WHEN US navy captain Stephen McInerney was flying bombing missions over Iraq in 2003, his ageing aunt in Dublin told him she lit a candle and prayed every morning for the wings of his F18 attack-fighter to fall off, writes LARA MARLOWE, Toussaint Louverture International Airport
Capt McInerney's aunt can rest assured. Her American nephew is at the forefront of the US relief effort in Haiti. As deputy commander of the air wing of the USS Carl Vinsonaircraft carrier, McInerney is in charge of more than 26 Black Hawk and Sea Stallion helicopters that ferry food and medical aid to distribution points designated by USAID, the development wing of the state department.
Since Barack Obama’s election, it’s okay to be a progressive in the US military. McInerney’s father emigrated from Dublin, his mother from Co Leitrim.
“People in Ireland have this mindset that the American military are all right-wing conservatives,” he says. “But I grew up in San Francisco, in a liberal, left-wing environment. The US military is a microcosm of the world. We have a lot of Haitian speakers who are out there in Port-au-Prince right now. We’re a mongrel group.”
Even as wars continue in Iraq and Afghanistan, the Haitian relief effort is boosting the image of a kinder, gentler America. For Haiti is America’s feelgood war on natural disaster. “It feels like we’re really making a difference,” US army major Shannon Horne tells me in the bullet-pocked warehouse – the legacy of an earlier coup d’état or insurrection – that serves as airport headquarters.
Here, modern US military history is being rewritten. “One of the navy’s core missions is humanitarian relief and disaster assistance,” McInerney says.
“We were here for the hurricanes in 2008, in the Philippines in 2007, in Indonesia after the tsunami in 2005 . . . That’s why within 24 hours we knew exactly what to do.”
Capt McInerney was in port in Norfolk Virginia when Port-au-Prince was devastated on January 12th. A transmigration of military birds followed: “On the night of the earthquake, the carrier flew all the jet fighters ashore,” he recalls. “We headed south, and the helicopters flew on to the carrier.”
Medical assistance was the message pushed by public affairs officers yesterday. The US military had delivered 11,000 pounds of medical supplies across Haiti in the preceding 24 hours. The USS Comfort, a hospital vessel that will eventually care for 250 wounded Haitians, arrived offshore on Tuesday night. Its two first patients were transferred from the Vinson, and several dozen more were to be helicoptered out yesterday.
The Americans have asked the Haitian ministry of health to select patients at the port terminal. “The last thing we want is a massive gaggle,” explains US Navy captain John Kirby. “We could just as easily get overwhelmed as any hospital in Port-au-Prince,” adds Col Richard Ellis, a military surgeon.
Air Force technical sergeant Daniel Flint was the first American to touch the ground in Port-au-Prince on January 13th. As a security officer, it was his job to walk down the ramp of the C130 transport aircraft, have a good look around and wave to his comrades to follow.
“Our combat controller immediately started controlling traffic from a radio on the ground,” Flint recounts. “We started bringing in aircraft from around the world – more than 250 aircraft in 24 hours. This airport fills up three or four times every day. Either the UN takes it out or we fly it to the distribution points.”
US transport aircraft are lined up on the apron like huge grey elephants. I can barely hear Flint over the din of aircraft engines, helicopter blades, power generators and forklifts. It’s a pleasure to cover a US military operation that is, for once, all sound and no fury.
Inside the airport perimeter is a First World tent city, where hundreds of Americans live in neatly aligned, air-conditioned tents with porta-potties and showers. In the real Haiti they’re trying to help outside, legions of Haitians displaced by the earthquake languish in ramshackle encampments with zero sanitation.
Flint served in Afghanistan before coming to Haiti. “I prefer this,” he says, spitting tobacco into a plastic mineral water bottle. “We are helping these people. Here, there are not so many people who want to hurt us.”
Haitians’ love for Barack Obama borders on adoration. “Obama We Need Change” says graffiti splashed over the walls of Port-au-Prince. On my way to the airport yesterday, I saw a finely crafted commemorative plaque with medallion portraits of Barack Obama, Martin Luther King, the US presidential seal and the date of Obama’s inauguration. The white Isuzu buses that the Haitian government imported a year ago are known as “Obamas,” as in, “I’m going to take the Obama” because Haitians mistakenly believe they were a gift from the US president.
Now Obama has come through for Haiti, sending more than 10,000 soldiers, the hospital ship and aircraft carrier, and promising $100 million in reconstruction aid. When the US government cancelled the scheduled deportation of 30,000 illegal Haitian immigrants, post-earthquake, Haiti again praised him.
The White House posted on its website images of Haitians applauding and cheering “USA, USA” when a Los Angeles rescue team extracted a woman alive from a collapsed building.
But there’s a hint of unease in Haitian questions about whether the US intends to occupy their country a third time. Rebellion against the French was the founding act of this republic, and the Haitian flags flying outside the US-occupied airport bear images of the knives and machetes they used to drive the French out.