In Chaotic Kismayu, U.S. Aspirations Come Face to Face With Reality : Somalia: The effort to create a stable environment out of a volatile situation has met with only partial success.

The American general finished his briefing and assured visiting reporters as he left in his jeep that this squalid port city, which he occupied with about 600 soldiers, was generally at peace.

But shots soon rang out. A little barefoot boy came running to tell a U.S. Army guard that gunmen were just blocks away. “We’ve got to get to the airport now!” a breathless sentry yelled. “I don’t want to risk my men here. It’s dangerous. Let’s move.”

The armed convoy wound out of the unseasonably wet city this week, leaving behind American aspirations that only partially matched the violent Somali reality. The disparity appears bound to be repeated.

Kismayu is a laboratory for American efforts to create stable, local government in volatile Somalia. The campaign, under way in several cities, is an adjunct to the primary American goal of safeguarding food supplies for starving Somalis, who have been isolated by two years of clan warfare and victimized by gangs of looters.

Officially, American forces are not here to restore government. But this is a task they took up from the beginning of Operation Restore Hope.

The effort has produced some awkward moral acrobatics.

To succeed in Somalia, the Americans contend, they must deal with the devil. But participants wonder if the American civics program can go far in the short time that U.S. forces plan to stay; their withdrawal is expected to begin by the end of the month.

“I’ve come to the conclusion we have to leave some structure in place, but it is a process,” said Brig. Gen. Lawson Magruder, who is in charge of a battalion each of American and Belgian soldiers in Kismayu.

An Army intelligence officer added: “Our problem is, where can we really draw the line? How far is far enough in nation-building?”

President Bush, essentially, is leaving the final decision to President-elect Bill Clinton, who is to take office Jan. 20.

Magruder insisted that the United Nations, which will take over from American forces, will be able to continue the work. Many Somalis think otherwise.

Just before the shooting began here, Mohammed Sheik Dahir, whom Magruder identified as the once-and-future police chief of Kismayu, expressed dismay at the impending American departure. “I have heard rumors that the Americans will withdraw. The people are ready to demonstrate for them to stay,” Dahir said heatedly, noting that his police force had been out of action for two years as militias stole all their guns and uniforms.

Foreign relief workers warn that the only chance for stability to take root here is for the Americans to stay longer than planned. The United Nations, with spotty performances in places like southern Lebanon and Cambodia, lacks the track record in such efforts, they argue. “Only the United States has the mystique to pull this off,” said Ken Wood, an official with World Concern, a U.S.-based aid organization.

Residents of Kismayu have particular reason to cling to protection. This town is one of the most hotly contested in Somalia and, for its size, is home to relatively large--and violent--forces.

Omar Jess, a self-styled colonel in the “Somali National Army” and the single most powerful militia commander in town, reportedly ordered the execution of dozens of opposition clan leaders in early December, just as American troops were landing in Somalia.

Even now, under the eyes of the American and Belgian soldiers, Kismayu is a nightmare of sudden outbreaks of shooting, mostly at night but sometimes in broad daylight.

Sean Devereux, head of UNICEF relief efforts here, was murdered earlier this week by an unknown gunman. The oft-mentioned possible motives for his killing reveal the range of desperation devouring Somalia: Some say he was killed shortly after he suggested to other relief officials that they should cut the exorbitant salaries paid for the most part as protection money to Somali staffers during the violent times here; others say he may have been slain because he spoke out publicly against Jess.

Jess represents one cruel, ill-fitting piece in Americans’ Somali puzzle. Despite his bloody reputation, the Americans, including special envoy Robert B. Oakley, have argued that they have no choice but to deal with him. He is a powerbroker, allied with Mohammed Farah Aidid. Aidid is vying for power with Ali Mahdi Mohamed, a rival for supreme power in Mogadishu, the capital.

“The problem is not to know whether Jess is a murderer, but whether we can fulfill our security objectives, and there is no bigger authority in this area than Jess. We can’t snub him,” Magruder said.

While dealing with a messy diplomatic scene, the Americans also must confront the harsh reality of the ravages of Kismayu. Most of its streets are dirt, and, with the rainy season arriving early, many of them are under more than a foot of water. Vacant lots are filled with huts of nomadic refugees. An estimated half of the town’s population of 120,000 is indigenous; the rest are refugee clans from elsewhere. (Jess hails from a desert clan.)

The battle over Kismayu has been a kaleidoscopic affair: Jess versus a militia headed by the son-in-law of former dictator Mohamed Siad Barre versus the townspeople and assorted other clans that have wandered in. The town is considered important because of its port and its position at the base of the Juba Valley, one of Somalia’s richest farming areas.

Magruder asserted that Jess has been largely defanged, having agreed to give up control of the port and airport and to move his heavy weapons--a handful of artillery and antitank armaments--out of town. Jess also has agreed to shift out of Kismayu his clutch of drive-by gunmen and their weapon-bearing trucks, known as “technicals.”

Jess, ironically, got some of his military training in America when Somalia was a distant Cold War ally and he was an officer in the army of dictator Siad Barre. Jess, whose English is impeccable and who is called charming even by those who fear him, studied at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College in Leavenworth, Kan., Magruder said.

Compromise with such leaders is part of a complex strategy for rebuilding government. Initially, U.S. intermediaries, backed by American arms, insisted that the clan leaders pull their heavy weapons out of towns and cities or store them in restricted compounds. Technicals were banned from the streets. In return, the warlords were allowed to retain most of their weapons, while taking seats on local councils being established in towns. To keep the militias from intimidating other, unarmed participants on the panels, protection is offered by foreign military forces--now American troops, later largely U.N. forces.

That approach here and elsewhere has permitted the food relief effort to progress smoothly. All the clan warriors think they have a political stake in cooperating with the United States, and no one has revolted outright. The taming of Jess, for example, has paved the way for supplies to move inland from Kismayu to needy farming villages.

But in Kismayu, few signs of long-term reconciliation have emerged. At the first council meeting, only Jess representatives showed up. Rival clan members apparently interpreted the December massacre as a warning that only Jess ruled.

Magruder and others have since coaxed more town leaders and respected citizens to attend relief and security committee meetings. But the group has done little besides revitalizing the local police; this ragtag unit, armed with sticks, mainly keeps pesky children away from American and Belgian installations.

“People are afraid,” said John Marks, a U.N. representative here. “No one has to tell them not to speak up.”

For many relief officials and Somalis, the key to conquering fear is to disarm clan militias and gangs. “Unless all are disarmed, we cannot reach peace,” police chief Dahir said.

That is also the view of U.N. Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali, who wants disarmament accomplished before the Americans pare their forces.

But Magruder prescribed a different approach to pacification. The first steps have been taken: removing heavy weapons at the same time foreign troops enter to keep the peace. Then a gradual disarmament is expected to flow from a final political agreement between Aidid and Mahdi. Both participated this week in stormy talks with other Somali leaders in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

Meantime, Magruder plans to toughen the arms rules. He will forbid the display of any weapon, subject to confiscation, except by security guards employed by relief agencies. But already, even the talk of sterner rules has set off a spate of gunfire in Kismayu, and it is clear the main protagonists plan to cling to their weapons.