Miami International Airport is the largest gateway between Latin America and the United States and when I exited the plane from Bellingham it felt like entering a completely different world dominated by the rhythm of the Spanish language, flavors, and colors, but I was not there on holidays.On September 3rd, 1993 I escaped the threat of deportation from Canada to Cuba with the help of Christina. Without her planning, support and execution I probably would not be writing these words today. That day I left the Bellingham International Airport for Miami where a new chapter of my life was about to start. I promised to tell it all, so here it goes.
At the airport, I was glad to see my contact at the arrival gate and from there we headed to the residence of a Cuban family near "Little Havana" where I was to spend most of my stay in the city. The family received me warmly and adopted me as one of their own. As soon as I could, I called Christina to let her know that I had arrived OK and that I was in a safe house.
My new family did not lose any time and right after I settled in my new quarters they took me shopping, "You need to be presentable", the lady of the house told me. She was so sweet to me from the moment she met me, like a sister that I hadn't seen in years. I will never forget those people!
My plan was to go to immigration and claim "political asylum" as soon as possible, but since it was Labor Day weekend I had to spend time on social activities that my new family had already planned, so I spend the weekend jumping from barbecue to barbecue, with loud Cuban music and Cuban food, telling everyone the story of how I came to the United States from Canada. Actually, this was a good opportunity to practice my story and get it right before telling it to immigration. The story I told everyone was very close to how I had escaped from Canada, with the exception that I never mentioned Christina; I didn't want to make her an accomplice and implicate her.
However, for the locals, my story was not what was fashionable in Miami at the time, where rafters, "balseros", constantly arrived from Cuba. They were all very willing and happy to give me "tips" and ideas that would work with immigration. The craziest thing of all was to get some old pants and an old shirt, go to the beach and get a really good sunburn, get dehydrated for a few days, and ask someone to call the police and tell them that I have just arrived from Cuba. . "Yeah, that's it!" Of course, the party atmosphere, combined with volumes of alcohol, would have others take that idea and improve it: "Hey, I'll take you on my boat tomorrow, get you an inner tube, and drop you a couple miles from shore. and let the current carry you in and if you don't show up then we'll call the coast guard ... or not! Ha, ha, ha! "
"These guys are nuts!", however, I got the impression that they were not completely kidding, and what they were trying to do was make me understand "what works for Cubans" in Florida.
The best "advice" given to me during that beyond believe Labor Day weekend came from a new acquaintance, "Gonzalo", who asked me: - "Have you been to Radio Mambi yet?" - "No" - "Ok, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning and I'll take you there".
The next morning "Gonzalo" picked me up as promised and on the way to Radio Mambi he advised me to tell exactly what I had told every on the day before, to be myself and to say "hello Cuba, here I am safe and sound in the land of freedom". He told me to send a message to my family, and be cool.
Radio Mambi is a Cuban rebel radio station broadcasting in the AM frequency from Miami to locals but also to Cuba. Because of its anti-Communist talk shows and rebellious content, the station is mostly blocked by the Cuban government but it can be heard under certain atmospheric circumstances in some areas of the country especially from the capital city, Havana.
When we arrived at the station, in the parking lot "Gonzalo" reminded me: "Let me do the talking, ok? and relax, this is no big deal".
We entered the building into a receiving area where a gentleman in a suit received us. "Gonzalo" took the initiative and introduced me to the fellow: "This is my cousin, he arrived from Canada where he was going to be deported back to Cuba, I brought him in, he wants to talk and send a message to Cuba." The gentleman nodded and padded Gonzalo's shoulder in approval. While he was doing that I could see that he was caring a shoulder holster with a pistol; "Oh dear, I hope trouble does not visit today!" I thought. Seconds later the armed gentleman turned to me and pointed to a chair against the wall while opening a door for Gonzalo. I sat without saying a word and Gonzalo disappeared behind the door.
Amazingly, I was not nervous, and I had no other thought in my mind but "this is something I have to do".
A few minutes later Gonzalo opened the door to pop his head out: "Phs, it is time, let's go!". I sprang to my feet and followed him.
Most people have never walked into a radio station studio and that was my first time. The studio was amazingly small; there were two or three booths, a few desks with computer screens on top. Inside of one of those booths was a fellow with headsets on and a big microphone in front of him. We made eye contact and the fellow invited me in with index finger. Inside of the booth, he told me:
-"Jose Marino, right?"
-"Yes"
-"Ok, we are on commercial break. Sit there, do not touch the mic, I will introduce you and ask you to tell me your story, what happened. Just look at me, do not look at the mic, just talk to me, ok? we are live and they can hear you in Cuba. I will ask you if you have any messages for your family back home then you talk. Only talk when I point at you, that is your turn, clear?"
-"Yes, yes, thanks. Let's do this!"
-"Good morning Miami, here in the studio of Radio Mambi we have Jose Marino, who recently arrived to the land of freedom! So, Jose, tell us what happened!"
I told my story and when he asked me to send a message to my family I did think about them, what they would think of me and if they would be harassed by the Cuban government.
-"To my family in Cuba, I am fine, free, out of danger, and ready to start a new life". Whether that was true or not, the game was afoot and I was going to find out the rest. What comforted me at that time was the fact that I was not going to be deported back to Cuba in the near future, but I feared that I could be sent back to Canada and from there to a Cuban prison.
-"You did great!" - Gonzalo greeted me when I exited the booth. "Hey, perhaps you can make a living at the station! You sounded suave!"
My first few days in Miami were incredibly packed with activities. My new family was making sure that I could meet lots of different people, people who could help me. In those days I met with "Antonio", a human smuggler and he guaranteed me that for US$8000 per person he could go to Cuba in his fast boat and get anyone I wanted to be rescued. In 1993 that was a considerable amount of money. I thought about someone but did not have those funds, so I declined the "service".
In those initial days, I also came across a recruiter agent from ALPHA 66, a Cuban para-military organization, labeled as terrorists by the Cuban government. These guys were, and continue to be hardcore. They conduct military training and war games to this day. When I was asked to join the organization I declined, they thanked me for my time and that was the end of it. I told them that I was a scientist and that I was very dedicated to my career and was not interested in becoming a freedom fighter.
