[Dipdive] Dip•politics Blog

Off the Road

With gas prices soaring, Bush and McCain are trying to push the oil agenda again. It’s a very simple (i.e., simplistic) argument: you’re paying too much for gas so you should allow them to drill for more, and presto! Your problems will be solved.

Never mind a geo-political climate that renders the physical amount of oil a moot point in terms of pricing, never mind ecological considerations, never mind that this is the same sort of short-sighted thinking that has steered this administration—and by extension, this whole country—into our current condition.

McCain is joining Bush in his favorite game. They hope to channel our anxieties toward legislation that in some infinitesimal and vague manner connects to a problem, but in reality serves another agenda entirely. This particular issue is a break from the old standby fears that the Republicans love to capitalize on - namely, the Fear of Terrorism and the Fear of Foreigners. This one taps into a fear that is uniquely American: the Fear of Losing Car Culture.

Let’s call it Kerouac-a-phobia.

When I was a teenager, like many before me, I was the stereotypical Jack Kerouac reader. I discovered his novel On the Road and immediately needed to drive across the country. The freedom of the highway beckoned to me, shimmering on the horizon: a dusty, chrome relic from a bygone era. I wanted to meet interesting and passionate people, to discover America, to scribble literary gems in my notebook… to change my life forever.

When I was 18, I actually made this dream a reality. I spent a summer crisscrossing the country with my two best friends. This year marks the 10th anniversary of that epic trip and we’ve talked about doing it again. But the sad truth is that we made our first road odyssey in 1998, when gas prices were at record lows. Now all three of us are in grad school; the fact is, we might not be able to afford a repeat trip.

But our road trip is complicated by more than simple economics. It’s difficult to reconcile the indulgence of this type of vacation with my politics. In terms of the environment, foreign conflicts over oil, and suburban sprawl, a voyage of self-discovery that runs at 40 MPGs (at best) is a tough thing to rationalize.

There’s a very personal basis to this target of the Republican fear machine and that’s that even the most liberal among us have a hard time letting go of our love for cars. We’re weaned on the automobile, especially in the West, where cities and towns spread outward with nary a train or subway to be found. Before I had my license, I was a prisoner, an aimless fool, a child. Turning 16 and being granted that magical, laminated slip of paper was the defining moment of adulthood. It’s no wonder I seized onto Kerouac, William Least Heat-Moon andRobert M. Pirsig as my literary touchstones.

There are signs that this is changing, that car culture might finally be losing its grip on our hearts and minds. Because of this, I’m trying to see gas prices not so much as a huge inconvenience that needs to be remedied but as something that can finally push us toward necessary alternatives. But here’s the catch: such a shift will only occur at the level of policy if we articulate it more precisely within our own lives.

In other words, if we let our grumbling about gas prices simply become about reduction in cost, then inane proposals to lift the ban on offshore drilling or to take “gas tax holidays” remain politically viable.

We should be grumbling but about other things: the policies that got us here in the first place, the auto industryand, most fundamentally, the culture of the car that we ourselves perpetuate. In Europe, gas prices have been high for decades, and it’s no wonder they’ve been way ahead of us in terms of efficiency and size. We now have a real and personal incentive to increase public transportation, seek alternative fuels and work on more sensible urban development.

In this light, high gas prices are actually an opportunity to mobilize support for causes that seemed fringe and alarmist only a few years ago. Liberal guilt is never much of an inspirational message for most Americans, but $50 at the pump says a lot. Only gas prices have been able to motivate a profound shift in perspective; in today’s climate, everybody should agree that tax breaks for Hummers is a lot crazier than fueling a car with theoil from French Fries (or, if we need to convince certain Americans, Freedom Fries).

So even us latter-day wannabe hobos can’t get too absorbed by Kerouac-a-phobia. Whatever form it takes—a gripping desire to keep that gas guzzling SUV, a tendency to name your car, an addiction to Route 66 chachkas—we can’t let it be hijacked by conservatives. Lamenting the passing of car culture will soon be like lamenting the loss of the Wild West: both were always a bit larger than life, mythical, reckless and fleeting.

Even Kerouac saw the writing on the wall. By the 1950’s, he felt like road tripping had been co-opted by the Man. In his later novel Big Sur, his literary counterpart stands on the side of a highway, reflecting on the cars that whiz by. He thinks smugly about the men and women inside who peer over a “previously printed blue-lined roadmap distributed by happy executives in neckties… ” It was already too tame for him, the very culture he had helped to articulate and define. Worst of all, no one will pick him up: “This is the first time I’ve hitch hiked in years and I soon begin to see that things have changed in America, you can’t get a ride anymore… ”

Oh Jack, hitchhiking was long gone by the time I was born, as was freight hopping and bindles and any semblance of a Western Frontier. As romantic as those things sound, I’m sure there are other adventures to be had in our crazy American night. We may just have to walk.

–Rider Strong