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That is not what happened. In a particularly rough first 100 days, Powell went against Administration grain on Iraq and North Korea. He wanted American armed forces to continue Balkans peacekeeping; others thought it needlessly stretched the military too thin. Powell was blindsided when the Administration, without warning, disavowed the Kyoto protocol on global warming. Other officials stressed do-it-our-way; Powell sought cooperation.
On a series of issues, the U.S. antagonized not just potential adversaries but also friends. Those friends saw the man they had assumed would be their partner appear marginalized. Even when they liked what Powell said, audiences at home and abroad have been regularly forced to ask what did Cheney say, what did Rumsfeld think, where did Rice stand. In an interdependent world, where the U.S. relies on others to shoulder peacekeeping burdens too risky for the American public to stomach, or to assist in the smooth workings of the global economy, this degree of confusion has made little sense.
Perhaps above all, those who wanted Powell to lead American foreign policy have seen him somewhat at odds with the rest of the team on its very essence. The U.S. is at one of those fortunate--and rare--moments in history when it can shape the world. Like others on the Bush team, Powell is a natural conservative, with a keen sense of the need to protect American interests. But when he accepted his job, he focused not on the threats challenging the lone superpower but on the opportunities victory in the cold war offered. America could lead, he said, "not by using our strength and position of power to get back behind our walls but by being engaged in the world."
Others in the Administration see the world through a different lens. For them, the overriding issue facing the U.S. is the search for a way to defend itself against those who might threaten its shores with an intercontinental ballistic missile. In a way not anticipated before the election, national missile defense lies at the heart of Bush's conception of the world and that of his many like-minded advisers.
Missile defense may or may not be worth pursuing. Powell, initially halfhearted, now says he thinks it is. But it involves seismic change--ripping up the 1972 Anti-ballistic Missile Treaty, which has been the cornerstone of arms control for nearly 30 years. Such a plan antagonizes other nuclear powers, like Russia and China, and it raises concerns among European allies that the mighty U.S., so generous with its power since 1945, wants to look after its own interests and let the rest of the world go hang. Star Wars skeptics look to Powell to apply the brakes, to make the true believers see reason before they blithely abandon the treaty and disturb global nuclear stability. Or if missile defense is to go ahead, it needs someone to make its case with reason, firmness and tact, backed by unimpeachable authority--someone, in other words, like the Secretary of State his friends thought Powell would be. But so far, he seems to be going along for the ride.