Recent tensions surrounding immigration policies in Miami have sparked protests among residents who feel betrayed by their city’s decision to assist federal authorities in arresting undocumented immigrants.
Hundreds gathered at City Hall, expressing outrage over what they perceive as a betrayal to their identity as a “city of immigrants.”
Their frustrations were poignantly articulated by one resident who urged that, if the city continues down this path, it might as well dismantle cultural landmarks such as the iconic Freedom Tower.
The Freedom Tower, which is celebrating its 100th anniversary this month, is under renovation to preserve its historic significance.
Constructed in 1925 and inspired by Seville’s Torre de la Giralda, the building briefly held the title of Miami’s tallest structure.
It also served as the first headquarters for local newspapers but what truly makes the tower a lasting symbol is its historical role in welcoming Cuban immigrants during the 1960s.
These immigrants laid the groundwork for what is now a vibrant metropolis heavily influenced by Cuban culture, politics, and history.
As Emilio Estefan, the award-winning music producer and proud Cuban exile put it, “The tower represents the pride of a community that had to come to another country, left their family and started from scratch, with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”
Estefan, who emigrated as a child and now co-chairs the centennial advisory committee, sees the Freedom Tower as a tribute to the Cuban exile experience.
In 1965, the U.S. government initiated the “Freedom Flights,” which allowed Cubans fleeing the regime of Fidel Castro to resettle in Florida, with estimates suggesting that over half a million individuals found refuge in southern Florida.
The Cuban Refugee Center, or “El Refugio,” was housed within the tower, providing essential support services such as rent assistance and food to new arrivals.
Guillermo J. Grenier, a sociology professor at the International University of Florida, who himself immigrated from Cuba during this period, emphasized the tower’s importance as a beacon for newcomers.
The bus line extending west from the Freedom Tower played a crucial role in developing Little Havana, an area that was once accessible and affordable for incoming families.
After the cessation of the Freedom Flights in 1973, the building became formally known as the Freedom Tower, often referred to as “the Cubans’ Ellis Island.”
It is a monument to those who found themselves caught between identities—neither fully of Cuba nor yet part of the American landscape, as highlighted by Grenier.
As plans for the centennial celebration unfold, including a permanent exhibition titled “Libertad” featuring personal stories and historical artifacts, a troubling trend emerges just a mile away.
In Miami’s federal immigration court, Cubans are increasingly facing detention and deportation following their hearing outcomes.
Many who arrived after 2019 and sought documentation at the Mexican border have struggled to renew their immigration status, despite the protections offered under the Cuban Adjustment Act since 1966.
Compounding the issue, another half million individuals who entered through humanitarian programs saw their statuses unceremoniously canceled during President Donald Trump’s administration, thrusting them into an unpredictable limbo.
The plight of these immigrants is deeply intertwined with the stories of families who fled Cuba by boat or raft, and who now face a changed immigration landscape that appears less welcoming than the one they once knew.
Ramón Saúl Sánchez, a notable Cuban exile and activist, reflects on his own journey, having arrived at the tower as a 12-year-old.
His mother never made it to the U.S., and his ongoing fight for the rights of Cubans both on the island and abroad has made him a vocal figure among exiles.
Sánchez lamented the current state of affairs during a recent protest, stating that many Cubans, particularly those with 1-220A conditional parole, have faced increased scrutiny and risk deportation even after living for years in the U.S.
Despite Sanchez’s long history of activism, the tightening immigration policies and heightened enforcement have created a climate of fear among the Cuban community.
“I run the risk that they will deport me, but I feel like I can’t shut up,” Sánchez expressed, emphasizing the importance of raising a voice against such injustices.
He highlighted the dual moral obligation of those with a shared experience of exile to advocate for their fellow Cubans fleeing tyranny.
The Freedom Tower received historical recognition, being added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1979, and has undergone various ownership changes.
In the 1990s, the influential Cuban American National Foundation briefly operated from there, and it is now managed by Miami Dade College.
In 2008, it earned national landmark status, and in 2013 became a symbol of hope for Cuban dissidents, including Yoani Sánchez, who continue to fight for a free Cuba.
Madeline Pumariega, president of Miami Dade College and someone who herself was processed at El Refugio upon arriving from Cuba, asserts that the renovation not only pays homage to the tower’s rich past but also anticipates its future role in serving the community.
“Although immigration continues to be a complex subject, our role is not to participate in politics, but to honor the human stories that defined Miami’s past and continue to play a fundamental role in its growth and values,” Pumariega told reporters via email.
She noted that the tower symbolizes the resilience of those seeking liberty and a better life.
The divide among Cuban exiles has noticeably deepened in the Trump era, according to artist Eliéxer Márquez, known as El Funky, who arrived in the United States in 2021 amid a tumultuous immigration ordeal.
Márquez pointed to an apparent disconnect between older and newer generations of exiles, who often find themselves at odds over issues of identity and belonging.
He noted that there seems to be a lack of community support for newly arrived immigrants, mentioning that efforts to assist them with employment or resources have diminished significantly over the years.
This disconnect poses a challenge for the newly arrived, who must navigate a complex web of societal expectations and political landscapes.
Professor Grenier studied these shifting dynamics, noting that Cuban identity politics have evolved, particularly under the influence of the Republican Party’s strategies since the 1980s.
Once a community largely aligned with the Republican Party due to its anti-Communist stance, newer generations now interpret their affiliations through the lens of the contemporary political climate.
Grenier observed that earlier waves of immigrants have often felt a sense of elitism over those who followed, especially in the wake of events like the Mariel exodus in the late 1970s.
This perception of “us and them” among Cuban exiles has only intensified, creating a fractured community grappling with both its shared history and diverging futures.
The Freedom Tower, once a symbol of refuge and familial unity, now stands as a stark reminder of the schisms within the Cuban community.
As Grenier pointed out, the change in sentiment over immigration reflects a greater societal trend; perceptions around recent arrivals have turned suspicious, often colored by preconceived notions regarding their worthiness as immigrants.
Historical solidarity seems to wane as political pressures mount, transforming what once was a cohesive narrative surrounding Cuban identity into a labyrinth of conflict and exclusion.
Rubén, a paramedic who arrived under the CBP One program, exemplifies the struggles faced by many newly arrived Cubans who may not even know the significance of the Freedom Tower.
He wishes to learn about the rich history of his people but is hesitant to venture into the heart of Miami due to the fears borne from immigration raids and checks.
The landscape of immigration is fraught with challenges and uncertainties for those in the Cuban community.
Sánchez, deeply affected by the plight of his compatriots, lamented the state of his community.
His heart breaks for those who are caught between longing for freedom and the painful realities of deportation and statelessness.
“I may die without seeing my home country freed, but I never thought that I would die seeing this, my country that I love madly, heading towards a dictatorship,” Sánchez expressed, reflecting the bitterness and despair felt by many.
As Miami prepares to celebrate the Freedom Tower’s centennial, its history interwoven with that of Cuban exiles serves as both a testament to the resilience of a community and a clarion call to address the growing divides and challenges that persist today.
image source from：english
