When General Motors announced that it would subject its Hummer division to a "review," you could hear the tree huggers and the United Prius Owners of America shove aside their alfalfa sprouts and commence clapping.
AM General conceived the Hummer in the 1970s as the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle for tactical military applications. On the battlefield, it has enjoyed a successful 20-year run, despite issues with armor. The civilian version that AM General builds for GM is another story.
Still, it would be a mistake for GM to sell the brand to an upstart carmaker in India or China or to breed it as a hybrid, as some have suggested. GM desperately needs an obnoxious, attention-grabbing brand to keep from turning into a dreary shadow of its former self. And America needs the Hummer to remind us of what has always made our automobiles stand out, from the tail-fin 1950s to the muscle car 1960s and '70s: swagger. Americans don't just drive their cars -- they proclaim something about themselves by driving them.
Oprah does not drive a Hummer. But Arnold Schwarzenegger has been a proud owner. As has Sylvester Stallone. The Hummer appeals to large men of even larger ego, men who aren't worried about their carbon footprint and believe that obstacles in life are meant not just to be surmounted but squashed.
Every once in while, you see a little guy clambering out of a Hummer, painfully in need of a ladder, and you realize that it can also be viewed as a $57,000 ticket to enlarged self-esteem.
If this all sounds like caricature, that's because it is. The Hummer is a cartoon, more symbol than actual vehicle. Its sales are pathetic compared with pretty much any normal automobile.
Yet GM has kept it in the portfolio because it's, well, cool. Just go to an auto show. People love to climb into Hummers.
Unfortunately, GM is rapidly managing itself into a shadow of what was once the greatest-ever manufacturing enterprise. With bankruptcy an ever-present threat, it believes it has to re-engineer its mojo and downgrade a century's worth of ambition. If all goes according to plan at GM, in 10 years the great corporation will consist of three main brands: Chevrolet, GMC for trucks and Cadillac for luxury cars. Corvette will be the only exotic thing left.
GM has hinted that it may convert the Hummer to hybrid status. But that would be like putting Rottweilers on a diet of celery and watermelon. The whole point of the Hummer is that it chugs fuel.
And here is where its symbolic fortitude is most threatened: For American life to work, the illusion of endless abundance must be maintained. Sure, we must adapt to a future of less-abundant natural resources. Our vehicles will need to become radically more efficient. But we require vestiges of the old dream to sustain our national optimism, which in turn nourishes our national character.
This is what GM owes us, and what the company owes itself -- a ridiculous machine crammed with emotional content, the sort of contraption that Detroit has always done well but increasingly seems to have decided it is incapable of ever doing well again.
Matthew DeBord is a writer in Los Angeles and a former editor of a magazine published by independent Buick dealers. This column first appeared in The Washington Post.
David Zalubowski/Associated Press
Americans don't just drive their cars -- they proclaim something about themselves by driving them. And nothing speaks louder than a Hummer.