are a greedy, corrupt businessman who is apparently trying to curry favor with me, everyone will know. If a politician is taking $10,000 from a greedy, corrupt businessman, one can certainly choose not to vote for him or her. On the flip side, if limited to a $500 contribution, that same greedy, corrupt businessman will bundle checks totaling $10,000 from lawyers, accountants, doctors, friends, and family. And no one can really ever track the money with any degree of certainty.
In 1991, I started my law firm and continued to raise money for candidates, one of them being Bill Nelson, the current senator from Florida. During his 1994 campaign for state insurance commissioner (which he won), our firm was his largest fundraiser. Through Senator Nelson’s campaign, we were able to connect with a statewide network of fundraisers in a state known as a significant source of campaign contributions for national candidates.
Campaigning and fundraising are an important part of my political history, but there is a third area that is just as important: becoming involved in local community-based organizations devoted to various important social issues. I served on the board of several of these organizations active in assisting members of the Cuban American community. My participation in these organizations was driven not by political but by personal considerations. For example, I served as a member of the board of the Little Havana Activities and Nutrition Center. This organization is committed to Miami’s elderly and now feeds over 20,000 seniors daily in its meals program. I joined the group because I saw that my grandparents were starting to age and had special needs. Thus, I recognized the importance of such programs for elderly Cuban Americans.
Now flash forward to my term as mayor. These same programs were substantially cut when President George W. Bush tried to eliminate Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) funding. A portion of the funding for these elderly feeding programs came from CDBG. Understand that for many of the seniors participating in these programs, this was their only hot meal of the day. In fact, most of them take some kind of bag with them and if they don’t eat their two pieces of bread, they will take one home. They will have that piece of bread at night, with a café con leche. It’s an essential and humane program.
When I funded my poverty initiative as mayor, I set aside a portion of these funds every year to fill the gap created by the federal cuts to CDBG. While we could not keep up with the increasing demand for this service, we could at least maintain the levels that existed before the cuts. Many politicians at the federal level will use seniors, children, and other groups as pawns in a greater political game, rarely understanding the effects of their decisions because, unlike a mayor, they don’t have to look into the eyes of their constituents on a daily basis. Ironically, while running for office, every politician visits senior centers in search of votes, making promises they don’t intend to keep. The seniors smile and often vote for these politicians, not realizing they are being used: very sad. Whereas Beltway dwellers can cut funding for these groups, I had to figure out how to replace the funds because the need is real and very much a part of life for many in Miami, just as it is in other cities in America.
I also served on the Board of Youth Co-Op, a local program targeted at Hispanic youth. As a product of CETA, I understood that with a push, you could provide someone like me the ability and the opportunity to get where I am today. Youth Co-op for me was about making sure that we continued to do that in Miami by providing summer jobs for Hispanic youth in poverty. Youth Co-op is still in operation, and it continues to grow. As mayor, I announced my first antipoverty program at Youth Co-op.
Of course, it should go without saying that part of my involvement with these groups was to make sure that there were opportunities for Cuban Americans in Miami, both from a political perspective and from a needs basis. At the time, ethnic divisions were apparent in Miami. Cuban Americans were a fairly substantial number in a city and county whose total population wasn’t that large to begin with. Compare New York City, with eight million people; if 100,000 people become new residents, it doesn’t have as large an impact as it does in a city like Miami with a population of just over 400,000. Obviously, there were going to be natural tensions with the white or Anglo community and with the African American community: immigrants are coming in, taking our jobs; “they don’t speak our language,” have storefront signs in Spanish, speak Spanish in elevators.
These tensions were brewing long before 1980. I thought that it was important for me to play a role in helping to ease them. I’m an American, raised here. I speak English. I’m on my way to law school. But at the same time, I am Cuban American and I understand what is happening in my community. I became involved with different ethnic and social community organizations throughout Miami, trying to understand what made us different, and more importantly what we shared in common.
WHEN I ENTERED law school in 1977, I did my best to curtail my political and community activities. My goal was to focus on law school, earn good grades, pass the bar exam, and start my profession. “I don’t want political jobs anymore,” I thought. Then 1980, the year I graduated, would become one of the most difficult years in Miami’s history. In the course of one year, Miami experienced the Mariel and Haitian boatlifts, and the Liberty City riots. We would become the riot capital of America. And then, in the midst of all this tension, a group in Miami used the referendum process to place an “Anti-Bilingual Ordinance” on the ballot. This was a first-of-its-kind “English-only” ordinance that would prohibit use of government funds to translate official documents.
Eduardo Padrón, now president of Miami Dade College, was chair of SALAD, the Spanish American League Against Discrimination. SALAD had been formed in 1974 as a civil rights advocacy organization for the Spanish American community in Miami. Padron asked me to serve as executive director of the organization. I was hesitant to accept his offer. My plan was to graduate, pass the bar, and begin practicing law. I certainly did not want this to be my first job out of law school. But with all that was going on, and knowing I could help close the divide between our different communities, I accepted Eduardo’s plea. I became the chief spokesperson against the anti-bilingual ordinance, taking part in multiple debates and making numerous public and media appearances. Regrettably, the campaign became very bigoted. It became a legitimate way to expose the hatred people wanted to express. In the context of campaigning, people seem to find it much easier to say things they would not ordinarily dare say.
The ordinance essentially called for making English the county’s official language. I am not sure this was necessary because (a) the county does not need an official language and (b) no one was suggesting another official language other than English. During the debates, the underlying intent of the proponents became increasingly clear.
“We don’t think ballots should be in a language other than English.”
But that is mandated by the Civil Rights Act, I would reply. The ordinance would not change that.
“Well, we don’t think there should be bilingual education in schools.”
That’s mandated by federal law as well. The ordinance would not change that either.
“Well,” they would continue, “we don’t think that people should—when I walk into a store, the clerk shouldn’t be speaking Spanish to people next to him. People walking down streets or in elevators should speak only English. Signs in stores should only be in English.”
Of course, none of this would be affected by the ordinance. You cannot legislate customer service or against rudeness. But when I pointed this out to people, they would respond: “I don’t care. I want to send you people a message.”
In fact, the only government-related function affected by the ordinance was Miami-Dade’s Office of Latin Affairs, a small office with a single staffer that received nominal funding (similar offices had been established for blacks and women). The ordinance itself, however,
