A note from a grateful immigrant on this 4th of July
Cuban dissidents are rounded up, again, and a young mother is arrested for shouting "libertad." Reminders that as imperfect as things are here they're better than they are there—and elsewhere.
Sourced from Spanish reporting by 14ymedio, The regime impedes invitees from attending 4th of July party at the U.S. embassy and “¡Libertad!”: the scream that imprisoned a Cuban mother in Guanabacoa
2 de julio 2025
Hola y welcome back to CubaCurious.
Each July 4th I find myself thinking about the string of lucky breaks and tough decisions that got me here, that allow me the privilege of calling this country my home.
We lucked out. We were Cubans opposed to Castro and seeking freedom, which, in 1967, put us on the right side of the Cold War and U.S. immigration policy. We were seen as political refugees by the most powerful country on earth. That liberal democratic government not only welcomed us, it sent planes to pluck us out of a totalitarian world. This year is the 60th anniversary of those flights, LBJ’s Freedom Flights, the largest refugee airlift in U.S. history.
Then, adding to my personal luck, the elders in my family identified the problem that was suffocating them: a ruthless military dictatorship that had lied its way to power. Then, they found a solution: get the hell out of there. Then, they found a way to do it: abandon one part of the family to save another, us, the younger generation. Yes, they’d have to give the revolution the little material wealth they had. That was the price of leaving. Nothing of value, other than a suitcase with a change of clothes for each of us could be taken out of Cuba.
They left even our family photos behind, fearing the guards would take them during the interrogations at the airport. My mother handed a box of photos to our neighbor, Neri, just before we were kicked out of our house. She hoped one day to come back for them. She knew Neri would hold on to them until then.
More luck. Despite the remote corner of the U.S. we settled in, we were mostly welcomed in New Hampshire. Our family healed, worked, and, eventually, thrived. Gradually, we began to feel American-ish. Eventually, we realized we’d created a new identity, one that fulflilled the unwritten promise in our new country’s name. We’d become Cuban American.
No one on our street celebrated the 4th of July more boisterously than our family of appreciative immigrants. The flags flew, the cakes were festooned with sugary red white and blue ribbons, sparklers crackled everywhere. We lined up our chairs in a prime spot each year at Holman Stadium for the fireworks. We got immigrant goosebumps, which—one day a scientist will help me prove it—are bigger and goose bumpier than the ones on native-born American arms.
Scrounging through the muck of Cuba news every day shows me exactly what my life would have been like had the stars not aligned and my family’s courage not prevailed. This week offered plenty of unfortunate examples.
The regime targeted the most peaceful and effective dissidents in Havana and the provinces to prevent them from attending 4th of July party at the U.S. embassy in Cuba. Political police and State Security agents detained, threatened, or held under house arrest opposition leaders, indie reporters, and long-harassed activists and intellectuals.
Their lives are on hold. The regime wants to know exactly where they are today, tomorrow and, especially on Friday. They must stay put and quiet—and as far as possible from the Independence Day party that Mike Hammer, the head of mission at the U.S. embassy in Havana, invited them to attend.
"I tried to go out, I was going to lunch, but a State Security agent intercepted me and told me I couldn't leave," independent journalist Reinaldo Escobar told 14ymedio. “How would Cuba’s friends in Washington react if the FBI stopped them from attending the annual July 26th [revolution’s big day] party at the Cuban embassy?”
Neighbors alerted Lady in White member María Cristina Labrada that agents were stationed around the corner from her home in the Santo Suárez neighborhood of Havana. “They always, even though they are afraid, have my back . . .” the activist said about her loyal neighbors.
Ex political prisoner Ángel Moya told 14ymedio, “one of the operatives, a man identifying himself as an official of State Security, stopped me on the street and told me I couldn’t visit [the home of another activist] and ordered me to return home.”
That’s just where Sunamis Quintero García was when she was arrested Sunday evening. Quintero García is the mother of two children, an infant and a five-year-old. According to eyewitnesses, she was on her porch Sunday night in Guanabacoa, watching a protest in the street over yet another power outage and lack of water. As police—with their sirens shut off—arrived Quintero García shouted “Libertad” and “!Viva Cuba Libre!”
“And immediately three agents were on her,” her mother Moraima García said in a video denouncing the arrest. According to García, her daughter was taken to two different prisons before being taken to Villa Marista, the feared headquarters of Cuba’s State Security. No one has heard directly from Quintero García since.
"My daughter had never spoken out before. She is depressed, with two children and no food. She screamed because she couldn't take it anymore," García explained.
Quintero García’s family says authorities are planning to prosecute her as a leader of the protest. The family believes it’s a political maneuver, a way to use her as a cautionary example to keep even bystanders silent.
“My daughter is treated like a criminal, like a dangerous leader, and the only thing she did was not shut up,” her mother said.
The dozen or so citizens arrested in Guanabacoa that night, including an entire family of two parents and three adult children, have not been heard from since their arrests.
They’re living under the boot, under a dictatorship that criminalizes any form of discontent or dissent. There is no legal order, no respect for constitutional rights, no due process. No independent press or judicial system. The regime’s primary objective, where it puts its money, fuel, and so many problem-solving skills, is simple. Silence any and every voice raised in protest, as a young mother found out Sunday night.
A whole bunch of lucky breaks and brave relatives saved me from that fate and got me to these very imperfect—but still free—United States of America.
So I can’t be anything but profoundly grateful this 4th of July, despite the epic mess we find ourselves in as a country. I refuse to lose faith in Americans or America.
We are still here. America is still here.
Wishing you and your loved ones a festive, hopeful, and safe 4th of July.
Hasta la semana que viene,
Ana
Cuban Treat of the Week
The spirit of freedom is loud and gorgeous in this very old song by Pío Leyva. “Que no Muera la Rumba” (May the Rumba Never Die). Listen for the conga, the guiro, the Cuban joy.
😢 Ana, we are so glad that you are here.🩷🇺🇸