For Leymi Reyes Figueredo, the American dream was always about family. After three years of longing, she decorated a room in her Miami home with teddy bears and a small Statue of Liberty, imagining the day her teenage daughter would finally arrive from Cuba. But in August 2025, that hope was dashed. A U.S. embassy official in Havana handed her daughter a single sheet of paper bearing the crushing words: visa denied. The reason? President Donald Trump’s travel ban, a sweeping executive order that has left thousands of Cuban families separated and adrift in a bureaucratic limbo.
This policy, signed as a Presidential Proclamation in June 2025, abruptly halted family reunification processes and suspended a wide range of visa categories for Cubans—including tourist, business, study, and exchange visas (B1, B2, F, M, and J). Only parents, spouses, and minor children of U.S. citizens are exempt. For everyone else, the door has slammed shut, often after years of waiting and following every legal step. According to The Washington Post, the impact on the Cuban-American community, especially in South Florida, has been nothing short of devastating.
Mothers like Lianet Llanes have found their dreams postponed indefinitely. "It's like being doused with a bucket of cold, dirty water," she told Telemundo 51, describing the moment she learned her daughter’s case was suspended. This sense of frustration is echoed in thousands of households across the United States, where approved applications and pending interviews have been rendered meaningless by an executive order that, in practice, toys with the most basic human emotions.
For Leymi Reyes Figueredo, the rationale behind the policy is baffling. "I understand why it is necessary to protect the country," she told The Washington Post. "But how can a child be a terrorist?" Her daughter, just 15 years old, remains in Cuba, enduring blackouts, shortages, and loneliness while her mother waits, powerless, on the other side of the Florida Straits. The State Department has justified the measure by citing Cuba’s lack of cooperation on security and repatriations, but for those affected, the reasoning rings hollow.
On August 31, 2025, dozens of Cubans gathered at the Versailles restaurant in Miami—a symbolic center of Cuban exile—to demand an end to the travel ban. "This is not about politics, but about separated families who only ask to be together," said one demonstrator, as reported by The Washington Post. Protesters, dressed in white as a symbol of hope, held up signs and photos of loved ones left behind. William Suárez González was among them, holding a sign featuring his wife and stepdaughter, who were also denied visas. He pointed out the irony to The Washington Post: "The wife of Mr. Trump is an immigrant. I don’t understand what the problem is with immigrants trying to enter the country legally."
The ban has also deepened divisions within the Cuban-American community—a group that played a pivotal role in Trump’s 2024 Florida victory. According to The Washington Post, Cuban Americans were the only major Hispanic demographic to support Trump’s re-election with such enthusiasm. Many believed his administration would champion legal immigration from Cuba. Arely Díaz Leal, a Tampa resident and longtime Trump supporter, has been waiting nearly a decade to bring her adult son from the island. "I love Trump," she confessed to The Washington Post. "But I don't think it’s fair." Her words capture the sense of betrayal felt by many who now find themselves at odds with the very administration they helped elect.
Despite their disappointment, many Cuban Americans have been hesitant to take legal action against Trump’s policy. Attorney Curtis Morrison, who filed a lawsuit on behalf of affected families, told The Washington Post that participation was unexpectedly low. "I expected a lot of Cubans to participate in this lawsuit. At the end of the day, they were just: ‘No, we don’t want to sue Trump.’" Instead, the community has largely turned to peaceful protest and public appeals, hoping to sway the administration through shows of unity and compassion. As William Suárez González explained, "We did it in good faith, hoping it softens Donald Trump’s heart."
However, the consequences of the ban extend beyond denied visas. According to The Washington Post, Trump’s order also ended the preferential treatment that had long been afforded to Cuban immigrants. As a result, approximately 110,000 Cubans in the U.S. now face the prospect of being sent back to Cuba—a stark reversal of decades of U.S. policy that once welcomed those fleeing the island’s communist regime. Immigration lawyer Willy Allen, speaking to CiberCuba, described the ban as "a political punishment that has nothing to do with national security." The Trump administration’s enforcement approach, he argued, makes no distinction between Cuban, Mexican, Venezuelan, or Guatemalan immigrants; all are subject to the same harsh scrutiny and restrictions.
Inside Cuban households, migration policy is not an abstract debate—it’s a daily reality. Lauren Hernández Reyes, Leymi’s daughter, writes to her mother from a darkened room in Havana, her words heavy with longing: "I feel lonely. I miss your company." Another mother, Liudmila Gutiérrez Fundora, fears her 10-year-old daughter will also be denied a visa. "She hasn't had her interview yet, but I am certain they will deny it," she said through tears. She and her husband, both teachers in Broward County, had hoped that years of sacrifice would finally bring their family together. Now, only uncertainty remains.
Recent protests in Miami, organized by groups like Residents and United Citizens, have focused on a specific demand: to remove families from the scope of the travel ban. "We want to highlight a specific request: to remove families from the Travel Ban," spokesperson Edisleidys Martínez Álvarez told Diario de las Américas. Yet despite these efforts, the policy remains in place, and the rooms decorated for absent children remain heartbreakingly empty.
The "American Dream," once a beacon of hope for Cuban families, now feels more like a wall. Children learn English without knowing if they’ll ever use it, parents grow older waiting for reunions that may never come, and grandparents fear they’ll die without meeting their grandchildren. Months after the ban’s enactment, the drama continues to unfold—families are still caught between political promises, suspended processes, and the unyielding distance of international borders.
In the heat of Little Havana, as the chants of peaceful protesters echo through the streets, one truth is clear: the longing to be together is stronger than any policy. For now, though, that longing remains unfulfilled, a silent testament to the cost of division and the power of hope.
