Recently, I happened upon a PBS program called “We’ll Meet Again,” focused on two men from Cuba who came to the U.S. as minors in the 1960s and 1980s. As they shared memories of the wonderful welcome they received, I felt overcome by how different the experience is today of children from Central America trying to make their way into the U.S.
In one case highlighted on the show, a 10-year-old Cuban boy was brought to the U.S. — by plane — as part of a 1960s program called Operation Pedro Pan. Soon after the Cuban revolution, Catholic Charities persuaded the U.S. government to issue visa waivers so that the children could be flown into the U.S. immediately, as they waited for their parents to get permission to leave Cuba. Those of the 14,000 “unaccompanied minors” who did not already have relatives in the U.S. were placed with foster families, but it was made clear that the children were not up for adoption; they just needed foster parents until they could reunite with their parents.
In the other case, a 15-year-old came over on the Mariel Boatlift, along with 125,000 people who arrived on small boats between April and October of 1980. According to Juan Diaz, a now 55-year-old U.S. citizen, when the families saw the Mariel harbor filled with boats displaying U.S. flags, parents said to their children, “See, people in the U.S. have come to take us to safety.” Juan remembers that when their boats finally arrived safely in Key West, he saw signs that said, “Welcome” and “Bienvenidos.”
The stories of these Cuban men provide a stark contrast to the experiences of children from Central America who have recently attempted to reach the U.S. Thousands of youth are locked up in huge detention camps; others are living in terrible conditions while being kept from crossing the U.S. border to apply for asylum.
So why such a difference? It is true that Donald Trump is willing to implement anti-humanitarian measures that conflict with the values of most Americans, but that does not explain decades of our government’s refusal to treat children and adults fleeing Central America with either compassion or dignity. I remember realizing in the ‘80s that the word “refugee” only seemed to be used for those fleeing countries that were considered enemies of the U.S. When children or adults escaped from nations with right-wing dictators, supported financially and militarily by the U.S., instead of welcome signs, there was only danger and pursuit by U.S. immigration officials.
After Castro took power, the Cold War era government of the U.S. had a major interest in convincing the American public that Cuba was a dangerous enemy. Thus, the U.S. was portrayed as being a savior of people leaving Cuba, whether people’s lives were really in danger or not. In contrast, Central Americans are escaping countries that are actively and robustly supported by the U.S., and they are leaving because they cannot survive in their home countries.
Currently, the majority of people in the “migrant caravans” are fleeing Honduras, a country where repression, violence and impunity are rampant. In 2009, there was a military coup that overthrew the democratically elected president. The U.S. was one of the few countries that almost immediately recognized the coup government and refused to halt support of the military. Honduras is now one of the most violent countries in the world, with the Honduran police and military committing serious human rights abuses. And yet, the U.S. government has continued to financially support the country’s security forces.
In order to continue to be able to back right-wing dictatorships in Latin America, the U.S. government needs to convince the American public that conditions in those countries are not so terrible; therefore, those fleeing cannot be recognized as refugees. In fact, people are literally running for their lives — and a number of those deported have been killed shortly after arriving home.
I encourage all of us to think critically about our use of the terms “refugee” and “immigrant” and to recognize that those fleeing Central America and being refused entrance to the U.S. are, truly, refugees. As U.S. citizens, we have a special responsibility, I believe, to those coming from countries like Honduras — because our government has spent decades contributing to the conditions that are forcing so many to flee their homes in search of safety.
Alice Levine is a resident of Easthampton and engaged in the struggle for justice for those who are undocumented. In 2015 and 2016, she participated in 10-day delegations to Honduras with Witness for Peace in order to learn about the root causes of mass migration to the U.S.