In January a year ago. when I was first getting my campaign for the Senate underway. I visited Miami International Airport on the West Side. What I saw there has left an impression with me that I have never been able to shake. Streaming off an airplane were hundreds of Cuban refugees. men. women. children. They were dressed as one would expect any refugee to dress. They had old clothes for the most part. illfitted and nonstylish according to American standards. and carried all of their possessions in a sack. But it was not their clothes that got my attention. it was their hands.
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