The Right Connections

By Thomas McClure

Her hand shivered a little as she pressed record on her mobile. She had to remain calm; this was the first article she was fully in charge of. She had to make sure it goes well.

“This is Jenny Marks, reporter for the Oppidan Rag, speaking with the real-life superhero Joseph Jerome, alter ego of the Archetype. Mr. Jerome, do I have your consent for this recording?”

“Yes, of course, Ms. Marks.”

“Please, call me Jenny.”

“Then you may call me Joe. I’m not too great at being all professional.”

Jenny smiled and clicked her pen, ready to take notes. She cleared her throat, “So, Joe, you’ve made quite a name for yourself in this city as a real-life superhero, the newly elected local mayor, and a perfect being in all aspects.”

“Some may say that, but I would disagree. I’m just my best physical self. I’m honestly more of an average Joe.”

She started writing, though she never broke eye contact with him as she did, she continued, “Can you tell us about your extraordinary abilities? What is, as some would say, your ‘origin story’?”

“Well, to be honest, my supposed origin story would be a slow but determined life. I was blessed with good genes, among other environmental factors. I had a healthy childhood, raised pretty much collaboratively by my mother and all the other mothers in my apartment building, along with all the other kids my age. This gave me decent social and emotional influences, and the constant need for work around the apartment complex gave me more than enough opportunities to physically develop, hence my slightly above average strength.”

“You can lift a car with one hand, Joe. That’s much higher than average.”

“Mothers can lift cars when their children are in trouble, we can unlock amazing physical abilities when our bodies need to, if we’re in the right mental state. I was raised by my street to feel like I need to be an upstanding citizen whenever I can be and I think I’ve conditioned myself to access that mental state whenever I’m trying to do good, which is essentially all the time.”

“There’s no chemical spill or enhancement that gave you your strength?”

“Beyond what the natural human condition is capable of, no.”

“Oh, alright. What about your other abilities?”

“Most of them stem from the same source. I live in the centre of the city so as a teenager I did a lot of parkour and that on top of my strength lead to my ease of traversing through the city at great speeds and all those high leaps and the general agility. I think genetic luck may be the reason for my significantly improved hearing. I have a family history of perfect eyesight, so I’d assume that’s another factor in my improved senses.”

“Really? There have been reports that you’ve heard muggings from two blocks away.”

Joe started to look a little uncomfortable, but he still kept a positive face on. He was middle-aged but when he smiled, he gave both the warm feeling of a loving grandparent as well as the optimism of a teenager, he clearly was trying to let her down gently.

“That’s a miscommunication. I hear about long distance issues from people who are near them, they call around and word eventually reaches me, and I come running to sort it out as peacefully as possible. It’s very much a collective effort here. These streets care for me as much as I care for them. The same with my durability, there are times I get in scuffles where I take a serious beating, but the doctors here care for me and I’m often on my feet again hours later. Oh, and I’m not a fan of focusing on my handling of criminals, there’s years of legal disputes over that and I don’t want to inspire people to go out and physically assault people they think are criminals, it’s dangerous and not always as simple as they think. I’d prefer to focus on the more social good I try to do; childcare, listening to people, general activism, helping people move, and improving unsafe working conditions.”

“Hold on, sorry, a collective effort?”

Joe nodded. She let out an annoyed sigh as she rested back in her chair. It was a warm day, but they were on the roof of the apartment complex, so the wind was fresh and cool. She looked over to the man who sat in a classical superhero outfit.

“Why are you dressed like that then, if you’re no superhero?”

“It accommodates my abilities, it’s efficient, and it’s easy to customise. The kids around here love the colours, it makes me look like a comic book superhero and that’s pretty great.”

“But you’re not a superhero. I thought you were a real enhanced person, with real powers, but you’re just a man.”

“What’s so bad about being ‘just a man’, huh? When you got here earlier, you saw me leap from the fourth floor to the ground floor without breaking a sweat, you saw me lift that car, you saw me get from the ground floor to the second floor with a wardrobe in hand in twenty seconds flat. That’s the capabilities of just a man at his best, blessed with the right genes, right upbringing, right community; all the right connections. Give it a few decades I’m sure there will be plenty of others far better than me. The world’s getting slowly better. There will be superheroes on every block. I am a superhero, just a human one.”

“But it’s not you, it’s your community. You’d be nothing without that collective effort, you’re not a superhero of your own making, you’re a product of your surroundings.”

“And I’m proud of that, Ms. Marks.” Joe sat up, his chest was puffed out, so his A was more prominent. “Our culture seems to have a fascination of celebrating the individual, and that is fine, but that shouldn’t mean we should reject the collective. The Cold War ended long ago, it’s time we moved on from thinking in black-and-white, from thinking we have to be all for capitalism and all against communism, from thinking we can’t invest in the collective and instead must only endorse individualism.”

“Let’s not make this political, Joe.”

Joe leaned forward, staring intently at the reporter. “You thought I was a superhero well guess what, Jenny, the old comics were as political as congress. Captain America punched Hitler in the face, don’t say that wasn’t political. Art is political, life is political. As a politician I am political, there’s no side of me that isn’t political. I’m a product of the world I was brought up in, Ms. Marks, as are you. You can’t escape it.”

Jenny stared at him with furrowed eyebrows, she asked him to go on.

“I wouldn’t be who I am without my community. I’m the closest thing we have to a superhero and I got here through a collective effort. Imagine what I would be like if I had a better education or if I had access to after school sports clubs. I would be far more of a superhero than I am now. But I’m lucky, Jenny. When I was a kid, I had friends die from preventable diseases because they couldn’t afford the overpriced medicine, and CruorCorp, the pharmaceutical company, is still doing that to this day. Many of the single parents who have lived in our apartment complex took their own lives because they had no financial security. Three of my childhood friends was tragically taken from us because of our poor infrastructure. People starved and struggled in these streets because they were abandoned by those who had power. I was lucky, and now that I have power, I’m using it to ensure as many people in these streets are as lucky as I was. We have to ensure the next generation of powerful people come from our collective effort.”

She was upright now, her notepad discarded, and she looked intrigued. “The superheroes from the old comics were all about individualism, so you can’t be a superhero on their terms.”

Joe leaned back again, nodding in agreement. “That is true,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean your right. Superheroes were a glorification of individualism, they rose to prominence in the midst of the Cold War, of course they’d be. They were a private citizen who becomes a vigilante because of their individual value, ignoring all the socioeconomic factors that would also contribute to that outcome. The apparent product of individualism. But things change, Ms. Marks. Just because the concept of superheroes began under such a mindset, doesn’t mean their limited to it. For example, we can now speak more freely about the inequalities in our society and how those who are in power often don’t actually get there through individual value but instead by coasting of said inequalities. The powerful aren’t a product of personal value, that was just capitalist propaganda from a century ago to cover up the inequalities in our society, but if we can accept that modern heroes can be made through collective effort, then we can more easily work to make that a more accessible reality. Then everyone can be able to rise to prominence, and wield their political power like Thor’s hammer”

“You’re equating superpowers with political powers?”

“Superpower is also a term for nations with massive political influence, that can’t be a coincidence. Superheroes have always been political. Superheroes have often fought to better society but seldom originate from it, like the rich acting like they’re helping the poor and yet the poor don’t seem to be getting any richer.”

“So, politicians are the real superheroes in your eyes?”

“No, just those who with superpowers.”

Jenny leaned forward, “Are there heroes?”

“Oh, of course. Those without political powers who are doing what is right.”

She sighed, “If you have no power then no matter your intentions you can’t change anything, it’s that the primary issue with the whole poverty cycle?”

Joe stared at her for a moment, then smiled and asked, “What do you do, Jenny Marks of the Oppidan Rag?”

“Pardon?”

He said nothing.

“Uh, I report positive interesting stories. Events near you; parades and charity events. Lifetime stories. The occasional funny tale people tell. That sort of thing.”

“Tell me about a charity event, Jenny.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

He said nothing.

“Fine. Last week, a few districts from here, there was a fundraiser for new school supplies.”

“And who organises those things? What do we call the schoolchildren who act?”

“Activists.”

“People who campaign to bring about political or social change, ordinary folk with no political power, those kids can’t even vote, they just have the will to make the right connections.”

“And I report on it, I tell people about these events.”

“And awareness is raised, and more people are given the opportunity to act.”

“And then things change.”

“Activists, the real original heroes. Journalists, the real modern heroes. By paying attention to issues they can change the world.”

Joe’s watch began to flash, he quickly tapped it and an exasperated voice came through, it said “Archetype, there’s a fire on Galloway Avenue, the building’s staircase has collapsed.”

“I’m on my way,” Joe replied. He stood and smiled at Jenny, “I love my people, and my people love me; that’s why I’m a superhero. It’s been a pleasure, Jenny.”

He turned, started to sprint, and leapt off the apartment complex. Just like that he was gone, and Jenny was alone. She stopped the recording and sat alone for a few more minutes, thinking about what he said.

After a while, she took a deep breath and made a call.

“Boss, just letting you know, I’m changing the direction of my article. I think I’m going to focus on the overpricing of vital medicine by CruorCorp, try and raise awareness about more pressing issues.”

The End

By Thomas McClure

Word Count: 1,999