Joe García Advocates for Comprehensive Investigations

As exiles from Cuba, we've sought to recreate everything from the island we left behind—from its iconic Malecón to the coconut pastries and even the old Ladas now seen cruising through Hialeah. With these memories, we've transplanted our island’s pride and traditions to the mainland. However, imitation comes with its own set of pitfalls. Along with our cherished customs, the exile community has also imported certain vices, such as gossip, ingratitude, and long lines for driver's licenses. More troubling, though, is the prevalence of informants.

Throughout its history, the Cuban regime has been prolific in maintaining lists of public enemies: dissidents, intellectuals, and inconvenient figures of all kinds. In 2023, for instance, Havana updated a list of 61 "terrorists" banned from returning to the country under the gravest accusations, including dissidents, influencers without followers, deceased individuals, and even the historic leader of the Cuban American National Foundation, my mentor and friend Pepe Hernández.

The Miami Blacklist

Now, a sector in Miami has responded with its own list of "repressors," "henchmen," and "Communist Party members" allegedly infiltrating the exile community to commit various misdeeds. TikTok is awash with accusatory videos, most lacking evidence, seemingly part of a covert but well-executed campaign. These videos, often just 15 seconds long, feature ominous music and anonymous accusations, calling for retribution.

Cuba has long been fertile ground for such vindictive behavior. There were voluntary informers during the wars against Spanish rule and throughout the Republic era. Under Batista, they were known as 33.33, named after the stipend they received for their services. Fidel Castro institutionalized this practice through the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution, while State Security mirrored the Stasi in its methods. This spy culture even extended into families, with husbands denouncing wives, siblings, and imagined rivals.

Anonymous Accusations in Miami

What happens when this culture of anonymous denunciation takes root in Miami? Blacklists, by nature, are accusatory tools rather than instruments of justice. Those accused often lack any means of defense. Even if exonerated, the stigma of a digital accusation can be enduring. For example, a list of repressors created by Miami lawyers and activists has required multiple corrections due to unsupported or false accusations. This highlights why we have courts—to ensure due process where everyone is presumed innocent until proven guilty.

The credibility of the list's creators is another issue. One project's founder was reportedly a high-ranking Communist Party official and a member of the Department of the Americas, a branch of Cuban intelligence involved in guerrilla warfare and sabotage across the hemisphere. As recently as the 1990s, this individual was part of the Rapid Response Brigades repressing his own neighbors in Havana.

A Timely Distraction

The timing of this campaign raises suspicions. As soon as the list emerged, Miami's three congressmen, led by Carlos Giménez, seized the narrative of "infiltrated henchmen" as if it were a lifeline. This narrative has provided a diversion amidst widespread disappointment. The White House's anti-immigrant rhetoric had left them without political oxygen. While Trump threatened deportation for thousands of Cubans, Venezuelans, and Nicaraguans, dismantled aid programs for Cuban dissidents, and left Radio and TV Martí in disarray, Giménez, Mario Díaz-Balart, and María Elvira Salazar responded with silence or inadequate excuses.

With the distraction provided by the blacklist, Miami's political trio has invoked old ghosts—communists, spies, criminals—shifting focus to an external enemy, while Cuba itself continues to wither. They've gone so far as to equate the Aragua Train myth to a "Havana Train," filled with Fidelist abusers and spies. Whether this tactic will succeed is uncertain, but it's currently their only strategy to engage voters.

Justice or Hypocrisy?

Labeling nearly a million recent Cuban arrivals as potential threats due to a few dozen "repressors" or former Communist Party members who deceived immigration authorities is not only infamous but also deeply hypocritical. Few in Miami can cast the first stone without guilt.

But what about those proven to have committed abuses in Cuba or lied about their past? Two legal tools are available. One is the Global Magnitsky Act, which restricts entry to high-ranking officials guilty of serious human rights violations. This applies to major offenders, not minor informants. The more comprehensive tool is deportation for lying to immigration about Communist Party or Youth membership within five years before seeking immigration benefits, or for harming others during that time. Most recent "repressors" deported to Cuba were punished under this rule. Encountering a former prison guard or prosecutor in Miami is understandably horrific.

Yet witch hunts like those led by Congressman Giménez raise endless questions:

• What happened to the exile community that forgave the repentant?
• Is a simple act of contrition or sharing confidential information enough for forgiveness?
• Why apply different standards to a prosecutor in Holguín than to a combat pilot with a deadly past?
• What distinguishes a low-level informant from a high-ranking official close to the Castros?
• How should ex-intelligence agents involved in overseas plots be treated?
• Why full pardons for some, including Batista and Castro loyalists, but punishment for those arriving in 2024?
• Why are some "henchmen" more acceptable than others?

In fairness, Miami could replicate the diabolical mechanisms used in Castro's Cuba (and before, under Batista, Machado, etc.). An agency of former spies could be created, with media run by old regime propagandists. It's rumored that a right-wing radio host once organized acts of repudiation in Alamar. Who is he? Who accuses him?

The exile community has always included defectors. Rather than a frenzy of denunciations, a responsible community should engage in a deep, honest debate on retribution, forgiveness, and reconciliation—key to Cuba's future viability. Some might argue that the worst betrayals come from within, while others will say deported individuals lied about past Communist ties, justifying their return.

In that case, let's take it further: investigate all exiles from the 1970s to the present—including citizens and legal residents—to determine who provided false information about ties to the Communist Party, the Youth, the government, the military, or even the Camilitos. I suspect Miami's traffic would ease, and Hialeah rents would plummet.