Yesterday, after Colin Powell's resignation was announced, I wondered who Bush would pick to take his place. Powell had started with such high expectations, only some of which were not disappointed. He had the potential to be a true moderating force on BushCo., but was so marginalized that he wound up being almost invisible except when trotted out to sell the neocon lies about Iraq to the United Nations.
I think he was uncomfortable not only in his role as Secretary of State but also in the role of pitchman to the UN. Only history will tell if Powell knew he was presenting false data to the world or not. Apparently, he's not telling; saying there is no book deal in the works. But it's a rare public figure who can resist telling the story from their own perspective.
Much like Bush's pick for the Justice Department, there was always the probability that he would choose so as to consolidate his coterie of yes-men. So in place of Ashcroft, who was widely despised by anyone to the left of... well, to the left of Ashcroft, we got Alberto Gonzales, the author of the torture memos. So it is, then, with State. In place of the rather moderate Powell we get Bush's confidante and "honorary family member," Condi Rice.
Instead of the affable Powell, Bush has chosen Rice to represent us to the world. Condoleeza Rice; the humorless, pinch-faced woman who's whole life has been defined by such an unbalance that she's not only never been married, she's never even been known to date; hell, I've never seen her smile. But this makes perfect sense if you think of how BushCo. have treated the rest of the world during the past four years. They don't want the rest of the world to like us, they only want them to either respect us or fear us.
And so, Condoleeza Rice is the perfect "face" for this administration. You can tell just by looking at her that Condi has no time for the niceties of diplomacy. She's the perfect hit-woman to present the "your-with-us-or-your-against-us" foreign policy that is sure to be expanded during this second term.
It's like meeting company at the front door with a shotgun.