Different Takes on Cuban Emigration  

By Harold Cardenas (La Joven Cuba)

HAVANA TIMES – The political debate around Cuban emigration has mostly been dominated by two extremes. On the one hand, it is idealized as a democratizing force that can transform the country from the outside. On the other, it is demonized as a threat to national stability. These are not the only ways emigration has been politically interpreted, but they are the narratives that have found the largest platforms. Both perspectives are flawed. Emigrants should not be marginalized, but nor should it determine Cuba’s direction. It can participate, contribute, accompany—but not lead.

A considerable portion of the emigrant community has shown that it does not consistently defend democratic values with the coherence historical responsibility demands. Quite often, it calls for freedoms in Cuba while supporting—or turning a blind eye to—authoritarian policies, intolerant discourse, and exclusionary strategies in the countries where they now reside. This doesn’t invalidate their right to express opinions or take part in debates about the country they left behind, but it does raise the question of the legitimacy of their proposals—and what kind of democracy they’re really advocating for.

The rise of Trumpism among Cubans is illustrative. According to surveys, nearly 70% of Cuban Americans in Miami pledged their vote to Donald Trump, a politician who has openly challenged the democratic institutions of the United States, pressured judges and lawmakers, and attacked the press. Trump promotes xenophobic policies, including the mass detention and deportation of migrants—including many Cubans. Yet many continue to cheer him on. The double standard is clear: when it comes to the Cuban government, they raise their voices; when it comes to Trump, they remain silent. That double standard, disturbing as it is, is also dangerous—because it suggests that what’s being defended is not democracy, but rather the fight against a political adversary. And that changes everything.

A similar phenomenon occurs in Spain, where most Cuban émigrés support the Partido Popular, and to a lesser extent, Vox—parties that, like Trump’s Republicans, combine anti-communism with exclusionary and authoritarian rhetoric. There are many of our fellow Cubans supporting US Christian nationalism and the heirs of Spanish fascism. And many others, while not aligning with those factions, remain silent. This is less about inconsistency and more a sign that, for them, there are “good” and “bad” forms of authoritarianism. Are these the people who are going to save Cuba?

Another segment of the emigrant community actively participates in conversations about Cuba, but from a safe distance. Opinions, debates, campaigns… all from abroad. Many have no plans to return or to take on the direct implications of a process of change. That’s not necessarily wrong, but there is a difference between discursive influence and the real commitment needed to implement changes, something that is only truly possible from within the country.

I say this from my own experience. I am part of this diverse, contradictory emigrant community shaped by personal history. Among us, there is a strong sense of identity with Cuba and a legitimate right to be involved in its future. But we must also acknowledge the inevitable tension between the homeland we were born in and the one that now shelters us. Many emigrants carry painful experiences of rupture, rejection, or survival, and it’s not always easy to separate the desire for justice from the desire for revenge. An emigrant’s patriotism is not lesser, but it is different—and sometimes limited by personal wounds. That’s why, rather than leading change, we should contribute with humility, understanding that most of us will not be the ones to bear the consequences of the decisions being made.

Idealizing emigration is as naïve as excluding it. There are people willing to contribute from abroad with resources, knowledge, and support networks—and that should be recognized. But integrating emigrants doesn’t mean giving up control or turning it into the arbiter of national transformation. This is my opinion, and I may be wrong. But even though, the ability to disagree without fear, is part of the kind of democracy we ought to build.

Emigrants can contribute in many ways to national reconstruction: supporting civic and social initiatives with resources and networks, investing in small local-impact businesses, offering technical and professional knowledge in education, healthcare, or institutional development, and promoting dialogue platforms that bring Cubans inside and outside the country closer together. It could also, when the time comes, participate in legal reforms or in the drafting of a new social pact. But all of this must be done with respect for the sovereign will of those who live on the island.

Prejudice against emigrants still exists within the Cuban state—especially toward critical sectors—fueled by old perspectives that saw emigrants only as a threat. That instrumental or defensive view limits the possibilities for dialogue. Accepting their participation also means accepting political pluralism—without requiring ideological loyalty or punishing criticism. But even today, it remains difficult for Cuban authorities to step out of their comfort zone, where only solidarity groups and unconditional allies are welcome. True politics and public diplomacy require going further.

What must not happen is for national reconstruction to be endlessly postponed—or designed from a place of nostalgia or geopolitical convenience by those who no longer live in Cuba. Especially not when part of that emigrant community has lost connection with the reality of the country they wish to change. At the risk of repeating myself: emigrants should be truly heard, but they should not define the economic, political, and social model of a future that others will live. That said, the right to vote is a right that should not be denied. And, as in other countries where that is possible, it helps shape the future—but without being decisive compared to those who live on the island.

If the Cuban government does not soon acknowledge the people’s hunger for change, that change will happen without it. These are urgent changes that must arise from internal consensus, not from external pressure or projects launched from Miami, Madrid, or Washington. Rebuilding a country is very difficult when the emigrant community does not recognize the legitimacy of the existing government, especially one with such a large diaspora that plays a direct role in family economies. And it’s just as difficult if that government lacks the capacity to foster a real atmosphere of openness, inclusive spaces, and the political management of dissent. One cannot expect a state to hold open dialogue with those who left, if it cannot even have it with its own citizens.

Rebuilding Cuba requires a serious, horizontal conversation with all sectors involved—but the leading role must remain with those who, for whatever reason, continue choosing to stay.

Many speak from afar, often with a boldness they lacked in Cuba, telling Cubans—authoritatively—what they should think and do, often from privileged positions. In this closed context, and not one of political openness and mobility, which would allow a different kind of analysis, what emigrants can offer is support, not leadership. Participation without imposition, accompaniment without decision-making. And above all, not putting their own identity, pain, or political preferences above the well-being of their fellow Cubans. That might be, perhaps, the greatest expression of love for their country.

First published in Spanish by La Joven Cuba and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.

Read more from Cuba here on Havana Times.