Tower of freedom

Say Miami and people reply with, “Beach, please.”

Yes, from what I saw in my brief time in Miami, the city is all about its many beaches, suntans, margaritas, and coastal souvenirs.

But what if you don’t like all of the above?

That was me in Miami. A vegan in the seafood city. A park walker among shopaholics. The best thing about it, though, about being an outcast, is that you find places no one else talks about.

Like The Freedom Tower, for instance.

The Freedom Tower

Outside The Freedom Tower, Miami

An art museum and the headquarters of a few departments of the Miami Dade College, the Freedom Tower was once the epicentre of Miami’s people.

When I first set eyes on the building, I knew nothing about it. My map informed me it was a museum, and curious to learn the city’s culture - and more so to avoid standing under the sun - I entered the intricate architectural marvel. I’d noticed from afar that it was a proper tower. Although smaller in diameter than the buildings I’d seen in New York City and Chicago, it’s just as tall.

Paying a rather hefty entrance fee of $12, I went it with a confused mind. Perhaps I over paid, I wondered. I worry about entrance fees where ever I go, not because of the price but because I hate leaving thinking I’d wasted it. The thought lingered as I accepted the brochures from staff, listening as they explained what I should expect to see before letting me explore.

Constructed in 1925, The Freedom Tower was the headquarters of The Miami News, which the publication vacated in 1957 as refugees from Cuba flocked the city and the government needed a place to process them.

Refugee photos – exhibition at The Freedom Tower

Exile stories – An exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

As I stood there watching vintage photographs of the people who’d fled Fidel Castro’s regime to come to Miami instead, I felt an intense coldness replace the heat in my body. Children torn away from their parents, families shattered, lives disrupted, these people had come to the only place that’d take them. And there I was, half a century later, on the same spot that the early residents of Miami had bled and wept.

It was a powerful moment of realisation. Although the government sold the building to private buyers afterwards, it still stands as a haunting reminder of the city’s history. It’s no wonder that Spanish is such an integral part of Miami - airports, stores, street signs all had a Spanish version of their English text and messages.

Concluding that I hadn’t wasted my money at all, I moved on to other exhibits. Sure, I could’ve learnt the history and, perhaps, even seen the photos online. However, there’s a strange comfort about being in the presence of history.

The New World Mural 1513

The New World Mural - The Freedom Tower, Miami — The New World Mural – The Freedom Tower, Miami

The building’s design included the original but painters had to recreate it in 1988 to protect it from ruin.

Kislak Center

This one showcased hundreds of artefacts and tools used by early settlers of Miami, including cultural representations from ancient civilisations, as well as paintings and statues of olden traditions like games, meditation behaviours, and social gatherings. Original copies of history books and writing samples, and even copies of Robinson Crusoe and Treasure Island.

Freedom Tower, Miami

Ancient books in exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Old books in display at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Old books on display at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Ancient artefacts – An exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

By the People

This is an entire floor dedicated to social and technological advancements in the US. It was perhaps the most interesting and surprising part of my visit to The Freedom Tower. It showcases social developmental proposals from individuals and organisations. Some of them were just plans but some were in production.

Examples include, an urban housing plan for California, an upgraded city plan for Detroit, eco-friendly gear and cycles for farmers, waste management systems, abortion awareness campaigns, hydrology development plans for LA, and even a proposal to revamp windows in prisons to improve inmates’ morality.

Social developmental projects, By the People, am exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Wise words

Social developmental projects, By the People, am exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Modern vehicles

Waste management awareness

Social developmental projects, By the People, an exhibition at Ancient books in exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Speed rail proposal

Better prison windows

A note about improving prisons

Social developmental projects, By the People, an exhibition at Ancient books in exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

Food truck designs

Social developmental plans, By the People, an exhibition at Ancient books in exhibition at The Freedom Tower, Miami

These stunning proposals made me wonder how much the world is changing and how less we’re aware of it. New home designs, architecture plans, systems for police personnel protection, smart vehicles, all of which were a glimpse of our potential and the possible future. Humans are incredible, and the mind’s capabilities transcend the impossible.

If only we put that to good use, we’ll leave the world a far better place than we found it. Perhaps humanity isn’t lost after all. If only -

Beacon

Perched upon towers

up above the world so high

yielding brighter paths

— — —

Photo: One of the 15 remaining Moonlight towers in the world, all of which are in Austin, Texas. They’re 165 feet (50 m) tall and 15 feet (4.6 m) wide. A single tower casts light from six carbon arc lamps, and illuminates a 1,500 feet (460 m) radius circle.

Stroke

South Lamar Blvd. as seen from the Lady Bird Lake and Ann and Roy Butler Hike and Bike Trail - Austin, Texas

A bridge overhead

severing through still waters

a brush on canvas

— — —

Photo: South Lamar Blvd. as seen from the Lady Bird Lake and Ann and Roy Butler Hike and Bike Trail – Austin, Texas

Ferrying across

“Well, you can’t miss state-n island!”

“The what now?”

That’s how I reacted when my colleague suggested the adventure. I had no idea what that was. As he repeated it, I frowned trying to remember. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like I’d heard the word somewhere. Where, however, I couldn’t figure out. And then it hit me.

“Oh! Isn’t it the stat-en island?”

I didn’t know a thing about it, but word sounded familiar.

I think he insisted it was the state-n island, and I didn’t persist. After all, he should know - he’d lived in Boston for five years travelling back and forth New York City. Besides, he was the one who suggested my Wall Street experience.

But that was the end of our conversation.

Whitehall Ferry Terminal, Manhattan, New York

We were in New York City for three and a half days, for two of which we’d be working all day. Although I didn’t discount the ferry ride, I didn’t expect to make it either. I’ve never been much of a tourist, and if the ferry was such a favourite activity, I figured it’d be swarming with crowds and selfie sticks.

However, when I found myself toying with free time on my last evening in NYC, I decided to give it a shot. After all, I’d enjoyed Wall Street despite it being a tourist magnet. Perhaps the ferry wouldn’t be so bad. And it was free.

Walking out of a famous bakery in Manhattan, I headed for the bus that’d take me to the Whitehall Ferry Terminal. Shuffling this way and that on the street, asking for directions and still losing precious daylight, I determined to walk the distance instead. Awaiting the bus would’ve delayed me further, and besides, it wasn’t too far.

Nevertheless, when I reached the terminal, the doors had closed, and the ferry had just left the docks. The next one wasn’t for another half hour. Heaving a sigh, I looked at the large clock inside the terminal. It was 7 pm. Banking on luck, I could make it back to my hotel near Times Square by 10 pm. Satisfied with that prospect, I turned to the scene around me.

The white walls and the white floor tiles reminded me of hospitals. A handful of staff mopped the floors, while anxious New Yorkers queued up behind the great gates waiting to board the ferry as soon as it arrived. The more relaxed folk sat on the waiting chairs, deep in discussion, sharing a meal, or downing a beer. Little stores lined the walls selling food, beverages, and magazines.

There were hundreds of people, buzzing hum of conversation, and yet so few tourists.

I hadn’t expected that. Everywhere I looked, I saw ordinary people-in men wearing comfortable pants and shirts, women in long everyday gowns, college goers with backpacks, and office workers with laptops. Why the party that sat next to me were employees at the terminal! They discussed shift timings and how one of their colleagues who worked overtime and still didn’t get enough pay.

As I sat there, unpacking my cinnamon roll and washing it down with coffee, I realised that I was amidst the true locals.

It wasn’t as I’d imagined, because there were no silly tourists, pouting lips, the pointing of fingers, or feverish chatting in a foreign tongue.

And I savoured every moment I sat there-my vegan cinnamon roll as well as the atmosphere.

Then a horn blared. The ferry was ready for us. As the doors opened, we streamed into the ferry. There I was, an outsider feeling like I belonged there, taking each step with purpose as if it were the most natural thing for me to do.

Whitehall Ferry Terminal, Manhattan, New York

Heading to the upper deck (there was another one above me), I found a great spot to stand. I held the railings, waiting to hit the waters. Soon another horn blared, and the captain’s voice echoed through the ferry: “Thank you for riding the Staten Island Ferry.”

A few more horns and we were off.

The next twenty minutes, I’d say, was the best I’d spent in New York City. Thanks to Daylight Savings, the sun had just begun to set, and I happened to have a pretty steady hand while the video on my camera ran.

By the time we docked at the St. George Ferry Terminal in Staten Island, the sun had set, and I’d seen one of the best of it I’d ever see.

The ferry back to Manhattan was due in another half hour. But it took me about 10 minutes to get down from the ferry on to the terminal. I stayed inside the terminal, walking around reading the signboards, strolling through the souvenir shops, and trying to make out the massive map on the floor - of the islands in the Lower Bay area, around Staten Island.

St. George Ferry Terminal, Staten Island, New York

And when it was time, I did it all over again. This time, however, instead of the sunset, I saw the infamous New York City skyline illuminated by millions of lights and lives that call it home.