GUILLERMO MARTINEZ of The Herald's Editorial Board

The black caller to a local radio talk show expressed dismay at the lack of gratitude that Cuban-Americans in South Florida showed for the Rev. Jesse Jackson's efforts to release political prisoners from Cuban jails. Twenty-six political prisoners had been freed and allowed to travel to the United States. A prominent Cuban dissident was given permission to leave the country. All this, and still no gratitude? The caller raised a good question, one that deserves an answer.

My thoughts, however, turned in a different direction. I thought of Bernardo Benes, the red-haired Cuban-American banker who six years ago orchestrated the release of 3,600 Cuban political prisoners. Once he confided that he had dared dream of being thanked for his efforts. Instead, in his own words, Benes became to many in his community a man with "social leprosy."

Once Benes had an enviable position in our community. He was one of the first exiles to try to bridge the gap between the English- and Spanish-speaking communities of South Florida. With a flair for public relations, a cigar in his mouth, and an atrocious accent in English, Benes became an advocate demanding full participation by Cubans in the community's civic and political affairs. He was one of the first to involve himself in raising funds for United Way. He became president of a national advisory committee studying mental-health problems. He lobbied for Cuban causes. He was one of the first to break into the elite of South Florida's exclusive and powerful downtown establishment. He was the first Latin in the state to join the Jimmy Carter for President campaign in 1976. At that point Benes was, without doubt, one of the most influential Cuban- Americans in the United States. Certainly he was the most visible. Not a week passed without news of a new Benes project, of a Benes comment on a local event, of a decision by his friend, the President.

Now all that is gone. In a seaside cafeteria in Miami Beach, Benes talks about his efforts to free political prisoners; about the public reaction in the Cuban-American community to his efforts; about his new, private lifestyle. He speaks with pride of his accomplishments, and without rancor for his detractors. He talks about being forced into "retirement" from public limelight; about how much he enjoys his private life.

There are times, Benes says, when he has been subjected to abuse in public. Once, in a SW 8th Street restaurant, the waiters had to restrain a man who insulted Benes for negotiating with Cuba's Fidel Castro. And he has suffered disappointments with some of the prisoners he personally helped, who pledged in Cuba to support his efforts and then turned their back on him when they arrived in Miami. There were the threats; the repudiation; the fear of others to be associated with him.

And all so unfair.

Even if Benes had been acting alone, or if personal political goals were part of his motivation -- as is clearly the case with the Reverend Jackson -- he would deserve praise. Even if he, like the Reverend Jackson, had praised Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, he should have been criticized for his political shortcomings and still praised for his concern for human rights. That was not the case back in 1978.

Benes had been to Cuba 14 times prior to the very first meeting of a group of Cuban-Americans with Castro. He had been singled out because of his personal contacts with President Carter. He carried out his mission with the full knowledge and understanding of three agencies of the U.S. Government: the State Department, the National Security Council, and the FBI.

It was through his contacts that the real negotiations between Cuba and the United States were set up. He was the precursor of the nation-to-nation negotiations that led to the release of the 3,600 political prisoners and paved the way for the reunification of hundreds of Cuban families.

This is the often-misunderstood irony of the 1978 negotiations. Everybody points to the public dialogue between Cubans in exile and officials of the island's Communist government. Those talks did occur.

But the real talks had been held months earlier in private. They had been held in New York, Atlanta, and Mexico City. Only officials of both governments were present at these negotiations. Benes's role, and it is one freely acknowledged by more than one official of the Carter Administration, was to be the intermediary between the two governments, the contact that led to the talks.

For this, and for daring to appear in public with Cuba's Communist dictator, Benes was ostracized by many in South Florida's militantly anti-Castro exile community. Still, he has no regrets. He shouldn't have any. Seeking the release of political prisoners does not imply praise for the regime that kept them captive. Benes was wronged. He should have been praised. Instead he was damned.