Part 2: Superheroes Are Allowed to Be Assholes
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One of the things I love about superheroes is that they are allowed to be assholes.
Seriously.
Think about it.
Wolverine is a deeply traumatized, angry, frequently violent, occasionally selfish man with a serious attitude problem.
And we love him.
James (Logan) Howlett was experimented on, manipulated, had his memory taken from him, been used as a weapon, and spent decades dealing with the consequences.
He also has some serious anger-management issues.
Nobody seems particularly bothered by this.
Nobody watches Wolverine and says:
“Despite his disability and trauma, Logan has managed to maintain such a positive outlook!”
No.
We say:
“Holy crap. Wolverine is being a jerk again.”
And then we keep watching.
Because he’s a person.
The Thing from Fantastic Four is another favorite example.
Ben Grimm gains incredible strength and durability, but he also loses the body he had before.
He has to live in a body that looks completely different from the one he recognizes as his own.
He struggles with grief.
He struggles with identity.
He struggles with whether people see Ben or simply see The Thing.
And yet Ben isn’t reduced to his transformation.
He’s funny.
He’s stubborn.
He’s loyal.
He’s angry.
He makes mistakes.
He’s sometimes an absolute pain in the ass.
He’s human.
Deadpool takes this to an entirely different level.
Wade Wilson’s healing ability comes after horrific experimentation intended to treat his cancer. He survives, but he is left profoundly scarred and psychologically changed.
And what does he do?
He makes jokes.
Constantly.
Sometimes they’re hilarious.
Sometimes they’re inappropriate.
Sometimes they’re terrible.
That’s the point. His trauma doesn’t turn him into a solemn inspirational figure.
It makes him complicated.
Beast is another interesting example.
Hank McCoy is brilliant.
He’s also physically transformed into something that many people perceive as monstrous.
His appearance changes, but his intelligence doesn’t.
His humanity doesn’t.
And his personality certainly doesn’t.
Cyborg from the Teen Titan series has a body which is rebuilt with advanced technology after a catastrophic injury.
Victor Stone’s abilities literally emerge from trauma and adaptation.
But the technology doesn’t magically erase the psychological consequences of what happened to him.
And then there’s Professor X.
Charles Xavier is one of the most powerful telepaths in the Marvel universe.
He’s also a wheelchair user.
But here’s something I find fascinating about Charles:
He’s not always right.
He’s made questionable decisions.
He’s manipulated people.
He’s kept secrets.
He’s made decisions for other people because he believed he knew what was best.
In other words:
He’s complicated.
And that’s something superhero stories generally allow.
They allow their characters to be complicated.
They can be heroic and selfish.
Brave and afraid.
Kind and cruel.
Generous and manipulative.
Brilliant and spectacularly stupid.
They can make the wrong choice.
They can hurt people.
They can regret things.
They can learn.
They can refuse to learn.
They can be assholes.
And somehow, we don’t decide that their superpowers must have caused all of this.
We understand that they’re people.
So why do we have such a hard time extending that same understanding to disabled people?
There’s an expectation that disabled people should somehow be better people because we’ve had to deal with things other people haven’t.
More patient.
More grateful.
More courageous.
More positive.
More inspirational.
More resilient.
More forgiving.
And God forbid we’re angry.
Or bitter.
Or selfish.
Or impatient.
Suddenly we’re not the inspirational disabled person anymore.
We’re difficult.
We’re negative.
We’re “letting our disability define us.”
We’re not being a good enough example.
But here’s the thing:
Disability doesn’t make you morally superior.
It doesn’t automatically make you kinder.
It doesn’t make you wiser.
It doesn’t make you more grateful.
And it certainly doesn’t make you incapable of being a complete asshole.
That’s not an insult.
That’s equality.
I don’t want my disability to make me a better person.
I want it to be allowed to make me a person.
A whole person.
Someone with strengths and weaknesses.
Someone who sometimes needs help and sometimes doesn’t.
Someone who can be generous one day and selfish the next.
Someone who can accomplish something extraordinary and then spend the rest of the afternoon being completely useless.
Someone who can be brave and terrified at the same time.
Someone who can be inspirational to one person and incredibly irritating to another.
Just like everybody else.
Maybe that’s what I love about superheroes.
Their powers don’t make them perfect.
Their trauma doesn’t make them saints.
Their struggles don’t erase their personalities.
And their mistakes don’t make them any less worthy of being part of the story.
Superheroes are allowed to be assholes.
Maybe disabled people should be allowed the same freedom.
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