The Real Floridians
FLIC partnered with English students from Florida International University to tell the stories of our beloved communities. These stories were written by them and cherished by all. [April 2025]
Authors: N.C., E.D., J.M., G.P.
As it is understood and recognized in both interpersonal and cultural conversations, Florida would not be what it is without the presence, work ethic, and creative innovation of immigrants. Usually, our state is characterized by cliché symbolism: Mickey Mouse, sunny beaches, tropical colors. Our state also represents a paradox: the citrusy tang of margaritas along the sting of the salt rim, welcoming visitors and residents alike with the prominent but possibly ephemeral taste of paradise. However, the people who have built that paradise have often been forced, not asked, but forced, to leave en masse because “they aren’t allowed here” or “they only bring trouble,” or “they’re stealing real Americans’ jobs.”
These comments, and worse, can be heard around Florida, despite the many contributions made to our state by people born in countries outside the U.S. Those stereotypes also contribute to systemic issues that not only demoralize our many migrant communities but also erase the truth about a city like Miami.
The truth of our “magic city” is that its culture has only been enriched by immigration from Latin America, Asia, the Caribbean, and even non-Native Indigenous groups. Bahamians played a strong role in building the city in the 1880s. Black Americans developed residential, cultural, and business districts. Cubans, Venezuelans, Colombians, as well as many other Latin Americans, contributed to its economic growth and cultural evolution. To suggest that only those descended from Mayflower migrants gave life to this city (and its larger state), or deserve the status of recognition, is not only factually inaccurate, but also purposefully exclusionary.
The many cities and regions of our state are characterized by the trailblazing efforts of migrants who haven’t just supported this country, but also helped it thrive with vibrant and vulnerable color, resilience, and strength. Immigrants have acted as the bedrock for our families, traditions, favorite meals, and cherished presents — bright beacons of undying hope and proof that a chance at a new life is not only possible but wholly worth fighting for. Is that not the “American Dream” in which we all believe earnestly, like gospel, like universal truth, like common sense?
Two of our dearest family members have offered their stories to show examples of the humanity and power in migration experiences. They illustrate that stories of even the most seemingly “ordinary” people can crackle with idiosyncrasy, act as declarations of independence, and assert ways their lives are worthy of attention and autonomy.
Maria
A student at Florida International University (FIU) recorded the migration history of her grandmother, Maria, who was born in Venezuela and migrated to Florida when she was 38. At the time, she faced the difficult choice of leaving her family behind and bringing her children to the U.S. with her. Maria’s motivation to find a better life for her two sons and herself compelled her to move to Florida, rather than stay in Venezuela.
Upon arriving in Florida, Maria experienced profound cultural shock, finding the streets of Miami desolate compared to those of her former home, San Cristobal, which had been filled with children playing on the streets and neighbors sitting down outside for nightly chats.
She recollected: “And when I arrived here, what impressed me was that I didn’t see anyone walking. I didn’t see people talking on their porches. Everything was very closed off.”
Despite the change in atmosphere, she adjusted to life in Florida and began the process of obtaining Legal Permanent Residency (LPR). However, Maria soon came to face severe challenges while obtaining LPR, from consequences due to a divorce, to specific hardships due to being an immigrant woman.
At the beginning of her process, Maria was married to a U.S. citizen. The marriage lasted a short time, and when it came to an end, the divorce resulted in more challenges for Maria. She was suspected of marriage fraud, and her statements were given less credibility than her ex-husband’s. Her migration status weakened her credibility within the very U.S. immigration system in which she was seeking more permanent status. The system favored the testimony of her U.S.-citizen ex-husband.
Despite the difficulties, the suspicions were later proven false. What ensued thereafter further confirmed the power imbalances of a patriarchal system. Her youngest son, who came with her to the U.S., was mistaken as her husband (because he was male) and repeatedly misidentified as the primary party seeking citizenship. This ostensibly simple error confused and delay in the process of naturalization.
Maria explains, “…In this country, I understood what was happening: they would see a man’s name, and here, it seems the head of the family is the man. In my taxes, my husband appears, on mortgages, my husband appears, and everything is headed by the man. When the USCIS officer saw [my son’s name] and Maria, he deduced that they were the couple, and then he started to send my son the appointments.”
Maria’s process was delayed for “3 or 4 years,” due to the appointment confusion (rooted in the misogyny of automatically labeling Maria the “wife” of the family). When she arrived at her appointments, she was rejected because hers wasn’t the primary name on the appointment, and her son (mistakenly given the primary-name position) was a minor. After years of battling over this clerical oversight, Maria was finally able to get the USCIS officer to change her son as the “head of household” and make her the head of household instead, so she could make appointments correctly and proceed with her LPR application.
Since accomplishing this feat, she now has the peace of mind of knowing she is in the country she loves and wants to stay in. She has been able to make a family-based petition for her oldest son, who stayed in Venezuela, hoping he can eventually pursue higher education and aspire to greater opportunities. She also takes opportunities to bring her mother to visit and spend time with family members who have also successfully made the move to Florida.
Juan
Another FIU student recorded the story of her relative Juan’s journey from Venezuela to Florida. Like many Venezuelans exiled from their country in recent years due to violence, lack of employment, and political repression, Juan says he felt desperate and like he had no remaining way to survive or support himself in his homeland. He was excluded from public administration for speaking out against the government and was put on a list called the “Tascón List”, a list of Venezuelans asking for a recall of the president, Luis Tascón.
He says, “They put me on a list… where they entered all my information, and every time I went out to look for a job in the administrative part of the government, I was excluded for having signed against it, for not having been with the regime.”
Juan, who has worked in various industries, decided to leave Venezuela due to the economic situation and the lack of resources to support himself and his family. He had to leave his mother and children behind to fight for his survival.
Juan described his experience in Venezuela as traumatic. He was fired from his position as an engineer, and to make ends meet, he had to work transporting passengers from the airport to different states. One night, he was robbed, beaten, and had his car and belongings stolen. He was held captive for several hours, threatened, and put in a state of psychological terror. He had to file a complaint to recover payment from his car insurance.
After the assault, Juan’s life was a constant torment, worrying constantly that his attackers were going to come back. This moment, along with the economic crisis in Venezuela, led him to finally leave. At the time, he knew his journey would not be easy.
El Darién Gap is the only land connection between South America and Central America. It is notorious for being one of the most dangerous routes to the U.S., since individuals have to cross dense rainforests, swamps, and mountains to pass through it. Although this journey posed countless risks, Juan felt it was the only option he had to escape the life he was living in Venezuela. He was willing to take such a grave risk to get himself to a safer and freer homeplace.
Once embarking on his journey through the Darién Gap, Juan experienced many difficulties. He was robbed, had to sleep on the street in many different countries of Central America, and often went days without eating. There were times when he was so hungry that he resorted to consuming fruits from the rainforest, and he didn’t know if it was safe to eat or not.
There was a moment when he thought he was not going to make it through this journey alive. He had fallen from a mountain and had to be transported to a hospital. He says he felt like his dreams of creating a new life in the U.S. and finally giving his family the life they deserved were almost ripped from him. Although he was lucky enough to survive this journey, many do not.
Juan mentions having seen many dead bodies while in the rainforests of El Darién. There was no telling what the future held for him, as death was always a possibility. Juan’s desire to form a new life in the United States was so strong that it drove him to look past all the struggles he was currently enduring on his journey and keep moving forward.
Juan’s journey from Venezuela to the U.S. was a challenging one, but with faith and determination, he managed to overcome the challenges and successfully applying for TPS.
First-Generation “Floridians”
Our interviewees’ testimonies are proof of the courage that many people from other countries living in Florida embody. As their descendants, we must honor their experiences and continue our lives with that same fervor for self-determination. As first-generation U.S. Americans living in Florida, we (the students who wrote this piece) have privileges that exceed those of our predecessors when they were our age.
Furthermore, we know that these aren’t the first or last of these stories. Our ancestors, our immediate families, and all our neighbors should not be deemed unworthy to be in this country, or be vilified for their languages or skin color. We shouldn’t ignore their voices and histories. We should make space for them, since so many, like Maria and Juan, embody the resilience and richness of spirit our country champions.
Stories like these stand exemplify the “American Dream” and pursuit of happiness the U.S. represents. Through these testimonies, we highlight their humanity and worth. Maria and Juan’s stories show that our city of Miami and our state of Florida consist of many journeys that help cultivate our collective identity.
