They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although they were, so far as looks go, many years older.
— L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900)

Towards the end of the film version of The Wizard of Oz, released just days before the Second World War broke out, Dorothy’s three companions discover that they already possess the qualities they’d come to the Emerald City in search of. The Scarecrow had brains, the Tin Woodman a heart and the Cowardly Lion courage. The Wizard could give them nothing they didn’t already have.
It’s a simple yet strong message, one that survived the transition from book to movie and which has endured repeated screenings ever since: real power lies with the people, not those who pretend to rule over them.
Baum’s portrayal of the Wizard reinforces this idea. In the book, the Wizard is reluctant to reveal his true identity to those who seek him, appearing first in various guises: a giant head, a beautiful fairy, a fiery ball and a terrible monster. In the movie, the key moment comes when Dorothy pulls back the curtain to uncover an ordinary man possessed of no extraordinary powers.
Last week saw the wizard of the White House, Karl Rove, announce his resignation as U.S. deputy chief of staff, effective August 31. No one has ever actually called him “the Wizard,” as far as I know, but both friend and foe openly refer to him as “Bush’s Brain.” The president himself has his own pet names for Rove: “The Boy Genius,” “The Architect” and — best of all — “Turd Blossom,” a Texan term for a flower that thrives in cow shit.
Whichever epithet is most appropriate, the fact remains that Rove was probably the most influential man within the Republican administration over the past decade. He had masterminded Bush’s election and re-election as governor of Texas in the 1990s, and repeated that success in the presidential elections of 2000 and 2004.
Yet Rove’s legacy is already under critical scrutiny. He may have been a genius in the base art of politics (i.e. winning elections), but in terms of policy Rove leaves the Republican party in disarray, divided over core issues (e.g. the war in Iraq, gay marriage, stem cell research, immigration reform, etc.) and with a president whose personal popularity is at a record low.
But it would be wrong to put the blame for this solely on the shoulders of Rove, even though many in the Republican party may wish to do so. Instead, Rove is merely the latest in a series of pudgy, middle-aged white men who between them, over the past decade or two,  attempted to re-brand Republicanism as the natural home for American social conservatives.
Before Rove there was Newt Gingrich, Speaker of the House of Representatives from 1995 to 1999, whose Contract with America (1994) had focused conservative opposition to the new Clinton administration. And then there was Rush Limbaugh, whose populist radio show was credited with — among other things — helping to secure the Republicans’ congressional victories in 1994, ending four decades of Democrat rule.
However, even as Limbaugh, Gingrich and Rove pumped up the rhetoric and recast social conservative ideals as mainstream values, they failed to unite Americans around their cause. Indeed, the Republicans’ electoral success was based on dividing rather than uniting the nation, by placing fear, suspicion and paranoia (of terrorists, gays, science, etc.) ahead of brains, heart and courage. Today, popular support for the re-branded Republicanism lies at 35 per cent. Bush’s popularity is even lower.
The departure of Rove last week coincided with Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s latest cabinet shuffle. This re-jigging was precipitated by the need to remove Gordon O’Connor as minister of defence, following his poor handling of the ongoing war in Afghanistan. Replacing him is Peter McKay, whose position of foreign affairs minister now goes to Quebecer Maxime Bernier, whose own departure from the Industry Canada makes room for Jim Prentice, former minister of Indian affairs, a position now held by Chuck Strahl.
Confused? Don’t worry, for none of this really matters. As Bloc Québécois leader Gilles Duceppe commented, “They are changing the messengers, but not the message.” Real power remains with Harper and the Prime Minister’s Office. Harper himself confirmed that the shuffle would produce few if any policy changes. “We are not here to have major about-faces, U-turns, agendas that fall from the sky,” he said last week.
Nobody in the Conservative government — “new” again for the third time in 18 months — has said any different. They dare not. Harper has turned his minority administration into a Maoist regime, in which no hint of dissent is tolerated. Remember Michael Chong, the minister for intergovernmental affairs who resigned last November after Harper suddenly declared Quebec “a nation within Canada” without consulting him? Of course you don’t — he’s been an “unperson” ever since.
A long time ago, Pierre Trudeau once dismissively called opposition MPs “just nobodies” once they strayed 50 yards beyond Parliament Hill. These days, it’s government ministers who are “just nobodies,” even as they sit inside their government offices. Worse than that, they’re munchkins, people whose slight stature only serves to magnify the false size and strength of the man who pretends to rule over Oz.
Just like Rove, Harper has proven adept in creating the illusion of power. Surrounded by nodding Munchkins, he may even believe in the illusion himself. It’s an illusion that may also prove his undoing, as the Wizard warns in the original tale of Oz. “Usually I will not see even my subjects,” he tells Dorothy, “and so they believe I am something terrible."