Mayor Meets with Edison Towers Residents to Discuss Crime

Mayor Meets with Edison Towers Residents to Discuss Crime

Story & photographs by José Pérez

In a political landscape where well-heeled super-interests seem to have all of our elected officials’ attention, the thought of a regular citizen, an average Joe having the mayor of a major city come to speak to a group of senior citizens seems to be merely the stuff of which Frank Capra movies are made.    But things are not always as they seem and, yes, an average Joe can make things happen –even when his name is not really Joe.

James Stubbs, of the Edison Towers Tenant Association in Liberty City, spent most of the past summer – about three to four months – lobbying to get the mayor and the police chief to come speak at one of that group’s monthly meetings about concerns over crime in the area.  Specifically, the residents wanted to press directly for the assignment of a permanent, full-time beat cop to patrol the stretch of NW 7^th Avenue that runs between 54^th and 62^nd Streets.

“We’ve had quite a few robberies,” said Stubbs.   A retired Miami police officer, Stubbs ran through a list of recent crimes that have affected the area:  a bank heist, a stabbing at a bus stop, a smash & grab theft at a gas station, and even the shooting of an off duty police officer during a robbery – outside of his church.

Stubbs’ efforts were partially successful as Miami Mayor Tomás Regalado came to last week’s resident meeting at Edison Towers but not Police Manuel Orosa (who had to cancel shortly before) to address those concerns.  Regalado brought with him a few members of his staff and two police commanders in lieu of the chief (Commander Dana Carr from the Model City NET Office spoke with residents, too).  The importance of the chief’s participation was simple:  “Only the chief of police can authorize a beat cop assignment,” said Stubbs.

Mayor: ‘I will talk to the chief about the beat cop’

Regalado wasted little time in answering the biggest question of the evening.  “Yes! I will talk to the chief about the beat cop,” declared Regalado.  “People are complaining about it and the police department is doing something about it.”

“I guarantee to have more officers reassigned from desk jobs and more new hires will be deployed,” promised Regalado to the Tenants’ Association.  “In the next weeks, there will be more police visibility here.”

For people in attendance like Angela Kelly, Vice President of the Tacolcy Economic Development Corporation, the mayor’s guarantee was good to hear but, as she told Regalado, “it takes commitment.”

Citing both history (“we used to have a beat cop here”) and basic dollars and cents (“we would like to continue to develop the economic base for the 7^th Avenue Corridor”), Kelly echoed what Stubbs had alluded to at the beginning of the meeting about allocation of resources.   For example, the area formerly known as Wynwood and now dubbed the Midtown Design District has two beat cops around the clock. “I don’t understand how other communities have beat cops and we don’t,” asked Kelly.

Regalado’s message – and promise – were what residents wanted to hear.   “Let us try because we [Chief Orosa & Regalado] are trying to work with all residents,” said the mayor.   “We are working for the present and the future.”

And does Regalado have confidence that Orosa will back up his pledge?  “I trust him,” said Regalado.

“So do I,” said Stubbs.

*To read the print version of this article, please click on this urlink.

“We are not politicians” – One on One with State Supreme Court Justice Peggy Quince

“We are not politicians” – One on One with State Supreme Court Justice Peggy Quince

Exclusive by José Pérez

One of the hallmarks of the American democratic system is the concept of checks and balances evident in the separation of powers.   Every sixth grader in every school in the United States has learned in his or her civics class that there are three branches of government:  the Legislature, which makes laws; the Executive, which executes laws; and the Judicial, which interprets laws.   In principle, no one branch is to have more power than any other.  Of course, if one goes back to first grade, he will remember “rock-paper-scissors.”  That is checks and balances, too.

Well, it appears that there are some people that are not happy with Florida’s current system of checks and balances and their move to alter how powers are separated in this state has made it to next month’s ballot.   Voters will have two choices to make next month that will determine whether or not the judicial branch will be able to maintain its share of state powers.  

In keeping with state law that concern judicial selection and retention by merit, three of the seven justices on Florida’s Supreme Court – R. Fred Lewis, Barbara Pariente, and Peggy Quince – are up for “reelection.”   We’ll talk about that shortly.

The other choice for voters is Amendment 5, a ballot initiative that seeks to change state law by allowing unprecedented legislative access to confidential court records, giving the State Senate the power to approve would-be Supreme Court Justices, and a simple majority to void court rules (instead of the current 2/3’s majority set out by law). 

Both initiatives all point in the direction of people – both inside and outside of Florida – that want to make the most of the long-standing supermajority Republicans enjoy in the State Legislature.    Right-wing groups like Restore Justice 2012 and Americans for Prosperity have been very busy trying to get Amendment 5 passed and Justices Lewis, Pariente, and Quince ousted.

And that is not even the hard part.

How does a judge or justice, the very embodiment of the apolitical scales of justice, work against thinly-veiled partisan threats to his or her place on the bench or even the power of the bench itself?  Campaigning under normal circumstances is not easy given the slippery slope towards subjectivity on the campaign trail.

“That is a real challenge,” says Justice Quince, “because, as justices, we are not politicians.”

As the lone Black woman in Florida’s highest court and one of the three justices up for merit retention this year, Quince spoke to the Miami Times about merit retention, Amendment 5, and the unique nature of the courts as impartial arbiters in Florida’ system of democracy.

For about forty years, Florida’s judicial system has been built on a strenuous vetting process known as merit selection and retention.  The merit process requires indepth inquiries and investigations before a nominating commission sends a list of possible candidates to the governor. 

Quince went through this process in the late 1990’s in a very unique fashion.    In December 1998, Governor Elect Jeb Bush and outgoing Governor Lawton Chiles made Quince a Justice via “a joint appointment after being interviewed by both,” she remembered.    The irony of two of Florida’s iconic figures in their respective political parties both agreeing on the appointment of Quince to the state’s highest court, for Quince, “indicates that, to a certain extent, the process works.” 

“They were both looking for the same things: experience, character, and temperament.”

‘Courts cannot be lockstep with other branches’ 

So what does Quince think about Amendment 5 and its inherent threat to the impartial nature of the state judicial system?  She would not offer a personal opinion but did offer a professional observation.

“As I understand Amendment 5,  it is about rule-making, how the Supreme Court makes rules for how the entire court system operates,” said Quince.  “For example, a rule could outline a certain number of days to do something, establish deadlines, how to present a case.”

That “rule-changing” provision of Amendment 5 is curious as it pertains specifically to what Quince calls “a rare occurrence.”   How rare of an occurrence is the Legislature being so averse to a specific rule of court that it found itself as a body compelled to attempt to repeal it?  “I have been a justice since 1998 and I only remember it happening once.”  Thus, the question that remains to be answered is:  why go through so much trouble to change something that is rarely invoked by the Legislature?

Ultimately, the current politicized circumstance is challenging for Quince and her peers.  “Our judicial system and the selection and retention of judges and justices is non-partisan,” said Quince who explained that “the legislature and governor decided [in 1974] that we didn’t want our judges subjected to political whims.”

Why is it that insulation from partisan politics is so important to a judicial system as a pillar of an effective democracy?   Quince offered some insight.  “Judges make hard decisions and they can’t always be based on agreement,” said the sage barrister.   “The courts cannot be lockstep with the other branches – that is the beauty of our system,” said Quince.  In fact, the odd number of Justices on the State Supreme Court indicates that even that august body should not be monolithic as does the importance of dissenting opinions published as vital components of public record.   For Quince, the personal viewpoint of a judge “doesn’t matter:  constitutionally, every judge and justice has the same obligation.” 

*To read the printed version of this article, please click on this urlink.

"Broward’s Black Elected Officials are Busy"

‘We Must Continue’ – Broward’s Black Elected Officials are Working Hard and Growing Fast

by José Pérez

joseperez.miamitimes@gmail.com

@PerezMiamiTimes

In 1974, history was made when, in winning the race for a seat on the Broward County School Board, Dillard High social studies teacher Dr. Kathleen Cooper Wright became the first Black person to win a countywide election in Broward.   Twelve years later, Sylvia Poitier became the first Black person elected as a Broward County Commissioner a year after being appointed to the commission by then-Governor Bob Graham.

The number of Black elected officials in Broward County has grown significantly since those days with the current number standing at 33 according to Dania Beach Vice Mayor Bobbie H. Grace.   Those ranks include political figures at the municipal, county, state, and federal levels.   Among that active number include people like United States Congressperson Alcee Hastings, County Supervisor of Elections Dr. Brenda Snipes, State Representative Hazelle Rogers, State Senator Christopher Smith, and Mayor of West Park Eric Jones (who is also  the current chair of Broward Black Elected Officials, Inc.). 

This growing number of Black elected officials in Broward County is busy working hard on projects as diverse as the population of the county itself.

For example, State Representative Perry Thurston, Jr., incoming leader for House democrats, is busy trying to improve his party’s super minority status in Tallahassee.   To that end, he is involved with twelve different campaigns across the state.  In order to achieve that objective, the democrats would need to have at least 42 seats in the upcoming legislative session.  Currently, the democrats have 38 seats so Thurston says that the prospects of shifting the scales of power a little more towards the other side of the aisle are “looking very favorable.”

“We are anticipating significant gains,” said Thurston who ultimately hopes to move the legislature towards greater balance between both parties on the House floor.

County Commissioner Barbara Sharief’s district covers all of the Broward communities that border Miami-Dade County.  Sharief’s primary focus first as a city commissioner in Miramar and now in the County Commission is housing, specifically foreclosures.  “For some time now I’ve wanted to make sure that people who were being foreclosed had a resource,” said Sharief.  Subsequently, she has been working to connect her constituents with different federal programs that could help them, including assistance for unemployed and underemployed home owners. “This is one issue that transcends the three counties’ boundaries and my duty as an elected official is to help the people affected,” said Sharief.

Housing is also important to Grace, was summoned out of retirement in 2010 to come back to the city to help with housing and CRA’s.  “The most astonishing accomplishment for me,” said Grace, “was developing affordable housing in Dania Beach.”    Specifically, 82 single family homes and a pair of buildings for older adults are the products of those efforts which are part of a larger community development initiative Grace talked about with the Miami Times.  

Dale V. C. Holness, who sits on the Broward County Commission with Sharief, focuses on minimizing economic disparity. “My focus has been on economic development and job creation,” says Holness.   For instance, he cites recent efforts to increase diversity within Broward County’s Fire Department as fruits of that focus.   “At the beginning of this year, out of 840 firefighters, only 26 were Black,” said Holness who pointed out that the newest class of recruits has six Blacks out of a total class size of 15. 

Recognizing the potential for international opportunities for growth to address sobering figures like the 30% of people in the 33311 zip code in Broward living below federal poverty levels, Holness is trying to take advantage of location and demographics in his community to improve circumstances.  For instance, both a recent forum that focused on trade with Colombia with mayors of 12 different cities from that South American country and a widely successful international cricket match in Lauderhill that resulted in a $3million injection of funds into the local economy indicate an emerging aggressive approach to combating poverty.

Grace, who is also excited about the creation of community gardens growing organic foods “for the benefit of all residents” in her city, cited people like Robert Ingram, Carrie Meek, as well as Wright and Poitier for guiding her rightly as she embarked on her political career.

Following more directly in the footsteps of Wright is Benjamin Williams, who is finishing up his tenure as a member of the Broward County Public School Board.  Williams’ most important project now is one that reflects upon all of today and tomorrow’s Broward’s elected officials:  a sculpture of Wright to be erected in front of the same school board building named in her honor.   With help from the Links of Fort Lauderdale, the Broward Education Foundation, and the school board, Williams says “we hope to finalize [the funding of the project] by November.”  With the total goal of $75,000 almost within reach, Williams is optimistic – and motivated by Wright’s memory.  

“She was an outstanding leader and educator,” said Williams, “and we must continue her work.”

# http://miamitimesonline.com/black-elected-officials-growing-in-numbers/

'Parsley Massacre' Remembered in Haiti, Dominican Republic, and Miami

'Kout Kouto-a': Haitians & Dominicans Come Together to Share a Tale of Genocide

Border of Lights shines attention on forgotten massacre 75 years later

By José Pérez, Miami Times writer/photographer

An old adage says that “history is written by the victors” but what of an unwritten, hidden history?  Who writes that? Many different people, appears to be the answer.  Proof is in the gathering this week of many, different people at a place called the Massacre River, which serves as the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic on the Caribbean island traditionally known as Quisqueya since before Columbus landed there in the late 15^th century.  That piece of history is commonly known to even the youngest of children but that is not what is brought those many different people to the towns of Quanaminthe, Haiti and Dajabon, Dominican Republic last week.  

The group, converged there under the umbrella of “Border of Lights,” making the pilgrimage to the river to mark the 75^th anniversary of one of the worst acts of genocide in the history of the Western Hemisphere.   Over the course of a few bloody, harrowing days in early October 1937, tens of thousands of innocent people – men, women, children, elders – were slaughtered under the order of the dictator of the Dominican Republic at that time, Rafael Trujillo.   All of the victims had one thing in common:  they were targeted as part of a systematic campaign to eliminate Haitians from the Dominican Republic, even if that meant butchering Dominicans who were either of Haitian descent or merely “looked” Haitian enough to the bands of murderers rounding up helpless victims.

Jan Mapou, owner of the Mapou Bookstore in Little Haiti and local radio host, says that the massacre is also known as the Parsley Massacre because soldiers would summon would-be victims with a sprig of parsley in one hand and a machete, bayonet, or long knife in the other.  If a person questioned could not properly pronounce the Spanish word for parsley (perejil), his or her “guilt” as a Haitian was therefore immediately proven and the sentence of death was quickly executed, often via beheading.   Known in Kreyol as kout kouto-a, or the cutting, approximately 20,000 people were killed in little more than five days, says Mapou, who dedicated his weekly radio show on RadioMega recently to the discussion of this event with local historian, Dr. Jean-Claude Exulien.

The response to the radio show was overwhelming especially from “younger Haitians who had no clue that this even happened,” says Mapou.   The discussion carried over from the studios over to his shop in Little Haiti.  “One man who was listening,” says Mapou, “told us that he was born on the border because his mother was literally running for her life while she was pregnant with him.”

 

The Border of Lights movement is built upon a broad base of grassroots activism, says Dr. Ed Paulino, a history professor at the City University of New York.  This is evident by the active planning and participation of Haitians, Dominicans, African-Americans and many others in Haiti, the Dominican Republic, the United States and beyond.    One such person is Sady I. Diaz, a public relations specialist for the City of Sunrise and a Dominican-American.   “This is important to me because I am them,” says Diaz who grew up in a home that embraced its diverse heritage of African and European roots.  “Had I been living then, that could have been me, it could’ve been someone in my family.”

 

(photographs of Diaz, left, and Dotson, center, and Beard, right, courtesy of BOL)

The determination and motivation to bring more attention to this atrocity via what Diaz calls “education, experience, and exposure” is shared by Mapou, Paulino, and a pair of courageous sisters from – of all places – Kokomo, Indiana.   Rana Dotson and DeAndra Beard, co-founders of the non-profit Organization of Dominican Haitian Cooperation (OCDH), see undeniable connections between the Parsley Massacre and the migrant workers they grew up with in the cornfields near their childhood home, and their family members who lived as sharecroppers in Arkansas.    “It is an instant connection for us,” says Dotson, a connection that Beard, an educator, says is a “shared experience.”  For them, the fact that they are African-American heightens their sense of duty to “build awareness about … these people that were forgotten,” says Dotson.  A public policy expert, Dotson says that, as Blacks in the United States, “we have the responsibility as a people to look outside and see our global community connected by history.”

“…and blood,” added Beard. 

(photograph courtesy of BOL)

#http://miamitimesonline.com/cultures-reflect-on-past-tale-of-genocide/

"Miami's Black Republicans Feel Shut Out"

‘This is a Democracy’ -  Miami’s Black Republicans Feel Shut Out

 (text and photos by J. PÉREZ)

Barbara Howard —Miami Times photo/Jose Perez

What do James Weldon Johnson, Zora Neale Hurston and current Florida Lieutenant Governor Jennifer Carroll all have in common?   The same thing as 7,746 people in Miami-Dade County:  they are all Black Floridians who also happen to be Republicans.   That begs more questions:  Who are Miami-Dade County’s Black Republicans, why are they Republicans, and are they really “Black”?  After all, with a Black Democrat serving all of the United States as President, does being Republican make one “less” Black?

Ted Lyons, for instance, has been a registered member of the “Grand Ole Party” since 1978.    A proud graduate of Florida’s only public historically Black college, Florida A&M University, Lyons describes himself as “one of the happiest persons in America to have a black family in the White House.”  And he knows a little more about the White House than most:  Lyons served in the federal government for eight years during the Reagan administration as did the late Arthur Teele, who was another prominent Black Republican in Miami after finishing his tenure in Washington, D.C.

For Lyons and others, the decision to be Republican or even just the decision not to be a Democrat should not even be an issue.   “We have to participate in both parties,” says Lyons, who is currently serving as the public relations chair for the Miami-Dade County Republican Party (which currently numbers just over 371,000 members across the county).  T. Willard Fair, longtime chair of Miami’s Urban League says plainly, “I sympathize with what is best for my community.”  

The notion that being a Republican undermines one’s “Blackness” is one that rankles many.  Sitting in her living room, abundantly adorned with artwork from across the vast African continent and a with a biography of Nelson Mandela on her coffee table, Barbara Howard says she has been painted as a “persona non grata…public enemy number one” in the community.   “Why do you call me names?  I thought we were free,” asks Howard, who came of age just outside of Montgomery, Alabama as that city was becoming ground zero for the expanding civil rights movement in this country. 

It was not so long in our country’s history that all of the states south of the Mason-Dixon Line (including Florida) were Southern Democratic strongholds, controlled for generations by the so-called “Dixiecrats.”   Men like Orval Faubus in Arkansas, James Eastland in Mississippi, and George Wallace and Bull Connor in Alabama were proud and prominent members of the Democratic Party.  Conversely, people like Ida B. Wells, James Meredith, Frederick Douglass, and Martin Luther King, Sr. were just but a few of many Black Republicans across the country. 

Fair, Howard, and Lyons all point to synchronicity of views on families and family values with the Republican Party as big reasons why they each believe that the GOP has the answers to what is ailing Black Miami.   “There is nothing broken in Liberty City that can’t be fixed with whole families,” says Fair - who is long-time registered independent voter.   Ironically, Fair’s statement echoes a very similar sentiment voiced decades ago by T. R. M. Howard who, in spite of being a Black Republican, was credited as being a powerful mentor for both Medgar Evers and Fannie Lou Hamer.

Also important to many Black Republicans is need for political plurality as a way to ensure that the needs of the Black community are not subject to whoever is in office.   Likening the long-standing “Blacks are automatically Democrat” paradigm in the American political scene to “a beauty contest,” Lyons argues that “there is no real debate in our community – we’re just supposed to vote democrat.” 

“This is a democracy, a system that allows you to speak your mind,” said Lyons.

In article published a few weeks ago in the Miami Times, H. T. Smith said  that “Blacks’ relationship with the [Democratic] Party is akin to a domestic violence situation — the Democrats continue to abuse us but we insist on staying with them and remaining fully committed.”  Fair believes that this collective relationship with the Democratic Party is rooted in “insecurity.”

“Racism - in practice - dehumanizes, therefore Blacks make decisions based on insecurity which is rooted in a lack of acceptance,” said Fair.  

Additionally, the potential for alienation from friends, relatives, and neighbors adds to this dynamic.  “There are tens of thousands [of Blacks] that subscribe to Republican philosophy but are afraid to say so,” continued Fair.   Lyons and Howard each believe that this ideological prejudice denies Black Republicans equal voice and thus undermines American democracy.  “We need to be able to share our opinion,” said Lyons, including Black-owned newspapers that “don’t allow Black Republicans to have their say on a regular basis.”

For many non-Democratic Black citizens of Miami-Dade County, the real issue centers on common issues for all.  “At the end of the day, what is in the best interest for Black folks?” asked Fair.

By José Pérez
Miami Times writer
joseperez.miamitimes@gmail.com

@PerezMiamiTimes

#   http://miamitimesonline.com/the-elusive-black-republican/

"National Healthcare Reform Information Tour Comes to Miami"

National Healthcare Reform Info Series Comes to Miami

(text and photos by J. PÉREZ)

Maritza Hernandez, RN - FIU Health Law & Policy Clinic Client (l-r); Natalie Castellanos - staff sttorney, FIU Health Law & Policy Clinic; Pamela Roshell - regional director (Region IV), U.S. Department of Health & Human Services; Betsy Havens - attorney and Equal Justice Works fellow, Florida Legal Services, Inc.; Jersey Garcia - executive director, MI LOLA; and Jeannett Spencer - Department of Labor, Wage & Hourly Divisions lead discussion on benefits of the Affordable Healthcare Act. —Miami Times photo/Jose Perez

As this current election season heats up with the end of summer, few issues seem to capture the attention of voters like that of healthcare.   A central part of the domestic agenda for the last two democratic presidents, the subject of healthcare reform is already figuring significantly in President Barack Obama’s battle for reelection against Republican nominee Mitt Romney.  With healthcare taking on partisan interpretations, the issue of voters making an informed decision at the ballot box has become even more important than before.

Earlier this week, the National Council of Negro Women brought its National Health Care Reform Tour to Florida Memorial University in the form of both a provider resource fair for area residents and a panel discussion to raise awareness about the Affordable Healthcare Act (ACA).  The importance of such an effort to increase knowledge about what Congressperson Federica Wilson calls “a complicated law” was at the forefront of efforts to inform and discuss ACA in Miami and other cities in the United States tabbed as tour sites by the National Council of Negro Women (NCNW) such as Atlanta, Newark, Albuquerque, and other communities. 

Alma Brown, Metro Dade Section President for NCNW, says that the purpose of the tour is to “educate and inform the community about ACA especially about what it means to each person’s rights and protection.”   Such an endeavor takes on added significance when one takes into account that ACA is, according to Wilson, “an evolving piece of legislation.”  In other words, while ACA was signed into law by President Obama in March 2010, many of its provisions will be implemented in stages.   Thus far, small business tax credits to help independent business owners pay for their employees’ coverage, federal matching funds for states that expand state Medicaid coverage to more of their residents, help for older adults who hit their respective coverage gaps for prescription drugs (aka “donut holes), increased efforts to investigate and prosecute healthcare fraud, help for Americans with pre-existing conditions, allowing young adults to be eligible to remain on their parents’ insurance plans up to the age of 26, and free preventative care are just some of the provisions of ACA already in effect.

For Pamela Roshell, a Regional Director for the United States Department of Health & Human Services and a panelist for the Miami stop of the tour, the need for ACA is simple:  millions of Americans were and remain without health insurance.  In a system that “favored providers, not consumers,” says Roshell, minute errors in the filling out of a health care application was often used as grounds to rescind or revoke insurance for unsuspecting people.    Another big problem that ACA seeks to address is the disproportionate amount of one’s healthcare premiums being used to pay for other things besides actual service delivery.   That is addressed, says Roshell, via the “80-20” rule which stipulates that at least 80% of what one pays in premiums must be spent on actual service deliverables.   

Miami-Dade County Commissioner Audrey Edmonson, who was instrumental in bringing the health care reform tour to South Florida, sees the need for increased information as a big need in the community – especially for at-risk segments of our community such as older adults, people of color especially Haitian residents, and women as a whole.   At the core, however, is what she calls a lack of “healthcare awareness.”

“Now is the time to be educated,” says Edmonson, about what ACA is and what it means to the residents of Miami-Dade County.   “All of us need to be informed.”

Brown sees universal healthcare as being of the utmost importance and cites historical precedence as the source of the NCNW’s determination.   NCNW founder Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune herself recognized the need for healthcare for everyone, says Brown, as she retold the story of how Bethune responded to the turning away of a Black student from a segregated hospital in Daytona Beach (where she had already founded what is now Bethune-Cookman University) by starting a hospital herself.  “Healthcare has always been at the forefront” of the mission of the NCNW, Brown told the Miami Times, “[and] we always try to maintain our mission.”

For organizers such Brown, Edmonson, and Wilson, feeling better is bigger than politics.  Or, as Wilson said while delivering opening remarks to those in attendance at FMU, “everybody gets sick.”

By José Pérez
Miami Times writer
joseperez.miamitimes@gmail.com

@PerezMiamiTimes

# http://miamitimesonline.com/healthcare-reform-tour-stops-in-dade/

'We Were Here' - A Brief History of West Indian Migration to the USA

‘We Were Here’
A Brief History of West Indian Migration to the United States of America from 1865 to 1965
*A Historical Paper for Social Workers Serving Refugees & Immigrants

by José E. Pérez Carrillo


For even brief visitors to Miami, the imprint of the Caribbean in that city is undeniable.  

The rich blend of language, appearance, cuisine, music and driving skills on display in Miami all speak to West Indians that have left their homes to settle permanently here.  

The connection to respective cultures of origin are most apparent in relation to how long its adherents have been present in their new homes.   Regarding Caribbean migrants, the Immigration Act of 1965, which opened wide the door for what Dr. Walter Pierce calls “chain migration” (Pierce), played a big role in shaping what Miami is now. 

But is that it?  Were there no people immigrating to the United States from the Antilles before 1965?  Of course, it is understood that that is not the case.   In fact, the scope of this paper endeavors to begin to search for and discover, uncover and examine, analyze and share the myriad of information about people from the chain of islands in the Caribbean Basin alternately known as the West Indies, the Caribbean, and the Antilles and the stories of their move to the United States of America.  More specifically, this paper will “narrow” its search and examination to the years between 1865 (marked by the end of the U.S. Civil War) and 1965.  

For the sake of clarity and uniformity, the writer of this paper will define for the reader how he defines “West Indian.”  First, just as the name of the region alternates (see above), so, too, does the name for its residents and descendants.  For this paper, the writer will refer to these people as “West Indian,” “Caribbean,” and “Antillean,” as well as by whichever island/area of origin.   Second, the area to be examined will include all of the islands – big and small – that are found in the Caribbean Sea as well as the Bahamas (which are not actually in the Caribbean Sea) and all of the coastal regions of Central and South America that frame the Caribbean Sea. 

Just as the West Indian cultures are diverse, so too are the West Indians that came to the United States as were the historical times and socioeconomic reasons for the departures. 

 Among the first Caribbean people to come to the United States were Cuban tobacco workers who followed Vicente Martinez Ybor, a Spanish businessman, to Key West in 1869 upon the outbreak of Cuba’s War of Independence from Spain a year earlier (Poyo, p. 206).  

Predating the initial Cuban immigrants were Bahamians making the relatively shorter crossing from the Bahamas to Florida.   The first Bahamian settlers were white and they typically were engaged in the maritime work of salvaging the remains of a “wrecked ship,” commonly known as “wrecking” (Parks, personal communication, April 2, 2012).  In addition to financial motivation for establishing themselves in Florida, Howard Johnson indicates that many whites left the Bahamas for Florida because of resentment and hostility towards growing equality for blacks in the archipelago (Johnson).  Florida’s earliest black settlers from the Bahamas began arriving in Key West at around the same time as the Cuban tabaqueros (cigar workers).  

Interestingly, the first black captain on the United States’ Pacific coast was from Barbados:  Captain William T. Shorey, who served during the final decade and a half of the 19th century (NPS). 

As early as 1880, when Mariah Brown was brought to Miami from Key West to work at the Bayview Hotel in what is now Coconut Grove, a Bahamian presence that continues today existed in Dade County (Parks, personal communication, April 2, 2012).  In fact, Brown was ahead of her time in another respect:  by bringing her daughters and later other relatives to Miami, she created one of the United States’ first Caribbean enclaves:  a place called Kebo, which is now the West Grove, a traditional and historical Bahamian epicenter (Parks, personal communication, April 2, 2012; Pérez - article). 

Early Bahamian migration to the United States had two basic and overlapping time phases:  Key West from the 1870’s to about 1910 and the so-called “Miami Craze” from 1905 until 1924 when U.S. immigration legislation curtailed the immigration of West Indians in particular black Caribbeans to the United States (Johnson).    

For Cubans coming to the United States in the late 19th century and early 20th century, the trend essentially followed a basic pattern that saw Cubans with white collar backgrounds going to New York and blue collar workers arriving in either Key West or Tampa (James).   Tampa is where Ybor eventually moved his growing tobacco business creating, in the process, a community that still bears his name.    The Cuban imprint on Tampa was unmistakable.  By 1890, 44% of all people in Tampa were born in Cuba (James).   The United States, as a whole, saw a marked increase in the number of foreign-born blacks, from just over 4,000 in 1850 to over 20,000 fifty years later and most were from the Antilles (James).   

The turn of the 20th century marked the beginnings of immigration from English-speaking Caribbean islands.  The introduction of indentured servants from the Asian subcontinent coincided with the exodus of Jamaican workers to Cuba, the canal zone in Panama, Costa Rica, and the United States (Williams).   Though not as large as the number that went to work in places like Cuba, the British West Indians (BWI) that arrived in the United States from 1899 to 1932 totaled approximately 108,000 (AAME) representing 75% of all black migrants to the U.S. during that period (James).   

The first groups of Caribbean immigrants to the United States chose the geographically-close state of Florida for their destination (54% versus 17.2% for New York, 15.% for Massachusetts, and 13.3% other states from 1899-1905) but that quickly changed (James).  Within a decade, racially oppressive conditions in the U.S. South, better direct shipping options, and active marketing/recruiting in the islands, shifted the numbers of West Indians opting for New York above all other places (AAME). 

Arrival in New York meant passage and processing at Ellis Island.   Long associated in North American legend and lore as being the disembarkation point for huddled masses of European immigrants, Ellis Island saw approximately 32,000 West Indians enter the United States in the first decades of the 20th century (AAME, Dosik, personal communication, April 9, 2012).   

1900 found the beginnings of Puerto Rican migrants working as contract workers in agricultural settings including Hawai’i harvesting pineapples (IPOAA).  In spite of the introduction of Puerto Rican workers to the United States, their presence in the continental U.S. was less than 2,000 (Library of Congress).   By comparison, in 1900 and 1910, the likelihood that a black Cuban man living in Tampa was a tabaquero was approximately 85% (James).  Also, of the 5,000 blacks counted in Miami in 1910, 3,500 were listed as “British subjects” – undoubtedly evidence of a strengthening Bahamian enclave.  By 1915, there were also an additional 2,000 Bahamians spread out through various parts of Florida’s Atlantic Coast (Johnson, p. 95).  Johnson also reports that Bahamians returning home dressed in nice clothing were embodiments of the promise that awaited others.  The effect was powerful as some islands throughout the Bahamas during that period reported having almost no men (Johnson). 

By 1914, many of the Caribbean workers that went to the isthmus of Panama to seek their fortunes opted to move to the United States instead of going home (AAME).  During this period, the United States occupied the Republic of Haiti.  The almost 20 year-long occupation of Haiti created the first real migration of Haitians from their home but most went to either Cuba or the Dominican Republic to work the cane fields.  For example, about 300,000 went to Cuba alone between 1915 and 1929 (Boswell).   

With the outbreak of World War I and subsequent U.S. involvement, upwards of 100,000 laborers from the Caribbean headed north to fill work needs brought on by industrial and personnel mobilization (IPOAA).  The demand for additional manpower in both the factories and the farms even delayed the passing of immigration measures that eventually kept many West Indians, including some Bahamians, from returning to the U.S. legally when the suspension of the barrier was finally lifted in 1920 (Johnson).  The 1920’s saw the enactment of immigration legislation that curtailed West Indian resettlement in the United States significantly – but not totally.  

Overall, the period between both world wars saw a decline in Caribbean immigration to the United States because of labor restrictions and, eventually, the Great Depression (IPOAA).  Nonetheless, 12,250 black immigrants entered the United States in 1924 in spite of very restrictive legislation (AAME). 

One Caribbean immigrant group, however, was able to exploit a loophole in the immigration laws that were hostile to West Indians: Puerto Ricans.  *Though legally considered internal migrants, in terms of culture, custom, tradition, geography, et cetera, Puerto Ricans are included in this study because they, too, are Caribbean and – with few exceptions – have immigrant experiences similar if not identical to their peers from other parts of the Antilles (Library of Congress).   Because Puerto Rico was incorporated into the American empire in 1898 and, by an act of Congress in 1917, Puerto Ricans were also U.S. citizens which meant that immigration laws did not apply to them (Pérez - blog).  Thus, with no legal barriers in the United States, the Puerto Rican population in the continental United States grew to 30,000 (IPOAA) and, by 1930, there were approximately 40,000 (Library of Congress) with most in New York City (AAME). 

Another interesting aspect of this period of history is that 2 out of every 5 Caribbean immigrants to the United States from 1927 to 1931 were listed as “professional and skilled workers” (James, p. 81).  This was not a new phenomenon.  A study from 1906 revealed that 3 out of every 5 black men who possessed a vocational skill self-identified as West Indian (James).   A cursory look at sex demographics offers a hint about migration trends and enclave/community-building.  According to Winston James, almost 60% of black immigrant residents of New York City were male yet the ratios even out by 1930 and 1940 (p. 90).   Just as was the case with the first world war, the United States’ manpower needs in World War II made Caribbean migration an attractive necessity with about 50,000 West Indians going to the U.S. between 1941 and 1950 (AAME).  Agriculturally, specific plans were created in 1943 for the migration of workers from the BWI (Griffith).   By the end of the war, there were over 40,000 BWI in over one thousand communities scattered throughout 36 states (AAME). 

Also with the end of World War II came the beginnings of the “Great Migration” of Puerto Ricans to the United States (AAME).  When the war ended in 1945, there were 13,000 Puerto Ricans in New York alone (Library of Congress).  With staggering unemployment and workers displaced as part of an industrialization initiative on the island and increasing professional opportunities in the U.S. (Williams, AAME), Puerto Ricans came to the mainland in large numbers:  an average of 21,000 for just migrant farm laborers from Puerto Rico between 1945 and 1964 (AAME).  The highest figures are for 1953 when almost 70,000 Puerto Ricans moved (Library of Congress).  

With the passage of the McCarran-Walter Act in 1952, opportunities for agricultural work for West Indians were reduced and effectively cut access for every other black immigrant (AAME). If the intention of McCarran-Walter was to – as its precedents in the early 1920s – keep the United States as white as possible, then the results indicate success:   the 1960 U.S. Census reports almost ten million foreign-born residents of the United States but only 1 out of every 50 were born in the Antilles (U.S. Census).    

In the late 1950’s, the first significant wave of Haitian migrants to the United States began its journey as it fled the despotic machinations of Francois Duvalier who rose to power in 1957 (AAME, Sutton).  A little bit more than a year later, the equally tyrannical regime of Fulgencio Batista was overthrown in Cuba.  The shift ideologically and socially with the new government in Havana prompted another wave of Cuban migration (IPOAA). 

  Both of these immigrant groups were comprised mostly of people from higher socioeconomic strata (AAME, IPOAA).   


 Another curious dynamic of the Cuban immigration of the early 1960’s was the federal government’s direct involvement – in particular within the executive branch (Torres).  In an effort to discredit a populist government in one of its satellites, the United States used the practice of visa waivers to effectively induce what it hoped would be a mass migration from Cuba (Torres).   The U.S. government also resorted to using the Central Intelligence Agency and the Catholic Church to undermine the new government in Havana by targeting Cuban children and their families (Landau). Dubbed Operation Pedro Pan and led publicly by Monsignor Bryan Walsh, who would later serve as a professor in the School of Social Work at Barry University, Pedro Pan spirited approximately 14,000 children from their homes (Valdivia).   The plan was to spread a false rumor that the Cuban government had passed a law that effectively made the state the parents of all children.  The entire thing was a hoax put together by the Catholic Church, reactionary elements in Cuba, and the CIA (Landau).   

Nelson Valdes is a retired professor at the University of New Mexico and a former Pedro Pan.  He states that the players involved in the deception played out as follows:  an Irish priest who had been involved with a similar mission involving Hungarians in the late 1950’s, the Cuban Catholic church which was controlled at the time by right-wing Spanish priests who fled the Spanish Civil War only twenty years earlier, a politically unsophisticated Cuban upper class, the CIA, and a great deal of emotion and propaganda and a lack of understanding (Valdes, personal communication, February 1, 2012). 

At the same time, the U.S. government rejected Haitian immigrants during that time period largely because of a reluctance to alienate Duvalier who publicly proclaimed his allegiance to Washington in its war against communism (IPOAA, von Tunzelmann).    

The facts and figures listed above only tell part of the story of West Indian migration to the United States in the century sandwiched in between Reconstruction and the height of the American Civil Rights movement.  Those men, women, and children often faced hostility and racism.  The depth of the bigotry is eclipsed only by the resilience of the responses.  

Of all of the differences between one West Indian immigrant experience another, there is one commonality that transcends country of origin, professional background / education, gender, religion, skin color, period of history, and area of resettlement in the United States: racism.  Whether it was overtly institutionalized as with Jim Crow realities in the South or it was thinly veiled yet equally virulent bigotry in the North and Midwest, North American customs surrounding race and relations, prejudice and privilege came into conflict with and was often times challenged by West Indian immigrants.  For example, whites in a Miami neighborhood that was called then Lemon City (modern Little Haiti) drove Bahamians out of the area with such ferocity that it was not until approximately a century later that any evidence of their existence became known when a long-forgotten cemetery was discovered during construction for a new building in the area (Paravisni).   

 At about the same time, Antonio Vega, a white Puerto Rican living in New York, was introduced to the unforgiving nature of Yanqui racism when white neighbors threatened and terrorized the Vega family simply for insisting on having black compatriots visit them at their apartment (James).   

Attempts by black and white Cubans in Tampa to insulate themselves from Jim Crow worked for a short while before the combination of social pressure, stricter laws, and white privilege eventually undid the social structures built by a community that had been heretofore united in patriotism and exile (James).   To illustrate how segregation seeped into the Cuban community of Tampa, one need only look at how interracial marriages were viewed and vilified.  White Cuban men could have black Cuban wives (although most were married in Cuba) but white women were strictly forbidden to black and Chinese Cuban men (James).  Winston James shares the story of how a Chinese Cuban man was dragged out of his bed at night during a raid on his house that resulted in him being jailed but not before suffering a beating from a mob because his wife was white (p. 240).  

Blacks from Key West in Tampa also felt the sting of racism in houses of worship.  Whites prohibited black Episcopalians from attending service inside of the only such church in the city and allowed use of it during “special ceremonies” such as baptisms (Tubbs).   

Another example - and perhaps the most telling – of how the institutions of racism and segregation in Florida overwhelmed Cuban attempts to avoid it concern the Cuban social clubs of the era.  In 1899, Cubans in Tampa formed El Club Nacional Cubano, an integrated mutual aid and social connection body.  Just three years later, however, the club was renamed El Circulo Cubano which may have been appropriate as blacks that had been founding members of El Club Nacional were now left on the outside of the new “circle” (James). 

This occurred at a time when lawmakers in Florida were busy formalizing many racist customs (legalized scholastic segregation, criminalization of inter-marriages, separate seating areas for public transportation, the prohibition of cuffing black and white prisoners together, etc).  The atmosphere had grown so thick with bigotry that then governor Napoleon B. Broward publicly advocated for the ousting of blacks from the U.S. (James).    

American racism revealed itself to West Indians even before they set foot on U.S. soil.  In an effort to distinguish white West Indians from black West Indians, it was not uncommon for immigration officials to list the latter group as “African” (AAME). 

Racism was present in the wage disparities between West Indians (and other Americans of color) and whites, regardless of the culture of origin.  In the garment business, “Puerto Ricans and African Americans earned from $8 to $13 per week while Jewish and Italian workers earned from $26 to $44 per week” (IPOAA).  Because of their rich collective heritage, Puerto Ricans were often treated in much the same way as African Americans and, as such, suffered discrimination with schools, housing, as well as jobs and wages (AAME).   The racism was so bad in New York that more than a few West Indians were compelled to return home.  Most, however, did stay and the motivation was often simply the fear of being ridiculed for coming back home with their tails tucked between their legs (Holder). 

A unique yet integral part of the West Indian experience in the United States in the period of time between 1865 and 1965 is the practice of challenging the aforementioned racist injustices (AAME, James).  Some instances were subtle, such as the episode in 1931 when a group of immigrants from Trinidad were confronted by bigots at a gas station in Texas only to receive a warm reception when the Trinidadians convinced the Texans that they were from Ethiopia (AAME).  Even a young Sidney Poitier challenged the prevailing attitudes of whites when, as a fifteen year old, he defiantly (and rather humorously in hindsight) castigated a desk sergeant at the Miami Police Department for calling him “boy” (James, pp. 85-86, AAME).    

Those, however, were exceptions (a young and already commissioned Colin Powell was turned away at a restaurant in western Georgia when he said that he was not Puerto Rican nor was a foreign student but was, instead, African American and an officer in the Army [AAME]) and most challenges to American racism were more direct and pronounced. 

It has been put forth that this Yanqui bigotry pushed West Indians towards more radical political and social ideologies (AAME, James).   In turn, it is also argued that the restrictive Immigration Act of 1924 was enacted as a response to Caribbean agitation (AAME).  

In addition to racism, West Indian immigrants to the United States also had to contend with other problems that spanned the spectrum of the social, health, and economic.   In spite of the relatively high number of white collar Caribbean immigrants to the United States, poverty was a concern for many West Indians.  Entertainer and activist Harry Belafonte lived in an apartment in Harlem shared by multiple families (Belafonte).   In addition to lower wages, labor contracts for West Indians often included a clause in its provisions that prohibited going on strike (AAME).    Caribbean immigrants also had to deal with negative perceptions that varied from labels that identified them as trouble-makers, thieves, liars, and slothes (AAME). 

In response to the difficulties of adjustment and resettlement, Caribbean emigres enjoyed resources that were often organic and outside of the realm of any state or private entity’s doing.  In the early days of Cuban and Bahamian migration to Key West, tabaqueros organized powerful unions and this model surfaced in Tampa and New York (James).  In fact, West Indians were at the vanguard of organized labor in New York in the 1930’s (James).   

In addition to professional and vocational support structures, Caribbeans coming to the U.S. formed a wide array of socioeconomic support entities (AAME).   In 1890, Rafael Serra founded La Liga de Instrucion in New York for the purpose of teaching black Cuban and Puerto Rican immigrants, most of whom were tobacco workers (James). Two years later, Arturo Schomburg helped found Las Dos Antillas which was an organization that committed itself towards the joint causes of Cuban and Puerto independence (AfricaWithin).    Shortly after the dissolution of El Club Nacional Cubano by white Cubans discovering the privilege of their color in turn of the century Florida, black Cubans in Tampa created La Union Marti Maceo, a social support organization (AfroCubaWeb). As a whole, these “organizations [were] unifying forces in an otherwise segregated society” (Thomas, p. 45). 

In addition to mutual aid societies, support systems for West Indians in the U.S. were often found in religious settings.  Reid writes that churches helped “to keep alive homeland values” even beyond the traditional scope of a church (p. 124).   Additionally, occasions like wakes – as a social outlet and unifying event – and weddings – if for no other reason than a needed economic boost to local small businesses within a given immigrant community – all played an important role in ensuring the protection of an otherwise vulnerable community (Reid). 

It must also be added that an important part of Caribbean community resilience in the United States are informal, natural support systems.  In the 1920’s and 1930’s, New York Puerto Ricans could and often did count on the powerful advocacy of Carlos Tapia to defend their rights (James).   In Harlem, Caribbean families and neighbors shared meals and “shared vulnerabilities” (Belafonte).   

The importance of such bodies of collective care in understanding the difficulties of immigration and resettlement and developing practice models to help new generations of new Americans adjust successfully becomes more significant when one contrasts the above with the experience of the Peter Pan children.   Government indifference to social development that leaves open spaces for organic mutual aid and social support systems is one thing; an intentional and systematic program to separate families and use them as pawns as part of a larger geopolitical struggle is quite another.   After securing possession of the Cuban children under false pretenses and promises, the United States did not establish contact between families separated under the auspices of the Peter Pan program nor was there good faith efforts to actively facilitate reunification in spite of pressure from the United Nations (Landau).     

The writer of this paper has long believed that a threat to a person’s identity is a threat to that person’s well-being.   That said, he is obligated to share an anecdotal account of a 15 year old boy who arrived in the United States a little over a week before the outbreak of the Cuban missile crisis.  He was sent to Chicago to live with a nice Catholic family and to live the idyllic life of a Midwestern youth. Although his time in Illinois was brief and he was in Miami to join his mother and brothers three years later, he remembered with fondness his teenage years in Chicago, reminiscing fondly of playing football and rock ‘n roll music and camping in Wisconsin.  In spite of growing in Cuba, he acclimatized himself quite well to the cold to the point where Miami’s relatively mild winters never bothered him.   While he spoke often and warmly about Chicago, he never – until his dying day  - mentioned nor hinted at any of the details of his departure from Cuba and he never, ever mentioned the words “Peter Pan.”  

That boy grew up to play some professional baseball, be drafted by the U.S. Army during the height of the Vietnam War, be an accomplished police officer and detective for the City of Miami, and start a family.  He was very proud of his humble origins and he wore his guayaberas religiously (at a time when detectives were required to wear coat and tie) but the particular circumstance that brought him to this country remained a mystery until over a decade and a half after his death.     One will never know the exact reason why that boy - who grew up to be my father - never mentioned Peter Pan but in light of the aforementioned, some guesses make more sense than others.   

As Miami and the rest of the United States moves forward towards an increasingly pluralistic society, it is important to reflect back upon the millions of Caribbean people who bravely ventured forth to the U.S. and created something lasting if not always remembered.  Three years ago, Enid Pinkney remarked on the occasion of the “discovery” of that long-forgotten Bahamian cemetery in Little Haiti, “Even though the people are dead, they are speaking to us…their spirits are saying, ‘we were here.’” (Paravisini).   It is the humble hope of this writer that this brief paper will be reminder that they were here and, through their descendants, they are still here.  

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