Who Will Stop the Killing?

Last week's vague declaration of help was not exactly cause for celebration — either in Monrovia or at the U.N. "I don't trust the news anymore. I want to see action on the ground," says Ernest Diallo, 35, who is living in a tent camp housing 25,000 war refugees inside the U.S. embassy's residential compound. "We are hearing news every day that 'they are coming, they are coming,' but we keep dying." Said a U.N. official of the U.S. statement: "It's reasonably welcome, but it's not the same thing as a military commitment."

Only a month ago, Liberians welcomed the prospect of U.S. intervention. Americans were treated to the rare sight of foreigners waving U.S. flags rather than burning them. Founded partly by freed American slaves in the early 19th century, Liberia has long looked upon the U.S. as a kind of godfather. Its flag is a single-starred version of the Stars and Stripes, its capital is named after James Monroe, and many residents speak English, often with a trace of a Southern twang. Mamadou Bah, 53, whose sister-in-law, nephew and two brothers were killed by a mortar attack on the makeshift refugee camp outside the U.S. embassy, is angry that the Americans have not yet come to help. But if they do, he says, "everybody will be so proud of them."

For now, though, the few U.S. soldiers stationed in Monrovia to defend the embassy are greeted not with cheers but with shaking fists. "To a certain degree, the Americans have already blown it," says a Western aid worker in Liberia. If the U.S. intervenes, he says, "rather than saying thank you, Liberians will be saying, 'It's about time.'" Unless, as many in the international community fear, they're saying it's too late.