Speaking sense to power

To the Rescue

By Rick Horowitz

The door was at the end of a long corridor, past dozens of identical doors, and untouched by the first weak rays of a cold December morning. But hanging from this particular door -- distinguishing it from all the other doors in this corridor and all the other corridors of this nondescript building somewhere in the Nation's Capital -- was a small sign, simple and hand-lettered.

"Grownups at Work."

Behind the door, a small room filled with half-remembered faces. Faces lined with decades of battles won and lost, of lessons learned. And at the front of the room, two men. A solid, sober-looking fellow with sensible glasses and a crew-cut. And the other one, the elegant one, with the silver hair and the silken manner.

"OK, people -- listen up."

He had their attention in an instant.

"I think you know why you're here today," and then, because the elegant one never left anything to chance, he told them why they were here today. They were here today -- called out of retirement, called away from whatever comes after being in the middle of everything -- for one final mission.

"Just like in the movies," someone murmured, to knowing chuckles.

"Just like in the movies," agreed the elegant one. "But this is for real."

The solid one spoke next. This was a crisis, he reminded them, getting worse every day, heading for catastrophe. They were running out of time to fix things. They may already be out of time to fix things, he conceded, but it was worth a try. For something this important to the country, to the world, it was still worth a try.

"Let's have the maps," said the elegant one, and the screen behind him flickered to life. There were maps of Baghdad -- of the whole sprawling city, of individual neighborhoods, even of individual streets. (The detail was astonishing. If only they'd had this kind of detail back when they were running things!) There were maps of Iraq -- by region, by ethnic group, by religion, by level of violence. (Massaging the data is so much simpler now!) There were maps of the entire Middle East -- friendly countries, unfriendly countries. Countries we were talking to, countries we weren't talking to. Countries with weapons, or without weapons, or building weapons, or supplying weapons, or...

And now the elegant one was speaking again.

"What you see here -- " and the sweep of his hand took in the entire wall, and everything that had been on it -- "are not our targets. They are not the focus of our mission."

The others leaned forward.

"This is our target. This is the focus of our mission."

The picture of the president was one they'd each seen a dozen times, on TV and in the newspapers: the president with his eyes narrowed, scowling. The president with his jaw set, and his mind made up.

"Unless we can somehow reach this target" -- now it was the solid one speaking -- "nothing else matters."

The room was quiet. Each of them understood how difficult the assignment would be. All presidents were defended against outside influences, against those who might push a man to reconsider a policy or rethink a strategy; it was the nature of the beast. But with this president, those defenses had always seemed impenetrable. There had been other attempts over the years, by other brave souls, but they'd never been able to breach the Cheney Battlements, or put the Rove Cannons out of action. And even if they had somehow gotten through, there was the president himself, sure in his knowledge, certain in his beliefs.

The solid one finally broke the silence.

"If we can't reach him, we can't teach him."

"Then we have to reach him."

"Somehow."

"Somehow."

Now the elegant one was calling for a show of hands.

"How many are willing to try?"

There were ten people in the room, and ten hands in the air. Now they stood, the ten of them with their half-remembered faces, and came together, hand grasping hand, in the middle of the room.

"Not Republicans!" they shouted.

"Not Democrats!" they cried.

"Grownups!!!"

Posted 12/7/06. For award-winning commentary, just click to "Rick's"! (And tell the neighbors.)

Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist, TV commentator, writing coach and public speaker.

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