Haitian Refugees in U.S. Face Uncertain Future : Immigrants: At home, they were persecuted for supporting exiled President Aristide. Here, they just wait to see if they can stay in the country.

In Haiti, Abel’s days were so busy--medical school, a job as a night watchman, political work for President Jean-Bertrand Aristide.

But then Aristide was toppled in a coup, and that life ended. Now Abel does little more than wait to see if he can stay in the United States--a limbo shared by hundreds of his countrymen.

Abel, a muscular 29-year-old with a shy, fleeting smile, sits tensely in a classroom at Brooklyn Catholic School where English classes are offered at night. He comes once or twice a week, mostly for the companionship of other Haitian refugees in New York.

Abel has held a few temporary jobs--assembling fluorescent light fixtures, stuffing advertising flyers under doors. But he says his main activities are reading Haitian newspapers, listening to Creole radio and brooding in the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his younger brother, another refugee.

“My thoughts belong to me,” he said, speaking in French. “I’m linked, to put it very simply, to the problems of my country.”

Abel asked that his full name not be used. He fears that publicizing his identity would endanger his mother, brother and two sisters still in Haiti, or that he would be targeted if he is forced to return.

His caution is understandable: U.S. officials have estimated that only 0.1% to 0.2% of new Haitian applicants will be granted political asylum. The Bush Administration maintains that most Haitian immigrants are fleeing poverty, not political persecution.

Immigration authorities are sifting through a backlog of asylum applications, and it may be months or years before Haitian cases are settled.

Since the Haitian army overthrew Aristide last September, the U.S. Coast Guard has picked up more than 37,000 refugees from the island 600 miles from Florida. Most--more than 27,000--were returned to Haiti.

Abel sailed from Haiti in February and spent two days at sea before he and about 400 other refugees were picked up by the Coast Guard.

At Guantanamo, a U.S. military base on Cuba that became a sort of Ellis Island for Haitians, Abel told immigration officers of being beaten--his arms still bear scars--and taken to prison after the coup. He had worked with community groups that supported Aristide’s bid to become Haiti’s first democratically elected president.

Abel was freed from prison after two weeks but then asked to reveal where other Aristide supporters were hiding. Instead, he fled.

His story, and the eerie calm with which he tells it, is typical.

Jean Romain Meriland, 17, and his 15-year-old brother, Monel, say they saw both their parents killed by soldiers. Jean Romain volunteers that his father had collected money for Aristide’s campaign. Then both brothers lapse into silence--perhaps of fear, sorrow or simply teen-age shyness. They now live with an uncle in Brooklyn.

Miss Pierre, 19, who asked that only her last name be used, believes her life was saved by her brother, who challenged soldiers who stormed into her home after the coup. While they argued, she fled to a neighbor’s home. There, she heard the shot that killed her brother.

Miss Pierre had campaigned for Aristide and after his election was active in the kind of block association that observers say the military sees as a challenge to its authority.

Journalists in Haiti say police break up pro-Aristide demonstrations and beat protesters. They say almost every night brings political killings by soldiers patrolling poor neighborhoods. Amnesty International says that since the coup, military-linked thugs have been arbitrarily killing or arresting people.

Haiti’s military-backed prime minister, Marc Bazin, has acknowledged and denounced rights abuses, but he seems unable to control the army.

“I wasn’t planning to come to America,” Abel said. “I love my country. I had to leave because of politics, but I want to go back. If Aristide goes back, I’ll go back also.”

In the meantime, he awaits word from the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service.

Some Haitians were shocked to find refugee status did not end with permission to leave Guantanamo, Marie Cerat said. Cerat immigrated from Haiti 10 years ago and now organizes classes in English and job hunting for the island’s newest immigrants. She also has found lawyers to guide refugees through the asylum process.

Asylum applicants must show a “well-founded” fear of persecution because of their political beliefs. Duke Austin, an INS spokesman, said the standards are rigorous but not unreasonable.

“Just saying, ‘I’m afraid,’ is not enough,” Austin said. “If you say you are a member of Aristide’s party, but don’t know anyone else in his party, that would be suspect.”

But some Haitian advocates say the refugees are unfairly handicapped by the assumption that most Haitians come to the United States for economic reasons.

“It takes enormous amounts of evidence (to persuade the INS to grant asylum). I think they virtually want bodies,” said Bill O’Neil, deputy director of the Lawyers Committee for Human Rights.

Abel and his lawyer have reduced his story to a typewritten affidavit. He has yet to be scheduled for an interview with an INS official.

“I await a decision,” he said. “I’m afraid to make myself at home here. I’m afraid to make friends.”