When Aid Breeds Suspicion

By Anthony Spaeth; Robert Horn Simon Elegant; Jason Tedjasukmana; Douglas Waller

From his seat aboard a U.S. Sierra helicopter, Airman Mike Stewart looks down on a cruel artifact from the tsunami. Surveying the ruins of Meulaboh in Aceh province, his chopper passes over an intact tower clock that hasn't moved since the earthquake struck. Stewart and his crew are on one of their six daily runs to deliver supplies to some of Indonesia's most remote villages--all part of Operation Unified Assistance, the largest U.S. military operation in Asia since Vietnam and the backbone of the global campaign to fend off hunger and disease among tsunami survivors. For combat-trained service members like Stewart, 23, the mission requires patience instead of firepower. When his crew lands to deliver plastic sheeting, which can be used for makeshift shelters, two Marines on the ground say it isn't needed. Up in the air again, Stewart spots a lone man waving. When the helicopter circles in, other villagers start smiling and blowing kisses. Stewart decides to return to the site later with food and water. "We're here to help," Stewart shouts above the earsplitting beats of the chopper's blades. "And these people need it."

For the U.S. military, Operation Unified Assistance is much more than a charity mission. The assets dispatched by the Pentagon--103 planes and helicopters, more than two dozen Navy ships and 15,000 troops--have been indispensable in the race to deliver supplies to areas now inaccessible by land. But there's a strategic aim too: from the Commander in Chief to the service members on the ground, Americans are hopeful that the scenes of sailors distributing water and food from the backs of helicopters will offset the more familiar images of soldiers breaking down doors in Baghdad. Most of all, the military wants to soften hearts and minds in Indonesia, the country hardest hit by the tsunami and the world's largest Muslim nation. "This is a great opportunity to show everyone that the military isn't only about war," says Lieut. Marcus Hinckley, the Marine officer in charge of air-traffic control at Meulaboh. "It's a chance to show that we aren't against Muslims."

But three weeks into the tsunami-relief operation, the U.S. is realizing the limits of its good intentions. The sight of American boots and hardware on Indonesian soil has fueled nationalist fears and stirred suspicions about the U.S. Indonesian newspapers reported last week that a text message was being forwarded around the country that reads, "After Iraq, will Indonesia be the next U.S. target?" Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono announced that foreign troops had a March deadline to cease relief operations. In response, the Pentagon called off plans to base Marines inside the country. The Indonesians also lashed out at Virginia-based WorldHelp, a missionary group founded by a Baptist disciple of Jerry Falwell's, which said it had received permission to move 300 orphans from Aceh to a Christian children's home in the capital city of Jakarta. After the government denied making such a deal, WorldHelp canceled its orphan mission.

In an interview with TIME, Yudhoyono emphasized his nation's gratitude. "I see the Indonesian people as thankful for the solidarity, spontaneity and assistance coming from foreign countries, including the United States," he said. "This has given a positive impression to the Indonesian people." But Yudhoyono has created an acute political problem by opening up Aceh to 1,700 foreign soldiers, 2,500 foreign aid workers and civilian volunteers, and scores of journalists. Indonesia has been fighting a resilient separatist movement in the province for three decades. Since a cease-fire broke down between the government and the rebels two years ago, the powerful Indonesian military has controlled Aceh, and the outside world has been kept out. The military doesn't want international sympathy to grow for the rebels as a result of the tsunami, and it doesn't want the rebels to get too much of the aid. That's because it doesn't want to give the rebels time to regroup. The day after the tsunami, Yudhoyono ordered the military to stop combat operations and focus on humanitarian operations. But he has also instructed that all foreign relief operations on the ground be escorted by Indonesian troops.

The U.S. is already seeing signs of the Indonesians' paranoia. At the U-Tapao Air Base in Thailand, the crew of an Air Force C-17 cargo plane spent nearly three hours last Thursday loading humvees, all-terrain vehicles and biscuits to be delivered to Banda Aceh, the capital of Aceh province. The Marines were strapped into their seats when the flight was canceled. "It was the damn Indonesians," says an Air Force sergeant who asked not to be named. "They didn't want this stuff in their country."

Bush Administration officials insist the Indonesians have not issued a deadline for U.S. troops to stop their relief work, but last week they moved a carrier group outside Indonesian waters. It was quiet recognition that for all the optimism surrounding the mercy mission, political realities may soon overrun the help. "We'd like to be out of this business as soon as we responsibly can," Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz told reporters in Bangkok. "The U.S. military has a lot of other work to do." The troops doing the work might disagree. "There are a lot of people here who need help, and we won't be able to give them all the help we can," says Lieut. Hinckley. He has another reason for wanting to stay in the region. "Otherwise," he says, "we'd be in Iraq." --With reporting by Simon Elegant/ Banda Aceh, Jason Tedjasukmana/Calang and Douglas Waller/Washington