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Leymi Reyes Figueredo dreamed for three years of being able to embrace her daughter again. In her home in Miami, she decorated a room with teddy bears and a small Statue of Liberty, symbolizing the future she envisioned for the teenager she left behind in Cuba. But that dream came to an abrupt end one August morning, when a U.S. embassy official in Havana handed her daughter a piece of paper bearing a word that feels like a sentence: visa denied.
The reason, as documented by The Washington Post, was the travel ban imposed by President Donald Trump, an executive order that restricts the entry of Cubans into the United States under the pretext of protecting the country from terrorist threats. In practice, this measure has shattered the plans of thousands of families and reignited an old wound in the Cuban community: separation as an imposed fate.
A policy that freezes hugs
Several months have passed since the signing of the Presidential Proclamation, which last June halted family reunification processes initiated by legal Cuban residents and suspended multiple visa categories. In the Cuban-American community, especially in South Florida, the impact has been devastating.
Mothers like Lianet Llanes, interviewed by Telemundo 51, have witnessed how their hopes turn into frustration. “It's like being doused with a bucket of cold, dirty water”, she said upon learning that her daughter's case was suspended.
Its story echoes in thousands of households, with approved applications, pending consular interviews, and a bureaucratic wall that rises just when the reunion seemed near.
The proclamation suspends tourist, business, study, and exchange visas (B1, B2, F, M, and J), as well as several family categories that do not qualify as “immediate” for U.S. citizens. The only exceptions are limited to parents, spouses, and minor children of U.S. citizens.
The result is entire families trapped in a migratory limbo, where the law seems to toy with the most basic emotions.
"How can a child be a terrorist?"
“ I understand why it is necessary to protect the country,” said Leymi Reyes Figueredo to the Washington Post. “But how can a child be a terrorist?” Her daughter, only 15 years old, was supposed to reunite with her this summer. Instead, she remains in Cuba, enduring blackouts, shortages, and loneliness.
The story of Reyes Figueredo embodies the paradox of a policy that claims to defend national security but hits hardest at families who have followed all the legal channels to emigrate. The State Department itself justified the measure, citing the lack of cooperation from the Cuban government regarding security and repatriations.
"This is not about politics, but about separated families who only ask to be together", said one of the attendees at a demonstration held on August 31 at the Versailles restaurant in Miami, where dozens of Cubans demanded an end to the Travel Ban.
A divided exile
The ban has also caused a rift within the Cuban-American community. According to The Washington Post, many of the new exiles feel betrayed by an administration that promised to prioritize legal immigration from Cuba.
Arely Díaz Leal, a resident of Tampa, voted for Trump, convinced that he would promote family reunification. Today, she has been waiting for nearly a decade to bring her adult son from the island. “I love Trump,” she confessed to the American newspaper. “But I don't think it’s fair.”
This contradiction reflects the dilemma of a community that has historically been allied with the Republican Party, but is now torn apart by policies that penalize its own. Recent protests in Miami, organized by the group Residents and United Citizens, have aimed to pressure the White House to exclude family categories from the scope of the veto.
“We want to highlight a specific request: to remove families from the Travel Ban,” said spokesperson Edisleidys Martínez Álvarez to Diario de las Américas.
Children growing up without hugs
In Cuban households, migration policy has a face and a voice. Lauren Hernández Reyes, Leymi's daughter, writes to her mother from a dark room, amid blackouts and shortages. “I feel lonely. I miss your company”, she confessed in an interview.
Another mother, Liudmila Gutiérrez Fundora, fears that her 10-year-old daughter will also be unable to obtain a visa. “She hasn't had her interview yet, but I am certain they will deny it”, she said in tears.
She and her husband, teachers residing in Broward County, had hoped that years of sacrifice would reunite the family. Now, only uncertainty remains.
In the words of immigration lawyer Willy Allen, consulted by CiberCuba, the ban represents “a political punishment that has nothing to do with national security”.
A dream that fades away
The "American Dream," which once represented a promise of prosperity for Cubans, is transforming once again into a wall. In Miami, the protests are peaceful, with signs calling for respect and protesters dressed in white as a symbol of hope. But behind every slogan lies a story suspended in time: children learning English without knowing if they will ever use it, parents growing older while waiting to embrace their children, and grandparents fearing they will die without ever meeting their grandchildren.
In the heart of Little Havana, under the August heat, William Suárez González held up a sign featuring a photo of his wife and stepdaughter, who were also denied a visa.
"The wife of Mr. Trump is an immigrant. I don’t understand what the problem is with immigrants trying to enter the country legally," she said to the Washington Post.
Months after the ban, the drama continues to unfold. Cuban families remain trapped between political promises, halted processes, and distance. Meanwhile, the rooms decorated for absent children remain empty, symbolizing a country divided by borders but united by the same longing, which is to be together again.
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