I think the problem my professor had with teaching graphic novels is the problem of the superhero. In "Afterword(s)" at the end of Batman: Year One, illustrator David Mazzuccelli wrote, "Once a depiction veers toward realism, each new detail releases a torrent of questions that exposes the absurdity at the heart of the genre."
In short, "The more 'realistic' superheroes become, the less believable they are." And that's anathema to academics, who see realism as a vehicle for the underlying gravity of the human condition––not it's ridiculousness.
When I read that a self-proclaimed superhero had been arrested, and that there's a whole community of "Real Life Super Heroes" (RLSH), I thought of my professor: how unlike the events of Cane or Go Down, Moses, "heroes" like Phoenix Jones and Urban Avenger finally have the advantage of topicality and realism.
Besides their victory over my aging literature professor and his dodgy hip, some of these crime fighters boast of accomplishments that scratch desperately at the surface of our national despair. Phoenix Jones claims to have confiscated more than 100 crack pipes, and was arrested after stopping a fight outside a nightclub with pepper spray. I bet stealing crack pipes reduces crack use about as much as pepper spray reduces tempers.
Heroes need villains, but the crime rate in the United States is the lowest it has been in more than 20 years. The real enemies are unemployment, shrinking wages, and dissatisfaction with our elected politicians––problems better suited for the talents of a Bismarck or Caesar than those of Superman or Batman.
In the '80s and '90s, comics writers sought to give heroes recognizable psychologies, but understandably had difficulty envisioning a world like the one we live in today. Frank Miller made Batman a morally absolutist man-child in The Dark Knight Returns, and Daredevil a reluctant and guilt-ridden crime fighter during his (Miller's) tenure at Marvel. Alan Moore's Watchmen sought to place realistic heroes in a world full of moral gray area, but again, crime––and yes, evil––plays a significant role.
Most in the RLSH community came of age when these landmark titles hit bookshelves, and their influence on this crop of urban crime fighters shouldn't be dismissed. Heroes combat evil, and that ethic appears to drive certain flesh-and-blood people to don masks and (lacking a more glamorous or pervasive target) fight crime.
The diminishing criminal element adds to the ridiculousness of the crime fighter who just fights crime, and some have responded by branching out into public service. San Diego's Urban Avenger walks for charity and feeds the homeless. St. Petersburg, Florida's Knight Hood restocks food supplies for local shelters. The Batman premise––that the symbol does more for the cause of right than the mere man––has become more important than Batman's hard-line stance towards crime.
Here in Boise there's a limo driver who looks exactly like Rod Stewart. There are a lot of people who know his real name, but what's more important is that he's the spitting image of the rock star. He's pretty famous around town. But what if he stood for something?
What if, just by showing up at the battered women's shelter or the food bank, he sent the message that even though we're out of work, broke, and pissed off, we can still make our communities better places? I'm aware of how preposterous it is for someone to dress up like it's Halloween and "fight crime," but this cohort of real life super heroes seems to have learned the most important lessons comics have to offer, and we should elevate their endeavor to a controversy, arguing that they're insane, or that they act outside the law because it protects the people responsible for our suffering.
It's an argument I wish I could have had in college. Alas, my professor isn't a kid anymore.
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