U.S. Troops Are Relieved to Be Greeted With Smiles

Hanging out the back of an open truck, his video camera rolling, Capt. Jay Delarosa noted with delight how people emerged with enthusiastic waves to welcome the Marines to their devastated city.

“People sure are nice here,” he said a little later. “Not like Iraq.”

With the Pentagon’s $5.6-million-a-day relief operation on behalf of tsunami victims now in full swing, almost everything about it tends to remind the U.S. military personnel here that this isn’t Iraq.

The troops can move around freely, without body armor or even guns. Their mission meets with the world’s overwhelming approval.

They are working side by side with the United Nations and 11 other countries -- even France, a leading critic of the Iraq war -- as the scope of the tragedy proves a unifying force.

Although this is one of the most devoutly Muslim parts of Indonesia, where public sentiment runs strongly against the Bush administration and the Iraq war, many people here seem thrilled by the American presence.

The United States is seizing the opportunity to improve its image. On a tour of the stricken region last week, Secretary of State Colin L. Powell noted that humanitarian aid to the area was “in our best interest, and it dries up those pools of dissatisfaction that might give rise to terrorist activity.”

The U.S. has committed $350 million to help victims of the Dec. 26 tsunami and has mobilized more than 14,000 military personnel to deliver relief in Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Thailand. At least two dozen Navy ships, 45 planes and 50 helicopters are being used in the operation.

Though their mission here is one of peace, the American forces’ operations in the disaster zone are shaped by the reality of the ongoing war in Iraq. The troops are acutely aware that they have an opportunity to foster goodwill toward the U.S. and counter the image of a sometimes-brutal occupier.

“Our job is, frankly, placing warheads on foreheads. It’s nice when you can help somebody by distributing 5-gallon jugs of water,” said Navy Capt. J. Scott Jones, commanding officer of the amphibious assault ship Bonhomme Richard, which is participating in the relief effort.

On Monday, an amphibious hovercraft launched from the Bonhomme delivered 32 tons of water, rice and toilet paper to Meulaboh, the closest city to the epicenter of the earthquake that triggered the tsunami. For the last two weeks, this stretch of coastline had been accessible only by helicopter.

“It’s the best way to bring relief to those areas that are inaccessible because the roads were destroyed,” said Delarosa, who is traveling on the Bonhomme. “These [hovercraft] can carry six times more aid than a helicopter.”

The Marines are clearly relishing the mission. Touring around Meulaboh the last few days, they’ve been chatting with refugees and handing out candy to children, trying to get off on a good foot with the locals. They’ve also launched a concerted charm offensive with the many foreign aid agencies working here, trying to show that the United States can be a team player.

In the last few days, the Marines have offered their helicopters to carry equipment and personnel for French and Spanish relief teams and U.N. personnel. Borrowing from the parlance of the Iraq war, Marine Col. Tom Greenwood, commanding officer of the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit, referred to these other foreign aid teams as “coalition partners.”

“Bonjour,” Greenwood crowed to a group of French journalists and aid workers at a makeshift helicopter pad near the beach in Meulaboh.

After telling the group about the assistance the Marines are providing to the French teams, he said: “I think that’s a good story -- after all that people are saying, that Americans and French don’t like each other. That’s not true. We’re all one happy family.” Then he closed with a laugh line. “I eat French fries,” he said.

The Marines have taken several steps to avoid offending the governments and the individuals they are trying to help.

They carry no weapons on shore, leaving security in the hands of the Indonesian military. Instead of bringing many vehicles to land to deliver aid -- and risking traffic accidents that could spark anti-American anger -- the Marines have left final distribution to the Indonesian military.

The Marines have limited interaction with tsunami victims. They don’t even have their own interpreter, relying on the Indonesian military or Singaporean troops (whose language is understandable to Indonesians) to mediate with the local populace.

“We have to be very careful about calibrating our footprint on the ground,” Greenwood said. “The idea here is for us to help without being a nuisance. We could bring in thousands of Marines, but then we would overwhelm the place and look like an occupying force. We want to be very discreet.”

A senior Asian military official, who asked not to be quoted by name, said the Americans had good reason to be cautious.

“I recognize from an American perspective, this is a great opportunity to restore their image and to make a real contribution. Nobody can match the resources the Americans are bringing in,” he said. “But America does carry a certain baggage in these parts and it doesn’t take much to lose goodwill, just a few obnoxious actions.”

Although their measured approach may avoid creating problems, the relative distance U.S. troops are keeping has left some Indonesians wondering where the Americans are.

Unlike Australian soldiers, for example, who have been distributing purified water in the center of Banda Aceh, the provincial capital, Americans are hard to spot on the streets. U.S. forces don’t have a camp in the city, as forces from some other countries do.

Since the disaster, few people in Banda Aceh have had access to television or other media, so many are unaware of the U.S. role in transporting large quantities of aid by ship and airplane.

“I never heard about any aid and never got aid from the United States,” said Dwi Putrasyah, head of logistics at Banda Aceh’s municipal relief center, which coordinates delivery of food and provisions.

Only a few dozen of the more than 2,000 Marine and Navy personnel on the Bonhomme Richard go to shore each day. They return before nightfall to sleep on the ship, where they can drink Starbucks coffee and surf the Internet. In Meulaboh, there’s been no running water or telephone service, and little electricity or food, for more than two weeks.

The Bonhomme, whose home port is San Diego, was in the South Pacific on its way to the Persian Gulf when the tsunami hit. The ship made a quick stop at the nearest port, Guam, to pick up supplies, and headed for the Indian Ocean.

Most of the Marines on the ship served in Iraq in the early months of the war, which began in March 2003. While they are loath to publicly express any reservations about their mission in Iraq, many are clearly happy that their ship changed course, if only temporarily.

1st Lt. Justin J. Jordan said he had lost three friends in the war in Iraq. He is not reluctant to serve in Iraq again, he said, but “in some ways, this is a more rewarding mission. You are fixing a community that has been destroyed. This was Indonesia’s 9/11 times 100. You see the look in people’s faces, and you want to help.”

Meulaboh residents who have encountered the Americans are welcoming but cautious.

“We have some concerns,” said Ariso Agus, a 36-year-old construction worker who was helping to clear rubble from the beach. “I don’t agree with the American occupation of Iraq. And I don’t agree with American morals, like men and women sleeping together in the same bed. We don’t want any of that.... If the Americans are coming, they shouldn’t stay long.”

Hussein Abdullah, a 41-year-old farmer who lost a son and two daughters to the tsunami, interrupted.

“I’m just a simple person. I know nothing about Iraq. All I know is that I need rice to eat for my breakfast,” he said. “If the Americans can bring us aid, we need it and they are welcome.”

Staff writer Don Lee in Banda Aceh contributed to this report.