I remember the first time I saw it. I was on the off-ramp of the North Avenue exit of I-75 Southbound in downtown Atlanta. I was just a boy – a wide-eyed college student returning from an off campus excursion into the heart of the city. As I waited patiently for the traffic signal to change, I saw the bumper sticker that would have a profound impact on the next 2 or 3 minutes of my life. Plastered on the rear bumper of a white, late 80’s Jeep Wrangler was the phrase “Free Tibet”. Instantly, I was thrown into a state of perplexity the likes of which I had never experienced. Sure, I knew where Tibet was. Even knew a thing or 2 about the geography of the country. But the question that spun around in my brain like the spin cycle on a Maytag was this: just exactly what did the Tibetans need freeing from? Had the place been overrun by yaks? Was the abominable snowman real and living in Lhasa, feeding off the unborn children of Buddhist monks? Had the country been invaded by a horde of Nepalese martial artists skilled in the ways of the “purple nurple” demanding that Tibet relinquish all claims on Mt. Everest? All these unpleasant scenarios flashed before me in a nanosecond.
I soon discovered (soon meaning several years later, with the dawning of Wikipedia) the Tibet had actually been occupied for years by the communist Chinese. Yeah… turns out that the Chinese have slaughtered thousands upon thousands of Tibetans over the years, all the while holding the country hostage and disavowing its favored son, the Dalai Lama – who apparently is not a native of the Andes Mountains as I had previously suspected. All joking aside, it’s actually quite tragic what has happened to the poor Tibetans over the last 50 years. I felt as if I should interject something serious into this blog so as not to enrage the Amnesty International crowd. But getting back to my diatribe…
Instantly, I was bombarded with an overwhelming feeling of… well… being overwhelmed. What could I, Ned Wohlers (pseudonym used to hide my true identity from the Chi-Coms), do to free Tibet? Wasn’t I just one man? And yet, the makers of this bumper sticker didn’t seem to care. Somehow they believed I had the power to free those poor people from Chinese occupation. Or else why bother? And just who were ‘they’ anyway? Was I being recruited by the Tibetan Intelligence Agency? Had this seemingly random vehicle been parked at this traffic light for hours, patiently awaiting my return to campus? Could I be the chosen one of whom it had been foretold, “he shall come from the west, mounted upon his trusted CRX, and he shall rid Tibet of tyranny once and for all.” Or had this message been sent out to anyone and everyone with me being the only one willing to at least consider heeding the call? Perhaps the Dalai Lama himself had engineered this modern day ‘message in a bottle’ and somehow, someway, this jeep had travelled far and wide, only to make its way safely, with message intact, to me. Whatever the case, I determined that come hell or high water, I was going to come to the aid of Tibetans everywhere and free the mother land.
It felt good to envision myself as the liberator of a nation. I thought of all the people who had said I would never amount to anything. They’d all be jealous now. Oh sure, some of them would do well for themselves. Some might even make their first million prior to their 30th birthday. But how many of them could say they freed Tibet? I was on top of the world. I was a hero… a legend. I would be immortalized in literature, and songs would proclaim of my greatness for years to come. My greatness index had outranked that of the vast majority of people who had ever lived. In celebration, I reached over a patted myself on the back.
But alas, as Don Quixote demonstrated, one can only fight imaginary battles for so long before losing a grip on insanity. And my temporary madness subsided as the light changed to green and the little white jeep drove away. Immediately, I was transported back to the realm of reality where bumper stickers are just decorations and catchy slogans are just catchy slogans.
These days, you don’t see as many bumper stickers. At some point during the ‘90’s, society collectively decided it was time to stop wallpapering the bumpers of our vehicles with silly, hard-to-remove stickers, opting instead for the easy peel image of Calvin peeing on some object of disdain. However, thanks to the silliness of Facebook causes, we’re still in the business of recruiting windmill freedom fighters.
Facebook allows its users to start and join ‘causes’, simply by clicking a mouse. Such convenience empowers just about anyone the pleasure of becoming an activist without ever really taking any action at all. Just yesterday I joined the cause “Stop Prostitution in Amsterdam”. It made me feel really good about myself… until I realized that my joining will do absolutely nothing to deal with the actual problem. Wouldn’t my time be better spent by getting involved with a group who is on the ground trying to end prostitution in Amsterdam? Maybe I could volunteer some of my time by helping out or raising money or recruiting folks who will actually do something? Instead, I opt for the easy way out, along with 120 million other Facebook users who are just a click away from making a difference.
(On a side note, I ran across a Facebook cause called “Smacking Stupid People in the Face So hard They Might Get Smarter”. Interestingly enough, it has over 750,000 members and has raised $55 to date. Perhaps they’re fighting absurdity with absurdity, but my gut tells me that the founders actually have a desire to beat up on stupid people, which in my book is just below ending prostitution in Amsterdam.)
Whatever happened to activism in America? Where are the fanatics who organize protests and sit-ins? I remember the good ol’ days when women wearing fur coats could expect to be attacked by loonies with cans of red paint. Have we somehow offended the bombers of abortion clinics in such a way as to communicate that they are unwanted and unloved? Why are the tree huggers no longer chaining themselves to trees?
As I contemplate the sorry state of activism in America, I’m reminded of my dear friends, the Tibetans. Someone has to step up to the plate and help these guys out once and for all. I’d start a cause on Facebook, but at this point, I think we all agree that would be pointless. No sir. This time, I’m going old-school. I’m going to one of the retro, vintage 80’s websites, and I’m going to buy me a ‘Free Tibet’ bumper sticker!
