Panthers, Hulks and Ironhearts

JEFFREY A. BROWN is a professor in the Department of Popular Culture and the School of Critical and Cultural Studies at Bowling Green State University in Ohio. His many books include Black Superheroes: Milestone Comics and Their Fans and Batman and the Multiplicity of Identity: The Contemporary Comic Book Superhero as Cultural Nexus.

Introduction: 
Marvel and Modern America
 
Marvel superheroes embraced the concept of a Civil War, first in the 2006-2007 comic book event that crossed over into every Marvel title and then in the blockbuster feature film Captain America: Civil War (2016). Unlike the American Civil War between the North and South from 1861 to 1865 where disputes over industrial and agricultural changes, slavery, state rights and secession redefined the nation, Marvel’s Civil War pitted superhero against superhero, divided over the concept of mandatory government registration for costumed avengers. While Marvel’s comic book and film versions of Civil War provided thrilling hero vs. hero fights for fans, the larger political implications of the storyline have served as a metaphor for the real-world debates over civil liberties, increased government surveillance and personal restrictions in an unstable post-911 America (see Scott, 2015). In a broader sense, Marvel superheroes have become engaged in a different type of Civil War that has increasingly split Americans along political and ideological lines in the 21st Century. Republican and Democrat, urban and rural, wealthy and poor, progressive and conservative, Christian and other religions, white and other ethnicities. To many people America is a nation divided, a country at war with itself. One of the most visible ways that this ideological divide is played out in often contentious fashion is through popular culture. Many of these divisive social issues have been lumped together under a banner of “Culture Wars.” In the 21st century Marvel’s superheroes have increasingly been drawn into these Culture Wars through debates about ethnicity, sexuality, gender and religion. The popularity of Marvel’s iconic roster of heroes and the changing ways they are represented in comics, movies and television programs have made them important markers of social change and controversy. 

The ideological disputes over American culture and values --over what America is supposed to be-- all too often turn into physical conflicts, sometimes with fatal consequences. Violent clashes between protestors and police on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri, that raged for weeks after yet another young black man was shot and killed by a police officer. The over 200,000-strong Women’s March on Washington the day after President Trump’s inauguration in order to defend Women’s rights against a misogynistic cultural shift. White nationalists parading through Charlottesville, Virginia, chanting “We Will Not Be Replaced” and being confronted by anti-white supremacist protestors. Countless shootings at churches, mosques, synagogues and schools. These tragedies and conflicts have raised the stakes. Ideological disagreements are now a potential matter of life and death in America: Trans bathroom laws, anti-abortion bills, anti-vaccine advocates, same-sex marriages, marijuana legalization. Moreover, the public response to these events only seems to entrench the ideological divide, and lead to a cascade of cultural clashes that politicize nearly every aspect of contemporary American society. NFL players taking a knee during the pre-game national anthem to protest the treatment of black Americans turned into racialized accusations of anti-American sentiments and ungrateful wealthy athletes. Similarly, when NBA superstar LeBron James commented that he did not think the majority of players were interested in visiting the Trump Whitehouse, Fox News commentators said LeBron should “shut up and dribble.” When the teenage survivors of the school shooting in Parkland Florida called for stricter gun control laws, members of the NRA accused them of being “professional grief actors,” merely opportunists looking to get rich and famous. When women in Hollywood spoke out about the horrific ways they have been sexually harassed and assaulted by powerful men in the entertainment industry, they initially had to endure a shameful public backlash calling them liars, sluts, and harpies. 

James Davison Hunter characterized the importance of these conflicts as critical to the nation in his 1991 book Culture Wars: The Struggle to Define America. While this “war” has carried on for decades, it has become far more pervasive and more volatile than when Hunter first described it. The hard-won rights for women, minorities, the disabled, people of non-heterosexual orientations, and other groups that have historically been discriminated against, ignored and/or abused, have been fought for by many, and equally fought against by many others. Depicting the culture wars as a simple struggle between left and right-wing beliefs, between Social Justice Warriors and Alt-Right Trolls, does not capture the complexity of the interrelated issues. But every political and social gain (or loss, depending on your views) is currently regarded as a threat to differing ideas about what “the American way” is. Even topics that may seem trivial at first glance have become lightning rods for controversy with opposing sides seeing their worst fears embodied by those who disagree with them. Contentious ideological arguments have raged over the last decade in the news and on the internet about fast food chain Chick-fil-A’s religious objection to hiring queer workers, and block store Hobby Lobby’s refusal to include birth control under employee benefits due to the store’s strict Christian beliefs. When Starbucks introduced red “holiday” cups they were accused of leading a war on Christmas. All-female or gender flipped remakes of Hollywood films like Ghostbusters (2016), Oceans Eight (2018), What Men Want (2019) and The Hustle (2019) are disparaged as feminist travesties that ruin great movies. From Supreme Court nominations to plastic straws, anything can ignite an ideological firestorm.

This volatile cultural environment was explicitly engaged by Marvel comics as they began introducing new superheroes to their universe in 2011 with the creation of Miles Morales, an African American and Puerto Rican teenager who becomes a version of Spider-Man. Soon after, Marvel followed with a range of new and diverse characters taking on the names, costumes and adventures of many of the publisher’s most famous superheroes. Female adaptations of Wolverine and Thor, an African American man as Captain America, and an African American woman as Iron Man, a Korean American Hulk, and a Pakistani American Ms. Marvel. The inter-racial superhero couple Luke Cage and Jessica Jones were wed and became increasingly prominent in the Marvel universe. The gay mutant hero Northstar married his partner in 2012 and attracted an incredible amount of media attention. Numerous major and minor LGBTQ characters were introduced, and a popular member of The X-Men, Bobby Drake, aka Iceman, who has been around since 1963, came out as gay in 2015. The first Marvel film to headline a non-white character, Black Panther (2018), became the studio’s highest grossing solo hero film, and their first female-led film, Captain Marvel (2019), became the second highest grossing solo Marvel movie. And on television, several Marvel series focus on diverse casts, including Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (2013-ongoing), Cloak & Dagger (2018-ongoing), Runaways (2017-ongoing), Luke Cage (2016-2018), Jessica Jones (2015-2019), and Iron Fist (2017-2018). The world of Marvel superheroes was changing, diversifying, in a way that reflected real world changes and an increased awareness of identity politics. The editorial directive was that Marvel’s fictional universe should resemble the “world outside our windows.”

Behind the scenes, the demographics of Marvel creators was also changing in the early decades of the 21stCentury. Far more women and creators of color were involved in writing, illustrating and editing Marvel superheroes than ever before. Ta-Nehisi Coates, G. Willow Wilson, Kelly Sue Deconnick, Gabby Rivera, Kelly Thompson, Saladin Ahmed, Magdalene Visaggio and dozens of other diverse creators brought a fresh perspective to an industry long dominated by white male producers. Unfortunately, the increasing diversity of both characters and creators at Marvel did not sit well with everyone. Just as social media had become an important factor in relation to public debates about school shootings, LGTBQ rights, racism and politics, new technologies allowed a particularly vile backlash against the increasing diversity in comics. When Marvel writer Chelsea Cain’s Mockingbird #8 was released in late 2016 with the titular heroine depicted on the cover wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with “Ask Me About My Feminist Agenda” she was bombarded with hateful texts, tweets and posts accusing her of destroying comics with her “feminist crap.” A few months later in early 2017, a group of young female staffers at Marvel posted a selfie of themselves getting milkshakes as part of their remembrance of pioneering publisher Flo Steinberg who had recently passed away. The image of these seven young Marvel employees enjoying a work break immediately inspired a tidal wave of hatred from online trolls, dismissing these women as “fake geek girls,” “tumblr-virtue signalers,” “false rape charge types,” and the Right’s catchall insult “Social Justice Warriors.” The vicious and persistent online attacks forced Cain, the members of the Milkshake Crew, and others like trans writer Magdalene Visaggio (Dazzler, The Magnificent Ms. Marvel) and MacArthur Genius Award winner Ta-Nehisi Coates (Black Panther, Captain America), forced creators to either engage with ridiculous rhetoric or close down their social media presence.

The increasingly personal and threatening nature of the online backlash against diverse characters and creators was dubbed “Comicsgate” and attracted media coverage as yet another battle line in the Culture Wars. The Daily Beastdeclared it “an ugly new front in the online culture wars [that] targets women, people of color, and LGBT folk in the comic book industry.” (Elbein, April 2, 2018) The Washington Post observed: “Comicsgate claims to be fighting against censorship and the politicized groupthink of leftist social justice warrior (SJWs) --anti-racists, feminists and marginalized people whom the right characterizes as oppressors. But again, like other movements, Comicsgate participants in fact work to silence opinions they dislike and voices they deem malignant.” (Berlatsky, Sept. 13, 2018) And The Miami Heralddescribed Comicsgate as “an affiliation of alt-right comic book fan boys united by their hatred of women, themes of feminism or diversity in comics and by their willingness to bully and harass.” (Pitts, Dec. 28, 2018) Marvel (and DC Comics) backed their creators as best they could and continued to endorse a more diverse lineup of characters. Likewise, dozens of other creators, comic store owners, and thousands of fans came to the defense of diversity and denounced the narrow-minded views of the trolls lurking behind the Comicsgate crusade. In their attempt to parallel the real-world changes in American society, the comic book industry, and Marvel superheroes in particular, found themselves embroiled in debates about identity politics, cultural values, and just what a hero is supposed to mean -and look like- in modern America.

Arguing over the ethnicity, the religion, or the sexual orientation of fictional comic book characters dressed in colorful spandex while they punch alien invaders may seem ludicrous at first glance. Isn’t this just another example of immature superhero fans taking fantasies way too seriously? Perhaps. But it is also a sign of just how important these caped characters are in our culture at large. Especially in a post-911 era that desperately needs heroic images and has turned to superheroes to fill that void. Superheroes are a uniquely American image of social ideals embodied in a few fantastic characters. Superheroes teach morals, values, and ideas about justice and the law to young and old consumers alike. To borrow the iconic catchphrase of the original superhero, these silly costumed adventurers model clear conceptions of “truth, justice, and the American Way.” The problem is that concepts like these are not as clear as they may have been when superheroes first emerged with Superman in 1938. Indeed, with the unifying patriotism of the second World War and the subsequent conservativism of post-war and 1950s America, “truth, justice, and the American Way” were assumed to be natural ideals and clear cultural values. But following the turbulence of the 1960s Civil Rights era, and subsequent Women’s and Queer movements, the meaning of concepts like “the American way” have become a point of contention. Radically different opinions about what exactly “the American way” is nowadays lies at the heart of all the conflicts in the Culture Wars, from Trump’s proposed border wall, to Starbuck’s Holiday cups, to superheroes that fall outside a presumed white, hetero, masculine, Christian norm.

Marvel superheroes have interacted with issues of cultural diversity ever since Stan Lee and Jack Kirby redefined comic book relevance in the 1960s. Marvel introduced the Black Panther, the first mainstream black superhero in the pages of The Fantastic Four #52 in 1966. And by 1969 Marvel added the Falcon (Sam Wilson) as an African American partner for Captain America. The Chinese Shang-Chi, aka the Master of Kung-Fu was created at Marvel in 1973, but Marvel had also published the short-lived series Yellow Claw in 1956 which featured Asian American FBI Agent Jimmy Woo as the central hero. In 1975 Marvel debuted White Tiger (Hector Ayala), the first Latino superhero, and then the first Latina superheroine with Firebird (Bonita Juarez) in 1981. And in 1992 Marvel outed the mutant hero Northstar, a member of Alpha Flight, as the first openly gay superhero. The historical and continuing significance of these, and other, characters will be addressed throughout this book. But the most common way that Marvel superheroes have engaged with diversity and discrimination has been through the metaphor of mutants. With the first appearance of The X-Men in 1963 Stan Lee created the mutant hero as a means to explain an unlimited amount of super powered characters without the need to dream up a unique origin story for each of them. Marvel’s mutants were described as a natural evolutionary step wherein a mysterious “X-gene” would activate in some humans during puberty, turning them into super powered Homo Superiors. By the late 1970s, mutants were some of the most popular characters in comic books and allowed for a range of stories to address social inequalities as well as costumed adventures.

The conception of mutants in the Marvel universe as genetic variations facilitated a type of narrative pathos for the heroes that was otherwise difficult to create for all-powerful characters. P. Andrew Miller (2003) argues that an “important aspect of the X-Men is its series-encompassing theme of prejudice and bigotry. The X-Men and all mutants are often hated because they were born different from anyone else.” (283) This emphasis on the physical as well as cultural difference of mutants, Miller clarifies, “can be seen as metaphors for any number of minority or marginal groups.” (283) Thus, the idea of mutants as a heroic but ostracized group in American society has served as a thinly masked metaphor for racial and religious discrimination, anti-immigration sentiments, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and sexually transmitted diseases (particularly HIV). In other words, mutants have stood in for a wide range of groups that have been persecuted, including ethnic minorities, Jewish and Islamic Americans, immigrants, and LGBTQ people. Ramzi Fawaz (2016), in his insightful analysis of the ideological and political shifting between the relatively stable classic post-war superhero and the instability of heroes inspired by the countercultural movements of the 1960s, claims Marvel’s mutants helped bring into question the assumption of ideal American citizenship that had always been part of the aspirational qualities of superheroes. “By popularizing the genetic mutant as a social and species minority, the series [The X-Men] laid the foundation for reimagining the superhero as a figure that, far from drawing readers to a vision of ideal citizenship through patriotic duty or righteous suffering,” Fawaz argues, “dramatized the politics of inequality, exclusion, and difference.” (144) With the mutant heroes as cultural outsiders from a marginalized and persecuted minority the stories managed to critique discriminatory beliefs without being so overtly political that readers might resist. The comic books (and later cartoons and movies) were still superheroic fantasy fiction about good versus evil, but the mutant storylines always included a clear message that anyone who hated the “damn muties” simply for being different was a small-minded bigot. 

Despite the incredible popularity of Marvel’s mutants, and the success of mutants as analogous to real world subaltern groups, the diverse heroes who have emerged at Marvel in the last few years have not been mutants. The “Mutant Metaphor” is a useful device for incorporating serious political issues into superhero comics, but it also allows the comics to avoid any direct involvement with controversial topics. As Fawaz notes: “The elasticity of mutation as a metaphor for a variety of embodied and cultural differences made it a potent popular fantasy for vitalizing Marvel Comics’ cosmopolitan ethos at the level of both comic book content and public reception.” (2016, 144-145) As a metaphor, mutants are a relatively safe way to depict discrimination and bigotry as evil, all without much actual diversification of the fictional heroes. Relying too heavily on mutants as a metaphor for non-white ethnicities, non-heteronormative sexualities, non-Christian religious beliefs, etc. is akin to the comic industry’s outdated excuse that the superhero genre already included diverse “character of color” because they included heroes with skin that was green, purple, red, and blue. The diverse heroes that Marvel has introduced in the last decade are purposefully not mutants (nor aliens, robots, gods, demons etc.), they are Americans who just so happen to fall outside the parameters of the traditional white, male superhero.

For most of their over eighty years of existence, the figure of the superhero has combined and valorized the qualities of whiteness, masculinity, and nationhood. The superhero reflected, and offered fictional evidence of, America’s romantic self-image embodied in a hypermasculine Anglo-Saxon hero. “Historically, comic books have been a cultural space dominated by White, masculine characters and audiences,” observes Whitney Hunt (2019) in her analysis of audience interpretations of race, “leaving narratives for women and minority characters as significantly underrepresented or portrayed in stereotypical contexts.” (86) When minorities did begin to appear more regularly in superhero stories in the 1960s they were usually minor figures and/or presented as demeaning caricatures. The historical lack of diversity in comic books is, of course, not unique. Every form of American entertainment, every mass medium, has suffered from the same forms of under representation and stereotyping. The slow change in American media through the last century from an overwhelmingly white landscape to a gradually more diverse one reflects real world changes and political advancements in the world outside of popular fictions and in America’s self-image. While the dominance of iconic white heroes is not unique to the superhero genre, the fact that superheroes occupy a position as idealized role models for children and as avatars for abstract cultural beliefs about justice and nation means that the foundational whiteness of superheroes is particularly important. 

In his work on geo-politics, Jason Dittmer (2013) focuses on how specific comic book characters like Union Jack, Captain Canuck, and especially Captain America, embody and enact national ideals. Dittmer refers to this type of character as a “Nationalist Superhero,” patriotic cultural figures who are defined as a “hero (or very rarely, the heroine) explicitly identifies himself or herself as representative and defender of a specific nation-state, often through his or her name, uniform, and mission.” (7) For Dittmer, the explicitness of the nationalist superhero’s alignment with the state is an important distinction from other heroes who may be “prosocial,” which Dittmer describes as: “fighting for the American people (among others) rather than for America as an abstract idea.” (7) All heroes may be champions of cultural ideals –defenders of the American way- but the fact that Captain America is intentionally depicted “as the living embodiment of the American Dream (rather than a tool of the state)” (Dittmer, 2013, 7), makes his emblematic significance distinctive. Captain America is intentionally used by writers and understood by audiences as “fighting for America as an abstract idea.” In other words, the abstract ideal of American values is made concrete in the nationalist superhero. As a symbol for the nation, Captain America serves as a focal point for considering how superheroes reflect and construct America.

The symbolic resonance of Captain America as a fictional personification of the nation was apparent through the media’s and the public’s reaction to news of his death in Captain America #25, at the culmination of the Civil War storyline in 2007. In writer Ed Brubaker’s award-winning arc “Death of the Dream,” Steve Rogers is gunned down on the steps of a courthouse after surrendering as the leader of the anti-registration rebels. Captain America’s death was orchestrated by Red Skull and other villains from his past, but the broader media framed the story as signifying the death of American ideals. But what exactly the “American ideals” that were being mourned in Captain America’s passing was up for debate. Critics and commentators argued whether the death of such an iconic character represented the loss of noble, conservative, patriotic values, or the loss of American values of freedom, independence and tolerance of others. Marvel kept the metaphorical intentions of Captain America’s death intentionally vague. As Dittmer noted: “In leaving it to the audience to affix a meaning to the allegory, they hoped for the story to be all things to all people, a tradition that Captain America has famously occupied for much of the previous half-century.” (2012, 151) Interpretations depended on the ideological and political bias of the media outlets and individual readers. Reviewing the media coverage, J. Richard Stevens summarized that “Captain America’s death came to be viewed as the death of liberty, either rightfully so (from the left) or wrongfully so (from the right).” (2015, 257) Though Rogers returned to life a few years later and resumed his career as Captain America (as major comic book heroes are apt to do), the debates over his death are an indication of how important a cultural symbol the character is well beyond comics fandom.

Captain America, more than any other superhero in the Marvel universe (indeed, only Superman rivals Cap’s patriotic status within the genre at large), represents America as a shining beacon of hope, strength, perseverance, and fairness. His embodiment of abstract ideals is stressed by writers, fans and critics alike. For example, in their discussion of Messianic images in comics, William David Hall and Ezra Howard note: “The character was created to represent American ideals and values and has become a dominant symbol in American culture. Marvel cast Captain America as both American hero and model citizen.” (2010, 132) Likewise, in his historical analysis of Captain America’s masculinity, J. Richard Stevens argues: “Captain America [is] the moral center of the Marvel Universe…. the ideals, for what is best for America. His code of honor and his honesty are above reproach, and the confidence with which he carries himself exudes an air of power coupled with innocence, a view consistent with how many Americans see their country in respect to others in the world.” (2015, 281) Captain America is the embodiment of American ideals and American citizenship, but the character also implicitly signifies America through the identity of a white masculinity. Like most superheroes, Captain America represents a hegemonic cultural position. The implication is that not only is the character white and male, but that at its best the nation itself is defined as white and male. This reciprocal whitening of both the hero and the country he represents is crucial to the symbolic function of Nationalist Superheroes as described by Dittmer. “It is through not only exteriorizing the racial other but also making visible the racial self that the nation becomes white,” Dittmer argues, “Nationalist superheroes are one such site on which national whiteness is enunciated and the body politic is cleansed of people of color.” (2013, 49) But this yoking together of white masculinity and America through the figure of Captain America has become far more complicated in recent years. In many ways, the image of Captain America can be as flexible a metaphor for America as Marvel’s mutants have been. As a symbol, Captain America is multifaceted and represents far more than a simple belief that an ideal America is white and male. 

In fact, as a concise symbol of the nation, Captain America has often been used to question or critique political and social issues. Captain America was created by Jack Kirby and Joe Simon in 1941 to spur on anti-Nazi sentiment just prior to the nation’s involvement in World War II. The cover of Captain America #1 famously depicted the star-spangled hero punching Hitler on the jaw. Captain America was war time propaganda of the first order for children and enlisted men. The popularity of superheroes waned after the war and in 1950 Captain America was cancelled. Marvel revived Captain America (Steve Rogers) in 1964 and he has remained an anchor of the Marvel universe ever since. But, despite his patriotic persona, the character has occasionally spoken against government policies and various hate groups. In 1974, under the shadow of the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal, Steve Rogers even renounced being Captain America for a period because he could not represent a country he no longer respected. Rogers adopted the superhero name “Nomad,” literally a man without a country. Steve Rogers quit being Captain America again as recently as 2019, during the Trump era, when conservative and violent extremist factions in the comics have taken over the American government. At different times and in different realities numerous other characters have taken on the moniker of Captain America (in line with the logic of comics multiplicity explored in Chapter One), including William Masland, Jeffrey Mace, William Burnside, and John Walker. But, until recently, every version of Captain America was a white male like Steve Rogers. 

The 2003 Marvel mini-series Truth: Red, White & Black, by Robert Morales and Kyle Baker, made headlines for the story of Isaiah Bradley, an African American character who was the first Captain America. The revisionist tale reveals that prior to Steve Rogers transformation into a super soldier, the government had been experimenting on African American men in an attempt to genetically modify superior fighters. Hundreds of the soldiers were casually killed by the racist officers and medical staff in charge of the experiments. They were treated as lab rats not people. Isaiah was the only survivor, and though he did gain super strength, he was ultimately imprisoned for stealing a prototype Captain America uniform and engaging the enemy. Isaiah’s health eventually deteriorated due to the experiments and his long incarceration, leaving him a shell of his former self as he aged in relative poverty and obscurity. In her analysis of Truth: Red, White & Black Consuela Francis insightfully argues that substituting a black hero for a white one is a radical symbolic act: “Steve Rogers, through the miracle of the Super Soldier serum, becomes a walking, talking, (near) indestructible symbol of American courage, strength, and virtue. To place a black man in this uniform calls into question those virtues and makes many things we would rather not see, such as the whiteness of American heroism, visible.” (2015, 139) Likewise, framing the creation of Captain America, the sentinel of liberty, as preceded by a Tuskegee Airmen type of dehumanizing experiment conducted by the American government is a powerful statement about the nation’s history of racism.

Though Isaiah Bradley’s story as the “first” Captain America was removed in time (set in a more explicitly racist past) and space (a mini-series designed to add depth to the Captain America mythos, but not change the central character), it was not diminished as merely a “What If” tale. Isaiah is mentioned and visited in later comics by Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes (Cap’s WWII era sidekick), Nick Fury and others. Then in 2005, Marvel introduced Isaiah’s grandson, Eli Bradley, in Young Avengers #1 as the “Patriot.” Inspired by both his grandfather Isaiah and Steve Rogers, Eli wears a flag themed costume and carries a replica of his grandfather’s badge-shaped shield. Though Eli does not assume the role of Captain America, he is still linked to Cap’s mythos and the concept of a nationalistic superhero. And, as a young black man living in contemporary America, Eli is used by writers to address the dissonance between being black and being patriotic. Fortunately for Eli, and for young readers, when he has doubts about his role as an American defender given the racism he witnesses everyday there is always an older, wiser (and often white) hero around to point out a more properly heroic idea of the nation. For example, shortly after Captain America’s death in Civil War, in the pages of Young Avengers Presents: Patriot #1 (2008), Eli narrates his doubts after a clash with racist kids at school: “It’s hard sometimes, to be a black kid carrying a name like “Patriot.” I remember talking to Captain America about that before he died, and he explained what patriotism meant to him: It wasn’t about blindly supporting your government. It was about knowing what your country could be… and trying to lead it there by example. And holding it accountable when it failed. There’s nothing patriotic about corruption or cover-ups, or defending them. But exposing them, well, that takes a hero.” Despite a history of superheroes remaining relatively neutral politically in order to not hurt comic book sales, and of superheroes supporting the dominant status quo in general, this story and others like it clarify that Captain America views discrimination and corruption as having no place in American culture. 
 
But, by far, the most controversial political position taken by Marvel through their iconic nationalist superhero was when Steve Roger’s long-time ally Sam Wilson (aka The Falcon) officially took over the role of Captain America in 2015. Chapter Two will address the African American, Sam Wilson, version of Captain America within the context of numerous new takes on iconic characters through Marvel’s “All New, All Different” initiative. Here I just want to stress the importance and the progressive nature of Marvel’s editorial decision to change the ethnicity of Captain America. Narratively, Steve Rogers chooses his friend Sam as his successor after the super soldier serum in his blood is neutralized and he instantly becomes a senior citizen (a situation later mirrored at the conclusion of the blockbuster 2019 movie Avengers: Endgame). Steve bequeaths his moniker, his shield, and his status as the ultimate American hero to Sam with full confidence (Figure 0.1). And, a few years later, when Steve is returned to his youthful body (superheroes never die, they just get rebooted), he insists that Sam continue on as Captain America (Figure 0.2). The ideological significance of a black Captain America was not lost on Marvel. Storylines depicted how Sam was treated differently as Cap than Steve Rogers ever was –often facing criticism from the media, from politicians and the public. And Sam Wilson explicitly was shown using his iconic position as a way to challenge institutionalized racism in America, violence in black communities, police shootings, immigration, and other real-world issues. Most fans and media reviews of this new Captain America praised the bold step of presenting a different viewpoint on sensitive cultural issues. But a vocal minority (the Comicsgate trolls and FOX News among them) complained that this black Captain America was merely capitulation to Political Correctness or a form of anti-American propaganda. Though Steve Rogers would eventually reassume the role of Captain America, Sam Wilson’s tenure was not just a publicity stunt nor a logical narrative passing of the flame. Sam Wilson as Captain America was an intentional use of a powerful national symbol to question some of the most basic American values and beliefs. 
 
The symbolic importance of Captain America as an embodiment of contested national values extends well beyond the colorful pages of Marvel comic books. Captain America is invoked in contemporary political and ideological conflicts in a number of very creative ways. For example, Vishavjit Singh has been making headlines since 2013 for his public appearances as Sikh Captain America. A cartoonist by trade, Singh has appeared as a fully bearded version of Captain America, complete with a blue turban adorned with the letter “A,” in various city parks, at universities and festivals, political events, and even the 2016 presidential inauguration. His goal is to challenge people’s conceptions of Sikhs, racial bigotries, and of American identity. Likewise, on January 24th, 2017, San Jose Councilmember Lan Diep, the son of Vietnamese refugees, went viral for holding a Captain America shield while being officially sworn in. Though Diep claimed his gesture was light-hearted, coming as it did during an era of passionate clashes over immigration in the U.S., the symbolism of the moment was powerful. Invoking Captain America resonated with a specific image of nationalism. As Diep told reporters who asked what the shield means: “The shield represents America’s ideals. The things I want to strive for: fair play, equal justice, liberty. The things I want to protect in my little part of San Jose. And to give back to the country that has done so much for me.” (Couch, January 30, 2017) And in early 2019, headlines declared “Captain America vs. Trump,” when Chris Evans, the actor who has played Steve Rogers in nine Marvel movies, announced the launch of his new website “A Starting Point” designed to inform citizens about Trump’s lies and accusations against the media. Evans had attracted a significant amount of attention for his cutting responses to many of President Trump’s outrageous claims via Twitter and decided to utilize his embodiment of an American icon to express his political views (even at the risk of losing some of his fans). The invocation of Captain America provides a ready access to a range of symbolic ideologies condensed into a single character, and can be mobilized by fans, activists, politicians and celebrities alike. 

Though Captain America’s symbolic alignment with the nation is obvious and deliberate, he is not the only superhero at Marvel that represents America. Jason Dittmer’s classification of Captain America as a “nationalist superhero” is an effective way to understand the intentionality between the nation-state and a fictional embodiment of it. Yet, all of the other heroes, those Dittmer classifies as “prosocial” because they fight for Americans but not as explicitly for abstract ideals, represent different perspectives on what exactly American ideals are. In their own way, every superhero embodies American ideals because there is no single or correct consensus about what is American and/or what is ideal. Historically, representing America has meant reflecting a privileged, hegemonic and glorified image of a white, heterosexual male. But the population and the ethnic profiles of America have changed, as have the ways the nation views diversity across racial, gendered, sexual and religious lines. These views may not be agreed upon, nor consistent, but they are changing. Diversity among American superheroes reflects a new national reality, and helps naturalize an acceptance of those changes. Each of the following chapters explore the different ways that Marvel superheroes question and recontextualize presentations of American heroism around issues like ethnicity, colonialization, appropriation, religion, gender, and sexuality.

The first chapter, “Spider-Analogues: Unmarking and Unmasking White Male Superheroism,” lays out some of the genre-specific logic that permits and encourages a great deal of variation within the context of specific characters. As theoretical groundwork, this chapter draws on Henry Jenkins’ concept of comic book “multiplicity” and applies it to the range of Spider-Man variations featured in Marvel Comics’ massive cross-over event Spider-Verse (2014-2015). The fact that a primary Spider-Man is regarded as a fictional figure with a core set of immutable characteristics –a semiotic grounding point—allows the Spider-Man analogues to explore a range of social positions without jeopardizing the primary identity of the character. The introduction of Spider-Man variants that are female (Spider-Gwen), or black (Miles Morales Spider-Man), or Latina (Arana, aka Spider-Girl), or Asian (Silk), indicate how a single popular character can be spun off to introduce a significant amount of diversity to the Marvel universe. The incredible number of Spider-Man analogues that populate the “Spider-Verse” is an extreme case of multiplicity, but the same principle facilitates the variations of other Marvel characters like Thor, Ms. Marvel, Iron Man, Iron Fist, and Hulk that will be addressed in subsequent chapters. The “Spider-Analogues” chapter will also clarify that despite all of the different Spider-Men/Women that present important variations in the ethnicity and the gender of Spider-Man, the character’s overall status as an avatar of hegemonic masculinity is reinforced. All of the Spider-Men of different ethnicities, as well as the number of Spider-Women and Spider-Girls, represent an inclusionary logic inherent in multiplicity but also, ultimately, reaffirms white American masculinity as the traditionally unmarked pinnacle of heroism. Within the world of superheroes change and diversity can sit equal with stability and tradition. 

The second chapter, “The Replacements,” focuses on Marvel’s introduction of numerous diverse characters in feature roles starting with the 2011 debut of Miles Morales as the Ultimate Spider-Man, and the subsequent female version of Thor, the African American version of Captain America (Sam Wilson), the Korean American Hulk, the female Wolverine, the Muslim-Pakistani Ms. Marvel, and the African American girl who becomes Iron Man. Marvel referred to these new and different characters as Legacy Heroes; figures who carry on the name, symbolism and mission of the classic characters when they are no longer able to do so. In particular, this chapter will deal with the conservative backlash that resulted from belief among extreme right-wing groups that Marvel was simply giving in to liberalism and political correctness by replacing the traditional white male superheroes with women and characters of color. More than just being emblematic of the current political climate and the “Culture Wars,” the fear that white heroes were being systematically replaced mirrors the broader rise of white nationalists in America who rally around a belief that white men are being displaced from their privileged social position. The Legacy Heroes allow Marvel stories to directly confront the prejudices faced daily by women and minorities in America and to convey the novel idea that one does not have to be a white male to be heroic.

“Superdad” looks specifically at the storyline of Luke Cage, one of Marvel’s original Blaxploitation-era superheroes, within the larger Civil War and Secret Invasion events. Luke Cage’s comic book arc throughout these stories focuses on his efforts to be a good father to his infant daughter while the other heroes are preoccupied with fighting each other and battling alien shapeshifters. This storyline rewrites Luke Cage from his original status as a stereotypical 1970s street-wise ex-convict, solidifying his modern position as a socially conscious African American hero and an elder statesman for younger characters of color in the Marvel universe. In particular, the events of Civil War and Secret Invasion offer an alternative image of black fatherhood. Where the media has often misguidedly portrayed African American men as absent or neglectful fathers, Luke Cage offers a corrective portrait of a father who cares for his infant daughter through the mundane chores of parenthood and the world threatening dangers of an alien invasion. Luke Cage combines racial issues with a characterization of responsible fatherhood.

The fourth chapter shifts away from Marvel comic books to look at the blockbuster film Black Panther (2018) as a breakthrough African American film. The phenomenal success of the film, which grossed well over a billion dollars, dispelled industry concerns that a primarily black movie would not appeal to a broad audience. But this modern update of Marvel’s other Blaxploitation-era hero became a cultural moment when superheroic fantasy clearly transcended racial boundaries. Black Panther does not ignore the complicated and contested history of racism in America, but it does manage to successfully merge racial politics with superhero action. Importantly, the film added a noble black hero to the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s top tier of characters. Black Panther demonstrated to a world-wide audience that ethnicity is not a barrier to imagining oneself as a superhero. Young black children could see themselves reflected in King T-Challa/Black Panther without having to identify across racial signifiers. Finally, a modern Hollywood superhero who looked like them. The emphasis within the film, and the press’ coverage of it, as a milestone moment in black heroism led to concerns about whether it was even acceptable for white children to enjoy Black Panther. Were children who imagine themselves as Black Panther, play with his toys, or wear his Halloween costume merely participating in appropriation of black culture? This chapter argues that in the case of Black Panther identification does not equate with appropriation. In fact, the popularity of Black Panther with children (and adults) of all ethnicities facilitates an effective challenge to beliefs about who can be heroes, and what being a hero means for different people. 

The fifth chapter also considers themes of appropriation, but from a different perspective, in relation to the Netflix television series Iron Fist (2017-2018). Despite initial protests, the series maintained the character of Danny Rand (a white billionaire) as the titular immortal Iron Fist, a master of mysterious Eastern martial arts. Critics pointed out that failing to modernize Iron Fist as an Asian hero seemed to follow a Hollywood pattern of whitewashing Asian and Asian themed Marvel characters. Others, like the Tibetan monk known as “The Ancient One” in the comics was played by a white actress in the feature film Doctor Strange (2016), and when The Mandarin appeared in Iron Man 3 (2013) he was played by a white actor. Furthermore, the casting of blonde-and-blue-eyed actor Finn Jones as the central hero who becomes the legendary champion of the magical city of Kun-Lun perpetuates Western themes of a white savior who can easily best Easterners with their own skills. While many of these criticisms of racial appropriation are valid, as the Iron Fist television series progressed into its second season it explicitly addressed the complicated racial and inter-cultural politics at the core of Danny Rand assuming the role of a super powered master of Asian martial arts. The series gave voice to the questions of white privilege, cultural appropriation, and ethnic heritage. Ultimately, Iron Fist played out a narrative of cultural repatriation, wherein the mystical powers of Kun-Lun are transferred to the worthiest Asian character Colleen Wing (Jessica Henwick), a Chinese immigrant who is also a descendent of the original Iron Fist and a defender of New York’s Chinatown.

The next chapter looks at specific Asian stereotypes that have long existed in popular culture and how they are being challenged by several modern Marvel superheroes. The specter of pulp novelist Max Rohmer’s legendary villain Fu Manchu has haunted comic books from their very beginning. Fu Manchu embodied the Western stereotype of the evil Chinaman: mysterious, sadistic, devilish, and bent on world domination. Depicted in Marvel comics of the 1950s as the menacing “Yellow Claw” in the pages of his self-titled series, and then in the 1970s as Fu Manchu himself (once Marvel temporarily obtained the legal rights to the character) as the central villain in the long running Master of Kung Fu. But, while the Fu Manchu type perpetuated Yellow Peril stereotypes as the villain in both series, he was countered by two of Marvel’s most prominent Asian heroes: FBI Special Agent Jimmy Choo in Yellow Claw and later as the team leader of Agents of Atlas, and Shang Chi the martial arts expert and hero of Master of Kung Fu. As heroes, Jimmy Choo and Shang-Chi evolved to challenge stereotypes of Asian men as untrustworthy or less masculine than their heroic white counter parts. Moreover, both Jimmy Choo and Shang Chi have been revived in recent years to serve as role models for younger Asian superheroes. Two of these younger Asian American heroes, Amadeus Cho’s version of the Hulk and Cindy Moon’s Silk, are the focus of the second half of this chapter. Together Hulk and Silk explicitly address the gendered and racial stereotypes of Asian men as feminine and Asian women as exotic Dragon Ladies, and offer new ways for Asian Americans to be understood as heroic figures.
 
The seventh chapter, “A New America,” deals with the way Hispanic superheroes at Marvel have been treated historically and how they have been updated to reflect changing demographics in American culture. The legacy of White Tiger, Marvel’s first Latino superhero, is considered as a precursor to modern Latinx heroes, his name and powers being carried on in the current era by two female characters. The ever-increasing number of Latinx heroes among Marvel’s roster has diversified their fictional universe while avoiding some of the tropes that have conventionally equated minority characters with the qualities of threatening aliens (both literally and figuratively). The presence of numerous Latinx creators now working behind the scenes at Marvel as writers, artists and editors is an important factor that ensures not just an increased presence of diverse heroes but also an attention to cultural and linguistic details. Special attention is given to the character of America Chavez (aka Miss America), who is discussed as an intersectional figure whose status as an immigrant, a woman, a Latina, and a lesbian highlights the multiple ways that discrimination are encountered by minority characters. The symbolic association of America Chavez with America the nation is indicative of Marvel’s efforts to redefine “Americanness” as a contemporary, non-homogenous concept.

And the final chapter addresses one of Marvel Comics’ most divergent new superheroes, and one of its most popular, Kamala Khan the Pakistani-American Muslim teenager from Jersey City who inherits the moniker of Ms. Marvel. Kamala’s somewhat surprising success as an eminently relatable teenage hero brings a different perspective on diversity to the Marvel universe. Ms. Marvel’s status as a Pakistani-American costumed hero broaches issues of difference rooted in religion as well as ethnicity. Initially authored by G. Willow Wilson, a Muslim American woman, Ms. Marvel’s stories focus on the delicate balance between her fantastic adventures after she develops shape-shifting powers and her efforts to maintain her Muslim faith. In an era when Muslims are often reduced to stock terrorist villains, Kamala presents an image of an all-American girl who also happens to be Muslim and the devoted daughter of first generation immigrants. Unlike some earlier attempts to provide positive Muslim characters as super heroines (e.g. the mutants Monet St. Croix and Dust), Ms. Marvel manages to better balance her religious beliefs with superhero narrative conventions. She fights discrimination and social injustices in all their forms, she wears appropriately modest clothing and behaves in a respectful manner at all times. Ms. Marvel is not sexualized or eroticized in her costume as a female Other, nor is she limited by stereotypes associated with Muslims or ethnically specific powers. Furthermore, through the inclusion of her family, friends and life at the mosque, the series demonstrates the wide range of diversity that exists within Muslim communities. 

Marvel, like all major American media producers, has a problematic history with racial representations and how they have handled cultural issues. And there is a long way to go until the Marvel universe is as diverse as the real world. But Marvel has begun to redress past mistakes and provide a more diverse and sensitive range of heroic characters. Rather than bemoaning the underrepresentation of minority heroes in comparison to the dominant white male superheroes, my hope for the following chapters is to concentrate on the progress that has been made by the leader of superhero fictions. Marvel often bills itself as “The House of Ideas,” and it is heartening that one of their biggest ideas right now is concerned with changing the landscape of superheroes.
 

Introduction: Marvel and Modern America

1. Spider-Analogues: Unmarking and Unmasking White Male Superheroism
2. The Replacements: Ethnicity, Gender and Legacy Heroes in Marvel Comics
3. Superdad: Luke Cage and Heroic Fatherhood in the Civil War Comics
4. Black Panther: Aspiration, Identification and Appropriation
5. Iron Fist: Ethnicity, Appropriation and Repatriation
6. Totally Awesome Asian Heroes vs. Stereotypes
7. A New America: Marvelous Latinx Superheroes
8. Ms. Marvel: A Thoroughly Relatable Muslim Superheroine 

Afterword: “Because the World Still Needs Heroes”
Works Cited