David Rieff

Like Bosnia, Nagorno-Karabakh, an Armenian-majority enclave deep in Azerbaijan, has seen civil war, ethnic cleansing, and a million people made refugees. Living without a peace agreement, this statelet no one recognizes is mired in communal grievances and nationalism, as is the entire region. One almost longs for a return of the Soviet Union and its rhetoric of friendship between peoples. Karabakhis are discovering that nationalism cannot power an economy and that ethnic identity is a poor foundation for a state.

Cuba's downing of the Brothers to the Rescue planes halted the thaw in relations that had seemed slow but inexorable. That suits Fidel Castro perfectly. Anti-Americanism hitched to a very Cuban sense of doomed defiance is the only sentiment he has going for him now that faith in socialism is dead and his regime is peddling tried-and-failed solutions for the ramshackle economy. Ironically, Castro's sovereignty fetish has driven Cubans into dependence on Miami, as well as into poverty and crime. But the Maximum Leader, who has outlasted eight U.S. presidents, is a wily tactician. A post-Castro Cuba does not seem imminent.

Like Jews, Armenians, and White Russians, Cuban-Americans see themselves as exiled members of a diaspora, not simply immigrants. From Kennedy's Bay of Pigs plan through Clinton's continuation of the trade embargo, U.S. administrations have encouraged the hope of return to a democratic homeland. Every hour of the last 36 years has meant added suffering for the Cubans across the Florida Straits. But Clinton's reversal of the policy of political asylum for all Cuban migrants signals that the Cold War is over, even with Cuba. Cuban-Americans have become just another immigrant group. For Miami, the exile is over.