US: The US doesn't get due credit for its generosity, but it should have handled its tsunami operation better, writes Jonathan Eyal
US Secretary of State Colin Powell spent much of the last two weeks dealing with the aftermath of the tsunami disaster in south-east Asia. He toured some of the afflicted areas. And he took an active part in an emergency donors' summit in Jakarta. Everywhere, he spoke with genuine concern about the devastation, and reiterated the US's commitment to help.
And yet, almost everywhere in Asia, he was received with mixed feelings: gratitude for the assistance provided, but also strong suspicion about Washington's motives. Privately, State Department officials in Washington admit they need to assess what went wrong with the US's public diplomacy in the aftermath of the disaster, and are already drawing some important lessons.
But even the Indonesian government expressed unease about the prominent US presence on its soil. And Jan Egeland, UN Under-Secretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs, made some barbed comments about the US commitment to help with the disaster.
The Americans have a right to feel infuriated that they have met with so little gratitude. But the State Department also knows that it has itself to blame for some of its public relations difficulties.
The accusations that the US has not been generous are nonsense. Yes, President Bush's initial pledge of aid was puny: a mere $15 million. But, in the first few days after the earthquake - when little was known about the magnitude of the damage - no other government offered more. However, as time went by, American generosity jumped exponentially: it reached $350 million, and may grow even higher.
True, the EU countries, with approximately the same economic size as that of the US, have collectively contributed more. But other countries - such as China, which claims to be the regional power and constantly boasts about its own booming economy - have languished at the bottom of the donors' league tables without attracting any public criticism.
Nor is this competitive compassion game particularly meaningful. For there is a huge difference between a promise of aid and its actual distribution. In every previous major crisis, not more than one-quarter of what was initially pledged was ultimately delivered. The Americans may have offered less money. But, historically, they have a better track record of paying up their promises than many other individual donor countries.
Some of the US's current critics - such as UN Under-Secretary Egeland - have made a wider point: that despite the current generosity, the US annual aid effort, as a percentage of national income, still lags behind that of many other developed countries.
Again, true, but not the whole picture. At $16.3 billion a year, official US development assistance is the largest in the world, and double that of Japan, the second-biggest international donor. Private US assistance (made easier by America's tax laws), adds a further whopping $33.6 billion a year. And America pays a quarter of the UN budget, almost 60 per cent of the World Food Programme, as well as being the major contributor to the World Health Organisation.
All the international organisations which rushed to alleviate the plight of those struck by the tsunamis in Asia did so largely with American money, a fact which everyone - including some of these organisations themselves - conveniently prefer to forget.
State Department officials know that, as a superpower, the US can never win in such a crisis: if it gives too little aid, it stands accused of being stingy, while if it offers a great deal, it is suspected of trying to take over the entire aid operation. So, the Americans should not expect to be loved. But they also know they have made some basic mistakes in presenting the aid.
The initial reaction in Washington after the disaster struck was to create a group of key countries, designed to handle the relief operations. The group included Australia and Japan. The logic was that those countries, with a long tradition of assistance and good administrations, would be able to help co-ordinate relief efforts.
In reality, this initiative, however well-meant, was a political disaster. Smaller Asian countries took immediate umbrage at the suggestion that the region's "big boys" were ready to take matters into their own hands. Even Japan and Australia were embarrassed.
Worse still, the Europeans were also upset because they were not consulted.
Yet, despite the indications that the attempt to marshal a small group of countries was not working, the US persisted in this approach for no less than two additional weeks, before diplomatic pressure persuaded Washington to admit defeat by dissolving the group and handing over co-ordination of aid efforts to the UN. Through their behaviour, the Americans themselves contributed to the "beauty competition" between the donors which Washington so deprecates. And the Europeans emerged the winners in this exercise, largely because they never presented their aid in political terms.
Then, there was the diplomatic "spin" which the US put on its aid. And, finally, there was a lack of clarity about precisely just how big the US financial aid was.
The truth still remains that the Americans have been very generous. And, just as importantly, the tsunami disaster has produced a new political commitment in Washington to the Asian region, of the kind which could have hardly been contemplated even a few months ago. Yet this generosity is unlikely to shift many hearts or minds. For, when it comes to delivering aid, the presentation of the effort is just as important as its substance. It is a lesson which Washington would do well to remember.
Jonathan Eyal is Director of Studies at the Royal United Services Institute in London