Going Home -- Although Democracy Has Returned To Chile, Exiles Are Finding It Isn't So Easy To Go Back To Their Homeland

She grew up among talk of solidarity and politics, among women who fought a dictatorship thousands of miles away by selling warm empanadas, small meat pies, at local fairs.

She learned her country's national dance, the cueca. She did not realize it then, but every time she danced across the stage waving a handkerchief above her head, she conveyed a little something about Chile and her family's pain.

Today Solange Charlet is 20 years old. The dictatorship is gone.

She no longer dances the cueca.

The protests, the marches in front of the Federal Building, the endless meetings and long nights in the kitchen making empanadas for the next event have ended.

Democracy has returned to Chile. Charlet, her family, the hundreds of other political refugees who came to the United States between 1976 and 1980 and the thousands of others who escaped to other countries around the world, are free to go home.

The pressures of exile

But ironically, they now face a new struggle.

Can they return, as they had dreamed for years?

Charlet was nearly 3 years old when she arrived in Seattle with her parents, Monica and Jorge, in the summer of 1976. Her father had been tortured and imprisoned for three years before being exiled. Sometimes, he would wake up late at night shaking from the memories.

Exile, added to the daily pressures of living in another culture and learning a new language, was too much for the young couple. They had been barely married for a year when Jorge was imprisoned. They barely knew each other. Soon after their arrival, they had separated. By 1979, they were divorced.

"Sometimes I feel sorry for my parents. They suffered so much," Charlet said.

It happened to many Chileans who were forced out of their country after the coup. Divorces among young couples were not uncommon. Some families became fragmented after the children absorbed a new culture that clashed with their parents' values. Saddest morning

Tomorrow marks the 20th anniversary of what many consider to be Chile's saddest morning. On that day in 1973, residents in the capital city of Santiago woke up to the sound of bombs and warplanes circling over their neighborhoods. Tanks surrounded the government palace and heavily armed soldiers patrolled the streets.

The military, led by army Gen. Augusto Pinochet, crushed the freely elected government of Salvador Allende in a matter of hours, nearly destroying the government palace with heavy shelling. Allende, a Socialist who rose to power in 1970 with the support of several leftist political parties, died during the coup.

Once in power, Pinochet's forces hunted down those who sympathized with Allende or had ties to leftist political parties.

Thousands were imprisoned and tortured. Some never were seen again. Others were told to leave the country and never return.

Chileans in exile, as well as those who stayed home, didn't think Pinochet would last very long. Chile, after all, had a long history of democracy with little military intervention in civil affairs.

Pinochet lasted 17 years and remains head of Chile's military.

With a Democratic government in place since 1990 and presidential elections in December, many Chileans today still talk of going back to their country. But deep down they wonder whether they have the strength or desire to go back.

Settling in

At first, Abdon Mendoza and his family kept their suitcases packed. They arrived in Seattle in 1976, expecting to stay one year, maybe two. No more than three.

They were among 50 Chilean families who arrived in Seattle between 1976 and 1980. Area churches sponsored their visas, gave them a home, food and taught the families English for several months.

If it didn't fit in a suitcase, the Mendozas didn't want to buy it. Days stretched into months; months into years. Soon, they had a house full of things, a car.

"We kept thinking tomorrow the dictatorship will fall and we can go home," said Barbara, who speaks to her sons in English and proudly displays an "Employee of the Month" certificate from her employer on the wall of her dining room.

On the same wall, the Mendozas have displayed several things that remind them of Chile. A portrait of Allende. A map of their long, skinny country, an engraved cacho, a bull's horn used for drinking wine, a poem by Pablo Neruda, a Nobel Prize winner for literature.

"Para que no se olviden," she said. "So they won't forget. It is for their sons.

Abdon, now 47, believed in Allende's message of social justice. His beliefs got him 18 months behind bars.

Now he works for Metro and his wife is employed at Children's Hospital as staffing coordinator and medical interpreter. When her husband suggested buying a house a few years ago, she resisted. Now, they pay mortgage and are trying to put their two children through college.

If they return to Chile, their older son Pablo might follow. Humberto most likely will not.

"His friends are here. His life is here," Barbara said about her 17-year-old son. But Pablo, who turned 21 recently and attends the University of Washington, said he wants to go back.

Gabriel Gallardo was 12 when his parents Atilio and Luisa brought him to Seattle. He remembers his friends and family and the warmth of the people who lived in his small town in southern Chile. But that's not enough to make him go back.

Now he is married and has three children. His sister Viviana is married and has two children. Their youngest sister, Veronica, now 14, was born in this country. They call her the gringa of the family.

"I got used to a life in the United States, and as time went by, Chile became a distant memory and we became more Americanos than Chilenos," Gabriel said.

Culture shock

Luisa is 47 now. Her husband will turn 50 soon. They are both from southern Chile, a land with a climate and geography much like Seattle's. But life is slower there. The towns are small and residents know each other well.

That proved to be Atilio's undoing. He belonged to the Socialist Party and served as a city councilman.

When the police caught up with him, they charged him with stockpiling weapons, a fabrication they often used to capture political prisoners. He served nearly three years of a five-year sentence; he became one of 5,000 Chileans forbidden to return to their country until 1988.

Coming to Seattle was a culture shock for the family. The city's tall buildings, its traffic and wealth overshadowed anything their small town could offer. But they adjusted and prospered. Gabriel is seeking a doctorate degree from UW. His brother Abner is studying engineering.

Now, the older Gallardos have a hard time thinking about going home and leaving behind four children and five grandchildren.

Solange Charlet's mother Monica and her stepfather Luis Sobarzo had made arrangements to go back to Chile last year. They thought they had done everything possible for a smooth transition. But when Monica's strongest tie to her country, her mother, died, so did her desire to return.

Solange is certain she will go back, even though she has spent most of her 20 years in this country. She speaks English without a trace of an accent. Her manners, her demeanor are strictly American. But when she visited Chile a few years ago, she felt at home. She wants to buy a small piece of property somewhere along the vast Chilean coast after she graduates from college.

In 1988, in a yes-or-no vote, Chileans overwhelmingly rejected Pinochet's wishes to remain leader of the country. Yet he managed to have the last laugh.

"Pinochet's objective was to destroy us," Mendoza said. "He didn't want us to return."

And many never will. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Chilean memorial

The Chilean Community of Seattle will hold a special service in memory of President Salvador Allende tomorrow, the 20th anniversary of his death. The service will be held at 6 p.m. at University Baptist Church, 4554 12th Ave. N.E. The service will be followed by a social gathering. Poet John Gilbert will read the last words of Allende before his death. Seattle Peace Chorus and a Latin American musical group will perform.