4/25/00 2:15 p.m.
A Sad Unity in Little Havana
An eyewitness report.

By John R. Thomson
For 30 years, Mr. Thomson has provided NR readers on-the-scene views of crises in Cambodia, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Somalia.

he thoroughfare closest to the home of Lazaro Gonzalez has two names: 27th Avenue, and Unity Boulevard. In times past, "unity" stood for Cuban exiles' stand against the 40-year siege of their homeland by Fidel Castro and his Communist cohorts. Today, it reflects an amazingly united Greater Miami community, one that is appalled at the assault on civility that took place at 5:14 AM on Holy Saturday in the city's Little Havana neighborhood.

Prior to the storming of the Gonzalez home, a compact, freshly painted one-story white house at 2319 NW Second Street, the Cuban community stood virtually alone in its staunch support for Elian staying in the United States under the care of his great-uncle. Like most of the rest of America, non-Cuban Miami residents considered the issue to be just another protracted spasm within the Cuban exile community. The pre-dawn INS raid on Holy Saturday changed all that.

All day and night Saturday, and again on Sunday, the streets were filled with cars whose riders honked horns and waved flags tirelessly. True, the vast majority of banners were Cuban, but the flags of Mexico, Colombia, Honduras, Venezuela, and Brazil fluttered by frequently. As the processions paused for stoplights, a broad mix of Spanish accents and lyrical Brazilian Portuguese filled the air.

In neighborhoods far from Little Havana, groups of citizens stood shoulder-to-shoulder throughout the weekend ... with more community spirit and genuinely friendly exchange than this very mixed and ethnically divided town has seen in years. Signs like "Anglos for Elian" and "Wake Up America: We R Next" dotted crowds in Coconut Grove yuppieland and tiny, tony Key Biscayne.

The horror of jack-booted, gun-toting troops storming into a defenseless domicile had suddenly unified a community that was formerly as diffuse and mutually distrusting as any in the nation.

Television coverage over the weekend and Monday reported scarcely a word about the coming together of the community. Rather than noting the comity of the citizenry, they mentioned repeatedly that the police had made more than 270 arrests — suggesting a huge disruption of the peace, when in fact none existed.

Cameras and microphones focused on the flag waving, slowly-moving caravans, picking up the cacophony of thousands of horns. There was the clear inference that uncontrolled chaos reigned in the streets. In fact, the din underscored the popular determination to respect law and order, all the while blaring out the sense of pain and betrayal over the shocking event of a few hours earlier. (More dangerous by far were the caravans of 20 squad cars and riot buses that periodically swept at high speeds through the area, sirens wailing as if on their way to a full-blown emergency rather than a coffee break.)

I have not, of course, seen every news item in recent days, but no one I know has heard it commented on that the flags of no less than 12 countries are flying outside the humble house that has been Elian Gonzalez's home for the past five months.

Monday evening, with some 50 people milling around in the cool midnight calm outside the residence, I reflected on what this might mean, culturally and politically. Three TV crews had just given live wrap-ups for the late news, essentially saying there was calm in the streets and repeating anodyne comments by county mayor Alex Pinelas asking residents to stay home during Tuesday's planned mass work stoppage.

Is it possible that out of this unimaginable tragedy the people of Miami — Hispanic, black, Anglo, Christian, Jew — would identify their fundamental commonalities, the joint concerns that transcend cultural distinctions?

As people of several different backgrounds milled around me, I wanted to believe that the powerful full-page ad in Sunday's Miami Herald by a leading Jewish citizen was more than a lone expression of understanding and support. Instead, I hoped, it could just possibly be the beginning of a major shift of ethnic sentiments from hostile to tolerant. That led to the thought that envy by so many other Latinos, Anglos and blacks, of the long-running Cuban success story could be overtaken by an awareness that the community must stand together, for the common good and against uncommon threats.

If Miami could conceivably reconstitute itself, how about the country? Could it be that the sharp swing in the Internet's "Vote.com" poll actually represents the popular sentiment, despite its non-scientific sampling? Putting aside the lack of pristine precision, some 60% of those voting in the cyber-poll were saying the way Elian was joined with papa Juan Miguel was wrong, in contrast to the same percentage in Friday's press reports who said they thought the boy should be with his father.

It is, of course, too early to tell. We only know that, once again, the Clinton administration has refused to stand on the side of due process of the law, in this case as unanimously adjudicated by three judges of the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals.

Will the rage pass and the unprecedented seizure of a defenseless child by force be forgotten? Prior to full brainwashing at the INS-guarded cottage at Andrews Air Force Base, will Elian's Miami family be allowed to visit with him? Will the courts be given a chance to hear the case, before young Elian is sent for re-programming at the Cuban Communist Youth League's villa with a dozen other Potemkinized six year-olds, with psychiatrists and other "teachers" outnumbering the "students" two to one?

Ultimately, will the American media give the story the fair play it deserves, and ask the probing questions? As I stood in the midnight glow of the local TV crews' lights outside Elian Gonzalez' Miami home, three images — all of them yellow — caught my attention. Hanging from the front of the house was a large sign hand-lettered on yellow vinyl: "Thanks to God, family and friends for my freedom. Elian." Draped over a portion of the cyclone fence that surrounds the property was the defiant early American banner with the coiled snake and legend "Don't Tread On Me" on a yellow field. And there, at the far end of the side-lawn, alone in the shadows, stood the bright yellow slide the media had memorialized almost daily as Elian's foremost diversion.

Individually, each of those images was inspiring. As I walked back to my car and reflected on them together, however, I felt a rush of sadness and a sense the country is witnessing a very yellow, if not dark, night of the soul.