Note: Spoilers for all adapted pieces of the Illya anime, and the film Roma. My
sincerest regrets, Jet.
One friend informed me that my life was contingent upon writing on Illya. Another said writing on Roma, the most anime work of them all, was required for living a meaningful life. There’s no similarities between the works, both protest loudly. Both are simply not in English and have four-letter names like Cleo and Miyu respectively. Smirking as they suggest this, Shin Oonuma and Alfonso Cuaron cannot capture any remotely similar human experiences. Simple geographic separation! Simple medium differences! Pani Poni Dash is absurdly disconnected from Gravity, they add on. They say I have met my match.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One friend informed me that my life was contingent upon writing on Illya. Another said writing on Roma, the most anime work of them all, was required for living a meaningful life. There’s no similarities between the works, both protest loudly. Both are simply not in English and have four-letter names like Cleo and Miyu respectively. Smirking as they suggest this, Shin Oonuma and Alfonso Cuaron cannot capture any remotely similar human experiences. Simple geographic separation! Simple medium differences! Pani Poni Dash is absurdly disconnected from Gravity, they add on. They say I have met my match.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
According to one misbegotten review,
Roma is a woefully silent film – a film where main character Cleo is bereft of
voice, even in climactic moments. This review deeply misunderstands the role of
silence, likely stemming from a profoundly white normative American
perspective. In American society, protest is dominantly framed as speaking
loudly and often (much as I stereotyped both of my friends earlier) over
injustice. But protest is much more than this act and many people cannot participate
in it.
This approach is deeply problematic owing to the politics around voice (functionally). Some people are nonverbal, or have trouble speaking (or may not speak or write English), or cannot perform the physical acts surrounding protest; all of these people will face difficulty in expressing their ‘functional’ voice as a member of society. Protest as is done is deeply inaccessible: for example, even participating in marches, or performing sit-ins, often requires tremendously physical dexterity, strength, and energy. People in wheelchairs, for example, may struggle to get to sites of protest. Many people with chronic conditions will struggle with the energy often required for protest. (These are not the only ways in which they may struggle with it.) For the Americans with Disabilities Act, wheelchair-using protestors got out of their devices and crawled up the steps of the US Capitol to protest inaccessibility; but this to me underlies a problem with protest not actively seeking to include oppressed persons. This particular instance was an unfortunate necessity but protest should be far beyond this point.
The American ideal of free speech often neglects to consider that such speech, and by corollary protest, is not accessible to all, literally or symbolically. So let’s go back to these people rendered voiceless (symbolically). It does not mean those people have no means of speaking, but that their voices are systematically left unheard. The concept of free speech in the US assumes that all voices are heard, making it a very narrow concept. By looking to other cultures, here Mexico and Japan, we can develop a much deeper appreciation for the “voiceless” find a way to speak. This of course is also true in the US but I imagine many of my readers are familiar with how this may play out.
It is true that Cleo is played by an indigenous Mexican woman and that Miyu is played by a non-indigenous Japanese woman. It is also true that Roma likely contains much more explicit social commentary than Fate/Kaleid. But both works can offer insight, in different ways, how those who are voiceless engage with protest against oppressive power structures. Thus, I will discuss Roma and Fate/Kaleid separately and try to bring them together at the end.
Roma seemingly frames social unrest as ‘natural’ throughout the film. Even the massive blaze that happens an hour plus in is portrayed gently, as the flame disappears from our view within a few minutes. In portraying violent, destructive events alongside daily life scenes….the film could suggest a feeling of complacency (from an American perspective). But Cleo is not a static character (instead being one stripped of voice). This is best demonstrated by the beach scene – where a Cleo mourning the death of her child as a stillbirth rushes into the waves, which she fears, to save the children she is a nanny for. Perhaps this is difficult to appreciate from a white American perspective, but Cleo is able to concretely and materially refute her fears and take control over her life. This is not simply a rescue mission but acts as a protest of the society that failed them all. Having just lost her child, Cleo understands this deeply.
This approach is deeply problematic owing to the politics around voice (functionally). Some people are nonverbal, or have trouble speaking (or may not speak or write English), or cannot perform the physical acts surrounding protest; all of these people will face difficulty in expressing their ‘functional’ voice as a member of society. Protest as is done is deeply inaccessible: for example, even participating in marches, or performing sit-ins, often requires tremendously physical dexterity, strength, and energy. People in wheelchairs, for example, may struggle to get to sites of protest. Many people with chronic conditions will struggle with the energy often required for protest. (These are not the only ways in which they may struggle with it.) For the Americans with Disabilities Act, wheelchair-using protestors got out of their devices and crawled up the steps of the US Capitol to protest inaccessibility; but this to me underlies a problem with protest not actively seeking to include oppressed persons. This particular instance was an unfortunate necessity but protest should be far beyond this point.
The American ideal of free speech often neglects to consider that such speech, and by corollary protest, is not accessible to all, literally or symbolically. So let’s go back to these people rendered voiceless (symbolically). It does not mean those people have no means of speaking, but that their voices are systematically left unheard. The concept of free speech in the US assumes that all voices are heard, making it a very narrow concept. By looking to other cultures, here Mexico and Japan, we can develop a much deeper appreciation for the “voiceless” find a way to speak. This of course is also true in the US but I imagine many of my readers are familiar with how this may play out.
It is true that Cleo is played by an indigenous Mexican woman and that Miyu is played by a non-indigenous Japanese woman. It is also true that Roma likely contains much more explicit social commentary than Fate/Kaleid. But both works can offer insight, in different ways, how those who are voiceless engage with protest against oppressive power structures. Thus, I will discuss Roma and Fate/Kaleid separately and try to bring them together at the end.
Roma seemingly frames social unrest as ‘natural’ throughout the film. Even the massive blaze that happens an hour plus in is portrayed gently, as the flame disappears from our view within a few minutes. In portraying violent, destructive events alongside daily life scenes….the film could suggest a feeling of complacency (from an American perspective). But Cleo is not a static character (instead being one stripped of voice). This is best demonstrated by the beach scene – where a Cleo mourning the death of her child as a stillbirth rushes into the waves, which she fears, to save the children she is a nanny for. Perhaps this is difficult to appreciate from a white American perspective, but Cleo is able to concretely and materially refute her fears and take control over her life. This is not simply a rescue mission but acts as a protest of the society that failed them all. Having just lost her child, Cleo understands this deeply.
For an alternate perspective, but one I feel
compliments my perspective, consider this review and especially the closing:
“And so to the climax. The fatherless family is on a beach vacation, and two of the kids get into trouble, sucked in and swamped by the breakers. Cleo, who can’t swim, goes in to save them, and the camera follows—not plunging in with her, in a salty rush of panic, but staying to one side, at a distance, to observe her efforts. That might sound clinical, yet something miraculous happens: the scene becomes more emotionally draining, not less, because of the bright sunshine that gilds the crests of the menacing waves, and because of the Cleo-like calmness with which Cuarón bears witness to peril.”
Miyu, of the Fate/Kaleid series, similarly comes across as a profoundly quiet character. For much of season 1, Illya is deeply concerned by Miyu’s behavior and spends time trying to understand how to become friends with her. Here the image partially departs from Cleo’s silence (though it remains an analogous situation to me). Miyu is portrayed as someone with great technical skill, an explicitly heroic being, even as she struggles to voice her feelings. Miyu’s trauma is also much more explicitly caused by powerful members of society (in this case the Ainsworths). This societal oppression is also more concrete than Cleo’s.
Literally, Miyu is being subjugated to uphold a turbulent
world (hey this part is kind of like Roma!) via her life force. This
establishes a famous utilitarian situation: the few must suffer for the good of
all. But this assumes that the suffering is “just” and that there is a “good” for
all. Several of the show’s characters point out this flaw in the logic.
Ultimately, Miyu is subjected to great suffering for the purpose of a world
that in-show appears as dying, which makes it hard to see a “good” for all.
Utilitarianism depends heavily on how you define who benefits and who suffers.
If you come from a normative perspective, you will likely often be less
receptive to who suffers from a particular utilitarian question. But because of
the way this utilitarian balance is struck, the choice is presented as between Miyu’s
happiness and the continuing of the world.
Illya takes a seeming idealistic stance of “why not both Miyu and the world.” This is a copout to many of us because we are socialized to accept prevailing systems, which appears in the form of cynicism. We are trained to accept false choices in situations like this because power systems, especially capitalist ones, indicate that this is all there is. Illya decides to fight to preserve the world by defeating the baddies (Ainsworths) while granting Miyu the power to save herself. In doing so, Illya rejects a false choice presented by utilitarianism, which is a radical act. Through taking this action, using what could be considered creative problem solving, Illya empowers Miyu to herself create a new possibility. Ultimately, this transforms Miyu from someone with a traumatic past, into a full fledged hero who can effect positive change.
Cleo and Miyu lead extremely paths to heroism but both are able to take a stand against the voice-theft of oppressive societies. Both create new, powerful and hopeful, possibilities. To me, this is true protest.
Note: I realized this post takes after my writing on Sci-fi and providing voices for the voiceless so read if you want.
No comments:
Post a Comment