Flagler y la 12: A Symbol of Cuban Exile in Miami
In the heart of Miami, a historic intersection known as Flagler y la 12 (Flagler and 12th Avenue) stands as a testament to the cultural identity and resilience of Cuban exiles who arrived in the United States during the 1960s. For many of us who came from Cuba during those turbulent years, this intersection became much more than a street corner—it was the pulse of Cuban life in exile. It was a place where Cuban culture thrived, where businesses and communities flourished, and where the hope of starting anew intertwined with the nostalgia for a homeland left behind.
The Historical Significance of the Intersection
The intersection of Flagler and 12th Avenue, often simply referred to as Flagler y la 12, holds deep historical significance not just for Cubans but also for Miami itself. Flagler Street is named after Henry Flagler, a prominent American businessman who played a crucial role in the development of Florida's infrastructure. Flagler was responsible for building the Florida East Coast Railway, which connected much of the state and laid the groundwork for Miami’s eventual rise as a key urban hub. His legacy is entwined with the city’s growth, making Flagler Street a symbol of the region’s expansion.
However, for many Cubans, this intersection became emblematic of their journey and struggle in exile. When the Cuban Revolution forced many to leave their homeland in the early 1960s, Miami became a beacon for Cuban immigrants. Flagler y la 12 was one of the key locations where this wave of migration found a home—businesses catering to Cuban tastes, restaurants, tiendas, and social gathering spots sprang up, creating a vibrant community that maintained a strong connection to Cuban roots.
The Role of Flagler y la 12 in Cuban Exile Life
In the 1960s and 70s, this intersection was where the heart of Cuban culture in exile beat. It wasn’t just a place to buy a Cuban sandwich or catch up with fellow exiles; it was a space for shared experiences and collective memory. Businesses flourished, offering authentic Cuban food, music, and goods, while the language of Cuba—Spanish—was heard in almost every corner. Flagler y la 12 became an unofficial meeting point for Cubans, a place where the bitterness of exile was softened by the warmth of community. It was also the site of many protests, celebrations, and moments of solidarity with the struggle for a free Cuba.
The Scarface Connection
Flagler y la 12 also found its way into the pop culture lexicon through Brian de Palma’s iconic 1983 film Scarface, starring Al Pacino as the infamous Tony Montana. The film, which has since become a cult classic, tells the story of a Cuban immigrant who rises to power in the drug trade in Miami. One of the most memorable scenes in the movie takes place at a Cuban sandwich shop, where Steven Bauer’s character, Manny Ray, tells a customer: "Que carne ni más carne, así viene el sándwich" ("Don't complain about the amount of meat in your sandwich, that's all it comes with").
This line, emblematic of the gritty, no-nonsense attitude that defined Scarface, echoes the immigrant experience of Cubans in Miami during the 1980s—surviving through hard work, taking what was offered, and enduring the challenges of a new life. The intersection of Flagler y la 12, with its Latin flair and bustling atmosphere, was the perfect setting for a movie about the rise and fall of a Cuban immigrant in the world of Miami’s underbelly.
Scarface remains a key cultural touchstone for many, especially for those who grew up in Miami during the 80s and 90s. The film encapsulates the dramatic shift in the city during those years, as Miami evolved from a small, tourist-driven town into a sprawling metropolis with a powerful Latino influence. For many Cubans, the film's portrayal of Miami's streets, including the ones near Flagler y la 12, became an unofficial snapshot of the city’s transformation.
Click here for VIDEO : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwGanP8E76k
High School Dares and Fidel’s Shadow
As a young Cuban teenager in the 1980s, I remember how we dared each other to go to the intersection of Flagler y la 12 and shout positive things about Fidel Castro—an act of supposed bravery, though we all knew the risks. It wasn’t the fear of retaliation from the Cuban government that haunted us; it was the fear of facing the wrath of our parents and the other exiles who gathered at this intersection. To speak positively about Fidel was considered an unforgivable betrayal, one that would result in swift, harsh judgment from the Cuban-American community.
None of us dared to actually do it, though we joked about it. The truth was, we feared the power of memory—our parents' memories of the Cuban Revolution and the pain it caused. Even in exile, the shadow of Fidel Castro loomed large, and Flagler y la 12 served as a symbol of that connection to a past that could never be fully erased.
In the late 70s " La Ventanita" ( the little window) on this corner was open all night and would be a haven for hoards of hungry " Discotecos" after the club. Huge fried empanadas ( The Crunchy kind) and batidos de Mamey at 4 am always hit the spot.
A Changed Miami
Today, I pass by Flagler y la 12 every day on my way to work. The streets remain mostly unchanged from the days of the 60s and 70s. The stores still sell Cuban sandwiches, pastelitos, and café con leche, but the area feels different now. It no longer holds the same central role in the Cuban-American community. Miami has expanded, and the influence of other Latino groups has transformed the city's landscape. The vibrant heart of Cuban culture has shifted to other neighborhoods, and Flagler y la 12, though still a nostalgic reminder of Cuban exile life, no longer serves as its epicenter.
Yet, even as the cultural dominance of Cubans in this part of Miami has waned, Flagler y la 12 remains a place where history is written into the pavement. For anyone who grew up here in the 60s, 70s, or 80s, this intersection will always be a living reminder of the dreams, struggles, and resilience of a people who came seeking a new life while holding onto the old one.
The street may no longer be the heart of Cuban culture in Miami, but it is still a symbol of a community’s journey and of the deep, unbreakable bond that connects Cubans to their past and their identity—no matter where they are.
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