So, at a certain point, when you're bawling at 3am after watching the season finale to a cartoon, you have to ask yourself why. The cartoon in question is the excellent Clone Wars series that was just released on Netflix. At the end of the series (massive spoilers ahead, btw), Ahsoka Tano, who had quickly become my favorite character as the series progressed, is eventually framed for a terrorist attack. In the process of the story, she is eventually captured, and barred from the Jedi order, after the council inexplicably ignores years and years of behavior and observation of Ahsoka's personality and motivations and uncritically accepts circumstantial evidence. She is eventually cleared of all charges, and the Jedi Council tries to blow smoke by telling her that their complete and utter betrayal and abandonment of her was somehow just another character building test on her way to becoming a Jedi knight and offer her her job back. Instead, smart kid that she is, she chooses to walk away from the religion she's built her own life around, because, when push came to shove, they didn't have her back at all, despite a lifetime of service.
As it turns out, I can strongly identify with leaving a religion, despite the friends and family that want me to remain, because they can't see me through the filter of systemic malfunction. Even though you don't believe in something anymore, even though it's right to do it, even if you still honor the core tenets of that belief system, walking away is still hard. Especially when it means walking away from friends and family to some degree as well. Apparently I had not processed just how hard, because when I saw that scene I lost it.
I was initially bummed that the Clone Wars was ending, and that they were replacing it with a show set before episode IV. The boyfriend quite astutely pointed out it was probably for the better, since the clone wars represent an era of failing hope, and the original series is an era of rising hope. A new hope. Yes, I like that.
The other story that kind of saved my life this week was Grant Morrison's Animal Man of all things. There's a bit towards the end where Grant makes an appearance in his own comic, and talks about how hard it is to understand the massive systemic injustice that goes on in the world, in this case towards animals, and somehow find away to operate normally without being constantly angry at the injustice at all hours of the day. To understand the systematic oppression and torture of animals (human or otherwise) our society still relies on to some degree to provide the comforts citizens demand, while still functioning normally somehow. What I love about Animal Man is how he points out that this constant outrage can lead to loss of perspective and immoral decisions from the activist side as well. In the end he seems to council holding on to hope, even when everything seems bleak. Which is a very christian idea. Which is a very humanist idea. It was exactly what I needed to hear at the time. Thank you Grant Morrison.
This week, in an era of increasingly cynical and hopeless stories* (because God is dead and it's all bullshit don't you know), I am grateful for stories that exist to increase hope. I am grateful for artists who inspire hope, as tacky as that may seem to the modern world.
*For instance, Man of Steel, which delivered a completely hopeless, morally rudderless and bleak story, even though it explicitly stated that hope was central to the main character. Here' a hint: massive bombs detonating over a city aren't hopeful, no matter what inspiring messages you paint on the shell casing.
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