“You didn’t fight in the war, did you?”
“Nah, man. Why would I fight for a country that wants me dead?”
What is an American?
On the surface, this is a rather straight forward question: Someone from America. However, in an age where even the President of the United States can be argued influentially that he is not, in fact, an American solely because of the color of his skin, it’s not as simple as that. Indeed, many people who claim themselves to be American would argue that the people who initially lived on this land we call America aren’t American (a key part of the Mormon faith is that Jesus was American and the “So-Called Native Americans” were actually a tribe of Jews who split off from the main group and immigrated to America. When they slaughtered their more righteous kin, God punished them by darkening their skin).
So then, what makes someone an American. Fargo provides a number of answers to this question that can be inferred by whose story gets told. And, in many ways, season four of Fargo is about the people whose stories don’t usually get told as the main story of America. Black entrepreneurs out to change the world forever, queer women of color trying to survive outside a system of control, and the ugly immigrants who didn’t rise to the status of whiteness the “right way.”
As such, to understand what an American is, if only in the context of Fargo, we must first answer the question of what is America. Thankfully, Fargo offers us with an answer:
“You know why America loves a crime story? Because America is a crime story. But here’s the rub. When we hear a crime story, who do we root for? Not the poor sap that got taken. The victim, no. We root for the taker. The guy with the gat. See, this country loves a man who takes what he wants. Unless… Unless that man looks like you.”
The audience the speaker, Josto Fada, is lecturing is composed entirely of black men. Men who, as the opening scene shows us, can and will be beaten, brutalized, and killed by the police. To the white cops of America, they aren’t Americans, not really. They’re brood parasites, a corruption of purity. Consider who would be, in previous seasons of Fargo, our protagonist, Dick Wickware. Dick is a Morman with a sense of righteousness and a duty to chase the truth down no matter who he has to fight, be it the systemic injustice of a corrupt local police or the mobsters controlling them.
He is also a raging sexist, racist jerk who is willing to humiliate teenage girls in order to catch his quarry. And yet, he is never once questioned of being a real American. His whiteness allows him a freedom to do and say whatever he wants to those not considered real Americans. Likewise the Fadda Family, in contrast to the Cannon Limited, are seen as whiter, albeit still not yet considered to be white. As Josto notes, “Johnny Society looks at me, they see a fella that’s using crime to get ahead. But you? All they see is crime.” America is a game rigged against those not deemed as American. Not deemed “White.” Sure, you can acclimate to the system, make it seem like you’re an American. But the second you step out of line, or the “Real Americans™” say you’ve stepped out of line, then they’ll kill you.
Going back to that opening scene, one of the most shocking moments of the raid on a Jazz Club was when one of the officers starts strangling a black man, Leon Brittle, with a baton. When his ward, Lemuel Cannon, pleads with the officers to let him go, because he can’t breathe, the officers comply… only because Lemuel was standing at the right place to not notice the officer about to beat him into unconsciousness. And keep in mind, Lemuel is a minor. He’s still in high school, working hard to become a musician. But the police treat him as if he’s an adult. Because he isn’t people to them. None of the colored folks are.
It makes one wonder if there’s an alternative to the American Dream. Fortunately, in addition to being the break out characters of the season, Zelmare Roulette and Swanee Capps offer such a response: Anarchism. As they put it, the system of America is one built on unjust and unfair rules. Even if you act as a criminal within the system, you are still working within the system to get ahead. Contrast their big scene with the scene of Loy Cannon explaining to his wife that their relatively rich status is precariously at best and can collapse at any moment if the rollercoaster stops.
But for Zelmare and Swanee, the game of life/society/America is rejected. Instead, the pair wander the country as Outlaws, “Ain’t nothing organized about our crime ‘cause our crime is freedom.” And while the episode has them explain their anarchistic philosophy in terms that would be negatively compared to The Joker in The Dark Knight, their actions within the series thus far fit within an anarchistic praxis. Rather than keep the money they stole all to themselves, they give their ill-gotten funds to the Smutney family in order to pay off their debts. They go after criminal organizations who want to become the banks that will systematically destroy generations of lives with a smile on their face.
Of course, such a way of living isn’t necessarily sustainable. Not because their beliefs are wrong, but rather because those with power will seek to consume them. In the case of Zelmare and Swanee, both Wickware and Cannon come after them to put them into bondage. Be it the metaphorical chains of capital or the literal chains of jail. The American system is built on suppressing ideas that aren’t within the best interests of the system. Anarchism, socialism, queerness, other ways of living beyond the White Purity. Sure, homeopathic facsimiles of other ways of living can be seen thriving, but it will always be on the terms of those with power over everyone else.
Because, at the end of the day, to be an American is to be an active participant in a crime made law call capitalism.
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