Miami: A Young but Turbulent History
Elian
Elian Gonzalez was one of only three survivors among 14 people who had set sail on a small boat from Cuba. His mother had died when the boat capsized. He was taken in by relatives in Miami who defiantly vowed to keep him despite the fact that his father in Cuba demanded his son be returned to him. Elian became a symbol of freedom for Miami’s Cuban community and a political pawn for local politicians.
It turned into an international child custody dispute that divided Miami among ethnic lines, destroyed political careers, altered the outcome of a presidential election and ultimately portrayed Miami’s Cuban community to the rest of the nation as fanatical extremists who place politics over family. Six weeks after the boy was found at sea, the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service ruled that the boy needed to be reunited with his father. They set a January 14th deadline, one week from the ruling.
Within hours, hundreds of Cuban Americans stormed the streets in Miami, vowing to paralyze the city. They linked arms and formed human chains to clog traffic in various pockets of Miami, specifically in downtown. They plopped down on the only road leading to the Port of Entry. And they disrupted traffic on Miami’s expressways by driving slow. More than 100 people were arrested in the protest that lasted throughout the evening and the following morning. Police finally dispersed the crowds with tear gas.
Meanwhile, the boy’s Miami family, consisting of his great-uncle and second cousin, challenged the federal decision in a state family court, which ruled in the family’s favor. But U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno – who was born and raised in Miami - overruled Florida’s court decision. She did, however, extend the deadline indefinitely for the boy to be reunited with his father.
The drama intensified two months later when Miami-Dade County Mayor Alex Penelas - an up-and-coming politician who was rumored to be Al Gore’s running mate in the 2000 election - committed political suicide by openly defying the federal government.
During a press conference on the steps of the U.S. Federal Courthouse in Miami, Penelas accused the Clinton administration of provoking civil unrest in Miami by insisting that Elian be reunited with his father. He also declared that county police would not assist federal agents if it came down to them having to seize Elian from his Miami family. It wasn’t a pretty moment for the democrat who had been named People magazine’s “sexiest politician” in 1999.
Not missing a beat, City of Miami Mayor Joe Carollo, old Crazy Joe himself, declared that he was not going to allow city police to assist federal agents in seizing the boy. To the rest of the nation, it appeared as if Miami’s top two politicians, both born in Cuba, were in the process of seceding from the United States. Although many of their Cuban-American constituents cheered their defiance, many in Miami’s Anglo and black population – as well as non-Cuban Latin American population – were disgusted.
Reno set another deadline for the Miami family to turn the boy over, which the family ignored. Nine days later on Easter weekend, federal authorities raided the house where Elian had been staying, seizing the boy in a moment that was captured on camera and broadcast to the rest of world in minutes.
Within hours, hundreds of Cubans had taken to the streets. Some overturned and burned Dumpsters. Some burned the American flag. And a few others threw rocks and bottles at police. Police, for the second time in three months, were forced to use tear gas to disperse the crowds. More than 300 people were arrested. The protests continued for several days and included a day-long strike that shut down most businesses in Hialeah and Little Havana, Miami-Dade’s most populated Cuban communities.
A week later, about 2,500 people, mostly Anglos and blacks - with a scattering of Cuban-Americans and other Latin Americans - held a counterdemonstration in South Miami-Dade to voice their support for Reno’s decision.
Meanwhile, Miami Mayor Joe Carollo was seething at not having been notified by Miami Police Chief William O’Brien of the impending raid. Not having the power to fire the chief, Carollo ordered Miami City Manager Donald Warshaw to fire him. Warshaw refused, so he was fired. O’Brien resigned the following day, saying he could no longer work for a divisive mayor in a city that needed to heal.
The two Anglos were replaced by Cubans, further infuriating Miami’s non-Cuban community. The following day, someone draped a banner in front of City Hall with the simple message, “Banana Republic,” dropping a load of bananas in the parking lot.
The Cuban community vowed to get their revenge come Election Day. Seven months after the raid, they showed up in droves to vote against Al Gore. The Democrat Presidential Candidate ended up receiving 70,000 fewer votes in Miami-Dade County than Democrat Bill Clinton did four years earlier. Republican George Bush ended up winning the state of Florida by 538 votes, his victory sealed by the U.S. Supreme Court that year.
Like the 1980 riot, the Elian Gonzalez affair exposed deep cultural divisions within Miami. As one local columnist put it, “the six-year-old boy has proven to be the single most destructive force in South Florida since Hurricane Andrew.”
It was a harsh reality check for residents who had convinced themselves that Miami had matured into a world-class city; that despite the crime, corruption and chaos that had prevailed in the previous two decades, Miami was on par with New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, cities that Miami had been trying to emulate since its conception.
But the truth was, those more-established cities viewed Miami as an enfant terrible, a nice place to visit during the winter, maybe even a decent place to retire, but as politically and economically stable as a third world country. The fact that Mayor Joe Carollo was arrested for domestic violence in February 2001, less than a year after Elian’s seizure, prompted the New York Times to say that Miami was “the epicenter of embarrassment.”
It didn’t help that five months later, former city manager Donald Warshaw was sentenced to a year in prison for stealing nearly $70,000 from a children’s charity while serving as Miami’s police chief. And four months after that, 13 Miami police officers were arrested by the FBI and charged with shooting unarmed citizens and conspiring to cover it up by planting guns in four separate incidents.
Most of the victims were black. Eleven of the officers were Hispanic. Two were Anglo. Miami, it seemed, was on the verge of another civil breakdown.
The biggest blow to Miami’s ego that year, not to mention its pocketbook, was the sudden loss of the Latin Grammys awards show to Los Angeles after more than 60 Cuban exile groups had planned to protest the internationally televised event. The exiles believed the musicians were agents of Fidel Castro, an opinion shared by Crazy Joe Carollo.
Latin Grammy organizers pulled out of Miami less than a month before the scheduled event saying they feared for the safety of attendees. After all, on two previous occasions during the late 1990s, exile groups spat on and pelted fans with rocks and eggs as they entered a concert where Cuban musical groups were going to perform.
The loss of the event ended up costing Miami an estimated $35 million. The New York Times described it as “the latest embarrassment for Miami.” And The Los Angeles Times described it as a “public relations black eye and a major economic blow for Miami.” But Carollo offered no apologies, saying the demonstrators’ first amendment rights took precedence over the millions the city would have raked in.
The loss also exposed something never seen before in Miami: A rift between the normally unified Cuban exile community. Two weeks after the announcement, six Cuban American groups lead a caravan through the streets of Miami denouncing the Cuban hardliners by protesting the “climate of violence and terrorism.” The groups also vowed that they would lobby to bring more Cuban artists into Miami as a way for young Cuban Americans – many who had never set foot on the island – to keep in touch with their roots and culture. It was a monumental moment in the 42-year history of the Miami exile community that was reported on page B5 of The Miami Herald.
That November, as Crazy Joe ran for re-election against Mayor Loco, a political newcomer stepped into the ring.