Cuban-Americans Celebrate on the Streets of Little Havana

MIAMI, Aug. 1, 2006 — -- The horns blared. The crowd chanted "libertad" or freedom. And everywhere there were Cuban flags waving.

Many Cuban-Americans have waited 47 years to throw this street party. And after Fidel Castro's secretary announced Monday that the Cuban president had temporarily relinquished his presidential powers to his brother Raul because of surgery, they lost no time scrambling to Miami's Little Havana to celebrate together.

In the stifling heat and oppressive humidity of a Miami summer night a small elderly woman spontaneously grabbed my cheek and planted a kiss on it. After waiting for 35 years in Miami for Castro to die she could hardly believe she might actually live to see the day.

"He is dead," she told me in Spanish, graphically slashing her throat to emphasize the point.

Then she clasped her hands and looked to the sky and added, "I am asking God that it is true."

Castro was not dead, but Cuba's president and the world's longest-surviving leader was gravely ill. Two weeks away from his 80th birthday, Monday's announcement marked the first time in 47 years of absolute rule that Castro had given up power.

Immigrants Who See Themselves As Exiles

A somber announcement on Cuban TV informed the 11 million people of the Caribbean island that the only president most Cubans have known in their entire lives was suffering from intestinal bleeding and needed emergency surgery. He has temporarily delegated power to his 75-year-old brother Raul, his designated successor.

More than a million Cubans -- now Cuban-Americans -- live in Miami. Unlike many immigrants, they see themselves as exiles. Tony Crespo, for one, has lived in Miami for 46 years and defiantly never set foot in Castro's Cuba.

"What is home for you, Miami or Cuba?" I asked Crespo.

"Cuba," he snapped.

"Will you move back to Cuba [if Castro dies]?"

"Immediately. With all my money," Crespo said.

Children and Grandchildren Celebrating for Their Families

While that kind of passion is common in Miami, it is clear that most Cuban-Americans now consider themselves as much American as Cuban. Still, they want the option of returning to a free homeland, even if it is just to visit.

Two things stood out about the street party in the wake of Castro's announcement:

Many of the revelers have never set foot in Cuba. They were the children and grandchildren of Cuban migrants. "My dad's not here to see this," a reveler, Beatrice Aguero, said. "So I'm here representing him. My grandmother is not here so I'm here representing her. We've waited many years for this day."

My second observation is a question, actually: Just what were people celebrating? Officials have said Fidel Castro is gravely ill and faces a serious operation. But if the official reports are accurate he has a reasonable chance of recovery.

So why are some Cuban-Americans allowing themselves to believe he is already dead? Because they so desperately want it to be true.

"It is the happiest day of my life," woman in the crowd said, smiling ear to ear and proudly displaying a Cuban flag.

"But he's not dead," I gently reminded her.

"He's dead," she responded. "He's gone. Are you kidding?"

The woman's smile grew even bigger. The crowd let out an enormous cheer.