It’s not every day one sees a Tesla surrounded by hand-painted placards reading “Deport Elon” or “F/Elon,” but that’s the tableau unfolding at Tesla dealerships in Marin and Sonoma.
These protests—part political outcry, part identity crisis—aren’t just symbolic acts of resistance. They’re reflections of a deeper rupture in the soul of green-tech progressivism.
The catalyst? Elon Musk himself, who recently stirred fresh outrage with a stiff-armed pose that bore an uncanny resemblance to a Nazi salute during a public appearance. Whether a sick joke, misguided irony or something more sinister, the image was enough to fracture any remaining détente between Musk and the communities that once saw him as a green visionary. When protest signs start referring to Teslas as “swasticars,” it’s clear the spell has broken.
But what does this mean for the many people who bought Teslas not as status symbols but as their personal means of combating climate change? The discomfort is real and justified. Being tailgated by one’s own values is one thing; being called complicit in fascism because of one’s car is another. The fallout is personal, not theoretical. These are folks who might support every cause represented by the protesters and still find themselves under the magnifying glass.
So, who’s really being hurt here? Musk’s bottom line will recover. His reputation? Never. But the local dealership workers, the early adopters trying to reconcile their ethics with their purchases, and yes, the protesters themselves—these are the people caught in the combustion.
That said, the protest energy is far from misguided. It’s just mis-aimed. Musk doesn’t live in Santa Rosa or Corte Madera. But policymakers do. So do school boards and city councils. Direct action matters—but precision matters more. The target shouldn’t be a parked Tesla (defacing one with a hate symbol is a hate crime, regardless of who’s driving). It should be the pipeline that allows tech celebrities to convert wealth into unchecked political influence.
Because if we’re going to burn rubber, let it be on the road to somewhere better.
Michah D. Mercer lives and loves in the North Bay.
