Apalachicola is a place of migration. Fishermen know this, as do avid birders. They know the expected patterns of coming and going. They know the effects of shorter-term disruptions like hurricanes and oil spills, and the longer-term impacts of sea level rise and climate fluctuation. The comings and goings of the people themselves also have a kind of regularity here and are not immune to changes both natural and (hu)manmade.

Our town is a small and mostly stable place. It grew from 1,904 people (free and enslaved) as a cotton port in 1850 to 3,077 by 1900 supported by a timber and seafood economy. By 1980, the population dropped to around 2,300 as timber played out, oystering struggled and tourism made inroads.

Apalachicola is a coming-to-America story in miniature. Migrants settled in the mid to late 19th century with minimal requirements for citizenship: two years’ residency (later, four) and a pledge of allegiance. Early settlers were from England, Ireland, Germany, Italy, and Greece (fleeing famine, land scarcity and political instability). Many also came from northern and southern states including enslaved people, whose forced migration and bondage ended with Emancipation in 1865. 

Despite this history and the legacy of Jim Crow, our town is remarkable for its self-sustaining black community. In the 21st century, the growth of the Hispanic community in Apalachicola mirrored an upward national trend. Hispanic residents increased from 1.67% in 2000 to 7.8% in 2020, around 184 residents. This surge began with the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 (Johnson). It abolished a 1920s quota system favoring northwestern Europeans and made family reunification, the need for workers and amnesty for refugees central features. One effect was to increase migration, especially along the U.S. southern border and the coast of Florida.

The Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986 (Reagan) granted amnesty to about three million unauthorized migrants who lived continuously in the country since Jan. 1, 1982. It also provided greater border security but did not include a pathway for future migrants. Since that time, politicians have been unable to enact bipartisan immigration reform, and the result is a dizzying array of federal and state regulations, processes and visas with yearslong court delays.

We love our town for its diversity. This racial and ethnic mix is also featured in our personal family trees. We are southerners of English, Scots-Irish, German and African descent. We came to Apalachicola by way of Alabama, Virginia, Michigan, Connecticut, Georgia, Germany and Kuwait. We have lived here for 20 years, eight years and three generations, respectively.

Apalachicolans today are predominantly White, Black and Hispanic; they are working families, retired natives and incomers. But the past year has been difficult for our migrant neighbors. With them, we grieve the loss through forced migration of eight men and one woman, leaving behind at least 50 relatives including spouses, children, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins. Like our original settlers, they were drawn by the promise of freedom, safety and opportunity. They were detained and deported, not for their criminal records, but because of broken immigration processes and little or no recourse. Many people stepped up to support those who remain, because that is what our community does at its best.

We pray for political grace and will to create fair and accessible federal and state pathways to authorized residency and citizenship. We also pray and humbly beseech local officials to use their power and discretion in just and merciful ways. The migrant neighbors we know are supportive parents, beloved children, hospitable and hardworking employees and neighbors. We stand with them; they are Apalachicola.

Martha Harris

Penny Marler

Myrtis Wynn

Apalachicola