Republican Convention: The Man Who Wore the White Shirt

On the opening night of the G.O.P. convention, Colin Powell--who doesn't need an alliterative catchphrase to make him seem compassionate or a four-day extravaganza to make him look presidential--strode onstage to the beat of his own drum. Like other speakers, he'd shown up earlier that day to get comfortable with the setting and pick up stage directions, including the prohibition on wearing a white shirt on TV. But unlike other speakers, Powell did not have to turn over his speech to the Bush high command. However, he did phone Bush that afternoon to alert him that he would be making "some sharp comments." "The Governor," Powell told me, "was fine with whatever I wanted to say."

And why not? Everybody was fine about everything. It was a convention in the spirit of Barney ("I love you. You love me..."). No one wanted to spoil this party. As Jerry Falwell put it, if delegates would only count their blessings--the platform, the selection of Cheney--and "keep their mouths shut until their guy was in the White House," the infidels would be vanquished. In fact, party activists, once bent on cutting school breakfasts and midnight basketball, actually applauded Powell--who actually wore a white shirt. He chastised those who "miss no opportunity to roundly and loudly condemn affirmative action that helped a few thousand black kids get an education" but hardly utter "a whimper when it's affirmative action for lobbyists..." He also took them to task for keeping so much wealth on their side of the wall, for building too few schools and too many jails.

But wait. Isn't killing and burying affirmative action the signature cause of the G.O.P.? Didn't this party just two weeks ago vote in Congress to sabotage Clinton's request for more teacher hirings and school construction? Forget reality. With a raucous Chaka Khan, with rappers and wrestlers and a rocking gospel choir (hey, these Republicans do have rhythm), critics had taken to comparing the convention to a Utah Jazz home game, where everyone in the stands is white and most of the performers are black. I left a message for Powell asking whether he might have been used as just another prop in this diversity derby. (Did I mention the blind mountain climber and the Hispanic dotcom mogul?)

Boy, did the general return that call fast. "I disagree with your premise," Powell said. "It wasn't, 'Here's Colin! Here's Condi [Condoleeza Rice, Bush's black female national security expert]! Now vote Republican.'" Monday night, Powell had been abuzz with postspeech spin, bounding to interviews with anchors at CNN, BET, PBS and ending up on Larry King Live at midnight. The next day he made the rounds of the network morning shows. He concedes he couldn't say all he wanted (he had to cut his speech to meet that 11 p.m. deadline) but saw his moment in the spotlight as a "great opportunity to talk to millions, to tell Republicans the problem is us, not the kids. I wanted to shake up the way they see things." But wasn't he also telling them what they wanted to hear: that you can leave no child behind and have tax cuts? That America's Promise, his massive volunteer effort, will pick up the slack from government services slashed in the bargain? "You're not listening. I always make the point that if you do everything America's Promise hopes for, it's not a substitute for government."