JOE OGLESBY

 Unlike President Carter, South Florida's black communities did not welcome the arrival of tens of
 thousands of Mariel refugees with an ``open heart and open arms.''

 Concern and anxiety was more like it.

 It wasn't personal. Anyone who manages to escape the grip of communism and of Cuba's Maximum Leader
 was to be cheered. Besides, a lot of the faces onboard the boats coming into Key West were darker-hued. But
 the thing is that black communities throughout South Florida already were in the grip of strong currents of
 change. There was an overwhelming sense that blacks existed outside the normal channels of justice, due
 process or even of simple fairness. Additionally, there was deep concern that the welfare and interests of
 local blacks would be superseded, yet again, by new arrivals.

 With the arrival of so many new residents, blacks believed that they would have fewer jobs, less access to social
 services and ultimately even less voice in a community that was about to become predominantly Hispanic.

 Who could have imagined that the future actually would unfold in surprisingly different ways? No one had a crystal
 ball 20 years ago.

 A HAITIAN WAVE, TOO

 Between 1977 and 1981, some 60,000 Haitian immigrants arrived on our shores in
 less-celebrated fashion, peaking just as Mariel happened. A year later, the bodies
 of 33 Haitians would wash ashore on Hillsboro Beach, all drowned trying to
 escape oppressive regime of Haiti's President-for-Life Jean-Claude Duvalier.

A month before the first of the boats from Mariel arrived, an all-white jury in Tampa
acquitted four Dade County police officers in the beating death of Arthur McDuffie, a black
insurance salesman. A group that included a dozen Miami and Miami-Dade cops either
watched or participated in the clubbing.

Earlier, a series of incidents seemed to reinforce the black community's concerns. In
an incident that became known as the ``wrong-house raid,'' police burst into the home
of school teacher Nathaniel Lafleur looking for drugs. They found none but pistol whipped
and beat up Lafleur in the process. He suffered cuts and bruises and a ruptured kidney.
Police refused to listen to his family's pleas that they were in the wrong house. When things
settled, the sheriff apologized. But none of the officers ever was charged.

 Months earlier, a white Florida Highway Patrol trooper also got a break over a
 controversial racial incident. The trooper had stopped an 11-year-old black school
 girl in South Dade. He ordered her into the back seat of his squad car where he
 fondled her and attempted to remove her panties. In a panic, she escaped. Later,
 the trooper pleaded no contest to assault charges. His sentence? Probation.

 Though tragic and suspect, these incidents alone don't explain blacks'
 indifference about Mariel. They were, however, part of the overall context that fed
 deeper concerns.

 These were the days of ``cocaine cowboys,'' when South Florida was the
 epicenter of the cocaine trade, when drug dealers had brazen shoot-outs at
 midday in the middle of busy highways. Drugs swept through black communities
 like a plague. Crack cocaine -- the concentrated, lethal and more-addictive version
 of cocaine -- made its national debut on Miami's mean streets.

 Even respected black leaders, in whom hope for better tomorrows was invested,
 stumbled and fell. Dr. Johnny Jones, a brilliant educator who had become
 superintendent of schools, was convicted of using school funds to furnish a
 vacation home with gold-plated plumbing fixtures. The conviction later was
 overturned, however, because prosecutors had excluded all blacks from the jury
 pool. Again, inviting cynicism about blacks' ability to achieve equal standing.

 Moreover, the sheer number of Mariel refugees, a torrent quickly becoming a
 gusher, was cause for worry of losing ground in a community that blacks helped
 to found and to build. ``Yes, there was general anxiety,'' said businessman
 Kelsey Dorsett, who was on the Dade County Community Relations Board .
 ``People were talking about losing jobs, getting lower-level jobs, needing to learn
 Spanish. They saw immigrants getting preferential treatment.

 Mariel happened at a pivotal time for blacks, especially in Dade. During the
 1970s, the black population in Dade had grown by a whopping 47 percent -- a rate
 of growth exceeded nationally only by Atlanta, according to Florida International
 University's Dr. Marvin Dunn, in his book Black Miami in the Twentieth Century.

 In 1980, the county's 271,000 blacks represented 16.6 percent of the overall
 population; in Broward, blacks were 11 percent of the total population. More than
 a quarter million people was a large number in absolute terms, but the community
 wielded relatively little power. When compared with thriving middle-class black
 communities in Washington, D.C., Houston, Chicago, Baltimore and others, Dade
 County was anemic. Few blacks owned businesses or were high-level managers;
 blacks were underrepresented in politics and skilled professions. Most had jobs in
 the service industry and labor, clerical and government jobs, according to the
 county Planning Office. A 1981 Equal Employment Opportunity Commission
 report showed that predominantly Hispanic companies in Dade had less than 5
 percent black employees.

 But the feared job displacement by Mariel refugees never happened. If anything,
 Mariel was a catalyst to the expansion of South Florida's job market. Fewer
 blacks are unemployed today than 20 years ago, and the number of blacks in all
 categories -- skilled professional, managers and executives, political -- has
 increased in absolute terms and by percentages.

 It is true, though, that Mariel rapidly accelerated the influence of Hispanics in all
 respects and clearly allowed Hispanics to consolidate their political, economic
 and social power. Miami-Dade County has been dramatically changed.

 AN OVERALL IMPROVEMENT

 Have blacks suffered as a result? Probably not in the aggregate, but certainly
 there has been slippage in some areas -- especially in service jobs where
 competition has been head-to-head. But overall, the lot of blacks has improved in
 the past 20 years.

 In absolute terms, the number of blacks in Miami-Dade has grown by more than
 200,000 persons to 486,000. Proportionately, blacks now represent 21.2 percent
 of Miami Dade's population and more than 15 percent of Broward's. Although
 nearly a third of the black Miami-Dade population lives in poverty, more than
 two-thirds are middle-class or better.

 Arguably, blacks have more influence today. There are more bankers, lawyers,
 school teachers and policemen. We're a long way from nirvana; but we haven't
 stood still.