Our Woman in Havana

by Vicki Huddleston

  All went well at first. They traveled smoothly throughout the night and next day, but when they were within thirty miles of the Florida coast a storm blew up. The boat’s motor failed. A cold driving rain swamped their small craft, causing it to overturn and sink. The survivors clung to two inner tubes. Elizabet and Rafa tied Elián to one of them. As the day dragged on, Rafa’s brother became delirious, suddenly swimming for shore. Rafa followed; neither was ever seen again. The others, tired, thirsty, and discouraged, disappeared one after another into the water, leaving only Elizabet to protect Elián as best she could on one inner tube while the lovers hung on to the other. During the night, the inner tubes broke apart. In the morning, Elizabet was gone. Elián was alone, floating under an azure sky in the vast Caribbean Sea.

  Of the those who set out, only three survived; Arianna and Nivaldo washed up on a Florida shore sunburned, battered, and exhausted on Thanksgiving, the same day that Elián was plucked from the sea. Elián had floated for two days without water or food, exposed to the sun, the wind, and the cold of the dark night, but he had companions: he said that dolphins watched over him and nosed him toward the distant shore. Fate had surly destined him to live. But where would he live—with his relatives in Florida, as the diaspora demanded, or back in Cuba with his biological father and his ersatz father Fidel Castro?

  Many Cuban Americans had themselves arrived alone in the United States. The Catholic Church organized an airlift, known as Pedro Pan, that lasted from 1960 to 1962 and delivered thousands of children—principally boys between the ages of twelve and eighteen—to the United States. The parents of these children sent them alone to the States because they feared that Castro’s communist regime would send them to work and be indoctrinated in camps in the Soviet Union. When they arrived in the United States, they were placed with relatives or lived in temporary shelters. Their parents imagined or hoped that the revolution would fail and their children would return to Cuba. But they did not return to Cuba. Rather, as Castro consolidated power, their parents joined them in the States.

  Having experienced coming to America alone, these former Pedro Pan children were confident that Elián would be better off with his Miami relatives. Former US senator Mel Martinez, who was President George W. Bush’s principal Cuba adviser at the time, had been a Pedro Pan child. The Pedro Pan adults with whom I have spoken all told me that their parents did the right thing by giving them up, at least temporarily.

  By Sunday, November 28, the Cuban American National Foundation (CANF) had circulated four thousand posters with a photo of Elián above a caption “Another Child Victim of Fidel Castro.” CANF had a new cause and a new leader. It was now the turn of Jorge Mas Canosa’s son to validate his leadership. The campaign to keep Elián in the United States would be Jorge Mas Santos’s first initiative since his father had died in 1997. A brilliant political strategist, the elder Mas Canosa had used his political clout to convince American presidents to impose successively tougher sanctions on Cuba. Although the embargo wreaked economic havoc on the island, it did not overthrow the hated Castro regime. Now his son Jorge Mas Santos had a chance to humiliate Castro and give the Cuban American community a significant public relations victory.

  The Cuban government moved quickly. Over the weekend they announced in a press release that they were demanding the return of a small Cuban boy whose mother had drowned at sea. The Cubans provocatively added that Elián’s mother’s death, along with other rafters, was due to the United States’ “stupid” migration policy. On Monday morning Jamie Rubin, the State Department press spokesman, indignantly retorted, “It is reprehensible that anyone would suggest the United States is responsible in any way for these tragic events.” But in truth, our policy of allowing Cubans to remain did encourage them to attempt the risky voyage across the Florida Straits.

  Had the issue been simply a question of legal custody, Elián would have been immediately returned to his father. US and international law make it clear that a child belongs with his parent before anyone else. But during the Thanksgiving holiday, the INS had given temporary custody of the boy to his great-uncle Lázaro, who lived in Miami’s Little Havana neighborhood with his wife Alina and twenty-year-old daughter, Marisleysis. The Cuban diaspora believed that Elián had a right to remain in the United States because his mother had given up her life to bring him to the “land of freedom.” My phone call to my colleague Charles Shapiro and his attempts to engage with the INS had been ignored because no one wanted to gratuitously anger the Cuban American community. Elián had been entrusted to his relatives by Florida immigration authorities who undoubtedly believed that they were doing the best thing for the child. If the INS were to suddenly take back Elián, the Cuban diaspora would have been outraged, resulting in tremendous negative publicity for the Clinton administration, which might even impact the Democratic presidential candidate; the election was only a year away, and the likely candidate, Vice President Al Gore, would lose any chance of replicating Bill Clinton’s relative success with the traditionally Republican Cuban American voting bloc.

  Castro, however, was not about to oblige the Clinton administration. He seized the opportunity to embarrass the Cuban diaspora and reinvigorate his revolution. On December 6 (Elián’s sixth birthday), and with Elián’s father and classmates at his side, Castro threatened the United States, saying “They should be prudent, and before 72 hours, because if not, there are going to be millions of people in the street demanding the freedom of the boy.” He then announced, “We will wage a worldwide battle, we will move heaven and earth.” The administration took the threat seriously, worrying that my staff and I might be in danger, and fearing that Castro might be contemplating sparking yet another mass migration, announced that the United States would retaliate if Castro allowed Cubans to set sail or congregate on beaches. But that was just bravado. There was little we could do to stop a mass migration. President Clinton could close Florida ports, but Cubans would still set out to sea, and those rescued by the US Coast Guard would have to be brought either to Guantanamo Naval Base or to Florida. Neighboring countries would be hesitant to set up temporary holding sites or resettle the Cubans. They resented the fact that undocumented Cubans could remain in the United States when their nationals were returned home. In their view, if we wanted to end illegal Cuban migration, our government should send the migrants back to Cuba.

  Castro’s threat unnerved the Clinton administration. The president, the State Department, and the INS were now fully absorbed in finding a solution. But there was no good solution. Either way Clinton decided—to send the boy home or allow his Miami relatives to keep him—there would be severe consequences for the United States and for Cuba. Clinton certainly didn’t want to risk another mass migration like the 1980 Mariel boatlift when over 128,000 Cubans fled, and again in 1994 when almost 30,000 Cubans were resettled in the United States. But Clinton also feared angering the Cuban Americans and diminishing Gore’s chance of becoming president. He understood the consequences of denying their demands. Had President John F. Kennedy accommodated the diaspora’s demands at the Bay of Pigs, the United States would have gone to war with Cuba, which the world would have condemned as a blatant example of a larger nation coercing a small neighbor. But by allowing the exiles to be captured and killed, Kennedy incurred the wrath of the Cuban diaspora, which punished the Democratic Party by voting Republican in every election until Clinton finally began to make inroads by currying the community’s favor.

  Two days after Castro’s threat, Clinton responded. But it was neither the answer I was looking for nor was it a clear-cut decision. Clinton said, “The question is, and I think the most important thing is, what would be best for the child, and there is a legal process for determining that.” Clinton was buying time, giving both sides hope. Most courts would award custody of Elián to his father in Cuba, but perhaps not Florida courts. The diaspora saw Clinton’s remark as an opening, and attorney Spenser Eig filed a petition requesting political asylum for
Elián.

  It was my job to convince Ricardo Alarcón, the man I had so angered during Governor Ryan’s visit, that our governments should move ahead with the previously scheduled migration talks. Doing so would demonstrate to the breathless media that as long as we were talking, Castro was unlikely to unleash a mass migration. Several days later Alarcón, a small, wiry man with wisps of gray hair and oversize plastic-framed glasses that continually slipped down his nose, informed me that Castro had agreed to proceed with the talks. We now had the situation back under control, or so it seemed.

  On December 12, 1999, the deputy assistant secretary for the Western Hemisphere, Bill Brownfield, and I met with Alarcón. Brownfield, who was leading the US delegation to the talks, told Alarcón that President Clinton had decided to return Elián. I thought that Alarcón would be surprised and delighted; I certainly was. Instead, Alarcón demanded to know when Elián would return. Brownfield explained that Clinton had decided to allow our judicial system to decide the custody case. But, he assured Alarcón, he was confident that our courts would return the boy to his father. Alarcón wasn’t convinced, and asked, “How can you be sure that the US courts will decide in our favor?” Brownfield attempted to reassure him, pointing out that in almost all cases involving a minor the parent is awarded custody. He added that even if the verdict were appealed, the process shouldn’t take longer than two or three months. Brownfield didn’t mention the US Supreme Court because, like Clinton, he probably didn’t imagine that the legal battle would be long and drawn out, eventually reaching the highest level. Alarcón was skeptical doubting that the Florida courts would decide in Cuba’s favor; and besides, he noted, “Castro wants Elián home now.” With his patience fraying, Bill responded, “If you had wanted Elián back immediately, you should have allowed Juan Míguel to travel to Miami and pick up his son.” Annoyed, Alarcón snapped back, “Juan Míguel will only go to the States when we are certain that he will bring Elián home.” Bill and I believed that if Juan Míguel had gone to Miami a few days after Elián was placed with his relatives, the Cuban American community would have had no choice but to allow father and son to be reunited. But Castro nixed the visit, undoubtedly worried that Juan Míguel might be convinced to stay in Miami with promises from CANF of money and position.

  The meeting with Alarcón was inconclusive. He promised to brief Castro. We would resume the conversation the next morning, when our delegations met at the Palacio de la Convenciones, a large convention center located among the plush residences of diplomats and foreign businessmen in the Cubanacan suburb. The American delegation sat behind a long table covered with a white cloth, facing an unsmiling Alarcón and the rest of his unhappy delegation. Brownfield opened the talks and then asked each of us to present our agency’s positions. A State Department representative raised concerns about the excessive cost of Cuban documents—physical exams and exit visas—that intending immigrants needed to complete. I pointed out that Cuba’s policy of firing returned migrants from their jobs in the tourist industry made it more likely that they would flee again. The Coast Guard representative raised issues relating to drug and human trafficking.

  Now it was the turn of the Cuban delegation. Rather than share their views, Alarcón announced, “There will be no further talks until Elián returns to Cuba.” We watched in shock as Alarcón and the Cuban delegation pushed back their chairs and filed out of the room. A few minutes later, Alarcón repeated his statement at the press conference: “There will be no migration talks until Elián returns to Cuba.” His announcement put the threat of a mass migration back on the table. My hope that the talks would dampen speculation about a mass migration had instead been used by Castro to create more conjecture and unease.

  Still, I wasn’t as worried as I might have been, Alarcón had assured me at a lunch he had hosted for our delegation that he and his team would be joining us for dinner that evening at my residence, giving us a chance to find a solution. I suspected that Alarcón would get Castro’s agreement—if he hadn’t already—to allow the American judicial process to settle the Elián case. After all, Clinton had decided in Castro’s favor, even if it seemed to be a typical Clintonesque maneuver in which he attempted to escape blame by handing the decision to the courts. Castro might have been irritated that Elián wouldn’t return home by the turn of the millennium, but he would be coming home at some point. Perhaps he was disappointed that he would miss celebrating his victory together with Elián’s at the beginning of the twenty-first century. But I didn’t think Castro’s irritation would prevent him from agreeing to Clinton’s plan for returning the child. Some days later, after our delegation left Havana, Castro (knowing that Elián wouldn’t be home to celebrate the new year) announced that Cuba would celebrate the new millennium next year, on the “real” date, January 1, 2001.

  I went home early to oversee preparations for the dinner in order to ensure that the event would provide the perfect backdrop for reaching an agreement. In the large dining room, tables were adorned with candles and white linen, as well as china and crystal embossed with the Great Seal of the United States. I set the place cards so that the American and Cuban specialists were seated together at round tables. At my table I placed Bill Brownfield (the head of our delegation), Ricardo Alarcón, and José Arbesu, Cuba’s principal spy for the Western Hemisphere. This would give Bill and me a chance to convince the Cuban officials that Castro should await the decision of the US judicial system before taking any precipitous action.

  The atmosphere was positive, aided by scotch whiskey, Alarcón’s drink of preference, and my birthday cake. The residence staff in their black-and-white uniforms served the four-course dinner beginning with a shrimp appetizer and a main course of steak Béarnaise, which were paired with excellent French white and red wines. As the dinner progressed Brownfield explained the judicial process, pointing out that US Department of Justice lawyers would advocate for returning Elián to his father. By the time the champagne and my birthday cake were served, Alarcón and Arbesu had agreed that Cuba would await the decision of the American courts. But, Alarcón emphasized, “We want Elián back this year, not in 2000.” By “we” he clearly meant Castro. But even then, he and Castro knew that would be impossible.

  As our guests departed, Brownfield and I stood on the residence porch and waved cordial goodbyes as our guests stuffed themselves into the small, white Russian-made Lada vehicles that the government provided for its officials. I was pleased. Castro had made his move. There would be no mass migration, at least for so long as he believed that Clinton was acting in good faith. I told Brownfield that he had done a good job.

  The first step in the process was to provide proof that Juan Míguel was a good father. The initial INS interview was positive, but CANF complained that it had not been informed. Still seeking to pacify the diaspora, the administration asked me to arrange a second interview. Suspecting a trap, Alarcón was annoyed, but after a few days he agreed. The second interview took place in Miramar, a pleasant Havana neighborhood where trusted Cubans were allowed to live. Castro had moved Juan Míguel’s family there, most likely to keep control of who visited them and to gain a better sense of their loyalty. This interview, conducted by the same officers as before, reached the same conclusion that Juan Míguel was a loving father. The INS then ordered Lázaro González, the great-uncle who was caring for Elián, to hand him over so that they could return him to Cuba by January 14. The Cuban American community was beyond furious, feeling that Clinton and Attorney General Janet Reno, who hailed from Florida, had betrayed them. In their view Juan Míguel wasn’t fit to be the child’s father; no good father would want his child back in Cuba.

  The first major setback occurred just weeks later; it was an early warning that the courts weren’t going to be as helpful as Clinton had anticipated. On January 11, Rosa Rodriguez, a Miami-Dade circuit court judge of Puerto Rican heritage and a Yale Law School graduate, defied the order issued by the INS to turn the boy over to federal authorities.
She ruled that Elián’s relatives should have an opportunity to present their arguments for why his great-uncle Lázaro should be given custody. She gave the parties until March 6 to prepare their arguments, warning that her final decision could “be averse to the father’s interests” if Juan Míguel did not appear in a Miami court. Janet Reno angrily retorted to this slap in the face by a local court that Judge Rodriguez’s ruling had “no force or effect.” She moved the case out of the Miami court and into the federal district court. But she also postponed the January 14 deadline for turning Elián over to the INS.

  Worried that sooner or later the federal courts would uphold the government’s decision to return Elián, Cuban American legislators sought to pass a law making him an American citizen. Representatives Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-FL) and Lincoln Díaz-Balart (R-FL), a member of the family of Castro’s former wife, Mirta, led the effort. Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott (R-MS) and House Speaker Dennis Hastert (R-IL) supported the initiative. If they succeeded, it would complicate, if not void, INS’s authority over the case. It was one thing to rule that a Cuban child must return home, but quite another to send an American child to Cuba. If Elián became a citizen, Clinton and Reno might give up the fight. Already it was becoming evident that this dispute with the Cuban diaspora was going to be costly for the administration.

  I was convinced that the bill making Elián a citizen would pass unless his father came to Florida to retrieve him. But Castro had not budged from his decision that Juan Míguel wouldn’t travel to the States until he could bring his son home. Then it occurred to me that a visit by Elián’s grandmothers might also prevent the citizenship bill from becoming law. And, I knew just who I should contact! I had met Joan Brown Campbell, the first woman to lead the National Council of Churches when she had visited Havana at the request of the Cuban Council of Churches. Joan, an imposing woman with gray hair, sharp blue eyes, and a kind smile, was on a mission to reunite Elián with his family. I was impressed when she came by my residence on a Saturday. She had no obligation to keep me informed, especially as the State Department was concerned that she might make the already messy case messier. When she asked if I would be willing to issue visas to Elián’s grandmothers, I realized that this was the real the purpose of her visit. I assured her that I would recommend that they be approved. In return, the president of the Cuban Council of Churches who had accompanied Joan to the meeting commented, “You are a nice woman; I thought you had fangs or something.” This was a sure sign that Castro’s public diatribe against me, over my meddling in Governor Ryan’s visit and my support for Cuban dissidents, had indeed had an impact on the true believers.