"We Were Poor in Cuba, but..."

"I never expected to leave one prison to come to another. I was hoping to find a nice place to live and a good job so I could be on my way. " -- Alberto Castillo Resell, 23, prisoner at the Atlanta penitentiary

Castillo, who was serving a 33-year prison sentence in Cuba for arson, is marking his first anniversary in the U.S. He is one of the 125,000 Cubans who clambered hopefully aboard a ragtag flotilla bound for the U.S. from the harbor of Mariel, 27 miles west of Havana. Most of them were ordinary seekers of liberty. But the Cuban government supplied some of the passengers, including inmates like Castillo, who were taken from prisons and asylums and ordered aboard for the 110-mile trip to Florida. Whatever brought them to the U.S., the Marielitos have one shocking discovery in common: this is no paradise.

More than 70% of the Marielitos settled in Miami's Dade County, joining 600,000 Cubans already there. Particularly in Little Havana, on Miami's near southwest side, the new wave is vividly manifest: everywhere there are shoeshine stands and new immigrants on the streets hawking lemons and limes, flowers, hot peanuts and granizado (flavored ice). But the newcomers' statistical imprint is less charming. Most of them receive food stamps, and 45,000 live below the Government's official poverty line for the area ($7,412 for a family of four). They are committing suicide at seven times the average rate in the U.S., and the leading cause of death among them is homicide. Most of the immigrants speak little English, and some 50% are unemployed. Says Rosa Rodriquez Orama, 30, who lives with her husband in the bathroom of a Miami gas station: "We were poor in Cuba, but at least I had more comforts than this. I made a mistake in coming."

About 4,000 of the Cubans, overwhelmingly single and male, remain in federal custody awaiting sponsorship by a U.S. citizen or charitable organization -- a difficult prerequisite, since nearly half the refugees are crippled, mentally ill or otherwise problematic. Most of the 4,000 are at Fort Chaffee, Ark., where, out of boredom and frustration, they have rioted twice.

Still, Fort Chaffee is scheduled to be emptied of Cubans by August. There is no timetable for getting 1,766 Cubans out of the decrepit Atlanta federal penitentiary. They and 50 compatriots in other U.S. prisons have criminal records ranging from simple theft (473 cases) to murder (121). "We've got some good Cubans here," says Mike Trominski, the Atlanta prison's ranking immigration official. "We have others we never want to hit the streets."

Exclusionary hearings, part of a standard process for immigrants whom the INS finds undesirable, have been held for 1,559. A mere 38 were granted asylum. Some 90% of the prisoners have been judged "excludable" and await deportation. Yet Cuba refuses to accept any Marielito, criminal or not.

In the main test case so far, a court ordered Pedro Rodriguez Hernandez, 48, who was a convicted thief in Cuba, released from custody. U.S. District Court Judge Richard Rogers admitted that although the "indeterminate detention of excludable aliens cannot be said to violate the U.S. Constitution," that it is nevertheless "an abuse of discretion on the part of the Attorney General." An appellate court has postponed Rodriguez's release.

The overlapping litigation on behalf of Rodriguez and his countrymen grows more elaborate by the week. The matter may eventually be decided by the Supreme Court, or Congress could declare the prisoners permanent residents; many would remain in U.S. jails but be endowed with constitutional rights. As S. George Handlesman, a lawyer for 26 of the inmates, told TIME Correspondent Anne Constable: "They will be let go. The question is how and when."

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