Through the Looking Glass

This past weekend, Colin Powell officially gave his full endorsement to Barack Obama for his pick as presidential nominee on Meet the Press (see above video). It was one of the most thoughtful, well constructed, detailed endorsements that I have ever heard. There was no pagentry, no big crowds, no hype. It was simply Powell describing to Tom Brokaw the process that he went through in order to decide to endorse Obama. In listening to his explanation, it seems that one of the major reasons that he decided to not endorse McCain, a man whom he has known for 25 years, is because of McCain's pick of Sarah Palin as his running mate.

I wonder after hearing Powell's endorsement, as to why he chose now to publically make this statement. Part of me questions whether the release of Oliver Stone's movie "W" has anything to do with the timing. It may be a stretch, but I question whether Colin Powell saw or heard about his on-screen persona. According to reviewers, Stone takes the point of view that Powell was a reluctant voice of reason ignored by the other members of Bush's cabinet. Is this endorsement possibly Powell's opportunity to finally reject the eight year reign of power of George W. Bush - along with Karl Rove, Rush Limbaugh, and Dick Cheney?

Maybe the movie "W" is like Powell's looking glass. What is it like to see youself - or at least an image of yourself? Memories fade, stories change, but the images on a film tend to stay vivid in peoples' memories. The "Wonderland" of the George W. Bush era will, hopefully, soon come to an end. Movies - even despite their possible misrepresentations - live on. Below is a poem from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass:

Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream --Lingering in the golden gleam --Life what is it but a dream?