Suzuki loses the American Dream, dies an unloved death on our shores

On Nov. 5, 2012, the American Suzuki Motor Corp.filed for bankruptcy and announced that no more Suzukis will be sold in America—not now, not ever. (Unless someone has the Bricklin-like foresight to import Wagon Rs to our advanced civilization in, say, 50 years.)

And with that news, the Stateside automotive journalists filed their respective stories, drove home and sat on the couch to twiddle their thumbs.

They couldn't even be bothered to open up their bottles of Olde English 800 and perform the last rite of “pouring one out.” Maybe that is because the news of Suzuki's demise in America came as a most inevitable finale for one of America's most sordid, saddest car companies, the once-mighty Suzuki. With a full and somewhat competent product lineup, Suzuki survived infamy in North America and even cobbled together a cult following. It spent time supplying the secret compact-car lifeline to America's biggest domestic companies. In its final chapter, the firm foisted wave after wave of anonymous models, supporting them with very little marketing. The company became a Catch-22 in itself—if Suzuki's not selling cars, how can they afford a marketing campaign? And if they can't afford a marketing campaign, how can they sell cars?

It wasn't all bad, though. Suzuki gave us some genuinely interesting cars: Remember the Geo Tracker? It and its cousin, the Suzuki Samurai—were genuinely beloved cars that stuck it to Consumer Reports. And the Swift GTI, which lived up to its name in ways that the Chevy Sprint never did. And the X-90, which was Legally Blonde with a targa top. In Japan, they have the Super Carry Turbo; in India, the Maruti Alto 800; here, we still have the V-Strom 650—mercifully the two-wheeled division soldiers on.

Today? None of Suzuki's lineup merits scorn, passion, ironic optimism or underdog-spirited nostalgia like that handful of old cult cars.

Whenever the bankruptcy proceedings are finally over and all the assets are tallied, you won't be able to buy an SX4, America's cheapest 4WD car, or a Grand Vitara, the last honest compact SUV. If you want an Equator, you'll have to go old-school and buy the Nissan equivalent. And if you bought a Kizashi, pat yourself on the back—you own the automotive equivalent of a ticket to that exclusive pop-up indie cocktail bar in a Park Slope warehouse: a hidden gem, the one car that automotive journalists trumpeted, Cassandra-like, to save Suzuki from its inevitable demise.

In the end you will be dearly missed, Suzuki. You passed on too Swift-ly to merit any Esteem. You started life in America with much Vitara and lofty expectations: soaring like a Hayabusa, like a powerful Forenza of nature, you seemed to reach for the Aerio with the unbridled dedication of a Samurai. From Verona, N.J., to Reno, Nev.—even down to the Equator—you were loved and lauded to near-Cultus-like fame; your stalwart supporters told the naysayers and rivals to “Kizashi my ass.” But alas it was not to be, and the naysayers won out: Years of being ignored reduced you to near-Sidekick status, and XL-7-sized amounts of shame came with it.

Abe Vigoda will pass, too, if he hasn't already.

But hey, you can still buy a 999-cc, 185-mph, 2.8-sec, 0-60 2012 GSX-R 1000 inline-four motorcycle for just $13,799, or just two grand less than an SX4 sedan. But like the SX4, the GSX-R is not likely to carry its warranty with it to its next owner.

By Blake Z. Rong