exile

July 20 (UPI) — Cuban artist and dissident Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara said he cannot return home after arriving in exile in the United States this weekend.

Meanwhile, Secretary of State Marco Rubio renewed his call Monday for the Cuban government to release more than 700 political prisoners amid rising tensions between Washington and Havana.

Otero Alcántara, 38, arrived in Miami on Saturday after spending five years imprisoned in Cuba on charges of desecrating national symbols, contempt and public disorder.

His arrival was confirmed by Rubio, who said the artist had been imprisoned for challenging the Cuban government.

In his first public remarks since arriving in the United States, the founder of the San Isidro Movement said prison changed the way he sees people, but acknowledged that exile carries a high personal cost.

“Five years later, I am more human. Prison is a place where you can look into the eyes of people who, even after committing the worst crimes, are still human beings,” he said in videos published by Caraota Digital.

However, he said that being forced to leave Cuba does not represent true freedom.

“I have been expelled from Cuba. This is not right. … I can’t see my son. I can’t return to my home. It’s just not right,” he said.

Otero Alcántara gained international prominence via a collective of artists and intellectuals that called for greater freedom of expression in Cuba and that, according to Amnesty International, has been the target of constant persecution by Cuban authorities.

He was arrested while attempting to join the anti-government protests of July 11, 2021, and was sentenced to five years in prison a year later.

After confirming Otero Alcántara’s arrival in the United States, Rubio said on X that the artist’s imprisonment was the result of challenging “the Marxist tyranny of the Cuban regime,” and he demanded the immediate release of “the more than 700 political prisoners unjustly detained” on the island.

Rubio said President Donald Trump‘s administration will continue to support those seeking greater political freedoms in Cuba.

Birao, Central African Republic – When Islam Ibrahim fled Sudan after her father was killed during the siege of el-Fasher, she thought she had escaped the worst of the war.

The 20-year-old pharmacy student fled with her mother and six sisters to the neighbouring Central African Republic (CAR), leaving behind her pharmacy studies.

Now in Korsi refugee camp, she spends her days helping newly arrived Sudanese women and girls. Drawing on the medical knowledge she gained before war interrupted her studies, she volunteers to support refugees arriving exhausted after dangerous journeys from Darfur.

But even in exile, Islam says she cannot escape the pressures that followed her from home.

Her uncles have travelled to the refugee camp urging the family to return to Sudan, so her mother can settle her late father’s estate. Islam fears that returning would not only place them back in an active conflict zone but also expose her and her sisters to pressure to marry relatives against their wishes.

“I only want to go back to Sudan if it’s to continue my education,” Islam told Al Jazeera. “I don’t want to go back to Darfur to divide my father’s inheritance.”

Islam’s story is echoed across Korsi refugee camp, where an entire generation of Sudanese students is trying to salvage futures interrupted by war.

More than 30 Sudanese university students interviewed over several days described lives put on hold by a conflict that has uprooted families, shattered ambitions and left many wondering whether they will ever return home. Most are in their 20s and come from Amdafock, a border town in Darfur that became both a refuge and later a departure point as families fled escalating violence.

Many believed their displacement would be temporary. They imagined returning home to complete their degrees once the fighting stopped.

Instead, that hope has grown increasingly distant.

Their experiences reflect a wider educational divide created by Sudan’s war. Millions of school pupils and university students in Darfur and other areas controlled by the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) have now gone more than three years without regular schooling or access to nationally recognised examinations. In contrast, despite repeated disruptions caused by the conflict, many students in areas held by the Sudanese army have gradually returned to classrooms and sat their exams, widening disparities in educational opportunities between young people on opposite sides of the war.

Lost years

Amdafock was recently seized by fighters from the Seleka rebel coalition operating across the border in the CAR, further diminishing any realistic prospect of return for many of the families originally from the town.

With support from UNHCR, dozens of Sudanese refugees have secured places at the University of Bangui, offering a fragile path back into education after years of disruption.

But returning to university has proved far from simple.

Having completed their schooling in Arabic, they must now study in French, learning an entirely new language while trying to keep pace with university demands. Many say the additional years required, coupled with financial hardship and the psychological toll of displacement, make it feel as though they are losing time they can never recover.

“We have already lost so many years,” several students told Al Jazeera.

Among them is Gamar el-Shaikh, a sociology student at the University of Bangui.

“We left Birao refugee camp, promising our loved ones that we would return with university certificates,” Gamar told Al Jazeera. “But with the educational environment we are in, and all the difficulties we face, it feels almost impossible to keep that promise.”

Another student, Baderelddian Issa, said his family fled after his father, an imam in Amdafock, was persecuted by the RSF for criticising them during sermons at the mosque.

Baderelddian told Al Jazeera that his father’s position made the family a target, forcing them to flee Sudan for the CAR, where he is now trying to continue his studies, while watching the possibility of return slip further away.

Painful choices

For some students, displacement has demanded even more painful choices.

Intisar el-Sadig lost her husband during the war before fleeing to the CAR with her young child. After UNHCR secured her a place at the University of Bangui, she made the difficult decision to leave her three-year-old son in Korsi refugee camp with her mother so she could continue her studies in the capital.

She travels back whenever she can, but says every separation is painful.

“I am studying because I don’t want this war to take everything from us,” Intisar told Al Jazeera. “If I stop now, then we will have lost not only our home and my husband, but also our future.”

Ahmed knows how quickly those hopes can collapse.

Before the war, he was studying law and dreamed of becoming a judge. His father, a Sudanese army officer, was killed during the fighting in el-Fasher. The family fled to Nyala, believing they had reached safety, but Ahmed says fighters from the RSF attacked them there. During the assault, his mother was beaten so severely that her arm was broken.

The family eventually reached the CAR.

Now living in exile, Ahmed’s studies have been put on hold, and his ambitions have narrowed to survival.

Enduring hope

Across Korsi, that sense of loss is shared in different ways.

Students who once imagined futures as pharmacists, judges, engineers, teachers and academics now spend their days navigating life in exile, learning a new language and trying to rebuild their education in an unfamiliar system while worrying about relatives still trapped in Sudan.

For young women like Islam, displacement has also brought renewed pressure over inheritance and marriage. For others, the loss is measured in years of interrupted education that may never be recovered.

Islam continues volunteering in the camp, while Gamar, Baderelddian and Intisar persist with their studies despite extraordinary obstacles. Ahmed still clings to his dream of becoming a judge.

For these young Sudanese, education has become both refuge and resistance, a fragile attempt to rebuild meaning in lives shattered by war.

“We are the lost generation of Sudan,” Ahmed told Al Jazeera through tears. “We lost everything in this war.”