Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Meanwhile, nobody's day gets snarled. Nobody's welfare is endangered. Nobody gets stuck in the hot sun. Nobody's fuming and cursing. Nobody's worried sick about their kids, their jobs or their doctor's appointments.

There are many ways to keep the passion and anger in political demonstrations without provoking scorn and hostility.

All those motorists stranded by protests were plenty angry, but not at Bill Clinton or Fidel Castro.

Flotilla really empty vessel of exile protest August 31, 1995

On Saturday, another flotilla sets sail for Cuba.

The best thing that could happen is that nothing will happen. The worst thing that could happen is that somebody decides to be a martyr.

Organizer Ramon Saul Sanchez has promised there will no repeat of July's fiasco-at-sea, when flotilla vessels entered Cuba's territorial waters and defied government patrols.

That confrontation ended when a flotilla craft was intentionally side-swiped by Cuban gunboats—an incident that caused an uproar in Dade County and deafening silence in the court of world opinion.

Scarcely a peep of protest against Fidel Castro was heard outside Miami. Many foreign governments plainly felt the Cuban president showed restraint in not blasting the seafaring intruders out of the water.

World leaders who care nothing for Castro's regime will still defend Cuba's sovereign right to protect its own borders. That's why July's flotilla excursion was an international flop.

This time Castro says he won't be so patient with the exiles. Maybe he's bluffing, maybe not.

Last month, flotilla supporters in private planes buzzed downtown Havana in a deliberate breach of Cuban air space. Since then, anti-aircraft batteries have been placed near the harbor.

I don't care how good a pilot you are, a Cessna will only go so fast. Chuck Yeager himself wouldn't fly one over a machine-gun nest. Then again, Yeager never fantasized about martyrdom.

Whether any would-be martyrs join Saturday's flotilla is a big question. But if any protesters seriously think that getting themselves shot will galvanize the global community against Castro, they're foolishly mistaken.

Ramon Saul Sanchez, who once favored paramilitary action against Havana, now advocates nonviolent strategies in pushing for a democratic Cuba.

Yet his July flotilla, billed as a solemn and peaceable ceremony, disintegrated into a taunt. Its reckless cat-and-mouse tactics nearly provoked Castro's patrol commanders into unsheathing their heavy guns.

This time, Sanchez says, his boats won't cross Cuba's 12-mile territorial limit. But they will be carrying outboard-propelled inflatable rafts.

Twinkling with mischief, Sanchez won't divulge the mission of the little rafts. Presumably, protesters intend to dart into Cuban waters and do something—drop leaflets, shoot off flares, moon the gunboats. Who knows what.

The rest of the world will only shake their heads and wonder what's the point. The only one to gain from petty provocation is Fidel himself, who milks these moments for all they're worth.

Here I am, minding my own business, when those darn Miami exiles show up in planes and boats, picking another fight ...

But turn on the radio in Dade County and you'll realize that, after 36 years, the mere act of annoying Castro is considered a great moral victory. It's sad, like a little kid who stands outside the window, making faces until he finally gets your attention.

A genuine heartfelt protest is one thing, invigorating in its dignity. But a prank is just a prank.

Nothing that takes place this weekend off Havana will bring Cuba one bit closer to democracy, or push Castro one day closer to exile, or move the suffering Cuban people one step nearer to freedom.

As thrilling as it might be to provoke Fidel's regime face to face, it accomplishes zero. The flotilla simply becomes a floating pep rally for one faction of the exile community and a dangerous pep rally at that.

In a battle against inflatable rafts, Castro's gunboats won't even need bullets. A knitting needle will do the job.

Immigration priorities are warped January 8, 1998

Every kid who wants to get out of Cuba should be taking batting practice, because baseball is their best ticket to the United States.

Cuban pitcher Livan Hernandez defected and became a World Series hero. His half-brother Orlando escaped by boat to the Bahamas last week, and was promptly offered a humanitarian visa by U.S. officials. Soon he'll be playing in the majors.

No other country can match our mania for professional sports and the way we idolize athletes. It's an obsession that warps our immigration priorities, among others.

A Cuban jock has a better chance of getting into the United States than a Cuban doctor, engineer or schoolteacher does. That's hard to justify, and one reason for the mixed reaction in South Florida to the special way Orlando Hernandez was treated.