This past week I (finally) had the chance to see Black Panther, the story of a superhero from the fictional African nation of Wakanda, and it was as epic as everyone has been saying. This is a tale of truly mythic proportions, all with a resonating social conscience. There is a great deal I think this movie can teach us about how festering anger, even righteous anger, can destroy the good along with the bad. Simultaneously, it points out the need to recognize the egregious mistakes committed in the name of "tradition." These points are primarily carried out in the contrast between T'Challa (a.k.a "Black Panther") and N'Jadaka ("Killmonger"), which evokes (to me, at least) nothing less than the grand complexity of the Indian epic Mahabharata.
Before we get to that, though, there are a couple of other items worthy of note in this film. (Be careful if you haven't seen it yet, because I may give away spoilers.)
First, in what may be an unpopular statement, Black Panther's portrayal of its female characters vastly surpasses what you find in other superhero films, up to and including Wonder Woman.
From the elite warriors of the Dora Milaje (led by the fierce Okoye), to the scientist Shuri, to Queen Ramonda, to the resourceful Nakia, these are rich, multifaceted, self-determined people who are actually the ones to put things back together at a crucial moment when all seems broken. Having just re-watched Wonder Woman recently, the female characters in Black Panther seem far more multidimensional, and thus more empowering.
Second, I was rather taken aback to hear the character M'Baku ("Man-Ape" in the comics) say "Glory to Hanuman" prior to a ritual fight.
Hanuman is an Indian religious figure, not African. I wonder why the filmmakers would select Hanuman as the patron of the Jabari ape clan when there were ape figures in African mythology, such as A'ani of Egypt or Ghekre of the Baule in the Ivory Coast. Whatever the reason, they found it necessary to censor the use of Hanuman's name for distribution in India.
Third, as I blogged about a while back, there is a complicated relationship between fathers and sons, and Black Panther expertly delves into that territory. This isn't anything new for the Marvel Cinematic Universe (or obviously the comics, for that matter). A recurrent aspect of the Thor movies is the hero coming to terms with Odin's expectations, and failures. Tony Stark also deals with father issues, as shown in Iron Man 2 and Captain America: Civil War. That the Marvel Cinematic Universe has taken the care to create a multi-generational narrative is impressive, and something that (as I have noted before) puts it in touch with other world mythologies.
As I mentioned above, one myth that Black Panther powerfully resembles is the Hindu Mahabharata, specifically how the past histories and antagonism between the characters Karna and Arjuna parallel N'Jadaka and T'Challa. In Mahabharata, the young woman Kunti becomes pregnant -- via an incantation -- with the sun god Surya's child. Fearing what will become of her and the child since she is not married, Kunti abandons the baby, who grows up to be Karna. Later, Kunti marries Pandu, who allows her to use the incantation again, giving birth to five other sons, one of whom is Arjuna, fathered by the god Indra. Arjuna grows up in royal splendor as a celebrated figure in the warrior class. Karna is also a worthy warrior, but given the ignorance of his parentage, he is denied the respect and honors that are his right. He grows up resenting and hating the Pandavas, especially Arjuna, and when the war for the right to rule the kingdom begins, Karna sides with the Pandavas' deadly enemies. The enmity between Karna and Arjuna builds to a fever pitch until, in the last days of the war (and in an act that is not his most honorable), Arjuna kills Karna while the latter's chariot wheel is stuck in the mud.
Karna is an unquestionably tragic figure. He is filled with rage because his life was ruined by forces outside of his control. He was treated unfairly all his life, first by his mother, then the impersonal constraints of hereditary social class, then by his own half-brothers.
N'Jadaka, the antagonist in Black Panther, has just as much reason to be angry. He can also easily be interpreted as a tragic figure.
After his father was killed by T'Challa's father, N'Jadaka was left to grow up amid American poverty, discrimination, and institutionalized racism. During this time, his anger (toward global oppression, T'Challa's father, T'Challa himself, and Wakanda in general) only festers and intensifies. He learns combat skills and becomes a lethal, remorseless murderer nicknamed "Killmonger," all as part of a plot to return to Wakanda and exact vengeance on all who've wronged him. Killmonger is entirely justified in his anger, but his plan (to spread Wakanda's weapons across the world and spark dozens of insurrections and wars) would only metastasize his pain throughout the globe, not to mention reproduce the problematic colonialist policy he decries.
T'Challa faces his own issues with anger and vengeance, but to a degree he has conquered some of those inner demons after hunting down his father's killer in Captain America: Civil War. You can see his transformation in the clip below.
Even with this character growth, Killmonger at first proves to be more powerful, overthrowing and nearly killing T'Challa. While he hovers between life and death, T'Challa encounters his father and his other ancestors. Now, knowing that his father killed N'Jadaka's father and abandoned the young boy to poverty and discrimination in America, just as Wakanda has abandoned the world through its isolationism, T'Challa comes to an epiphany you can watch in the clip below.
This epiphany restores T'Challa strength, physically as well as morally. Prior to that, he had been an apologist for his father and the Wakandan way, but now he recognizes all of their omissions, shortcomings, and crimes. Though T'Challa and N'Jadaka have not had their rematch yet, this scene decides the outcome for it inverts the relationship between the characters. Previously, N'Jadaka possessed the greater moral claim due to the wrongs he suffered and T'Challa's refusal to acknowledge them. However, N'Jadaka forfeits that claim by following a destructive path equivalent to the name "Killmonger." He has allowed his anger to make him cruel, vindictive, and oblivious to how he has become just like those he hates. On the other hand, when T'Challa shows the willingness to question and challenge his own society's assumptions and criticize it where it must rightly be criticized, he truly becomes "Black Panther" again and regains the moral high ground.
Black Panther has much to teach us about how to deal with injustice. N'Jadaka is completely justified in his outrage, but by myopically seeking vengeance, he loses himself to the identity of Killmonger. To paraphrase my colleague Rob Reuter, holding onto to anger is like drinking poison and expecting it to hurt someone else. Clinging to rage only corrodes your soul and turns you into that which you despise.
At the same time, it is naive and unreasonable to expect those who've been wronged to "just get over it." In Mahabharata, Kunti reaches out to Karna and entreats him to join his brothers and simply forget all of the wrongs done to him. Karna refuses, and I don't blame him: without Kunti acknowledging the impact of her actions or the Pandavas questioning their hereditary privilege, what reason does Karna have to join them? In contrast, after defeating Killmonger, T'Challa takes him to see his first Wakandan sunset, something he'd dreamed of as a child left in America.
T'Challa then offers to heal him so that he live the rest of his days in Wakanda. To me, these gestures are far more meaningful than Kunti's, as T'Challa honestly acknowledges Killmonger's grievances. This also makes T'Challa a more appealing character than Arjuna, who never shows Karna any sort of mercy. In the Bhagavad Gita Arjuna does question his society's warrior orthodoxy in the way T'Challa questions the ways of his Wakandan ancestors. However, Arjuna's concerns are ultimately satisfied and he reverts to his prior perspective. T'Challa is forever changed and sets about reforming his society. Killmonger, on the other hand, cannot bring himself to change. He is not capable of responding to T'Challa's offer. Anger has consumed him and he lets himself die rather than contemplate any other way of living.
That part of the film haunts me. What if Killmonger had chosen instead to transcend his anger, go with T'Challa, and embrace his heritage as N'Jadaka? What could the two of them have built together? What could we do if we all acknowledge our anger, admit to our injustices, and then rebuild as one? What would that be like? If Killmonger had just let go of his anger and hate, they could have built a new Wakanda together. Now, all they have is a sunset.
That's all for now. Until the next time, take care.
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