Voyage from Cuba

"It is the thing we have prayed for but never thought would happen

It began with a couple of lobster boats--the Dos Hermanos and the Blanchie III--chugging from Key West and returning with 48 refugees. Then a hulking shrimper named Big Baby made the 110-mile trip, coming back with 200 people; it was quickly followed by Lucy, a creaky lobster boat that carried 70 people huddled on its deck. Suddenly last week, the Straits of Florida were filled with a huge makeshift flotilla, ranging from leaky skiffs to sleek schooners, that sailed from south Florida to the Cuban port of Mariel and returned home crammed with jubilant Cuban exiles. "I never, never thought we'd make it!" exclaimed Pedro Diaz, 25, breaking into a wide grin as he stood with his wife and six-month-old daughter on a Key West dock. "Now we start the new beginning."

By week's end more than 2,000 refugees had been brought to U.S. shores. Fidel Castro had unleashed the exodus by opening Mariel to foreign boats and issuing exit visas to those who wanted to leave. The impromptu rescue operation angered and embarrassed the Carter Administration, which held that the sealift was illegal and that the refugees were, at least technically, illegal aliens. To stem the tide, the U.S. Department of State warned that the skippers of the refugee boats could be liable for a $1,000 fine for each exile carried; moreover, their vessels could be seized and held by the Government until the penalties were paid.

The refugees were admitted "conditionally" for 60 days, thus allowing them time to file for political asylum; at the end of that period, the Immigration and Naturalization Service was to decide whether or not to grant it. Though there seemed little doubt last week that the Cuban boat people would eventually be granted permanent residence, Washington was clearly unhappy with their method of arrival. "What you have here is not a rational process," said State Department Spokesman Thomas Reston of the sealift. "What you have is Castro's solution to the problem."

The boatmen paid little heed to the Government's threats, and the rescue navy continued to grow. "They have to say that," shrugged one skipper. Relatives of the refugees were already waiting on Florida's docks with cash in hand, ready to pay the fines in case the boats carrying their kinfolk were seized. Chances are that few if any fines will be imposed or collected. "Look at the dimensions and emotion of all this," said one weary customs officer, waving his hand across the crowded Key West docks. "How could we possibly do anything to stop it?"

The world's latest refugee saga began three weeks ago, when an estimated 10,800 Cubans jammed into the Peruvian embassy compound in Havana seeking political asylum after guards were temporarily removed from the embassy's gates. The sight of these would-be exiles, demanding to leave Fidel Castro's so-called paradise, was deeply embarrassing to the Cuban President. With the world watching, he had no choice but to grant them exit visas. Eight nations eventually agreed to admit 6,250 of the exiles; the U.S. said that it would take 3,500, the largest single group. To hasten the exodus, Costa Rica organized twice-daily flights from Havana to San Jose, where the refugees could then be screened and sent on to the other nations.

After three days of airlifts and the evacuation of 678 exiles to San Jose, Castro abruptly ordered the Costa Rican flights suspended. Henceforth, Cuban authorities insisted, all refugees had to go directly to the countries where they planned to settle. Castro reportedly was annoyed that Costa Rican President Rodrigo Carazo himself welcomed the first planeload of refugees. More important, Castro was furious about the bad publicity Cuba was reaping in the Latin American press. To counter it, he staged a massive rally commemorating the anniversary of the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion. More than a million Cubans marched through Havana, chanting "iQue se vayan!" (let them go) and hoisting signs reading ABAJO LA GUSANERA (down with the worms), a favorite Havana expression about expatriates.

Whether Castro anticipated what would happen after he suspended the Costa Rican mercy flights is unclear. What is certain is that he took full advantage of what began as a long-shot attempt by several Cubans now living in Miami to fetch some relatives and embassy refugees by boat. When Dos Hermanos and Blanchie III returned from Cuba with the exiles aboard, word raced through south Florida's community of 600,000 Cuban Americans that Castro was allowing boats to enter the port of Mariel, 27 miles west of Havana, to pick up refugees. Most important to the Cuban Americans, Castro was apparently willing to issue exit permits to any Cuban--not just the squatters at the Peruvian embassy.

Thus began the remarkable sealift. In Miami, boat stores quickly sold out of maps of the waters around Cuba. "We're selling anything that floats," said Oscar Rodriguez, manager of B & F marine store. "People are buying lifesavers, lamps, rope--anything, just as long as they need it on a trip to Cuba." Cars with boat trailers clogged the narrow two-lane road from the Florida mainland to Key West; some bore license plates from states as far away as New York. Drowsy Key West, just entering its off-season slumber, bucked to life as drivers steered their bulky rigs through the streets, looking for places to slip their boats into the water. "I am taking the chance because there may not be another time," explained Martin Larena, a Miami upholsterer who waited to set off in his 21-ft. launch. He hoped to be reunited with his son and granddaughter. Added Angel Hernandez, who hoped to bring back six relatives in his 38-ft. open runabout: "I don't know who will be waiting. We just hope."

Many boat owners set off for Cuba alone, while others worked in groups. One early squadron consisted of 50 boats belonging to the Committee of 75, a Cuban exile group based in Miami that helped negotiate the release of 3,600 political prisoners from Havana in 1978. But some skippers made the journey with profit in mind. The going price for a 35-ft.-long charter boat topped $5,000, while other captains were charging by the head, up to $1,000 for each Cuban brought back.

At first the skippers discovered the harbor at Mariel much better organized than the one they had left behind in Key West. Far offshore, launches were met by Cuban gunboats and escorted into the harbor. Once in port, crewmen handed Cuban soldiers lists of relatives and friends they wanted to bring back to the U.S. Havana police were then dispatched to homes to inform the would-be refugees that boats were awaiting them; they were given one hour to report to bus stops for the journey to Mariel. The embassy refugees, who had already been trucked in from Havana, were encamped in tents and fed rice and canned meat while waiting for their boat assignments. For every non-embassy refugee, each boat was required to accept four embassy refugees hand-picked by Castro's men.

By week's end Mariel was choked with vessels, some of which had been held up for three days waiting to pick up refugees. "Three hundred boats bobbed in the small harbor, and another 200 were anchored outside its mouth," reported TIME Correspondent Richard Woodbury, aboard a 36-ft. launch called Endeavor. "Uniformed soldiers with automatic rifles watched coolly from the banks as government launches skittered from boat to boat, handing out customs forms and answering questions. In 1962 the Soviet missiles that eventually touched off the Cuban missile crisis between the U.S. and the Soviet Union were delivered through this port, but now the harbor resembled a circus of the seas. The curious watched in wonder from apartments as an overeager skipper ran his 16-footer into one of Castro's launches, snapping its flagpole. At nightfall the flotilla twinkled like a floating city, with boats lashed together and crews exchanging festive visits. Castro's searchlights swept the surrounding waters, guarding against Cubans who might try to swim out to the boats."

At Key West, refugees were greeted by customs and immigration officers, who examined their meager belongings and handed out forms to be filled out. Many of the embassy refugees carried the salvoconducto (safe conduct) passes that had enabled them to leave the packed compound and wait at home; others proudly displayed forms attesting that the bearer had no police record. None, of course, carried any documents that legally entitled them to enter the U.S. Many were caught up in the joyful embrace of relatives who had come to meet the boats; others, exhausted and seasick, simply sprawled on the dock for some rest. All seemed happy to be finally on American soil. "It is a dream so pretty," said Hugo Landa, 27, a Havana interpreter, who said that he had survived seven days at the Peruvian embassy without food. "It is the thing we have dreamed about and prayed for but never thought would happen."

Later, refugees wolfed down fried chicken, ham and Cokes at the local Chamber of Commerce office while awaiting buses for the four-hour ride into Miami. They talked of the mounting hardships of life under Castro. Vegetables and cereals are virtually nonexistent; the monthly rice ration is 5 Ibs. per person. Russian shoes cost $90 and polo shirts $40, with such clothing considered luxury items in a society where the average salary is $100 a month."They are taking milk away from seven-year-olds," said Ramon Leiva, 33, a Havana Linotypist. Others spoke of greater surveillance, fewer freedoms and just plain boredom. "The repression has increased," noted Landa. "They ask for your ID card everywhere. They're always watching you. People are afraid to talk. There's no spirit."

Why had Castro suddenly permitted the massive sealift? Among other things, he has managed to rid his country of hundreds of dissidents and slightly relieved the demand for food and other goods in an already strapped economy. For much these same reasons he opened Camarioca, 65 miles east of Havana, as a refugee port in October 1965 and invited Cuban Americans to fetch relatives and friends. By the time he closed the port, about a month later, some 3,000 Cubans had exited by that route. That operation paved the way for the "freedom flights," sponsored by Washington, that eventually brought 270,000 Cuban refugees to the U.S.

Presumably, Castro also decided that the evacuation would turn world attention away from the Peruvian embassy fiasco and focus the spotlight instead on Washington's scramble to cope with the flood of refugees. In this, Castro appeared to be successful. "He sure is clever at making his problem our problem," said one White House aide.

For the moment, Washington is genuinely flummoxed about how to stop the flow of refugees. Though the State Department has hinted that some may be deported, especially if the total number of boat people exceeds the 3,500 that the U.S. initially agreed to take from the Peruvian embassy, such a move is considered unlikely. Said Reston: "We are in mid-stride here dealing with something the size of which we don't know." It was a frank admission that Castro's quick-stepping refugee policy caught the Carter Administration somewhat flatfooted.

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