I saw the commercial the other day, but having just returned home from the hospital with a newborn, I was blind with exhaustion, and didn't pay it much mind. A bunch of big, black Chryslers carrying Nobel Laureates to a recent meeting in Berlin. And then a white one pulls up, it's empty, and the narrator, with real gravitas, informs us that "this film is dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi, still prisoner in Burma." And the parting shot: "Chrysler: For a World Without Walls."
Really? Chrysler? A world without walls? Why now this stream of visual rhetoric about human rights coming from a greedily managed American multi-national corporation?
You can, of course, slap the Marxist template on this little film and have a blast. As long as Chrysler had a solvent, money-making operation that thrived on extracting maximum profit from the buying public while, for years, delivering a product vastly inferior, for example, to its Asian counterparts in the auto industry, then the only "rights" that concerned Chrysler were the ones that the unions forced them to acknowledge. Human rights, on the other hand, is based on altruism, on the understanding that no one's rights are less important than your own, whether you are defining those rights as individual, communal, or corporate.
Altruism, then, is the first outward sign of an inward and invisible commitment to human rights.
And altruism has very little to do with the core principles of capitalism. So altruism has very little to do with Chrysler. You can say this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm content simply to call it, for now, a thing. It is what it is.
But let's look at it another way. While I don't for a minute believe that Chrysler's ad people are driven by a consuming passion for "a world without walls," I do feel that they are trying to save their company by advertising; because a successful ad campaign attempts to uncover a popular cultural practice or a deeply held and not quite articulated opinion and align it with a product, it might be logical to assume that the advertising people at Chrysler recently had one of those light-bulb moments.
I can hear it now.
"It's come to our attention," one exec begins, "that this human rights thing is hot. Not only that, but over there in Burma, they've got this woman, like, imprisoned, and she's getting tons of attention in Europe and Asia, and so we can play the HR card and the gender card at the same time. And don't forget two more things: we supplied the cars for those Laureates recently in Berlin, and Obama himself, we hope, will soon be stepping out of one of our cars, 'cause he's a Laureate, and you know how big he is in Europe. So this is a no-brainer. Let's get on the HR bandwagon and put more people in our cars."
So human rights has shown up on Chrysler's radar. Let's call this a good thing, not because we suspect that Chrysler is about to become a massive non-profit for human rights, but because human rights workers have infiltrated a way of thinking that, while still fundamentally opposed to the founding principles of altruism, has been forced to acknowledge, in the only way it can, that those who fight for a world without walls are worth paying attention to just now.
That the Chrysler people are endorsing a way of life that, if fully realized, would dismantle their operation either hasn't occurred to them yet or would seem to them to present little threat to their confidence in human greed and materialism.







