We have long passed a time in American history when branding was meant only for cattle and fraternity pledges. In this golden age of marketing, the Cadillac represents class, the American flag symbolizes occasional liberty and the Nike swoosh is a testament to Malaysian stitch work. But somewhere along this cross-country sprint to slap a logo on anything that sparkles and effectively turn this nation into a mutant NASCAR, we appeared to step over a few lines. While I am more than willing to wear a ?motion W? on every article of clothing I possess, there are simply some things people should not brand.
I?ve spent the last 10 minutes struggling to properly introduce the tragedy of the shootings at Northern Illinois University, but there is no easy way to do it. No easy way without some cutesy logo, that is.
We have developed a formula for dealing with a campus shooting, and we are perfecting it before a nation of cable news watchers and Internet users. The first step is to flood a town already busy in a state of panic with satellite vans and blonde reporters. Next, we interview those on the scene and happily replay their statements all night long, which typically range from ?I ran? to ?I ran like hell.? Later, we work to paint the shooter as an outsider and quietly debate among ourselves whether or not to sympathize with such a person.
And finally, we take a little piece of ribbon, throw the school symbol in front of it, hope the student body can find a sports team to rally around ? if not for the kids, at least for the ESPN ratings ? and wait for it to happen again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Oh, but that thin strand of ribbon, how you?ve become a sight for sore eyes. I am an incredible fan of your work, and it?s nice to see this tumbling economy isn?t keeping everyone out of business. Back in 2001, you helped show me the importance of supporting my troops. Of course, the message you were really trying to get at was ?support our president,? but even so, it was nice to see you take the place of Confederate flags and stickers of Calvin urinating on the back end of Ford trucks across the land. I could barely support myself, but you helped me understand the soldiers needed me, so I bought you and positioned you nicely on my Huffy.
After a couple years of lying idle, you made your return over in Blacksburg, Va., and it?s a day few people will forget. Luckily, we were able to soothe our national conscience by making you our Facebook pictures, ironing you onto the sleeves of our baseball jerseys and telling the rest of the world, ?Hey, look! I care.? So what if I don?t really think gun control is a great idea? And what if I can?t say I really work to promote solidarity on my campus? I had a ribbon.
And now you?re showing up again. But you know what, buddy? I?m starting to forget why I liked you in the first place. I mean, you make me feel like I care, and you show other people what a good human being I am, but at the end of the day, I?m not really helping anyone. I?m just a boy with a ribbon. It?s almost as if you have become bigger than these events you?re supposed to represent. After all, it?s serious hard work to actually do something on my campus to help ensure a tragedy like the shootings in DeKalb won?t happen again. But you?re easy. And we like easy.
In no way am I trying to suggest that these are situations about which nobody cares. Events like the shootings at Virginia Tech and NIU have an overwhelming effect on their communities, and there are still many good people who work to make this country a better place. But calculated public outcry is an oxymoron, and the possibility of branding human emotion could result in a tragedy so great, not even a ribbon could save us.
Sean Kittridge ([email protected]) is a sophomore majoring in journalism.
