The Scourge Of Commercialism

While online AA has truly begun to touch the lives and hearts of millions, it has also had a sinister side effect. Specifically: the rampant emergence of advertising -- and even outright retail merchandising -- on Web sites purporting to carry the message of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Whether it be links to online "gift shops" selling recovery trinkets, or brazen links to online merchants that have absolutely no relationship to the program and its message, an increasing number of sites appear more than willing to whore out the AA name in exchange for a few bucks.

Moreover, still other sites pretending to espouse the AA spirit have independently decided that simply having a desire to stop drinking is not enough to qualify you for AA membership anymore. Instead, if you want to get sober, you have to pay a monthly fee just to gain entry to the chatroom.

Such crass commercialism is beyond revolting: it's robbing hordes of potential newcomers of their chance to get sober.

How so?

When I first walked through the doors of AA -- a hardened, embittered cynic who believed he'd singlehandedly cornered the market on alcoholic despair -- one of the first things I hunted for with unending zeal was AA's "angle." I was convinced that somewhere, someone had to be leveraging the program to make money off the misery of alcoholics.

In fact, in my heart of hearts, all I really wanted to do was expose the imagined culprits for who they were, and then storm right back out those meeting room doors. My cynicism would be thoroughly vindicated. And I would be free to drink myself to death, convinced there was no spiritual alternative.

Instead, much to my chagrin, I found groups of people meeting in rooms with the most Spartan of furnishings. I listened interestedly as newcomers were repeatedly informed there were no dues for AA membership, that all contributions were voluntary. And I experienced more than a few meetings during which a basket had to be passed around more than once simply to collect enough for the group's rent and coffee.

Moreover, I also ran into one alcoholic after another who wanted no more that to extend a friendly hand, share a cup of coffee, and help me stay sober for another 24 hours. (Ultimately, It would be these same people who would rescue me from the life of a drunkard.)

But what really sold me was a simple transaction, a moment in time, when a literature person at one meeting I attended handed me a hardcover copy of the Big Book -- easily worth $20 in any bookstore at the time -- and told me the price was $5. (He also added that if I didn't have the $5 there and then, the group would be more than happy to arrange easy payment terms.)

"Wow," I thought. "These people may be for real."

Fortunately for me, I stayed on, and became convinced that AA, and the people behind it, are in fact very real. Of course, reluctant to part with my cynicism, I made sure I kicked the tires on the program until both feet were bloody before arriving at that realization.

In the end, I discovered I was the one who had something to prove not AA. For me, the program, and its principles, turned out to be true and pure -- much more so than anything I'd ever achieved in my life. To this day, I still have the same reverence for the program, the same awe for its truth and purity.

That's why I'm more than a bit concerned when I see hordes of money-grubbing, so-called "recovery sites" springing up all over the Web, all more than willing to gussy up AA into a cheap hooker in exchange for some spare change.

And I shudder when I think of the unending hordes of hardened, embittered cynical drunks who are turning to the online world every day for a solution to their alcoholism are finding a brand of AA entirely different than what I found. Instead of finding spirituality in action, they're happening upon sites hawking "recovery" mugs and caps. Instead of finding spiritual sanctuaries, they're being hustled into online shopping malls. And instead of being convinced that the concepts of AA and profit don't even belong on the same bookshelf -- never mind on the same Web site -- they're being told they need to ante up a monthly, recurring fee just for the privilege of sharing.

The question is, how many of these sites have reinforced potential newcomers' jaded cynicism, inspired them to throw up their hands in disgust, and given them that final excuse they secretly want to get on with the business of drinking themselves to death?

Sad to say: it's already too many.

Of course, there are some shades of grey here. I believe most people accept that some remnants of commercialism can be tolerated in exchange for chance to help other alcoholics. There's a vast difference, for example, between an AA group hosted on Yahoo! Groups, MSN Groups, Paltalk or similar services, which run advertising in exchange for their free services, and a retail site masquerading as an AA group simply to secure direct profits for the site owner.

And I believe most people also realize that the groups on Yahoo! and similar services grudgingly put up with the advertising so that they can sincerely reach out to alcoholics in need -- much in the same way groups in the brick-n-mortar world have been using church basements and rooms in other non-program establishments to reach out to alcoholics the world over.

Still, the fact remains that there are hordes of online hucksters perverting the AA message for their own, personal gain.

The solution, I think, can be found in the Serenity Prayer: accept the things I cannot change, and change the things I can. Most likely, AA will never be able to eradicate all the sites looking to cash in on the AA name. But AAers can at least expose those sites for what they are, and take great care to have nothing to do with those sites.

-Joe@aalivechat.com