An Unfree World

Originally published in PanelXPanel #11.

I have an Internet friend by the name of Jenny Blue who does an amazing blog called Near Apocalypse of ’09. It covers the entire history of the DC Cartoons from Batman The Animated Series to Justice League Unlimited with digressions into various pieces of pop culture of the era (including DS9, Grant Morrison’s JLA, and Left Behind) and other works outside of the circle of “late 80’s to early 00’s” that have thematic relevance as decided upon by her Patrons (ranging from Devilman Crybaby to Rick and Morty).

So Mister Miracle #8 came out, and once again it’s a doozy. Before I get into the themes of the story, let’s look at the obvious things that are great about it: Mitch Gerads’ art is top notch, highlighting the grit of this weird sci-fi world our heroes find themselves in. Less talked about is his work as a colorist, which does wonders to highlight the differences between being on Apokolips and being with the baby. Tom King expertly uses the nine-panel form to highlight a sense of order to the chaos of raising a baby and fighting a war. It’s all just day in/day out for them. (Indeed, King invokes his most obvious influence, Alan Moore, in one of the issue’s best pages). Additionally, the script is top notch with moments of broken heroism, baby health tips, and timely musical numbers (though the line “Scott, what you know about my breasts” is a bit off for the grammar used in the rest of the issue).

But perhaps the most obvious thing the issue does is the way it cuts back and forth between “Scott at war” and “Scott at home.” Each narrative is separated both by the aforementioned coloring and also by the obvious decision to have the Apokolips scenes be presented on black pages and the Earth scenes on white. But this also has the effect of both showing a progression of time while also not quite knowing how much time has passed. There are points in the issue where it feels like time is moving too quickly, shouldn’t the baby still be bald and in a crib?

(I actually mentioned the blog to Tom King at New York Comic Con last year, as I felt the themes it explores scream, “WHY ISN’T THIS PERSON READING TOM KING!!!” In retrospect, it was probably the third worst thing I did at the con, right behind “Grant, could you sign this book of literary criticism that contrasts your career with Alan’s and frames it as a magical war for the very soul of England” and “Kieron, which Kate Bush songs give people orgasms?” Though Tom’s reaction seemed to be more bemused confusion than anger.)

One of the themes Jenny’s blog explores is the relationship between the superhero and trauma. She hypothesizes superheroes require a traumatic incident in order to become what she dubs the “protector fantasy.” Contrary to how most people view superheroes (as a power fantasy), the protector fantasy views the heroes as defenders of those who would be hurt by traumas akin to the ones they experienced.

There are of course numerous problems with this concept. To start with, there’s the title of the blog. The term “near apocalypse” comes from an episode of Batman Beyond and refers to an unseen event within the universe that nearly ended it. It’s extremely vague (as most noodle incidents are). But within the context of the blog, Jenny connects this concept with the Jewish tradition of apocalypse narratives.

If one subscribes to the “Scott is trapped in a simulation as if this is in an episode of Black Mirror” theory, then it would be easy to conclude that this compression of time is the work of the baddies trying to speed up time so they can get to the point they want to reach far more quickly. One can’t do much as a baby. The problem with that theory is that it assumes this works on the logic of a typical superhero narrative wherein the story is just a series of traps and escapes the hero finds himself in. The baddies get the upper hand until the goodies figure out how to win. (Tune in Next Time to Find Out! Same Miracle Time! Same Miracle Channel!) But this comic seems to be going for a far different narrative logic entirely.

The Book of Revelation, in its original context, was an extremely political text that showed the then decadent present being utterly destroyed by an outside force (God) and replaced by a better world. The price for this better world is the apocalypse, but as Jenny most fittingly pointed out: An Apocalypse is just a Revolution from the perspective of those who have something to lose.

It should be noted that she isn’t completely pro-apocalypse. As she notes, the apocalypse can be co-opted by those with malicious intents (the Nazis, to pick a relevant example).  But her point is that by the superheroes holding typically anti-apocalypse stance by virtue of their status as “Protector Fantasy” (as the apocalypse is, by its nature, a traumatic event), the superhero ends up defending the status quo no matter if that status quo allows segregation or is letting people die of AIDS because it’s god’s cure for the gays or any of the other cruelties of the world.

The truth of the matter is that when one works away from their kids, spends most of their days working abroad and the times at home working, it’s easy to miss all the mundane moments of importance. Not just the big stuff like their first word or their first steps, but also the little things. Going to the park, trick or treating, or even just holding them when they need to cry. Other people, be it nannies, partners, or even your other kids get to experience these moments while you’re stuck somewhere else doing what you need to do for your family.

This of course raises a few questions in regards to stories such as “Superman vs. the Klan,” “David Walker’s Nighthawk,” and “that issue of Marvel Adventures: The Avengers where they play baseball with Galactus,” but this can be resolved with trinity theory. Trinity theory is a structural device used primarily within the DC Universe to frame the big three: Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman. Most people using trinity theory assume the logic of it is “Hope, Justice, and Truth” respectively, but that raises the issue that they’re effectively framing the DC Universe within the ideological framework of Superman, which is close enough to how it actually works to be damaging.

In truth, the structure starts with Superman, but he doesn’t define it. Rather, Superman fulfills the role of being the heroic ideal of the universe, the moral logic by which the DC Universe works under: Superheroes, by and large, tend to be uplifting figures that make the world better simply by their presence within it and furthermore inspire those around them to be better. Batman, meanwhile, plays the role of the heroic antithesis. Where Superman is an optimistic hero of the masses, Batman is more internal, brooding, and broken. As Grant Morrison memorably put it “You cannot bring Batman into the light.” As for Wonder Woman, she is the heroic alternative. That is to say, Wonder Woman represents an alternative to the binary of “Superheroes ought to inspire people to better themselves” and “Superheroes are ultimately a broken and flawed concept that can’t save anyone, merely keep the world as is.” Her alternative is a radical one that is never quite able to work within the DC Universe, but nonetheless provides fascinating possibilities: Feminist Utopianism via BDSM Bisexuals.

(As one would probably ask given it’s the other major superhero universe, how does this apply to Marvel? Simply put, the role of Heroic Ideal has historically belonged to Sue Storm, who pushed her friends to explore the strange wonder of the universe and bucked the trend of Trauma being the driving force of Marvel Superheroes [the Thing is really the only one who that would apply to]. The role of Heroic Antithesis has bounced around from Wolverine to Jessica Jones, but is currently placed with Carol Danvers. And the role of Heroic Alternative has consistently belonged to Peter Parker [What if Superheroes could Change]. The phrase “Spider-Man is Marvel’s Wonder Woman” is proof enough that Trinity Theory works solely for universes with archetypical superheroes rather than character superheroes and why Richard Jones’ Great Houses theory works better.)

(In light of this, what I find interesting is the character growth of Funky Flashman [I know, I’m surprised he’s still alive. Then again, it’s hard to keep the Funkster down]. In previous issues, Funky was treated as joke character, a huckster interested solely in kissing Orion’s ass and doing great publicity; the cruel Stan Lee parody that Jack Kirby always intended him being. But here, he seems less like a caricature and more like an actual character. Sure, the first couple of pages he’s in still have him as the kiss ass, but as the issue goes on, he starts to show genuine feelings for Jacob. He actually cares for the kid and wants the best for him. [Also, Funky referring to Jacob as “The King” is just delightful.])

So how does this apply to the DCAU? Simply put, Superman is not the heroic ideal of that universe. If anything, Batman is. Numerous stories within the DCAU highlight the flawed nature of the heroes from stories like Brave New Metropolis and A Better World. Indeed, Superman spends the majority of the DCAU more in line with his portrayal in The Dark Knight Returns as an authoritarian rather than more radical takes, such that he doesn’t quite work as a Heroic Antithesis (Batman Beyond, curiously enough, does) and Wonder Woman’s role within the DCAU is far more diminished than her role in the main universe, such that she can’t act to her full potential as the heroic antithesis (and while that hasn’t stopped her before, it does push her out of the way in favor of Static Shock [What if the writers were led by members of marginalized communities in creating superheroes?]). But perhaps the biggest consequence of this (and indeed the reason why I told Tom King about the blog) is the episode Perchance to Dream.

Speaking as someone raised with an absentee parent, I can empathize with Jacob’s childhood. When said parent was home, they spent most of the time either arguing with the other parent about work or just plain working. Sure, they tried to make time for the little moments: they went trick or treating with me, we saw movies together, and all that. But I mostly remember them working all the time. They tried their best, certainly. And all things considered, they weren’t the worst parent. But at the end of the day, my memories of them are still filtered through the lens of their absence.

In her analysis of that episode, Jenny points out that Bruce is immediately aware that Batman is the one trapping in in the dream. The protector fantasy that Bruce created is a cage that has him trapped. Indeed, Jenny argues that this is essentially the relationship Bruce has with his secret identity: he courts Selina Kyle as Bruce, but Batman’s rigid loyalty to laws that have nothing to do with vigilantism forces him to arrest her. “Because,” Jenny notes, “to be protected is inherently to be constrained. A protector will not allow you to go places or do things they judge unsafe. The violence the protector directs against the dangerous other can just as easily be employed against the transgressive self. Bruce Wayne cannot date a criminal–a revolutionary–while also being Batman, let alone become one himself.” She then notes the title of the episode comes from a famous speech from Hamlet, and comes to a revelation about Batman. Not only is Batman a protector fantasy that defends the people, not only does Batman protect Bruce Wayne (age 8) from the traumatic experience we call healing, but it is also Bruce Wayne’s solution to a question that has been plaguing him since he saw his parents gunned down before him:

And yet, for all their flaws, I always knew they loved me. Unlike some parents I know, they made the effort to be there for me. They tried their best to provide for me (that was what they said was the reason why they went on so many business trips), to teach me to be the best me that I could possibly be. Sure, they don’t always understand my interests or politics and how those might conflict with what they want out of me, but they still try. And Scott tries to. Sure, he’s not at the point where he has to deal with his son’s adolescent obsession with rap or realizing his son has a fascist streak or anything like that, but you can see even this early on that he will do his best to care for his son.

Why shouldn’t I commit suicide?

tl;dr? Batman kills babies.

At the end of the day, Mister Miracle #8 is about the consequences of having a kid. The awful truth that you can’t always be there for them, no matter how much you want to. Whether that reason is because you’re at war with a malevolent God bent on conquering the universe with his singular vision or simply because you have to work to pay for the nice house and baby food the kid needs to grow up. We all want better for our kids. We want our kids to have a better life than we did. As the issue highlights, while that is certainly possible, we’re still going to mess them up royally. Yes, a kid who doesn’t have his father around all the time is better off than a kid who is beaten on a regular basis by his Granny. But that doesn’t change the fact that Scott’s not there when Jacob needs him to be.

This trap of parenthood is one that we cannot escape because, at the end of the day, no one really knows how to raise a kid. The only experience we have of how to do that is from the perspective of our own childhood, and we’re a biased party on that end. All we can do really is try our best to raise the kids better than we saw our childhoods. But our little mistakes that we see as necessary are going to have consequences, as they grow older sometimes for the worse… sometimes for the better.

“The only way to deal with an unfreeworld is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”
-Albert Camus as cited by adrienne marre brown, Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds

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