For decades, Cuban immigrants have played a unique and sometimes paradoxical role in the political landscape of the United States. Miami, once the undisputed stronghold of Cuban exile conservatism, became synonymous with fierce opposition to Fidel Castro’s communist regime. For many, arriving in the U.S.—often by boat, sometimes risking their lives—was not only a ticket to safety but also a badge of honor, a symbol of defiance and hope. As Reuters and Granma have reported, the Cuban-American community’s influence has been both visible and powerful, especially in the swing state of Florida.
But in 2025, the tides have shifted in ways few could have predicted. The narrative that once cast Cubans as exceptional among Latino immigrants has given way to a harsher reality. Since Donald Trump began his second presidential term in January, the treatment of Cubans arriving in the United States has changed dramatically. No longer are they granted a “free pass” to legal residency and economic opportunity. Instead, many now face the same obstacles as other migrants—arrests, deportations, and the denial of political asylum. For those newly arrived from the island, the American dream has become fraught with uncertainty and fear. According to Granma, “Since Trump’s return to power, those arriving from the island have not been exempt from deportations, self-deportations, the denial of political asylum, confinement in detention centers, as well as fear of what might happen to them when they go to work or school, or when they enter or leave the country.”
The United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), the agency responsible for processing immigration applications, has reportedly ramped up its scrutiny of applicants. In a move that many Cuban-Americans find chillingly reminiscent of the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR) in Cuba, USCIS is said to be canvassing coworkers and neighbors to determine eligibility for citizenship. The comparison is not lost on those who remember the surveillance and suspicion that characterized daily life under Castro. As one observer noted, “USCIS goes around asking coworkers and neighbors whether someone is eligible for U.S. citizenship or not, in the style of the Cuban Committees for the Defense of the Revolution.”
It’s a striking turn of events, especially considering the political loyalty Cuban-Americans have shown to the Republican Party. In the 2024 presidential election, an estimated 68% of Cuban-Americans in Florida cast their ballots for Trump, according to Granma. The Republican Party’s recruitment of Cuban exiles has long been a cornerstone of its strategy in Florida, a state where the Cuban vote can tip the scales. Yet, despite this support, the Trump administration’s approach has left many feeling betrayed and vulnerable.
At the heart of this shift is a broader crackdown on immigration and a hardening of U.S. policy toward Cuba. Under the direction of Secretary of State Marco Rubio—a Cuban-American and former Florida senator—the administration has enacted a series of measures aimed at pressuring Havana. These actions, while partly intended to shore up support among Cuban voters, have not translated into meaningful efforts to topple the Cuban government. Unlike the case of Venezuela, where the White House has offered millions of dollars for the arrest of Nicolás Maduro, Cuba’s leadership remains largely unchallenged by direct U.S. intervention. As Reuters reports, “Trump isn’t offering millions of dollars for Miguel Díaz-Canel’s arrest (as he is for Nicolás Maduro), nor has he managed to satisfy the long-standing desire to overthrow the dictatorship.”
Meanwhile, the Trump administration’s policies have drawn criticism for echoing some of the very tactics employed by the Castro regime. There are pointed comparisons between Trump’s rhetoric and actions—particularly his attacks on the LGBTQ+ community and suppression of dissent—and the repressive measures that defined Cuba in the 1960s. One commentator observed, “The American government attacks the LGBTQ+ community… just like the Cuban government did in the 1960s.” The sense of déjà vu is palpable among those who fled Cuba seeking freedom from authoritarianism, only to confront similar anxieties in their adopted homeland.
On the international stage, tensions between Washington and Havana have reached a fever pitch. On September 18, 2025, Cuban Foreign Minister Bruno Rodriguez delivered a forceful appeal to the United Nations, urging the global body to prevent the United States from escalating military actions in the Caribbean. Speaking in Havana, Rodriguez lambasted the U.S. military buildup targeting drug cartels as a “crude and ridiculous pretext” for aggression. He accused the United States of being the principal hub for laundering drug money and condemned recent American actions against Venezuela—Cuba’s closest ally—including the sinking of boats and the killing of civilians. According to Rodriguez, these actions “threatened regional peace and security.”
Rodriguez’s remarks come against a backdrop of deepening economic crisis in Cuba, which he attributes directly to U.S. policy. Since returning to office, President Trump has not only tightened sanctions but also restored Cuba to the U.S. list of state sponsors of terrorism. The administration has cracked down on foreign nationals working with Cuban doctors and threatened to revoke U.S. visas from Caribbean leaders such as Ralph Gonsalves of St. Vincent and Mia Mottley of Barbados. For 32 years, the United Nations General Assembly has passed non-binding resolutions urging the U.S. to lift its embargo on Cuba. This year’s campaign, Rodriguez noted, takes place “in a world marked by more unilateralism and harsher U.S. policies.”
The impact on everyday Cubans has been devastating. The island is grappling with severe shortages of basic goods, collapsing infrastructure, and runaway inflation. Rodriguez did not mince words, linking the country’s deepening economic woes to Washington’s actions. “These measures are responsible for Cuba’s deep economic crisis, with severe shortages, collapsing infrastructure, and runaway inflation,” he stated, as reported by Granma and the UN.
Back in Florida, the Cuban-American community finds itself in a precarious position. Many are caught between loyalty to a party that once championed their cause and the reality of policies that now undermine their sense of security. The political calculus is complicated by the enduring desire among exiles to see meaningful change in Cuba—a goal that remains elusive despite decades of activism and U.S. pressure.
As the situation continues to evolve, both in the streets of Miami and the halls of the United Nations, one thing is clear: the fate of Cuban immigrants and the future of U.S.-Cuba relations remain tightly intertwined, shaped by history, politics, and the ever-shifting winds of international diplomacy.
