Cops for Democracy

By Bruce W. Nelan

Bill Clinton did not claim mission accomplished, but he was eager to declare the U.S. occupation of Haiti a success. Aboard the newly returned aircraft carrier U.S.S. Eisenhower in Norfolk, Virginia, last week, the President told 1,500 sailors and officers that by landing in Haiti, they had "brought a new day to people who thought they would never get it." On behalf of the American people, he was delivering a "heartfelt thank you."

A White House aide talked happily of "moving into the end game of the transition to the Aristide government" as if all the troops were about to come home. "We are at a point where the baton is ready to be passed." In fact, if anything was ending it was only the first -- and easiest -- phase of the operation. Now the U.S. faces the more difficult challenge of making Haiti safe for returning President Jean-Bertrand Aristide, expected to arrive by the end of the week. The U.S. had counted on leaving most of the dirty work of policing a volatile nation to rapidly reformed Haitian security forces. But as American military leaders realized by last week, they could not hope to preserve Haiti's army and police institutions while they arrested key leaders and took over their responsibilities. Nor could the U.S. avoid playing an ever larger role in the face of looting, renegade gunmen and chaos in the streets.

In large measure, the White House enthusiasm was meant to persuade Congress there was no need to set a specific date for U.S. forces to withdraw. "We're on course for a rapid drawdown in our force," Deputy Undersecretary of Defense Walter Slocombe told a House committee on Friday, hours after Congress approved nonbinding resolutions calling for American troops to return home "as soon as possible." The U.S. will reduce its troop level in Haiti to 6,000 within six months, he said, and hand over peacekeeping duties to the U.N. But setting a deadline would encourage Haiti's thugs to lie low until the U.S. departed.

The optimistic messages were also intended to speed Aristide's return to Haiti. The U.S. military has not figured out precisely how to protect him from his enemies without at the same time becoming Haiti's palace guard. But ready or not, the figurative baton could be thrust into Aristide's hands as early as this Saturday, when the remaining military rulers, Lieut. General Raoul Cedras and Brigadier General Philippe Biamby, have agreed to step down. Last week the Haitian parliament approved an amnesty bill that will permit Aristide to grant the generals pardons as sweeping or narrow as he chooses, but they are obligated to resign no matter what he decides.

While the political arrangements worked out by former President Jimmy Carter seemed to be running on schedule, the more complicated task of bringing calm to Haiti has required improvisation. The original agreement, which envisioned using the Haitian security forces to continue to police the country under the aegis of the U.S. Army, has fallen apart. "We really didn't figure," a U.S. officer says, "that the Haitian police would evaporate the way they did."

The police did not exactly evaporate: they were vanquished by an occupation force that grew heavier faster than they had foreseen. The military junta thought the deal they had struck with Carter really left them in charge of the streets, free to terrorize the populace as usual. The misconception was finally shattered last week after U.S. troops raided the headquarters of the paramilitary FRAPH organization. In the process, soldiers surrounded a police vehicle, hauled the officers out at gunpoint, held them down and handcuffed them.

This public humiliation of officers on duty was a breaking point. Many policemen simply took off their uniforms and stayed at home. The much feared police chief of the capital district, Lieut. Colonel Michel Francois, fled across the border to the Dominican Republic, turning the former Big Three of dictators into a diminished two.

It was inevitable that the 20,000 U.S. troops in Haiti would have to assume command. Now they are engaged in keeping the urban peace, closing down the offices of plainclothes militias, interning members of Cedras' security guard, searching for arms caches and running a wholesale disarmament effort.

Since troops are policing the streets as they had vowed not to do, some Pentagon officials concede privately that "mission creep" -- a term of deep opprobrium since Somalia -- has occurred. But General John Shalikashvili, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, does not think so. "Our mission has not changed from the beginning," he insists. "We have just changed our capabilities and adjusted our procedures slightly, consistent with the changed circumstances on the ground." Retorts Senate Republican leader Bob Dole: "This is not just mission creep; it's mission leap."

The next metamorphosis is already beginning. Haitians and Americans are rushing preparations for Aristide's arrival. Volunteers are working to repair the President's white, two-story residence, which police had stripped and looted even of window frames after he fled the country. In the capital, the presidential palace is also in bad shape, but no restoration work can be scheduled until the de facto president, Emile Jonassaint, is pushed out -- possibly this week. Haitians say he is booby-trapping the palace with voodoo charms to thwart Aristide.

More critical preparations are under way. TIME has learned that 21 former Delta Force commandos, U.S. Army Green Berets and Secret Service agents flew to Haiti Saturday to begin preparing for Aristide's arrival. The team will act as trainers and advisers to a 60-man Haitian bodyguard force whose job is to keep Aristide alive. As a form of foreign aid, the U.S. will send in armored vehicles, including "one suitable for presidential travel," bulletproof vests and handguns at a cost of $2 million.

The Pentagon is worried that Aristide's return could cause problems beyond his personal security. Officials fear the Haitian President may resume making the fiery speeches that ignited his mass movement, the Lavalas, or flash flood, in the past. Such rhetoric might, even unintentionally, trigger a popular uprising against the military and the country's rich elite -- a vengeful burst of mob violence that could put the U.S. Army in the middle and in danger.

Aristide's public pronouncements last week were soothing rather than provocative. At the U.N. he spoke glowingly of the virtues of reconciliation for "rich and poor, civilian and military." Administration officials got Aristide together with South African President Nelson Mandela to hear about the virtues of bringing all sectors of society together. Aristide made it clear that he would pardon the generals for the political crime of overthrowing him, but not for crimes against civilians.

Once Aristide is safely at his desk in the national palace, the depth of his dedication to reconciliation will be tested. His security and his country's are linked to visible economic progress. With more than 80% of the work force unemployed and most of Haiti's factories shut down, poverty is more than ever the enemy of stability and democracy. But to repair his ravaged land, Aristide will need the cooperation of the local business community, his traditional enemies. If he believes in lifting his country out of its sad history, he will have to find a way to work with his foes.

With reporting by Nina Burleigh and Mark Thompson/Washington and Bernard Diederich and Marguerite Michaels/Port-au-Prince