Alarmed by a slumping economy and the ever-present menace of kidnapping, Colombia’s best and brightest are leaving in droves. Some have settled in Spain and nearby Latin American countries, but nowhere is the exodus quite as visible as in Miami. The city’s 70,000 Colombians recently overtook Nicaraguans as the largest immigrant community after Cubans. Legions of professionals are moving into affluent suburbs. Membership in the Colombian American Chamber of Commerce has doubled in just the past 18 months. The big winner from the brain drain is south Florida. “Colombians are basically subsidizing Miami,” says political scientist Eduardo Gamarra.
Last year’s U.S. census counted 470,000 residents of Colombian origin nationwide, but some experts put the figure closer to 600,000. The first significant wave of immigration dates back to the 1950s, when a brutal civil war forced tens of thousands to flee. Their ranks were bolstered in the 1980s by Colombians escaping the lawlessness associated with the rise of major drug cartels. But most of those earlier migrants bypassed Florida in favor of New York and New Jersey. Relatively few brought with them the First World-caliber education and experience of their recently arrived countrymen.
The new immigrants are leaving their mark on south Florida. In the exclusive beachfront enclave of Key Biscayne, the local Haagen-Dazs ice-cream outlet offers Postobon fruit-flavored soft drinks and figs smothered in a caramel-flavored syrup called arequipe. At the Monserrate Restaurant in the heart of Miami’s Little Havana district, diners can wash down a bowl of sancocho stew with Colombiana soda. And Colombia’s recent triumph in the Copa America soccer tournament brought hundreds of jubilant residents into the streets of suburban West Kendall, host to Florida’s largest concentration of Colombians.
Not all transplants can be classified as refugees. Miami’s unofficial reputation as Latin America’s economic and showbiz capital has lured celebrities like pop diva Shakira and actress Sofia Vergara. And some drug traffickers are trying to blend in with their law-abiding countrymen to escape detection by authorities.
But many more are escaping the anarchy of a land where eight people are kidnapped and nearly 100 are murdered on average every single day. Abel Meza Montoya was beaten up and left for dead by men identifying themselves as supporters of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia after the pool-hall owner refused to pay them protection money in April. The 55-year-old father of six ignored their warnings at first, but in June Meza finally fled the country with his youngest daughter.
The plight of such ordinary folks has inspired a two-year campaign to legalize an estimated 95,000 Colombians living illegally in America. Community leaders argue that these Colombians fear for their lives back home and should qualify for temporary protected status, a short-term reprieve from deportation. Clinton-administration officials brushed aside those pleas. But activists have enlisted the support of nearly 40 U.S. politicians in their continuing effort to buy some time for their countrymen. “There is a war being waged against civilians in Colombia financed by the sale of illicit drugs,” says Juan Carlos Zapata of the Miami-based Colombian American Service Association. “As the world’s biggest consumer of narcotics, the United States has a moral obligation to grant this relief.”
The Bush administration has yet to take a public stance, and even advocates admit they face an uphill battle. That reflects, in part, the lack of political clout wielded by south Florida’s fastest-growing Latino community. Having left their country because of politics, many Colombians show little inclination to challenge the Cuban stranglehold on power in Miami. “People who come here are low profile,” explains Isaac Lee, former editor of the respected news magazine Semana, who moved to Miami last year. “They want to live peacefully.” And for these Colombians and thousands more clamoring to follow in their footsteps, Miami is the best alternative to a country that no longer offers security or hope.
