There's an axiom that says that, as a wound heals, it shouldn't be too unexpected that you'll feel a lot of pain. That's always been my experience. And I've had a lot of wounds. And I've written about many of them here. But what's sometimes forgotten about this axiom is that the healing itself isn't always a smooth process, isn't always an act of patience or tolerance of pain. And healing isn't always peaceful, either Sometimes, the act of making things better can require more than patience and gentleness.
Sometimes, it can require a special kind of energy to achieve - a sort of healing force, an aggression directed at a problem - like re-breaking bones, attacking cancer cells.
But the key point here is this: a show of force can be beneficial, is not always harmful. It can be a show of force in the name of healing, of growth, of peace.
But as we look back at our human history, too often we seek to simplify our understanding of what it means to show force. We too often mistake the effective power of our directed energy - our personal strength, our personal power - for brute force. We, as human beings, crave simplicity. We want to be able to punch wildly at the things we don't like and save the world by doing so. We want to slay the monster and see the grateful masses swoon.
We want our monsters to be easily identified. But they're not. We want our battles to be simple matters of whomever can endure the most suffering and dish out more turning out to be on the side of good. But they're not. We want our monsters easily identified. But they're not.
Because sometimes, even when the good guys win, many people still ally themselves with the defeated monster - even as that monster is in the midst of staggering to the ground, sometimes especially then.
And they can live in their rage against the world that comes after the monster is defeated - the spectres of real change and growth that terrify them worse than any fire-breathing apparition.
They will vent that rage against anyone who lives in any way - that dares to exist in any way - that defies their demands and vicious expectations.
They'll also call such defiance "arrogant."
And, given their tendency for this rebuke, they don't just apply it to people who have great influence. For the truly hateful and bigoted, any declarative action by the targets of their hate is arrogance.They'll even extend that claim of arrogance toward mere survival, existence. It's said that living well is often the best revenge. By extension, it can also be said that merely living can be seen by some as an act of rebellion. And there are those villains among us who do not tolerate rebellion and will punish anyone who defies them and their demands for obedience. And we see the faces of the victims of those demands every day - sometimes in a way more prevalent than others.
Loud music. Loud clothes. Loud voices. The petty, despicable list of so-called offenses of those who defy the demand that they be subservient to evil's whim can go on forever ... because the actual offenses don't matter. What matters - when we analyze the truth - is the first part of their description of this defiance.
Loudness. Loudness that they hate.
And this rage on the part of the American public over the loudness of an entire group of people - it's a cycle that repeats again and again, taking on new faces into its continuing story. But that story is always the same. It is about silencing the loudness, ending the protest, controlling the narrative - defining for others what matters of life and death are really about, making sure that certain people get to decide for others what it means to fight for life, to fight for freedom, to fight for one's own survival - and whether that survival is deemed justifiable by those controlling the path of that narrative. . Standing one's ground is supposedly lauded in the name of American freedom and individuality. But how can anyone stand their ground when our culture says they're not allowed to say the ground is theirs - because when they do, they're suddenly "too loud?" And how can anyone stand their ground when white culture says they're not even allowed to stand? When white culture lauds and protects the folks who push others down? Makes them figures of adulation or conspicuous forgiveness?
So this so-called complexity of public discourse - the endless talking heads on the side of those who seek to maintain the quiet of anyone challenging their positions of power - is a lie. The reality is simple: get too loud, says the message from the controlling forces in America, and you will be punished. Stay quiet, stay down - and you'll be permitted to exist ... maybe ... if they feel like letting you. Today. Oh, and stay servile, the message says.
And what better way to reinforce this than through white-dominated media -- designed to make white people like me feel good about how things are now by perpetuating disingenuous representations of a past that never was that paints the real lives and struggles of real people as consumable inspiration?
Because that's what happens. And how is this accomplished? It's accomplished in a variety of ways. Maintaining tropes. Maintaining stereotypes. Maintaining harmony with what was in opposition to what is, or what could be. Telling people that being quiet and being anyone but the star of the story. Telling people that There are too many tools and weapons at the disposal of those trying to tell the world how certain groups of people ought to be than could be covered in a thousand essays - which is why there are thousands of essays about it. I urge you to seek them out. I urge to you read them. Do the work. Do the research. This predicated on the idea, of course, that you haven't already. If you have, then I apologize for spending this time going over what's already obvious.
But this piece isn't about all these tropes. Rather, it's about working to oppose these tropes when they are used against a particularly targeted group of people, and fighting them - and it's about a hero who does just that.
The targeted people are black women. The hero is Monica Rambeau.
Now, I'm a writer, as should be obvious from my blog. I love writing. I love creating characters and I love making observations about the world. Because of these tendencies on my part, I pay very close attention not just to stories - but how stories are constructed, how narratives are built, how fiction affects the real world - and vice-versa. And where black women in popular mass-consumption American media are concerned, I have noticed a LOT of the tropes I have been talking about - used consistently, as weapons, over and over again in the dominant white narrative of the media machine that moves the minds of the people of the United States. And it bothers me. A lot. It bothers me because it's invisible. It bothers me because it's vicious. It bothers me because it's racist. It bothers me because it's wrong. It bothers me because it promotes cruelty. It bothers me because it tries really hard to rob a whole group of people of their agency. It bothers me because it succeeds in robbing a whole group of people of their agency. It bothers me because it's inaccurate. It bothers me because it's a lie. It bothers me because it's sociopathic. It bothers me because it's nasty. It bothers me because it's pervasive. It bothers me because promoting it is an act of violence. It bothers me because it's literarily lazy. It bothers me because it's hurtful to real lives. And most of all? It bothers me because so few people who aren't the target of this viciousness seem to be all that interested in stopping it.
But I want to stop it. I want it to stop yesterday. I want to see black women given the chance to be their own main characters in their own stories when I read about them. I want to see black women given back the voice and agency that has been robbed from them. And you can ask why I prioritize this group, when I'm not a black women, and my response back will be "Why don't you?" And why don't you?
But with Monica Rambeau - well, she's all about taking her own agency, even from the beginning of her story.
This is one of my favorite aspects of Monica - her origin. I love its brilliant old-school comic book simplicity. I love that her identity as a superhero is born of a closed fist taking action in a moment when she could have retreated, or taken no action. I love that her origin is as simple as a single act of defiance in doing what is right. That, to me, displays agency. That, to me, speaks of the healing act of force that I wrote about earlier in this piece.
She wasn't given a magic ring by some interstellar alien. She wasn't accidentally bitten by some radioactive creature. She wasn't transported through time and space to another world and declared a magical savior. She balled up her fist and struck a blow, at incredible risk to herself. She defied simply doing what she was told. She took her agency.
And then her world exploded. And she was reborn.
And you know what else I love about her? I love that her costume is born out of a need for practicality and not out of some absurd self-identification as a super-hero. I love that she puts on the garb of her superhero persona because she needs to wear something.
Practicality rules.
And practicality works, because it's an awesome costume, in my opinion.
There is no pomposity to her origin. She sees a need and takes action. She needs clothes, so she wears them. She first becomes who she is because of HER needs, what SHE wants. And it's beautiful. It's beautiful to me for all these reasons I have talked about, but also because here is a black woman who is a superhero character who - with the exception of the all-too-common-in-comics piggybacked legacy character superhero name which has since been thankfully abandoned - Monica Rambeau's origin is her story. It's not someone else's story. It's not a story of obligation. It's not a story for the benefit of some white character. It's Monica saving her world, and being rewarded with fantastic power as a result.
But that power isn't just the energy she controls and manipulates.
It's the agency with which she uses it - how she controls it - and how she controls her narrative.
Monica - in her best adventures - is portrayed as a woman who uses her incredible power the way a woman with agency would use any tool. She is clearly grateful for and appreciative of the gift she has been given, but she isn't unjustly grandiose in recognizing who and what she is. She isn't arrogant in the classical definition of the word.
And that's precisely what people like her in the real world are accused of - arrogance. Black women in our culture in America who actually use their power are branded as arrogant. They are told they're too loud. They're told they're too brash.
And worst of all, they're told that it's a problem because they're too angry.
I see it all the time in the real world. I see it in the way the news portrays a black woman defending herself from a violent attack.
I see it all the time in fiction. I see it in the way that black women are portrayed in sitcoms as being quiet and disinterested, distant from the action. They're allowed to comment on the action of the white characters, but they're not supposed to take their own actions. They exist to react, for supposedly-comedic effect. They're not supposed to fight for their own story. They're support, in so many cases.
Monica, however, is her own character.
She's an action hero in her own right - and she takes that action.
And it's the one thing that black women in American media are most "forbidden" to do - unless it's in the service of white people, white narrative, white stories.
But Monica is free of those kinds of restrictions - and the whole universe is open to her.
I love that image of Monica - and it illustrates another key element of her character. She's allowed to take joy in herself, in her power, in her agency.
So often, black women in the American media are portrayed as only being allowed enjoyment at the successes of white characters. Their actions benefit the white narrative and benefit the white hero.
Because black women so often aren't the central character of the narrative, their happiness becomes dependent on the advancement of the white storyline. But Monica defies this. She gets to be the hero, and she gets to take the credit, too.
How often do we get to see black women engaged in fundamental heroism, portrayed like this in popular American media?
Not often.
Instead, we get to see what I call the Officer Hooks model. You know Officer Hooks, right? From the Police Academy movies?
As with most of the characters in the Police Academy films, Hooks is a trope who embodies a single joke.
She is portrayed as a quiet, timid woman who is incapable of asserting herself, who is railroaded by others throughout each film - mistreated, belittled, silenced ...
... until, in each film, she reaches a breaking point.
She loses her temper, and starts to scream. She gets loud.
And the audience, for the most part, laughs. Except - it's depressing for me. It's depressing because Hooks - in her moments of extreme temper - is confident and capable. But this is seen as the aberration -- as a joke, as not representative of who she usually is ... even though it's totally who she really is ... thus creating the supposed humor. But that capable woman is depicted as living in a shell of quiet timidity. And that drives me crazy, because it suggests that her loudness shouldn't be her norm. It suggests her weakness in the earlier moments is her natural state, and the film seems OK with that - and nobody remarks on those big and loud moments or suggests that she has more to her than this polarity. I know it might be seen by someone as absurd that I'm remarking on a character in a juvenile series of films, but I think it illustrates a key frustration I have with the portrayal of black women in the media.
And it's also why I love Monica's refutation of the Officer Hooks model.
Monica isn't afraid to be big and bold and bright.
She declares her existence, and she fights for her existence. She fights for the existence of those she supports.
She's allowed to be the protagonist of her own destiny, when written by a good writer. She goes where she wants to go and does what she wants to do.
But she isn't just a creature of whim, when she's rightly portrayed.
She recognizes the responsibilities of her power - and uses it to the advantage of all the world, not just America or more specifically white America.
And, when underestimated in her quest for justice, she fights back.
And you know what it's called when someone thinks they're so much better than someone else that they make the mistake of underestimating them?
It's called arrogance.
Be arrogant around Monica Rambeau at your peril.
That's Magneto, by the way, in case you don't know.
So, basically, Monica is a superhero on a level of power that can take out Magneto.
She can do a lot of things with it, in fact.
This kind of versatility allows Monica to be portrayed in all kinds of stories, and it is this versatility that shows another element of why I love Monica.
She isn't just a one-note character dedicated to the betterment of some established white character ...
... even if she is a card-carrying member of the Avengers.
And I'd love to see her brought into the Avengers movie series. I hope that she'll get to be in those Marvel movies, whether her name is Captain Marvel, or Pulsar, or Photon, or her current superhero name of Spectrum.
Because it isn't her name that matters.
It's her character - her heroism, her bravery, her courage, her identity that makes her great. She's great because she's Monica Rambeau. She's great because she exists for herself even as she protects others. She's great because of the limitless potenti - l for adventures that are inherent in this character. She's a character who can be used to tell any story, reach any location, fight any battle and come out victorious on the other end. That' the mark of a great superhero character, a great hero character, a great character period - that you could put that character into any kind of story and know that the character could carry the story, could keep the interest of the audience.
And I want to see her in those different kinds of stories, want to see her represent a black woman with agency who takes agency - not from improper arrogance, but from justified pride ... and for that pride to be portrayed specifically as justified, rather than catering to the claims that any black woman who says or does anything of note is too loud, too arrogant, too proud.
Because it's good to be proud of yourself.
It's good to be loud if you're calling out injustice, or fighting to save other people from those who've wronged them again and again.
Real, unadulterated strength - and the agency it brings - are vilified so often when they're afforded to black women. A woman takes her strength, and in so doing she becomes branded a criminal or a rebel.
But taking strength is necessary in acquiring agency.
And fighting against the mad screams of the oppressive means being louder than those screams. And fighting the silencing shadows of cruelty means shining like a beacon.
And Monica shines.
And Monica fights.
And, by even her existence in her world, she's loud.
And that's why I love her.
And that's why I hope she continues to be a vibrant part of the Marvel Universe.
She's not afraid to tell the world who she is.
And it's why I think the character has endured, and will continue to endure.
Because at the heart of Monica Rambeau's portrayals ...
... even the artists recognize the facts about her.
She's tough. She endures. But it's way more than that. She's way more than that. Thanks to those times when she's handled by good writers, she also gets to be seen in a way where she openly feels and loves and observes -- and she saves and changes the world. Agency. Which is so important to modern comics writing, especially of minority characters.
Which is why Monica's one of the best superheroes there is, especially when you consider the long and storied career she has.
I love seeing how far she's come. And I love seeing where I hope she's going.
And I also want to take this piece to mention some of the wonderful women I've come to meet on Twitter, like the remarkable Sydette, or Indigo, or Womanist Gamer Girl or Imani ABL.
There are amazing people in the real world whose minds are filled with depth and emotion and truth. I cherish their friendship far more than I would ever cherish any fictional character. I've talked about real issues mixed in with these fictional characters I celebrate, but I want to take special mention to these four who led me to be inspired to write this piece today.
Do follow them. Do respect them. Do give them their deserved agency. And don't mess with any of them! Respect their existence - their thoughts and their lives. And fight for the lives of everyone who deserves agency. Fighting for someone's agency really is fighting for their lives.
Support the freedom of all people to have that agency you enjoy, if you see that they aren't being given it because of the injustices of the world.
Fight with the tools you have, as best you can. Because chances are that people who aren't being given agency are fighting for survival, already fighting for a voice.
And everyone who counts themselves a human being is wounded when one of us is attacked.
And on this subject of support, I'd also like to urge you if you're reading this to support black women who are comic book creators. Support black women who are writers. Support black women who are artists.
Support real black women in your real life.
Let them fly, too. Save America. Beat up everything that's oppressive in its structure and culture and identity. Make the world better. Heal with the force you possess - the truth inside, the power of love, the strength that comes with accepting diverse agency and identity.
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