(WARNING: the following
analysis contains unmarked spoilers on Black Panther. Consider yourself warned)
Last month, Black Panther swept into
theaters on a tidal wave of hype and expectations, and by and large, it
delivered them. The dazzling effects, memorable characters, and relevant
discussions of a superpower’s relationship to other countries and the rest of
the world all swirl together to give a resounding performance far and above its
minor flaws. But among the bevy of clashing ideas, action scenes, and
subtle humor, the real draw is the film’s main antagonist, Erik “Killmonger”
Stevens. Michael B. Jordan’s fantastic
portrayal of T’Challa’s main nemesis had been lauded by critics for its
sympathetic look at the villain, examining his connection to Wakanda and how he
appears to break the so-called “Marvel Villain Curse”: the tendency for the franchise’s
baddies to be silly, one-dimensional, or just plain boring - and sometimes, all
of the above. But while Killmonger has few counterparts in the MCU, more
than a few reviewers note an uncanny similarity to the X-Men’s all-time famous
nemesis, Magneto. Both are members of
minority groups who have suffered under what they see as an unjust systematic
machine grinding viciously against them; both believe that revolution is the
only way to achieve their desired utopia; and both, however sympathetic their
motives or noble their goals, dive head-first into the most cynical, murderous
methods that not only undermine their objectives, but leave them open to the
charges of hypocrisy.
And yet like Magneto, Killmonger has garnered
his fair share of sympathizers, with many fans proudly proclaiming “Erik’s
right!” concerning his plans to take over Wakanda and use its technological
might to whip the rest of the world into shape while thrusting Wakanda and the
black diaspora to the top. In fact, Killmonger arguably leaves the
stronger impression, for unlike the fantasy allegory of Magneto’s mutant vs.
non-mutant war, his personal fight has a deep resonance with many people of
African descent the world over. The
source of this resonance, and how it reflects a wide segment of opinions on the
matter, are topics rich in fruitful exploration, and though we’re only wading
the shallows in this venture, I hope film scholars take seriously the points
raised by this “mere” superhero movie villain, and how both thoughtful, and
dangerous, they can be.
Hero in His Own Eyes
So who is Erik Killmonger? In the MCU
narrative, he’s the son of N’Jobu, a prodigal Wakandan prince and brother of
former king T’Chaka. N’Jobu settled in the states, presumably as a
Wakandan agent to keep an eye on the kingdom’s interests, and soon after
married an American woman. At some point, N’Jobu became radicalized,
believing that his kingdom has hidden behind the veil of isolationism long
enough, and should share the benefits of their technology. Unfortunately,
N’Jobu’s misguided bargain with shady weapons dealer Ulysses Klaue to steal his
nation’s vibranium brought T’Chaka to his door, where a “brotherly
disagreement” tragically ended his life and assumedly left Erik an orphan.
Now this is where things get interesting.
Erik’s origins have all the trappings of a tragic villain: born into
exile from his homeland, likely raised on stories of Wakanda’s greatness and
power, but denied the possibility to connect with them. He thus grew up
isolated and angry, subject to injustice and rules of social engagement
designed by those he views as oppressors.
Unlike most Marvel antagonists, who are either shadowy background
figures who make one note appearances near the end, or mindless drones in
service to a distant dark lord, Erik is a relatively open book, and this
forms the root of his villainous strength.
One way to construct an effective villain is to picture them as the hero
of his or her own story - and then subvert this image by juxtaposing its
corruption to the (supposedly) relatively clear and noble motives of the
protagonists. When done well, this can lead to understanding of or even
“rooting” for the villain, particularly if the setting itself is dark or
cynical enough to give their motives more appeal than those of the heroes in
certain ways. This is clearly seen in
the case of Magneto, who in his mind
does everything for the good of mutantkind, and the often hostile and
violent actions of normal humans against them lend his beliefs considerable
weight. An even more sympathetic (if far more controversial) example is
Cyclops in his recent Marvel runs. His
fall from archetypical hero and leader to dark antihero is the end result of
bearing the fate of his people on his shoulders, and despite his descent, his
well-reasoned motives and less extreme means compared to Magneto gives much to
the whole “Cyclops Was Right” meme. Erik
is a soldier, doing whatever it takes to help his people around the world, and
is committed to flipping a rigged power system which leaves them at the bottom
of the barrel. That, undoubtedly, is the story he tells himself everyday
when he looks in the mirror - and, bless
him, it has more than a germ of truth.
Returning Home
But Erik’s relatability, especially as it struck
members of the African diaspora, has a deep basis in reality that supersedes
Magneto, Cyclops, or nearly every other villain in the MCU, except Michael
Keaton’s convincing Vulture. The same line of heartache mentioned above
that forged Killmonger into a tragic villain also strikes a chord as an analogy
of the African American narrative: a scion of a land he’s only heard about and
never seen, he feels slighted at a betrayal born of a more complex set of circumstances
than he may imagine, and is deeply ambivalent about his relationship to his
homeland, simultaneously repulsed by and drawn to it. The ire of Magneto
and Cyclops is bundled in an ambiguously conceived collective humanity of
billions, many of whom are completely ignorant of the existence of mutants, and
in either case, the analogical struggle for freedom often gets lost in the
swamp of powers and the very real threat many mutants pose to the greater
whole. Killmonger deals with something
considerably more direct, even if rarely called out in the film: the power
apparatus which enables the exploitation and suppression of people of color
around the world. In addition, there is nothing allegorical about his
fight; everybody in the audience knows exactly who he’s speaking of when
he mentions “our people.” And while Wakanda is largely painted in a
positive light, it does have its own dark shadows, expressed not only in how
T’Challa’s old man fumbled his dealings with N’Jobu and Erik, but also through
the isolationism, xenophobia, and elitism that’s fixed firmly in their society.
In this sense, Erik is the warped reflection not of T’Challa and his
mumbled uncertainty, but of Nakia, the go-getter “War Dog” who believes that
Wakanda should do more to open their borders and give aid to those suffering
under oppression. As I mentioned in my
review, Erik’s introduction into the story infuses it with a sense of ethical
ambiguity that’s normally absent in most Marvel films, and is considerably more
down-to-earth than the hero clash-fest of Captain America: Civil War.
Since Wakanda is a kingdom which may, with only slight exaggeration,
be described as a lighter and softer Trump era America, Erik’s ideology takes
an even more sympathetic turn, and morphs the conflict from a simple battle of
hero against villain into a moral contest between two opposing sides of varying
shades of gray. And on the scale of relatability, I’m pretty sure
freeing young girls in Nigeria from potential sexual slavery trumps assisting a
host of upscale freaks with powers that can punch holes through mountains.
A Problem of Communication
And yet, despite all that Erik has going for
him, his character only really shines in revealing just how contradictory and
extreme his conception of racial justice truly is, and the naked hypocrisy he
embodies inadvertently sheds light on the conflicting thoughts which often
churn in people of African descent when they think about “the Motherland.”
Killmonger issues a challenge to T’Challa and other Wakandans concerning
their past inactions as well as their current political maneuverings. Why, for example, does Wakanda do nothing
while millions of black people suffer the world over? Why don’t they offer technological
assistance? Why, with all the weapons at
their disposal and the “war dogs” planted in countries around the world, did
they not take the lead in confronting and defeating colonial powers as the
kingdoms around them crumbled under the scramble for Africa? These
questions work well for the movie’s narrative, but with a little reaching may
also extend to broader questions which lie at the root of diasporic ambivalence
towards Africa. Many African Americans,
even those who take pride in their heritage, often ask similar questions when
reckoning with their history: why did Africans sell their “own kind?” Why don’t
people of African descent unite against foreign powers who work to keep them
down? However, these are probably the
wrong questions to ask, and betrays a deeply embedded ignorance of Africa and
the African experience by members of the wider diaspora - an ignorance
reflected in Killmonger. Make no mistake that Wakanda is its own country,
with its own history and values, and is far removed from most of the diaspora
both culturally and ethnically. Granted,
the slave trade sundered nearly all ancestral ties African Americans had to
their home cultures, cutting off knowledge of the continent and its many
different ethnic groups and diverging histories, which isn’t helped by the
Western media’s treatment of the place as one large, homogenous, mostly
uninteresting country on the outskirts of civilization. But as unpopular as it might be to say, one
should remember that a similar skin color does not translate into a cultural
unity, any more than a Russian and an Irishman should be expected to get along
just because they’re both vaguely defined as Caucasian.
What this means is that Wakanda isn’t compelled
to owe anyone else in the world - black or otherwise - a single thing.
“Their people” extends only to those under their hegemony and of Wakandan
descent, and though Killmonger personally falls under that rubric, he’s wrong
to hijack an entire culture he doesn’t really understand and appropriate its
gains for his ends. But that’s not his only mistake; Erik is a walking
embodiment of the hypocrisy that comes with embracing Pan-African thinking when
you have little understanding of Africa itself.
Despite his charges against the oppressor, he is a former black-ops
soldier in the “oppressor’s” military, using their training and their tactics
(burning crops, activating sleeper agents) to usurp Wakanda’s throne. And
while he claims to be doing it all for “his” people, he seems to have no qualms
about killing said people when it’s convenient or when it would further his
aims; just ask the young lady who assumed they were an item, but ended up
eating a bullet when Klaue uses her as a meat shield. His attitude is as neocolonial as Klaue’s,
and fittingly squares him right along with the likes of Magneto: as noble as
his goals and as valid as his points may be, his means ultimately reveal him to
be no different than the people he hates, and at the end of the day, his own
personal grievance is the only one that really matters to him.
A Noble Template
The nature of Black Panther lends
Jordan’s Killmonger a special appeal, one that may be difficult to repeat
absent a politically or culturally charged backdrop. But despite this,
Killmonger remains pivotal and compelling in his own right, painting the
perfect outline of a tragic villain even as he reveals how the contradictions
and blind spots of that kind of character lead ultimately to his downfall.
You can enjoy the movie and the villain without the highfalutin
analysis of his myriad representations, but his strength as a character and the
outline of his goals should be an example to filmmakers everywhere on how to
build a strong, complex, and effective villain in just one movie.
