Elmo: Our National Hero?

Furry guys get you at strange times. Between my finals I had the pleasure of taking the train down to Washington for the inauguration and enjoying both the hospitality of my cousins and "An American Journey," the weekend festival on the Mall. The exhibit boasted a number of entertainers and scholars, but as I read down the list, one caught my eye: appearing in the Millennium Schoolhouse tent would be a variety of childhood favorites, "From 'Sesame Street' to Elmo." Yes, the furry red symbol of this past holiday season had, in the mind of the festival's copy writers, come beyond his "Sesame Street" roots to the point where he was something to contrast with his colleagues, like (as the description continues) "a jazz orchestra to a gospel choir."

The billing brought the Elmo agony that had plagued me all winter vacation to a head: Why Elmo? What has happened to America that "Sesame Street," with all its other colorful characters and personalities, can't appear as one harmonious cast, a community like those in which we all would like to live in? Why must the Elmo craze be spinning off even more Elmo products and scalpers with the original Tickle Me Elmo dolls still run amok in office pools and newsgroups?

Before some Harvard-Radcliffe for Elmo Club writes nasty letters, I will say that I do like Elmo, the consummately cute and wonderful rising star of the "Sesame Street" world. Maybe some of the Elmo hype can help finance the Corporation for Public Broadcasting programming that is so valuable and yet always so vulnerable to budget cuts. Maybe enough Washington politicians said, "Elmo who?" to their children that they will think twice about cutting the dollars that support the people and puppets that teach America's children (assuming the parents of those children show up in district polling).

I must admit that America is no worse off for the Tickle Me Elmo dolls; they are just this year's leading symbol of the unabashed capitalism that plagues every American December. One company is surely much richer for producing the toy that turned parents into larger, more insistent versions of the whining children for whom they were buying the dolls. I can even dismiss my curmudgeonly opinion that dolls shouldn't talk, giggle or move on their own--that human imagination should be more important than technical ingenuity--in the face of the techno-addicted, video-game-actuated children that make Power Rangers and Elmo forces to be reckoned with.

Yet the question remains: Why Elmo? It is the cuteness, the big eyes that haunt me; sometimes you can't help but love the guy. Like the barrettes and the baby-doll dresses that have come and gone from the collegiate fashion scene, maybe Elmo is another form of nonconfrontational resistance to the push of competition and academic rigor. A stuffed animal on a college bed is the sign that more matters than classes, term papers and internships, but it doesn't send a clear picture of what exactly is more important. The Elmo craze has shown that even cuteness and harmless things can bring out the viciousness of the holiday season; Elmo is an adorable but malleable symbol.

There is more to Elmo than supply-demand curves or limited editions. In the culture of cynicism that we live in, Elmo has broken through as an icon, maybe even a hero. He is not a hero in the way I wish America would dream--he is not courageous, committed or visionary in any traditional sense. He is cute, ready to learn and caring, but he is not strong. Elmo isn't the "Sesame Street" character I would want to consult about my course selections (I trust Grover).

Despite the fact that I wish his prominence could be dismissed as an excellent product prediction, I think Elmo has really become a role model for the millennium. He is properly a symbol of wonder for the end of the 20th century, a figure of endless wonder at a world that unfolds before him. Perhaps Elmo, always energetic about exploring the unknown, is the proper role model for us as we face the complex problems like social security and Medicare that face our country and the complicated advances like the Internet that hint at the future. Perhaps Elmo is an adequate national leader this way; he certainly is an inoffensive one.

Maybe that is why Elmo worries me; I oppose him because he seems so hard to oppose. Elmo is cute, but he is really second-rate, an easy symbol for people to cling to. At the inauguration, Clinton and others were unclear on where the bridge to the 21st century will lead exactly; and spoke in foggy phrases and labels. Washington seems to think that, like Elmo, they can be stylish and pull a cute thing and replace any real details. No wonder the committee thought Elmo would be a great addition to their party.

Cuteness is harmless, but its powers are so easily manipulated. I fear that Elmo heroism could hide the real priorities we should envision as we approach the 21st century--the concerns and values that tire us out, that cause us to sleep uncomfortably in our beds. It seems the hard issues of the early 90s have made the national consciousness tired: AIDS, the environment, global nuclear disarmament. We can't be Elmo and approach these issues ready to learn for a bit and then rely on others to shape our ideas; we need not to see a complex world as much as a world that we must master.

As we approach the end of the century and the turning of the millennium, we should not delude ourselves that the big questions have been answered and we are free to run and play. Elmo is an important and adorable figure in our preschools and on television, but he shouldn't overstep his proper place, on "Sesame Street." We can't let Elmo become a national hero, of easy answers and wonder in a time when we need strong leaders who can make tough choices. Elmo just isn't made of the right stuff.

Adam Arenson '00 is a first-year living in Hollis Hall.