Childhood Ruined: Korra's a Cop! Neoliberal Recuperation in The Legend of Korra
Korra's a Cop!
Neoliberal Recuperation in the Legend of Korra
by Woody Woodger
Childhood Ruined is a four-part series by the COUNTERCLOCK blog editors. We partnered with the concept of Twitter, your mother’s photo albums, and the reboot of Arrested Development to ruin your childhood. Specifically, we will review and interrogate shows from the past to recognize and name some of their underlying problematic aspects. By doing this series, we intend to honor the media we cherish by being critical of where our media has failed us and, by extension, confront our own unconscious biases.
If you missed them, revisit Woody’s introduction to the series, Sarah’s article on misogyny and elitism in Asian dramas, Ashira’s article on hypermasculinity in Johnny Bravo, and Noreen’s article on Filipinx American representation in Steven Universe!
He could have sworn they did. He swears they did. Maybe...he wonders, did they edit the show afterwards because it was just too edgy to have Korra and Asami, two women, kiss?
Heartbroken, Erk, my boyfriend scowled at his laptop playing a mushy, illegally streamed finale episode of Legend of Korra. He was convinced that Nickelodeon must have done the right thing. “They couldn’t have queerbaited us (a word which here means, cucking queer people out of dimensional and honest representation) that hard, could they?”
But they did. In that they didn’t. Korra and Asami give a lean in, but not a peck. They share a last salacious look and then hold each other's hands very professionally. I watched it dawn on Erk. “They cucked us.” We rewatched this entire show--at ⅛ the fricking speed--and they cucked us.
I remembered. Living through high school as an awkward, closeted trans woman, I had more practice remembering kisses that did not happen. It was sometime in the gore of high school that my friend invited me over to watch “an explicitly lesbian cartoon,” and I was equally titillated and suspicious. Even then, well before I turned into the white hot ball of anarcho-politico, ranting, and Estradiol you read before you, I thought that “explicit” queerness on a prime-time kids cartoon was too good to be true. I sat with my friend in her dark living room, letting my cynicism obscure any eager hopefulness I had. It was at that moment Asami and Korra turned back toward the portal to the spirit world, unsmootched, that I realized I, actually, preferred The Last Airbender.
Korra and Asami give a lean in, but not a peck. They share a last salacious look and then hold each other's hands very professionally.
Always, in hindsight, we ruin things we love. Maybe because nostalgia is unsustainable and unfulfilling as it places the locus of one’s happiness in a fictitious past that lies externally and yet is meant to guide the formation of one’s personhood. Also maybe because it is a feeling often exploited by fascists to accelerate their movement.
In any case, a necessary part of media criticism is removing nostalgia for shows that have impacted us so we may take a more critical look at how they have formed us. In this paper, I want to do that with the character of Avatar Korra. Often lauded as a bastion of progressiveness representation, on this rewatch, I found an inordinate number of neoliberal dog whistles. Lisa Duggan’s definition of neoliberal provided by Queertoon Queertoons’ and their essay, is an apt definition, especially when reading the character of Korra. Essentially, neoliberalism is a set of values centered on corporatization, privatization, and reinforcing current systems.
However, it’s also important to our discussion to recognize that neoliberal capitalists are smarter than the capitalists of the past. Where once the capitalists were shamelessly exploitative and violent, neoliberal capitalists are “socially liberal” (a word which here means fiscally conservative, but socially liberal, so effectively it means a conservative). They see the need to include marginalized people and the working class in the very systems of oppression that exploit them. This is only a partial inclusion of course, as distributing any meaningful power to marginalized people would be an existential threat to capital. But the logic of inclusion by a neoliberal capitalist goes like this: “If we included them in the systems and processes of capital, then they will have to play by the rules of capital; and if we continue to control the capital, they will remain beholden to us.” This is the logic of recuperation--the process by which radical political thought becomes sanitized and ineffective by those with capital.
A necessary part of media criticism is removing nostalgia for shows that have impacted us so we may take a more critical look at how they have formed us.
Korra is designed to communicate a threat to capital. Just the appearance of a capable, outspoken, queer woman of color suggests a perspective and experience that could confront the structural systems operating under an assumption of patriarchal, cis hetero white male power. And, to some degree, her mere presence on television does that. Her existence is a testament to the work activists from marginalized communities have done to pressure a global corporation like Viacom to incorporate images of people who do not look like mayonnaise slathered over an IRS form.
As I rewatch The Legend of Korra here in Covid, I begin remembering this moment in my life. December 2014: on winter break sophomore year, sitting on opposite ends of my friend’s couch because that was the only way my controlling ex would agree to let me go. The presence of Korra, felt, at the time, like progress. Because there it seemed to be: the Representation, with a capital R. And praise for Korra was as much an aspect of the experience. The article “The Legend of Korra achieved more in under a minute than most shows do in their lifetime” has the decidedly opposite intent of this article and was published within a week after the series final show. Same for this article. And this one. I knew while watching The Legend of Korra that part of the appeal was how progressive you felt watching it. The media campaign was designed to make a spectacle of the representation--the media lauding itself for giving us what we had always deserved. The glowing articles and praise from industry is all part of the recuperation: you watch the show, you have your experience with the media, and when you take to the internet to see what other people have said about it, and all the information you can find (perhaps in a Vanity Fair article mere hours after the finale originally aired) is information about why you should love this show. And aren’t you so happy? And grateful? Shouldn’t you be grateful?
Unfortunately, Nickelodeon and Viacom, I’m not grateful. Unfortunately you comprise a multibillion dollar conglomerate that took advantage of their influence over television and print media to sell inclusion as if it were a handbag. And unfortunately, Korra, this character whom we were urged to love (and did) serves as a textbook example of the neoliberal recuperation: a "diverse" and "inclusive" character used as a Trojan horse to make digestible the values of free market capitalism, moderate socio-political engagement, pro-military/law enforcement, and trust in a laissez faire government.
Her existence is a testament to the work activists from marginalized communities have done to pressure a global corporation like Viacom to incorporate images of people who do not look like mayonnaise slathered over an IRS form.
Korra: A Cursory Close Reading
There’s a moment in the first episode of Legend of Korra where the showrunners telegraph to us the job of the Avatar within the context of Republic City. How this moment is constructed and how Korra chooses to handle the moment also tells us, intentionally or not, where the character of Korra is situated politically.
The first episode opens on Korra’s discovery as the Avatar and quickly charts her progress, along the way informing us about who she is. She’s determined, highly capable, and she knows it. This is conveyed both sub-textually through stunning illustration of her bending and how much more capable she is in comparison to Aang at the same age. Her competency and her bravado are also made text with characters wobbling between effusive praise and outright scolding of her practice session montage. Most of that scolding is directed at one aspect of the Avatar that Korra can’t seem to grasp. In combat terms, Korra is exceptional, but she lacks in her spiritual training. Much is made about the spiritual responsibilities the Avatar possess in this society and the expectation that Korra will be a kind of moral leader for the world.
There is an issue that demands Tenzin--Korra’s promised airbending teacher--to return to Republic City. This forces a delay of Korra’s lessons. Korra is incensed and already we are made aware of the dynamic between Korra and Republic City. She is called to it as the place of her positioning as a political authority she has been groomed for. Korra demands to come and is denied, which only ensures her arrival.
Much is made about the spiritual responsibilities the Avatar possess in this society and the expectation that Korra will be a kind of moral leader for the world.
And as we follow Korra to Republic City, we see the city through her experience of it. Like two fishes-out-of-water, Korra and we, the audience see the wonder of this new world--its urbane ostentation and reaching beauty. That, and we see Korra immediately comfortable, confident, taking out bad guys, and generally using Republic City as her own playground. An extension of her training, but on her own terms. Together, we all learn that Republic City, and Korra by extension, are new and exciting. We, the audience, see Korra separate herself from Aang and so, now, we expect the show to tell us what it thinks the job of the Avatar is in this new world.
And they gladly do. Korra is briefly arrested for vigilantism and property damage. These charges tell the audience that here in Republic City authorities value 1.) holding a monopoly over violence in public, and 2.) protecting private property ownership. It’s honestly a very apt illustration of law enforcement’s objectives in the real world. Through the interrogation scene, we meet Beifong, the daughter and reincarnation of her beloved mother Toph from The Last Airbender, and she proves formidable opposite the Avatar, especially with the far-reaching power of the police. But Korra is detained briefly and released once Tenzin intervenes. Korra is let go simply because she is the Avatar. Korra’s vigilantism is justified and she seems officially granted her promised authority: a moral authority. As the Batman of Republic City, she is given a special dispensation as a member of Republic City. The vigilante has the authority to pass moral judgement, and justified violence, on others in the community. At this moment, the show asks us to let go of any remaining questions we might have concerning Korra's moral authority. However, at the same time the show is quick to remind Korra that while she might work independently as the young Avatar in training, in reality Korra is still in training, and she must still answer to Republic City’s city counsel. At least, it’s implied, until she fully realizes her power.
Korra is let go simply because she is the Avatar. Korra’s vigilantism is justified and she seems officially granted her promised authority: a moral authority.
After Korra’s characterization, responsibilities, and authority, we follow her back into the city where she quickly stumbles into the major political conflict of the series: systemic oppression. While in the park, Korra finds a disarmingly quirky homeless man who unveils the grim reality of Republic City and the disposability of its citizens. This unveiling is done with a cheery tone, and in retrospect was designed to soften systemic homelessness and the grotesque reality the show reflects. We are moved by his honesty, his noble spirit in the face of adversity, and his ability to comically evade the cop that then chases him. (Side note: the cop is presented as doofy and his violence easily skirted. This rehabilitates the cop’s image and downplays how dehumanizing the system is to the homeless).
And judging by her reaction, Korra is as shocked at the undercurrent of violence in Republic City as we are. Armed with the new realization that Republic City does indeed have problems to be confronted, we are introduced to the shadow of the first season’s super villain. We meet the “Equalists” in their least offensive form: a single, college-aged, soap-box activist. Led by Amon, the show’s embodiment of anarchic violence, the Equalist supporter pouts through his bullhorn about the inherent inequality that non-benders face in a city founded by and for benders. The inclusion of the Equalists makes Korra and the audience confront this moral issue as well as confront Korra’s privilege as a bender.
And it is this moment where I want to pause and highlight Korra’s next actions. I believe here is the first moment where we really see Korra recuperated by capital and upholding its hierarchy and values. Korra, in this meeting with underprivileged citizens, is confronted with the immense privilege she has in this society as not only a bender, but as the Avatar. They demand that bending be made illegal in attempts to level the playing field.
This unveiling is done with a cheery tone, and in retrospect was designed to soften systemic homelessness and the grotesque reality the show reflects.
And what does Korra decide to do when confronted? She refuses to recognize the obvious disparity between her experience of Republic City and non-bender's perspective. Here is where she passes her first moral judgement and fulfills her spiritual duty as the Avatar. By doing so, this is also the first time she speaks for the audience. She directs us to see the Equalists as advocates for a ridiculous ideology that might even be dangerous to consider. It’s certainly dangerous for the benders who already operate the levers of power in Republic City. The episode helps Korra out here, as the little gathering around our hapless ambassador to the Equalists devolves into and ignorant, mob-like din; rather than what they are--an underprivileged minority crying out.
It is these scenes, the park and the protestors, where we see how the show plans to politically situate Korra as a character. Not an enemy of the people blindly following law enforcement. But at the same time she does not go as far as assessing her own position of authority as the Avatar and a bender. Early on, the show pits Korra between her responsibility to the citizens, as represented by the homeless man, and her allegiance to the city’s law enforcement, and her answer is agnostic. She plants herself in the centrist position, not authoritarian per-say, but not entirely troubled by persistent inequity. Especially if those people advocating for change, such as the Equalists, are not going about it in a way that does not threaten the powerful. Korra, as our new Avatar, makes the moral determination that the authorities don’t know what is best for the citizens. But she also makes it clear that neither do the citizenry. The only answer to these problems now is her moral authority.
Here is where she passes her first moral judgement and fulfills her spiritual duty as the Avatar. By doing so, this is also the first time she speaks for the audience.
The moment Korra refused to fall cleanly to one side of the systemic oppression in Republic City was the moment I saw Korra’s recuperation begin. By negotiating herself as the nexus between all the antagonizing forces, I saw the show framing any issue in this world as something Korra has to solve. And honestly, this realization is a fairly robust critique of the show’s neoliberal politics: that when confronted with the hardship and inequality, the writers choose to pass off the actual work of uplifting Republic City to an indigenous, queer, womxn while simultaneously using that same character to expose a politics of personal responsibility for systemic problems.
Additionally, I wanted to add how frustrating it was to write this section. So often I had to remark on Korra’s privilege when, in almost any real life context, Korra would be a person with some of the least privilege. So by unraveling the political implications of her characterization, I had to repeat the fundamental, harmful misunderstanding that neoliberal institutions make of marginalization: that it is somehow the marginalized person’s responsibility to reshape the hostile world they live in.
When confronted with the hardship and inequality, the writers choose to pass off the actual work of uplifting Republic City to an indigenous, queer, womxn while simultaneously using that same character to expose a politics of personal responsibility for systemic problems.
Why representation is important:
I want to talk about the existence of the “Ruined Childhood” project and indeed media criticism as a discipline. The mere fact Sarah Feng, Ashira Shirali, Noreen Ocampo, and I decided to pursue this topic presumes that media representation does matter. And by matter, I mean representation has a measurable material effect on our lives. Media consumers are influenced by what we see portrayed in media as much as we (should) have influence over what we are exposed to, either as creatives or consumers.
An experimental study found in Cyberpsychology seems to corroborate my perspective on media representation. In the study, participants were 3D body scanned and a virtual model was made to provide the researchers with a body template. Each participant was then paired with a virtual Avatar that was similar to their physique. Through a post experimental survey, researchers found that participants were generally less satisfied about their body than they were prior to the study, particularly concerning body weight. This study is an explicit simulation of the process we experience when interacting with media. We can’t help but project ourselves into the media we consume. It’s natural, sensitive, and necessary to build self-concept. But as this study suggests, our relationship to ourselves is a fragile one; and can so easily, almost effortlessly, be influenced.
It’s only through sincere criticism of the media, and activism driven by that criticism, that we can create an inclusive media landscape that reflects the complexity and daily magic of being human. Being critical does not mean Canceling™ your favorite program or artist or venue or album. It reflects that you care for art that impacted you because you care how that art could impact someone else. And in that way, where people fall on the issue of media representation says as much about the consumer as it does about the media.
The mere fact Sarah Feng, Ashira Shirali, Noreen Ocampo, and I decided to pursue this topic presumes that media representation does matter.
(Side note: funny how when I type “media representation matters” into a google search, I receive 178,000,000 results that validate the search’s implied opinion. But if it type “media representation doesn’t matter” I begin to find some sources that corroborate that implied position. Did they not exist before? What does google as a political object think about the importance of media representation? Are they on the side of the research and common sense when it comes to extending positive media representation? Or are they more concerned with creating an environment that fosters engagement, providing users with the answers Google believes they are seeking? The reality is there are a lot of individuals who are of the opinion that representation does not matter. And while google provides many resources that claim representation does matter, as a Google user myself, I can attest, the first result is often enough to confirm or deny my position.)
One of our duties as media consumers/critics is recognizing when otherwise positive elements--such as on-screen representation of marginalized bodies--are used to, not just influence, but manipulate us.
The Legend of Korra, especially through the character of Korra, is definitely guilty of this manipulation. However there are many people who believe Korra to have been deeply effective and thankful for her appearance on television. Articles abound on the internet glowing with praise for Korra as a strong female lead and her “athletic build” as well as her queerness; which makes writing this essay feel harder. It is not fun being the problem-maker, the bitchy Um-Actually to someone else’s joy. Wilson Chapman in their article agrees saying, “On some level, I feel guilty for pointing out the issues with the representation that this new wave of animated shows has worked to provide. When I watched Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon, I never imagined they would include romantic narratives I could find myself in.”
The Legend of Korra, especially through the character of Korra, is definitely guilty of this manipulation.
But that is tragic, right, the guilt associated with criticism? How dare any marginalized person be critical of a media industrial complex that has used them as clowns and monsters and set pieces and receptacles of hegemony’s violence for decades? Obviously the guilt Chapman and I share with speaking out is favorable to the media industrial complex. Ruining the good feelings developed by the PR team and the Vanity Fair articles and the ecstatic bloggers inundating the conversation around Korra with praise; it feels like almost harmful to those who might not want to hear the show they love is problematic. But obviously, that is the tactic. Without adequate criticism, the media industrial complex can continue to reinforce its influence, its influence being tacit support of the capitalist structures that allow it to exist in its current form.
The character of Korra is not meant to liberate. At best, she placates the whiny liberals; at worse she acts as a magical, approachable Uncle Tom with the intention to reinforce oppressive dominant ideologies in the minds of the very people she claims to represent. As a recuperated character, Korra hurts to examine because of her promise. The promise of a strong, queer, woman of color that was wielded against the very people that she was said to represent. A representation we were sold and bought.
The character of Korra is not meant to liberate.
Conclusion:
Recuperation is intentionally sneaky. It’s gaslighting as policy. That’s why it is so harmful when the lesbian couple does not kiss. Because it is calculated. The Legend of Korra sells itself and its title character as progress in the medium of television. In some respects that’s true. As others have pointed out, shows like Steven Universe and She-ra have been able to showcase complex, explicit queer romance. It may seem damning to criticize neoliberal capitalism for halting progress while it simultaneously points to an example of progress it helped create, however, an argument like that is a crucial part of recuperation’s ability to gaslight. Recuperation’s aim is not to stall progress completely, that would rightly cause outrage and bad press. Recuperation is designed to slow progress, and be good business all the while. It first consumes radical politics, people, and bodies, then caricatures them, and finally assumes the audience would be more comfortable if we stayed in the non-committal middle. Perfect example: think of Korra, placed between the existential threat of goofy, untroubled homeless and the snot-nosed anarchist that wants to address the exploitation in Republic City. What did she do? What should you do?
Woody Woodger lives in Washington, D.C.. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, from DIAGRAM, Drunk Monkeys, RFD, Exposition Review, peculiar, Prairie Margins, Rock and Sling, and Mass Poetry Festival, among others, and her poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net. Her first chapbook, “postcards from glasshouse drive” (Finishing Line Press) has been nominated for the 2018 Massachusetts Book Awards. In addition, Woodger served as Poet in Residence with the Here and Now in Pittsfield MA.