their eldest brother Jorgito 12 years later. This is one of the worst effects of the Cuban exodus and what the Communist regime brought to Cubans. It ripped families apart and forever changed their dynamic. There are many people who never got to see their parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, and friends ever again.
Although these stories are all from 1980, Cubans still yearn for liberty and freedom from this oppressive government that has single handedly destroyed such a beautiful country. On July 11, 2021, for the first time in 62 years, the streets of Cuba were filled with people demanding what is rightfully owed to them, which is their basic human rights. The demonstrations are a result of people reaching their breaking point and a dire economic crisis that has been amplified by the pandemic. Cubans barely have access to or are able to afford basic household needs like food, water, medicine, toiletries, etc. They stand in lines for upwards of 8 hours to get food only to go home empty handed. Hospitals are in terrifying conditions; ceilings in operating rooms are leaking with water, basic supplies like sheets, needles, sutures, and gauze are non-existent. Seeing images and videos of people protesting is surreal because no one thought they would see the day where people took to the streets. The Cuban people want their island and their human rights back and I truly and deeply hope they are successful. ¡Que viva Cuba libre!
Thousands of Cubans marched in Havana on Sunday via WSJ
