When he was released from Walter Reed Hospital after his bout with COVID-19, President Trump reportedly planned to rip open his button-down shirt to reveal Superman's crest on a t-shirt beneath. He didn't do this, but the imagery invoked by the report triggered a plethora of political cartoons featuring Trump as a super-spreading "hero." One, at Cleveland.com, called it a "stunt." Another one, from Capitol Ink, featured Superman himself forcing a mask onto to the President. A cartoon from the Washington Post, replaced the Superman "S" emblem with a picture of the Coronavirus. This wasn't the first time cartoonists had squeezed Trump in the blue and red spandex suit of the Man of Steel. In previous years, artists used the superhero imagery to comment on Trump's trade and tariff policies. Superman has long represented "truth, justice, and the American Way." He has also been a figure - as a journalist and an undocumented alien - who has appeared to be in opposition to everything the Trump presidency has advocated. Thus, the comparisons of Trump to Superman make an argument through not only irony but also offer, what rhetorician Kenneth Burke called, a perspective by incongruity - a “casuistic stretching, [which] interprets new situations by removing words from their 'constitutional' setting.” The oddly juxtaposed symbols of the Man of Steel with the obese Trump, of a journalist with the president who decries the "fake news," of an alien being with a vehemently anti-illegal-immigration president, of an icon of Truth with an administration who claims "alternative facts," influence audiences to have new perspectives by challenging their habits of thinking.

President Obama may have been the self-professed comic book fan - a collector of Spider-Man and Conan the Barbarian comics - but it is President Trump who has engendered far more comparisons to comic book figures. Some of these comparisons - such as to Batman and Thanos - have come directly from the Trump camp. Others have come from Trump's critics - such as The Joker and Lex Luthor. The most recent comparisons have come from both sides. In their protests of Joe Biden's 2020 election win, Trump supporters framed the lame-duck president as Homelander from The Boys. In Trump/Homelander cosplay mashup, marchers for MAGA were seemingly celebrating Trump as a patriotic hero. In truth, Homelander is an arrogant and emotionally-needy character who has killed hundreds and inspired xenophobia. ... ... ... There is some remarkable irony in his invocation as Trump-like by MAGA supporters. Around the same time, former president Barack Obama, in an interview with The Atlantic, compared Donald Trump to Richie Rich- "the poor little rich boy" of Harvey Comics. This is not the first time in recent political history that a wealthy Republican president was compared to the Richie Rich; a 2004 satirical comic book called Richie Bush, the Poor Little Oligarch, cast President George W. Bush in the role of the wealthy, out of touch, child. Obama's comparison suggested that Trump, like Richie, was a "complaining, lying, doesn’t-take-responsibility-for-anything type of figure." Such a comparison is unfair to Richie who, in his comics, animated cartoons, and live-action movies and shows is consistently portrayed as kind and charitable, if a little clueless about the lives of normal people. Perhaps Obama meant to compare Trump to Richie's cousin, Reggie Van Dough - a selfish, spoiled and mean-spirited child who treats people, particularly his servants, poorly.

Library Con Live! 2020, from School Library Journal, turned me onto Image Comics' On the Stump from Eisner-nominated writer Chuck Brown, artist Prenzy, and letterer Clayton Cowles in time for the November 2020 release of the trade paperback. The publisher describes the comic, “In the On the Stump universe, history diverged in 1868 when a pivotal presidential debate turned violent. Today, elections are decided by highly publicized hand-to-hand combat in arenas called Stumps. Unfortunately, the violence doesn’t end in the ring, and powerful people can still get away with murder. Senator Jack Hammer and FBI Agent Anna Bell Lister are teaming up to bring it all down.” There are so many layers to unpack in the title and premise alone. Traditionally, "on the stump" refers to political speech making in campaigns. A "stump speech" is a speech that is made many times by a politician while traveling to different places during a campaign for election. It's a term that came into common and then popular usage in the 1840s and 1850s, and referred to speaking while standing on a tree stump (a rural version of speaking from atop a soapbox, as was more common in urban settings). The idea of hand-to-hand combat as integral to the American campaign has similar folksy roots. Sporting events provide a common point of reference, or frame, for discussing elections. Reporters invariably frame elections as races between two teams, focusing on who is ahead or behind at any moment. This “horse race” interpretation is the most-used political story type, outnumbering reports on policy positions by two-to-one, because it is easy and it sells. Other sporting- metaphors also abound: Candidates “throw their hats into the ring” to enter the political “playing field” or “arena.” From bar-room boxing to athletic contests in ancient Greece, such metaphors call to mind contests of physical prowess. Though in reality, Horatio Seymour never assaulted Ulysses S. Grant during a political debate in 1868, as Brown's speculative fiction imagines, Seymour was known for violence - specifically for supporting mob violence against Blacks, and positioned himself as the "White Man's" Republican candidate in contrast to Grant as the Republican's "N----r candidate." This is significant because it adds a richness to On the Stump as a story of a "world full of countless injustices, and people who have to fight for their place in it" told by a Black comics creator. And as long as we're discussing comics that blend hyper-violence and politics, I have to mention the 2016 digital comic Campaigners: Presidential Deathmatch 2076 (which has a passing reference in Politics in the Gutters). Though Campaigners lacks the historical grounding of On the Stump, it similarly imagines American politics devolving from verbal to physical violence. In a dystopic 2076 (the 300th birthday of the United States), Presidential debates have been replaced with fights to the death between candidates. New voter, 18-year-old Kydra, denounces the practice as barbaric and soon finds herself at the center of massive social upheaval. To be clear, the violence these comics imagine is not fictional. Critics charged Donald Trump's campaign and presidential rhetoric as incitements to violence. The country geared up for election violence in 2020 and Trump's post-election complaints were feared for the possibility of triggering violence. And let's not forget the real, systemic violence done to peoples and to the environment throughout the history of the U.S. of A. - as well as the violence done to the democratic system itself, as suggested by a November 20, 2020 editorial cartoon from Bruce Plante.

Comic books have always been political, and politics have always been comical, but there seems to be a new trend in campaign communication inspired by graphic novels, comic books, and superhero media. Some of these rhetorical moves are discussed in Politics in the Gutters, such as Donald Trump's 2016 campaign being compared to a comic book villain's story. The use of campaign comic books in the 1940s-1960s is also discussed, particularly The Story of Harry S. Truman. And there is a brief look at the campaign literature created by 2019 New York State Assembly candidate Keith Batman. There is also discussion of Jaime Harrison's campaign ad "Character" in his bid for U.S. Senate. More recently, U.S. Senator from Massachusetts Ed Markey got into the superhero game when Students for Markey started a 2020 social media campaign of "#MARKEYVERSE: EdGame." Students for Markey generated a campaign video inspired by the opening visual of films in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The #MARKEYVERSE effectively became a campaign hashtag, a descriptor of the ticket, and a call to action. In Marvel's Avengers, the tagline is "Avengers, assemble," and Students for Markey used the Markeyverse imagery to ask voters, volunteers, and supporters to also assemble. The theme subsequently sparked superhero memes and threads on Twitter, such as a comparison of Markey to Captain America. Harrison's "Character" ad and Markey's role as Captain America in the Markeyverse are notable in their ascription of superheroic qualities to the office of Senator. (The same might be said of Batman's campaign, except that the analogy existed only because of his name.) American presidents have long taken on the aura, if not the actual cape, of superheroes as part of the American monomyth. (Just check out a super-Ronald Reagan as one vivid example.) Lesser offices have not traditionally carried the same mythical status - unless we include Oliver Queen'/the Green Arrow's brief stint as mayor of Star City in DC Comics media, which given the ignominious end to his term does not bode well for the legend of Harrison or Markey. Read more about the blending of superheroics and politics in Politics in the Gutters.

On November 9, 2020, Bleeding Cool announced that, “The new Image Comics series Post Americana #1 by Steve Skroce and Dave Stewart was listed for Final Order Cut-Off this weekend. But Image Comics has now informed retailers that they will have one more week to up their orders. Why might they want to do that? Well, [. . .] it appears that there will be more news, that might up those sales a tad, coming later in the week.” The news to which Bleeding Cool was referring was the results of the 2020 presidential election. It seemed that Image Comics was counting on election hype and post-election drama to help sell a comic about an American presidency run amuck. Image describes the comic: "The Cheyanne mountain installation, aka The BUBBLE, is the most sophisticated super bunker in the world. It was built to ensure the survival of America's executive branch of government and its most important citizens, should the unthinkable happen. When the world ended, the executive branch failed to reach the sanctuary, but the elite citizenry did. Eighty years later, one of their own has named himself the new President of the United States. His plan? Subjugate the survivors of the American Wasteland using the same bunker resources meant to rebuild it. The only thing standing in their way is a deadly Wasteland girl, hellbent on revenge!" When Image Comics first teased the new series in September 2020 - two months before the election - they did so with excerpts that looked like scenes from the post-apocalyptic Mad Max franchise. This seems an apt sales pitch in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic that had already sparked a number of Mad Max-inspired memes. But then, when post-election release date came and the results of the election were still unclear (which sparked a whole new round of meme-ing), Image had the chance to capitalize on both the ongoing pandemic and the election controversy. As is discussed in the post-script to Politics in the Gutters, speculative fiction - such as apocalyptic literature - often seems prescient because it is, effectively, commenting on current events. For even more on how speculative fiction can also act as an early warning system for political, social, economic, and cultural crises, see Cynthia Boaz's "How Speculative Fiction Can Teach about Gender and Power in International Politics: A Pedagogical Overview" in International Studies Perspectives, Volume 21, Issue 3, August 2020, pages 240–257.

Americans and the news media have long had a rocky relationship. Distrust of the news media, however, has been heightened in recent years, with mainstream news outlets becoming the brunt of damaging jokes, such as Alaska Governor Sarah Palin's criticisms of the "lamestream media" in 2009 and President Donald Trump's "Fake News Awards" in 2018. A report from the Committee to Protect Journalists argued that Trump and his administration's continued assaults on the integrity of journalism "dangerously undermined truth and consensus in a deeply divided country." The diminished role of journalists in American society is reflected in comic books. Reporters were once very common characters in comic books. As Katherine A. Foss has noted, in writing for the Image of the Journalist in Popular Culture, "Either as the heroes themselves or as extensions of their dedication to improve society, it is the reporters who work to identify, expose, and end local corruption. Created for comic books in earlier eras that heralded the journalists as 'watchdogs for the people,' dominant journalist archetypes in these stories reflect the idealistic, ethical, truth-seekers of an earlier time. Indeed, even as late as the early 2000s, film adaptations of comic books preserved and perpetuated the positive stereotypes conveyed in the original works" (p. 2). Fittingly, Paulette Kilmer, also for the IJPC, argues that the characteristics of a superhero mirror the qualities of an investigative reporter. But the superhero-as-journalist can also reflect the public’s ongoing skepticism of the press; both Superman/Clark Kent and Spider-Man/Peter Parker use disguises to hide their true identity, reinforcing the popular image of undercover reporters. Lois Lane, when she knows the truth of Superman’s identity, is complicit in hiding, rather than revealing, the truth to the public. Parker’s editor J. Jonah Jameson dislikes Spider-Man, which seems to put him at odds with the public welfare. Whether their roles portrayed the highest ideals or lowest estimations of journalism, Foss observes that the role of journalists in comics is declining. Key characters in the comic books, they may be written out of modern cinematic adaptations or, if not, have their work as a journalist ignored or abandoned in the script. The press as a faceless, monolithic, enterprise remains, but mostly to advance the plot or provide exposition, at best. At worst, the media is used as a tool of propaganda or terror by the villains. Foss suggests that the shift may reflect the shifting landscape of media. Rapidly changing technology more quickly dates, or makes obsolete, a film that foregrounds the tools of the trade. And in an era of smart-phones and social media, anyone and everyone can play the part of a journalist to uncover the secret identity of a hero or trace the location of the villain (2016-18). Indeed, Billy Batson’s 14-year-old foster brother in Shazam! is as much the journalist covering the rise of a new superhero in his blog as Lois Lane ever was landing Superman’s first interview for the Daily Planet. But Foss also suggests that the diminishing role of the comic book journalist might be explained by the fact the “journalists have lost their public credibility” (p. 21). The duplicity of Superman or Spider-Man in hiding the truth of their identity from their newspapers’ readers cannot be redeemed in a culture that already distrusts the honesty and accuracy of mainstream media. It is, therefore, particularly notable that two recent mini-series from DC Comics have put journalists in titular roles and placed media practices front-and-center in the story lines: Lois Lane and Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen. Described as topical story with scenes taken directly from the headlines, Lois Lane follows the intrepid Daily Planet reporter as she embarks on a perilous journey of conspiracy, intrigue, and murder to uncover an insidious plot that reaches the highest levels of international power brokers and world leaders. Issue #1 was released in July 2019 and immediately tackled the Trump administration's attacks on the press. At a White House press conference, the president’s press secretary, Lee-Anne McCarthy - who visually bears a resemblance to former Trump press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders and was written as a composite of Sanders and Trump counselor Kellyanne Conway – dodges questions about a refugee camps at the border. Lois presses with questions specifically about the separation of children from their families. In retribution for her antagonistic reporting style, she is ejected from the briefing and her White House press credentials are revoked, echoing a real 2019 practice by the Trump White House. The story itself was entitled “Enemy of People,” a direct quote of Trump's indictment of the news media. In issue #5, Lois Lane offers a response to those who believe that the mainstream is #FakeNews. When a woman on a plane suggests that journalists can write whatever they want and probably just make things up half the time, Lois replies, "That’s not how it works […] We need facts, we need sources, we need research.” But the woman remains unconvinced, doubting that there is any mechanism in place to prevent fraud. The exchange highlights not only the public’s distrust of news media, but also its poor understanding of what journalists actually do. I explored Lois Lane's ongoing crusade for truth and justice at length in a paper I presented at the National Communication Association's 2020 conference. The Daily Planet's photographer, Jimmy Olsen, also starred in his own mini-series released in July 2019. The series, as noted by DC Comics, is primarily focused on Jimmy's high jinks and adventures as, “Superman’s best friend and Daily Planet photographer Jimmy Olsen tours the bizarre underbelly of the DC universe in this new miniseries featuring death, destruction, giant turtles and more! It’s a centuries-spanning whirlwind of weird that starts in Metropolis and ends in Gotham City.” Beyond the mad-cap story, Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen like Lois Lane offers readers a sympathetic look at the modern American news media landscape. In the series, Jimmy is less of a photographer and more of a vlogger. Like most print newspapers, The Daily Planet is flagging and one way it stays afloat is through the online traffic (and ad revenue) generated through Jimmy's extreme reality-series antics. Despite its focus on murder, mayhem, and mystery, Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen nonetheless reinforces the value of truth and the pursuit of justice at the heart of the media's mission. It is by uncovering the truth, not through sensational video antics, that Jimmy is ultimately able to save The Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane suggest, like Ben Smith did in The New York Times, that "Trump made the legacy media great again." But the media has to adapt. It needs to adapt to a changing socio-political climate; to audiences, administrations, and campaigns that are increasingly online; to different news cycles and shortened attention spans. It needs to do what Lois Lane tried to do - explain the art and practice of journalism to its audience in an age when anyone can be an influencer and everyone is an information broker. And no matter what, it must, like Jimmy and Lois, keep pursuing and telling the truth.

When I first saw social media about the 2020 Billionaire Island from AHOY Comics, I scrolled on by because the title made me think of sleazy, campy, reality television shows. It wasn't until I saw the cover for issue #5 that I paid attention to this gem of socio-political satire from one of my favorite writers, Mark Russell, and one of my favorite artists, Steve Pugh. The image of man, draped in a flag, wearing a duck visor, sitting in front of the Presidential Seal definitely caught my attention. It also made me think of certain other images from recent years: That event in 2019 when Donald Trump hugged, kissed, and caressed the American flag... ...That moment a few months later when Trump stood in front of an altered - one might say "fake" - presidential seal... ...And, any number of moments when Trump's hair was caught blowing in the wind (looks a bit like a duck's bill, don't you think?)... Fortunately, I became aware of the genius of Billionaire Island just in time to pre-order the TPB - and was so glad I did. There are plenty of online reviews of the comic that can give you a sense of its biting satire, which is particularly critical of American capitalism, so I won't go into a lot of detail here (though I will mention that Russell's knack for political satire, as found in The Flintstones, The Snagglepuss Chronicles, and Prez, is discussed throughout the forthcoming Politics in the Gutters). But, whereas most of these reviews focus on how Billionaire Island eviscerates the "one-percent," they don't indicate just how up-to-the-minute the commentary really is. Set in the extremely near future, the world is at the brink of total collapse from "War. Environmental devastation. A pandemic" (p. 98, emphasis mine). So, the nation's wealthiest build an artificial island as a refuge for survival, which they sell to the masses as being for the benefit of humankind - even though the rest of humanity will be left to their doom. The island, incidentally, is named "Freedom Unlimited," which is abbreviated /ahem/ "F.U." The plot is depressingly plausible, at least insofar as it serves as a poignant allegory for America's elite receiving life-saving COVID treatments not accessible to regular folx. To prevent illegal entrance to the island, a prison is built using low-cost immigrant labor. Of course, the immigrants (who are all depicted as BIPOC in contrast to the very White billionaire founders) don't meet the financial qualifications for island residency and are promptly imprisoned in the very same same place they had just built - a not so subtle metaphor for the building of the socio-politico-economics of the United States through slave labor and the exploitation of BIPOC immigrants who even if not imprisoned or enslaved have been systemically denied full citizenship access and/or privileges. Though the topic gets only one page in the 138-page book, its deliberative and unblinking inclusion echoes the cries of the #BlackLivesMatter demonstrations throughout 2020 that called for, in the words of TIME Magazine, "America's long overdue awakening to systemic racism." Of course, in such a contemporary political romp, there are digs at the news media, too. A couple scenes of financial programming remind me of CNN's Jim Cramer and Mad Money, who Jon Stewart famously criticized in 2009. And there is a right-wing radio host, wearing a red ball cap, hinting at Trump's admiration for Rush Limbaugh. The shock jock plays a pivotal role in helping the 1% maintain power by convincing the masses that an attack on elite corporations is an attack on American values. Echoing the culture wars of the 201os, the pundit maligns scientists, journalists, "eggheads," "soft-boys," and "metrosexuals." There are many other notable highlights of Billionaire Island - Easter eggs aplenty for fans for sci-fi, cli-fi, and apocalyptic fiction, for shrewd observers of pop culture, and for political nerds. No spoilers here, but I will leave you with one final thought from the book's closing narration: "How do we solve the problem that is ourselves?" (p. 138).

Shortly before the 2020 election, School Library Journal highlighted several "graphic novels that center democracy, voting rights, and political activism." The article was framed through a look back at MARCH written by the late Rep. John Lewis, and it featured the following recent releases: Addressing elements of government and the Constitution - •Constitution Illustrated, by R. Sikoryak (Drawn & Quarterly, 2020) •Fault Lines in the Constitution: The Graphic Novel, by Cynthia Levinson & Sanford Levinson, illustrated by Ally Shwed (First Second, 2020) •Drawing the Vote: An Illustrated Guide to Voting in America, by Tommy Jenkins, illustrated by Kati Lacker (Abrams ComicArts, 2020) •This is What Democracy Looks Like (Center for Cartoon Studies, 2019) Addressing ideas of activism and advocacy - •Act, by Kayla Miller (HMH, 2020) •Colored: The Unsung Life of Claudette Colvin, by Emilie Plateau (Europe Comics, 2019) •Unrig: How to Fix Our Broken Democracy, by Daniel G. Newman, illustrated by George O'Connor (First Second, 2020) Digital Resources •Answers to Your Protest Questions, by Chelsea Saunders •How the Suffragists Succeeded in a Pandemic, by Allyson Shwed •It's Census Time. Here's Why That Matters, by Andy Warner and Gerardo Alba •Silent No Longer, by Gerardo Alba •A Graphic Guide to the 2020 U.S. Census, by Josh Neufeld •What the President Did to Get Impeached and Acquitted, by Josh Adams and Anthony Del Col To the titles suggested by SLJ, I would add COLORFUL HISTORY ISSUE #62: THE ELECTORAL COLLEGE from Pop Culture Classroom and Voting is Your Superpower, edited by Craig Yoe (Clover Press, 2020). As is discussed in Politics in the Gutters, comic books have a rich history of participating in civics: They have served as campaign literature. They have been used for government-sponsored education and propaganda (see Richard L. Graham's Government Issue: Comics for the People, 1940s-2000s for some wonderful examples). They have been used by organizations to promote community causes and civic engagement (see, for example, Martin Luther King and the Montgomery Story, 1957). They have endorsed candidates. They have helped to explain major socio-political events, like the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the impeachment of Donald Trump. And they have pleaded with readers to vote. Voting is Your Superpower, from Clover Press/Yoe Books, is, in fact, an homage to this tradition, highlighting the civic-minded moments in a medium that is, arguably, about century old (at least). Such comics, and their continuation in many educational graphic media resources that emerged with the 2020 election, are valuable. As argued in the article "Comic-Con: Can Comics of the Constitution Enable Meaningful Learning in Political Science?" in a 2019 issue of PS: Political Science & Politics, from the American Political Science Association, students may better comprehend content from visual depictions of difficult texts - such as the Constitution. Likewise, the popular press has heralded graphic novel adaptations of government documents, such as the "Torture Report," for their ability to make dense material not only more accessible to the public, but also more meaningful to readers. Read more about the traditions of campaign comics, good government comics, and graphic reportage in Politics in the Gutters from the University Press of Mississippi.

TidalWave Productions has led the market with political biography titles since about 2008 with their Political Power and Female Force titles. Political Power features past and present opinion leaders in politics, government, and media from the United States and around the world. In 2015, the publisher started a special run of Political Power issues featuring the 2016 presidential candidates – from those that also-ran to those voters wished-had-ran, including Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Rand Paul, Jeb Bush, Marco Rubio, and Elizabeth Warren. They similarly promoted past and produced new issues for 2020 candidates, including New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg and South Bend Mayor Peter Buttigieg, Vice President Joe Biden, Senator Elizabeth Warren, Senator Bernie Sanders, and President Donald Trump. The Female Force series is similar in style and substance, but with a deliberate “female empowerment angle.” TidalWave heavily promoted the series throughout 2020, especially following its release of Stormy Daniels' Space Force and its development into an animation, with the nomination, and subsequent election, of Kamala Harris as Joe Biden's Vice President, following the death of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Overall, the Female Force line - which includes not only politicians and leaders but also celebrities like Cher, authors like Stephanie Meyer, and media personalities like Tina Fey - has been met with mixed, though tepid, reviews. Nonetheless, TidalWave's ongoing efforts to showcase women through Female Force, Political Power, and even the comedic Stormy Daniels Space Force is noteworthy because both comics and politics have traditionally been male-dominated arenas. The president’s manhood has long been equated with his ability to lead, as first highlighted in the race between Martin Van Buren and William Henry Harrison in 1840, in which Harrison was feminized and thus shown as weak by his opponents. And thus, by 2020, voters were still reluctant to equate leadership with women. Similarly, the genre of the superhero has traditionally been a male-dominated power fantasy embodied by hypermasculine physicality. Male-domination has consequently carried over into comic book fandom, where the media mostly frame a large and growing group of women fans as star-struck teens, exhibitionists, or the girlfriends of male fans - or what is often referred to as "fake geek girls." This is what makes TidalWave's "female empowerment" efforts with its Female Force line-up so noteworthy. It's also what sets them up for lackluster reviews; they have so many obstacles to overcome, and they just don't quite make it. The RBG tribute, for example, is a well-told story of Justice Ginsburg's life, with particular attention to the gender inequities and barriers she overcame. But it maybe gives a little too much attention to those challenges, making her life seem remarkable only because of her womanhood, not because of her accomplishments qua her accomplishments. And, as a comic, it's boring visually and narratively. Most pages are laid out in a six-panel grid. The images are primarily the heads and shoulders of people with little to no background and they are overlaid with a lot of text, resulting in limited visual-verbal interplay to tell the story. Such a comic cannot hold up against the decades old expectations for mighty leaders and daring-dos. The Female Force: Stormy Daniels and Stormy Daniels Space Force, on the other hand, swing too far the other direction with little to distinguish them from the usual hypersexualization of women in comic books and objectification of women in politics. Stormy Daniels Space Force is filled with images of shapely, barely-clad women and muscular, usually, fully-clad men, becoming just another part of the "problem we have with female superheroes." Female Force: Stormy Daniels uses a caricaturized art style that not only draws attention to Daniels' ample curves but that also distorts the appearances of other women, especially Hillary Clinton who was often mocked for her fashion and physique, effectively becoming part of the media content that contributes to the objectification of female politicians. Political Power: Stormy Daniels uses the same art style, again highlighting Daniels' body, this time in particular contrast to Donald Trump's obesity - which many political cartoonists have been reluctant to caricature out of sense of decency. Despite such weaknesses, Female Force is doing important work in increasing the visibility of public women and women in comics. But there's a lot of work left to be done. While celebrating Vice President-Elect Harris breaking the Glass Ceiling as the first woman to become Vice President of the United States in 2021, let's not forgot that there was a celebration for Hillary Clinton breaking the Glass Ceiling as the first woman to receive a major party nomination in 2016. Until these women are no longer firsts, no longer exceptions, there is still glass up there somewhere.

I've always loved a good mystery. My childhood media diet included lots of Scooby-Doo, Matlock, Perry Mason, Murder She Wrote, Diagnosis Murder, Sherlock Holmes (both in print and on screen), Columbo, and Father Dowling Mysteries. (To be honest, this is an accurate reflection of my middle-aged media diet, too, just throw in Ellery Queen, Nero Wolf, Foyle's War, Mrs. Bradley Mysteries, Midsomer Murders, Poirot, and Miss Marple.) Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None and Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game remain prominent among the stand-out reads of my junior high years. When combined with my father's love of shows like Unsolved Mysteries, America's Most Wanted, and Ripley's Believe It or Not, and my grandmother's subscription to The National Enquirer, I was always attracted to tales of crop circles, Bermuda Triangle disappearances, unexplained bullets in the murders of John F. Kennedy and Robert Kennedy, Bigfoot sightings, UFO abductions, and lake monsters from Nessie to Champ. The aspect that most attracted me in The X-Files were the ideas that "the truth is out there" and "I want to believe." I like to think there are still mysteries - and thus still possibilities - in a world that now records, posts, and re-Tweets everything for posterity. So, yes, I've always loved a good conspiracy narrative. A conspiracy theory is at its heart a mystery. It's a puzzle. A mental exercise. And I've always appreciated the skill of writers who weave plausible conspiracy fictions. James Tynton IV demonstrates absolute mind-bending genius at this in Image Comics 2020 The Department of Truth - and his intricate, shadowy story, is emotionally and aesthetically, enhanced by the dark, gritty, impressionistic artwork of Martin Simmonds. The book opens with a really standard political conspiracy formula: the assassination of John F. Kennedy. The accused assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, is being questioned and both he, and his interrogator, are clearly part of the cover up for something larger. The trope is common in speculative fiction/alternative history, political drama, and political sci-fi comics. As discussed in my forthcoming Politics in the Gutters, a number of political comics incorporate the JFK assassination: The Red Diaries: The Kennedy Conspiracy, Z-Men: All the President’s Men, The Umbrella Academy: Dallas, Badlands, and The X-Files: JFK Disclosure. According to professor of American Studies at the University of Manchester, Peter Knight, in his book Conspiracy Culture: From the Kennedy Assassination to The X-Files (2000), JFK's assassination was the inspiration for more conspiracy thinking than any other event in the 20th century and the moment is so ingrained in our cultural landscape that it remains, explicitly or implicitly, at the heart of both factual and fictional American histories. It is, therefore, not surprising that The Department of Truth begins with the killing of Kennedy as a basis on which it builds the conspiracy theories of a phony moon landing, a flat earth, satanic abuse, reptilian governments, and staged mass shootings - all perpetuated by the influences of mainstream media, Presidents Reagan and Trump, George Soros, right-wing radio, shadowy government agencies, the dark web, and conservative social media outlets. What is surprising is how philosophical The Department of Truth gets in its exploration of these stories. After reading issue #1, I was a little uncomfortable; while I love a good trip down the rabbit hole as entertainment, in the current time of QAnon's influence, rampant unfounded accusations of election fraud, empty cries of "fake news," and the like, it was harder to suspend my disbelief to enjoy the story and I worried that it might add fuel to fires of rampant conspiracies. But The Department of Truth took a somewhat unexpected turn in that these "men in black" are not trying to cover up the truth, but to preserve it. This comic falls into the time-policing narrative of nexus stories in allohistories - efforts to preserve the timeline so as to avoid catastrophe, like in time travel stories where visitors to the past have to take care to not change history and thus prevent their own birth. In comic book media, the CW's Legends of Tomorrow exemplify such stories. But here, it is not so simple as traveling back or forward in time to "correct" incongruities. Here, it is not about what happens or happened but what people - the public, the masses - believe happened and how those beliefs, regardless of reality, have consequences. Here, it is belief, and not actuality, that creates truth. The Truth may be "out there" somewhere - but A truth is in us. As explained by the book's central character, Cole, "Collective belief shapes the world, so everything is a little bit true, or has the potential to be true." This idea is expressed in the communication theory called the Coordinated Management of Meaning which suggests that people, though their communication with other people, co-construct their own social realities, which in turn influence them. Communication is a two-sided, or two-way, process of making and managing meaning. In other words, what we say matters because it influences the world - or at least our own little corner of it. Effectively, we tell stories to make sense of the world and our place within it - ourselves, others, relationships, organizations, the larger community, etc. - and we adjust the stories we tell to fit the reality of the lives we live, or we adjust the lives we live to fit the reality of the stories we tell. Another communication theory adds to this - and to the moral of The Department of Truth that what we believe is truth: Symbolic Interactionism argues that people act toward other people, things, and events on the basis of the meanings we assign to them. Once people define a situation or idea as real, it has very real consequences. It is like a self-fulfilling prophecy in which our expectations invoke behaviors that bring about the outcome we anticipated. Or, as Disney’s Pollyanna told us, "If you look for the bad in mankind, expecting to find it, you surely will." In other words, it doesn't matter if COVID-19 is a Democrat-sponsored hoax or not. The fact that people believe it is a hoax is enough. That belief has real consequences in their behavior, manifested in things like ignoring safety guidelines about gatherings and mask usage. The belief also has consequences in subsequent meaning-making; if a person doesn't believe that COVID-19 is real, but gets sick anyhow - they may interpret the illness as "just a cold" or "just the flu" rather than as COVID-19. The treatment and precautions they pursue accordingly differ as do the ramifications for the people they come in contact with, whose actions and understandings, in turn, may be shaped by their sharing of the belief in COVID-19 as a hoax. But back to the comic. As a child of the 80s, I appreciate the book's tie-in to the "satanic panic" and I particularly want to call attention to how The Department of Truth indicates that it never really went away, that vestiges of it remain through the present day. Indeed, other comic book media have recently banked on that moment of hysteria during Reagan's golden "morning" in America - particularly the show Riverdale with its allusion to Dungeons & Dragons, ala "Griffins & Gargoyles." (See my comments on that in In Media Res tabletop gaming week.) But, this is also where my worries return that the book does as much to feed conspiracy theories as to make a case about their power and their inaccuracy. It demonstrates - rightly so - that there is a reason conspiracies like the satanic panic have longevity. That there is, somewhere buried in the conjecture and the delusions, something valid, real, tangible, verifiable. In this case, the reality of evil intentions or corrupted people in the world. And the power of conspiracy theories is that they give shape and meaning to such villainy: if the bad in the world isn't random, isn't chance, isn't arbitrary, if it is deliberate and comes from a definable source, it can be battled. This is the attraction of the conspiracy theory and its power is that it cannot be counter-argued, because every piece of evidence to its contrary is merely part of the conspiracy, part of what the powers that be - whether they're a shadow government, satanists, neo-liberals, or reptilian overlords - want you to think.

In 2017, artist R. Sikoryak and publisher Drawn & Quarterly introduced a collected edition of a digital and mini-comic called Unquotable Trump, an oversized compilation of parodic classic comic covers, featuring Trump and his infamous quotes. The collection premiered at the 2017 San Diego Comic Con International. Sikoryak has continued to develop newly reimagined covers inspired by Trump's very own "best words" on his Tumblr page, even releasing an Impeachable Trump mini-comic sequel. Over on Twitter, artist D.M. Higgins, in his "President Supervillain" (@PresVillain) account, PhotoShops Trump's words into panels of classic Captain America comics. And in the days following the 2020 election defeat of incumbent Republican President Donald Trump to former Vice-President Democrat Joe Biden, more classic comic book parody began popping up on social media to highlight the unprecedented behavior of Trump and his legal team in their disavowal of the election of the results. On November 15, 2020, Comics with Problems shared a Tales from the Crypt parody on Facebook that mocked Rudolph Giuliani, Trump's personal lawyer, as the attorney made bizarre press appearances in his efforts to battle the election results. The cover, featuring an un-dead caricature of the former New York City Mayor as he lurches from behind the grave of his destroyed reputation beneath the title "Tales from the Creep," specifically alludes to Giuliani's appearance in Borat 2 mockumentary, aka Borat Subsequent Moviefilm, in which Giuliani appears to prepare for an inappropriate sexual encounter by lying on a bed and putting his hand down his pants. Another November 15 Facebook post, appearing on the Dangerous Minds page, went after Trump's belligerent post-election Tweeting. Like the covers to Sikoryak's Unquotable Trump and Impeachable Trump, this parody used Marvel's Incredible Hulk for its parody, showing a saggy, oversized Trump, sorrowfully Tweeting out his rebuke of the election. As is discussed in Politics in the Gutters, The Incredible Hulk is a very common allusion in Trump comic book parodies. It even appeared in shorter form cartoons by Tom Tomorrow. The story of the Incredible Hulk is the story of a science prodigy, Bruce Banner. Recruited as a teenager to develop weapons systems for the U.S. Army, Banner’s experiments with atomic weaponry expose him to gamma radiation giving him excessive size and strength whenever he gets angry, and the angrier he gets, the stronger he is. First appearing in Marvel Comics’ Incredible Hulk #1 in 1962, his story has been adapted across media formats. In his review of the 2008 film The Incredible Hulk, sociologist Thomas Scheff notes that even though Banner attempts to control his anger, the emotion is accepted as “a sign of manliness, of readiness to fight,” making anger something to be proud of, if it can be put to good purpose (para. 8). Trump/Hulk comparisons offer commentary on Trump’s personality and temperament, suggesting that Trump has tenuous control over emotions of anger and that his manliness or toughness is rooted in that anger. On November 23, 2020, Rich Ragsdale posted to the Underground Comix, ETC! Facebook group another classic comic cover parodying the election. This one was based on the romance comics of the 1950s and placed Lady Liberty at the apex of a bad romance love triangle between Trump and Biden. Trump sobs, believing himself jilted or cuckolded by Liberty (the people) who is running off with the better looking, but vaguely creepy, Biden. Vintage romance comics typically dealt with themes of jealousy, betrayal, and heartache as moralistic stories of socially proper or acceptable behavior and the dangers of violating those cultural norms. This cover, therefore, seems to act as a cautionary tale to the American people about going to bed with the wrong leaders - and to not jump into a new love affair too hastily. You can read more about Ragsdale's work at https://prospect.org/culture/the-trump-show-comic-book/ and you can see more of his political comic art parody on Instagram at instagram.com/richragsdale. Comic book parodies like these have great potential to work, as do traditional political or editorial cartoons, to re-frame Trump’s narrative by triggering reflection and suggesting new ways to understand or interpret Trump’s statements. They do, however, reach a fairly limited audience. Satire - and its techniques of parody, irony, and sarcasm - works best when the audience is knowledgeable about the object of the parody and when that audience devotes sufficient intellectual and emotional engagement to understanding the message by rejecting its literal meaning, recognizing its incongruities, and seeking alternative interpretations. In other words, the "Tales from Creep" cover means more if the audience is familiar with Tales from the Crypt and the juxtaposition of Trump with the Incredible Hulk only works as a criticism if one views rage as a weakness rather than a strength.

On December 16, 2020 Bleeding Cool's Rich Johnston reviewed the newly published Nightwing #77 by Dan Jurgens. The synopsis for the issue provided by DC Comics suggested a fairly typical Christmas-y story for a costumed crime-fighter struggling to balance public and private personas: "Christmas has come to Gotham City, and all across the city people have taken time out of their busy schedules to spend time with loved ones. But Dick Grayson has found himself in the midst of a dilemma: How can he take time off when crime never sleeps? And how can he spend time with loved ones when he has pushed them all away? An answer, in the form of a random encounter with a lost soul-and kindred spirit-awaits him." But Johnston's review didn't look at the stresses and sorrows of the holiday season for a masked vigilante; instead, Johnston focused on Nightwing's defense of the technology firm Dexiturn from hackers threats, despite Dexiturn's tendency to put profit over people. Johnston argued, "Making cannon fodder out of its employees and suppliers could be seen as similar to the recent actions of AT&T in buying Warner Bros, and with DC Comics being stripped back, employees fired, products cut and with rumours of licenses being sold to Penguin Random House or switched away from comic shops to digital publication." (For more on the DC Comics layoffs see Johnston's article from November 11, 2020.) For Johnston, the comic seemed to be making pointed commentary about big business, brands, and profits - leading to a headline that provocatively asked, "Nightwing #77, The Most Political Comic This Year Targets DC Owners?" Though I don't disagree with the Johnston's core reading of the comic, nor do I disagree with the comic's possible indictment of what's been happening in DC (I'm a DC fan; I hate to see these cuts), I do question elevating the issue to "most political comic this year." I would give that honor to AHOY Comics' Billionaire Island (which I discussed a few weeks ago), or to Image Comics' Department of Truth (which I also discussed recently), or to the brand new Post-Americana, or to any issue of Undiscovered Country whose pandemic storyline was relevant even before COVID-19. Attacking corporations and their cheap treatment of life is nothing new for Billionaire Island writer Mark Russell, who does it not only in B.I. (or, should I say, "F.U.") but also in his run on The Flintstones and Prez (read more about the politics in both titles in Politics in the Gutters). Furthermore, to dub Nightwing #77 as the "most political comic," I think, undermines the inherent politics of comics overall. Comics are, as Marvel claims, a look at the world outside our window. That world is political and politicized. For more on why comics are always political and/or should be political, read this, or this, or, especially, this now famous (and infamous) essay by Art Spiegelman. (Also, read my concluding chapter in Politics in the Gutters).

When I started this blog, I did so with the intent of commenting on new, emerging, or developing comics and related media relevant to politics - texts that came out after the manuscript for Politics in the Gutters was completed. But, as I watched the events of January 6, 2021 unfold in Washington, DC I realized that this blog also needs to accommodate new, emerging, or developing political events relevant to comics. As Congress counted the electoral college votes from the 2020 presidential election, supporters of President Trump, angry and/or in denial about Trump's loss to former Vice President Joe Biden, gathered in DC to protest the election. The protest quickly escalated to an attempted coup on the U.S. government as actors violently invaded and took over the U.S. Capitol and armed standoffs brought Congressional proceedings to a halt. A similar scene can be found in the somewhat obscure DC Comics title Prez, which lasted just three issues from 1973 to 1974. Starring a teenage president, it was premised on the youth movement and the enfranchisement of 18-20 year olds with the passage of the 26th Amendment. Prez, and its 2015 reboot, are discussed at some length already in the forthcoming Politics in the Gutters, but its relevance to the modern political milieu was heightened when costumed defenders of the Second Amendment invaded the seat of American government in 2021. Issue 3, released in September 1973 with a cover date of January 1974 featured the story "Invasion of America" in which a group of protestors, dressed in Revolutionary War uniforms, march down Pennsylvania Avenue and launch an armed attack on the White House. The invasion is designed to dramatize their objection to a bill to outlaw firearms and to protest the peace and love administration of President Rickard. In the end, the protesting "Washington Minutemen" are defeated - but Washington, DC and the Prez presidency takes a beating. When the fighting has stopped President Rickard addresses Congress to admit that he hasn't been a particularly good president and that he needs to do more to unite the country which has been deeply divided by generational differences. At last, the older Congressmen start to accept the youthful president, but the younger ones see him as a traitor. Jumping ahead to the real invasion of Washington, DC 46 years later, President Trump similarly accepted defeat after the attempted coup did not stop nor change the results of the 2020 election. Unlike President Rickard, however, Trump denied any responsibility in or for the discord, saying, "Even though I totally disagree with the outcome of the election, and the facts bear me out, nevertheless there will be an orderly transition on January 20th." Moreover, whereas President Rickard fought the insurrection of the Minutemen, President Trump enabled the January 6 invasion. This really highlights how comics (and other fictional or fictionalized political stories) can serve as models of civic behavior. Superhero comics are often heralded for this, with superheroes seen as proxies for particular geopolitical identities, civic virtues, and community beliefs, enacting "correct" civic behavior, feelings, and thoughts, embodying the ideals and environment of their communities. But, as demonstrated by Prez, they are not alone in comics' ability to do this. Comics, like their creators, have much to offer political discourse. Multiple studies demonstrate that the public receives political information and democratic sensibilities from a variety of news and entertainment content; pop culture artifacts open broader dialogues on civic matters and thus motivate, educate, and connect the public to political issues and systems. Fictional or fictionalized presidencies engage real-world issues and define idealized presidential leadership. Likewise, symbolic performance of the presidential office helps to constitute the collective nation. And that's what makes Trump's final words following the real-world invasion of America by America - "it’s only the beginning of our fight" - scariest of all.

On September 23, 2020 Bleeding Cool announced that Savage Dragon #253 was endorsing the Biden-Harris presidential ticket. Commenters on social media were not pleased. Some felt that it was wrong for a character who is a "cop" to weigh in in the midst of #BlackLivesMatter demands to #DefundThePolice. Most dissension, however, complained that it was a stunt to appeal to SJWs (social justice warriors) through the facade of diversity. Some were angry that it alienated conservative fans. The endorsement, though, was on brand and on message for Savage Dragon, which had previously endorsed the Obama-Biden ticket in 2008 and supported Obama's presidency. It was also consistent with Savage Dragon's anti-ICE story arc during the Trump administration's crackdown on immigration, and with Savage Dragon's condemnation of the alt-right's co-option of the logo of Marvel's violent vigilante assassin The Punisher, especially the logo's use by and for law enforcement. Despite critics' belief that comics should be escapist and apolitical, comics have never been either. They tackled World War II, criticizing Hitler and contributing to anti-Japanese propaganda, as well as selling war bonds and instigating paper drives. They participated in anti-Communist sentiment through a focus on family and Americana. They weighed in on the ravages of Vietnam. They promoted anti-drug and alcohol messages. What is viewed as "apolitical" is more likely just politically aligned with a reader's worldview and political preferences and what is viewed as "political" is more likely aligned in opposition to the same.

If you aren't familiar with Bomb Queen by Jimmie Robinson, this is not your usual superhero fare. The story is set mostly in New Port City, USA - a hero-free and lawless haven for criminals ruled by the evil, U.S. government-created, clone, Bomb Queen. The series originally ran from 2006 to 2012, before Robinson re-introduced the the character in 2020. Bomb Queen is designated as “adult/satire” and both its creator, Robinson, and its editor, Kristen Simon, have stated that it is not meant to be taken seriously despite having dark and controversial content surrounding issues and representations of sex and violence. It is dark satire that relies on Carnivalesque and black humor to take stabs at politics and pop culture and is described as “Not for children (or squeamish adults).” Comic Book Resources writer Michael Sullivan suggests that although on the surface Bomb Queen seems to be a basic sex and violence story, it “is brimming with wry observations, social commentary and, between the boobs and booms, leaves you with considerable food for thought.” By writing a villain book Robinson attempts to reverse the superhero formula where evil triumphs through the main character and the debased society that supports her. The inspiration for the dark satirical Bomb Queen was the post-9/11 American culture under President George W. Bush. The decade that followed the events of September 11, 2001 was noted for the bleak political satire of social unrest, shaped by changing industrial and cultural shifts in media production and consumption and by public anger and fear triggered by terrorism and the resulting international and domestic policies, corrupt industry, and a faltering economy. There are several moments in the Bomb Queen story that highlight this dystopian perspective of American politics, with an underlying message that “you get the government you deserve.” In volume III, for example, Bomb Queen explains, “You’re only a hero where you’re accepted. […] One man’s hero is another man’s villain.” In volume IV, she highlights the hypocrisy of American government and society in a rousing speech her city of Klansmen, prostitutes, pimps, abusers, hackers, and terrorists. Robinson explained he wrote this to demonstrate “that anyone can make a case, for good or evil, using key ideals, concepts and fear tactics. When society accepts these ideals as truth, then movements are born. How they are viewed is up to the individual.” If you want to know more about the original Bomb Queen run, and Queenie's days of taking on the Obama presidency, check out my chapter devoted entirely to BQ in Gender and the Superhero Narrative. For now, let's turn our attention to the Queen's latest reign in the mini-series Bomb Queen: Trump Card, introduced by Image in summer 2020 and released as a trade paperback in January 2021. During the Obama years, Bomb Queen's efforts to overthrow the U.S. government focused on undermining Obama's squeaky-clean reputation to distract and discredit him. During the Trump years, her efforts to overthrow the U.S. government shifted to being more Trump-like than Trump himself in order to steal his voter base. Indeed, there was already an uncanny similarity between the enthusiastic diegetic audience she had for a politically incorrect speech she gave back in a 2009 issue and the real crowd of Trump supporters who rioted at the U.S. Capitol in 2021. It's not surprising, then, that Bomb Queen: Trump Card and its readers have noted, "Bomb Queen was the Trump of New Port City." But, again, BQ was critical of the Bush and Obama years, too - always commenting on not only the government but the society that enables it. For example, Bomb Queen herself, and her crime-infested city, were creations of a shadow government, thus reflecting not only public paranoia surrounding the U.S. government’s complicity in terrorism (and other conspiracies now empowering Q-Anon and the alt-right) but also public concern about the government's use of torture and domestic surveillance in countering terrorism. It has always been, to use the words of Ricardo Denis, "a look at Totalitarianism and how it works, albeit with a more fast-paced, bloody, and sexed up mindset." In the superhero genre, protagonists are usually thought the be the embodiment of a nation and the enactment of its civic ideals. Bomb Queen, wherein the protagonist is a supervillain, is arguably no different, suggesting that the evils we are facing are our own. In short, Bomb Queen and Bomb Queen: Trump Card fulfills the desirable functions of political satire: it highlights gaps in dominant myths, especially about politics and democracy; it offers a plurality of perspectives for understanding experiences, particularly through its moral ambiguity; and, Bomb Queen herself represents embodied opposition to dominant political and behavioral norms in how she performs her gender, particularly on the political/public stage (for more on that, see my previously mentioned chapter and discussions of Bomb Queen in Politics in the Gutters, particularly chapter 9.)

American Vampire has always used American history as the backdrop for its monstrous horror: the wild West, the roaring '20s, the Red Scare, McCarthyism & the Hollywood Blacklist, the Cold War and nuclear tensions... American Vampire 1976, the last chapter of the series, engages the Bicentennial celebration of the United States of America as a plot device. In a very National Treasure or Sleepy Hollow-style historical-conspiracy twist, the key to arcane secrets is supposed to be hidden in a draft of George Washington's farewell address, which is on an old train hauling historical ephemera across the nation as a moving Bicentennial museum. These kinds of stories offer allohistories - alternative perspectives on how history may have unfolded differently than suggested by the historical record. It's a successful formula in fiction, offering readers a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma: a treasure hunt, or an apocalyptic race against time, or biblical battle against shadowy forces, filled with conspiracies, secret codes, and enough historical markers to make it seem plausible. It worked in The Da Vinci Code, in The National Treasure franchise, in television's Sleepy Hollow, in the Rough Riders comics, and in The Jekyll Island Chronicles graphic novels - to name a few. Allohistories use conditions of the present to re-imagine the past. Their stories ask, and sometimes attempt to answer the question of what sort of world would exist if all things were possible. They challenge not only the historical record but also the accepted limits of both the physical and social worlds. They interpret our present condition by understanding our relationship to the past - as is very evident throughout the pages of American Vampire 1976 which launched in October 2020, just one month ahead of the contentious and controversial 2020 presidential election. Despite being set in 1976, the introductory narration, written by Scott Snyder, in issue #1 was apt for 2020: “The world hates us. The president turned out to be a criminal. The economy's in the shitter. China's gaining on us. Russia's handing us our balls. Everyone's going crazy. Joining cults. Carving up their neighbors. Kids going missing. Folks kissing the Devil's ring instead of the Lord's feet... All that hope and love from a few years back? Long curdled, sour and black.” The White House figures prominently into the monstrosities set to befall the United States, though President Gerald Ford is neither complicit nor clueless. He knows that "the state of the Union is not good" (#1) and he recognizes "the anger out there... There's no bridge anymore. We're enemies with ourselves. Explosions waiting to happen" (#4). He just doesn't know about the demonic forces at work in that scenario. In the story, demons are corrupting Americans by poisoning the public "the Beast's milk in the water [...] in the fluoride" (#2). This plays on decades' old fear of fluoride as a tool of a malicious government plot. The 1964 dark comedy film Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, for example, alluded to/mocked the idea that fluoridation was a conspiracy designed to weaken the U.S. to make it more susceptible to a Communist takeover. Recent years have seen an increase in horror narratives blended with political dramas in which demonic, supernatural, or extraterrestrial forces are working within the government: the novel Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2010) and its subsequent movie, the Nathaniel Cade book series that began with The President's Vampire (2011), and the short-lived television show BrainDead (2016) are a few examples. Comic books have been a particularly rich area for such stories: President Evil (2009), Army of Darkness: Ash Saves Obama (2010), Saucer Country (2012), Army of Darkness: Ash for President (2016), Z-Men (2015), Citizen Jack (2016), Saucer State (2018), and assorted American Vampire chapters are prominent titles. (For more on these comics, see the forthcoming Politics in the Gutters, also my chapter "UFO Sightings" in Monstrous Women in Comics.) These stories can be seen as a result of or response to the contemporary political climate in the United States - anxiety associated with terrorism, police violence, and economic hardship engendered by a political discourse that eschews reason in favor of emotion. The contemporary horror genre recognizes violence, instability, and futility as constituent features of daily life and political horror takes for granted the government’s complicity in the violence, instability, and futility, whether through corruption, conspiracy, or carelessness. At the heart of political horror is open distrust of politicians and the government. The genre allows audiences to express and face their fears, but by raising politicians to supernatural, and therefore superhuman, status they become unstoppable, thus freeing citizens and voters from any responsibility in monstrous abuses of government power. For additional discussion of political horror, see my chapter "The American Nightmare" in The Politics of Horror or my online note about BrainDead.) The combination of horror and allohistory in American Vampire 1976 looks at the present political moment both in a mirror and through a microscope. Book/issue #4 asks, "What do we do when history is out to get us? When our legends aren't what they seem, and a reckoning is coming as the whole damn Earth hurls up our secrets?" These questions are worth considering as society debates what to do with statues to people who maybe didn't deserve statues, and considers what to do about an impending climate crisis, and grapples with the realization that the sexism, racism, classism, and other -isms we thought were addressed through earlier civil rights efforts are resurfacing... American Vampire 1976 suggests that we are all part of one story, but for a long time, most of us were only participating in a piece of it.

According to writer Ellitott Kalan, "the original inspiration for the 2021 Maniac of New York was Kalan's extreme adolescent disappointment with Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, which promised a citywide metropolitan bloodbath and delivered a couple shots of Jason walking through Times Square in a bad mood [and] the New York movies of the ’70s and ’80s, when the city was gross and ugly and exciting and felt like it was full of real people and not just wealthy hedge fund managers. " Kalan further admits that the first story-line of the series is influenced by the 1974 film Taking of Pelham One Two Three. But readers of a certain age will doubtlessly make other cultural connections in the opening pages of issue #1, which finds New York City in a state of shock and chaos following a New Year's Eve massacre in Time Square. In the aftermath, pundits presume, politicians promise, and the public prays. As depicted in the Andrea Mutti's artwork, previewed by AfterShock, these reactions are strikingly familiar to those old enough to remember September 11, 2001. Indeed, Kalan's dialogue is also very 9/11-ish. Maniac's NYC Mayor De Manzio (despite calling to mind the current mayor IRL, Bill de Blasio) declares, “To the maniac who committed this diabolical act, I say the City that Never Sleeps shall not rest until you are rotting behind bars or burning in Hell!” This kind of evangelism was echoed throughout the rhetoric of former President George W. Bush in the hours, days, and weeks following 9/11, beginning with an address to the nation from the Oval Office, in which he promised, "The search is underway for those who were behind these evil acts [...] to bring them to justice." Maniac's Speaker of the House pledges, “We must come together to heal the wounds at the crossroads of the world. We must ensure this never happens again.” The notion of NYC as a "crossroads" was put forth in a speech to the United Nations after 9/11 by then-NYC Mayor Giuliani. The speech focused heavily on New York City's diversity. Quickly, though, Maniac of New York turns to more recent socio-politcal allusions, such as Kentucky Senator victim-blaming when four female NYU students fall victim to "Maniac Harry." The Senator questions "what four young women were doing out at that hour in the first place," echoing a pattern of political victim-blaming - especially in the cases of crimes against women - in recent years. As the book fast-forwards through the first several years of Maniac Harry's reign of terror, readers discover that all the special agencies created to protect the people of New York had quickly become bloated or under-funded paper tigers with no teeth, that the public at large had become immune to the continued reminders of "see something, scream something," and that updates about Maniac Harry's whereabouts and latest attacks were so commonplace that they were simply part of the traffic and weather reports. This last phenomenon seems to be especially reminiscent of daily death counts in the 2020/2021 COVID-19 pandemic. Issue #1 ended on a cliff-hanger, and the series could shape up in a number of ways depending on how strongly its socio-political and media commentary and allusions are developed in subsequent issues. It is telling, however, that two of AfterShock's newest titles - Maniac of New York (February 2021) and I Breathed a Body (January 2021) are dealing with societies in which unnatural death, and witnessing such death through media, is part of the new normal. According to I Breathed a Body writer Zac Thompson, the comic is “a supernatural horror book set in Silicon Valley about the voyeurism of violence. Thanks to social media, we’ve become prepared to see death and despair at any moment.” Thompson says the book "is an indictment of the Big Tech companies who engender and profit from this vitriolic environment,” but the idea that social media - and everyone having high-res photographic and video equipment in their pockets now - allows us to witness "death and despair" runs deeper. The concept has particular poignancy in relation to the #BlackLivesMatter movement, which has gained momentum in part because Black death, such as that of George Floyd, Alton Sterling, Philandro Castile, and Daniel Prude, can "go viral." This brings increased awareness to the problem of systemic racism, but it can also exacerbate trauma. While both Maniac of New York and I Breathed a Body hold a mirror up to a society becoming increasing accustomed to violence and death, I Breathed a Body not only forces us to look at how we handle perpetual crisis, but also how we perceive it. It challenges that we might, if we haven't already, reach a point where we not only become apathetic to the events surrounding us, but also to their reality - that eventually Fact and Truth will lose meaning. Influencers will determine truth and we'll be accept it because there won't be any alternatives.

The official release date of The Recount #1 was November 11, 2020: A week after election day and the official start of when states began certifying the election results, a day after Donald Trump and his supporters picked up the mantra of "Stop the Count," and just about a year after the wheels were put in motion for Trump's first impeachment. These are important contextual details, because the issue, announced in October 2020, opens with an impeached U.S. President leaving office for war crimes. Except before he can finish his farewell address, he is assassinated by an insider who is part of a massive conspiracy cult, calling themselves "The Masses," that is determined to bring vengeance to every person who enabled the failed president to get into office. That means killing every member of his campaign team and his administration, every representative in the electoral college, and every person who voted for him. With its political campaign theme, creepy Halloween masks, and an anarchist declaration that it's effectively open hunting season on millions of voters, the first two issues of The Recount feel like a reboot of The Purge: Election Year. The premise would, therefore, be tired and trite - except for the fact that it's so real, which makes it creepy, and disturbing, and uncomfortable, and terrifying... for all the wrong reasons. In its way, it tells the story of what might have happened on January 6, 2021 when conspiracy theorists, disenchanted voters, and people who felt disenfranchised from the government stormed the Capitol to kidnap and kill the elected representatives they blamed for their plight. The Masses is able to target voters based on their own social media boasts about support of the president, through the aid of a foreign country's digital hijacking of the election, and through the ball caps and flags the dead president's supporters displayed on their bodies and homes. (Any of this sound familiar?) Leaders of The Masses are Washington, DC insiders - members of the Secret Service, the CIA, the Pentagon. This appears be "ripped from the headlines," as Law & Order promos might say, and the alt-right conspiracy organization Q-Anon's alleged leaks from high-ranking military officers and high-level FBI analysts. The stand-out difference in The Recount is that The Masses seems to be a liberal organization, targeting a president who got America into a needless war (à la George W. Bush with Iraq) and irresponsibly cost the lives of thousands of Americans (à la Donald Trump with COVID-19). The saving grace of The Recount being something more than a bloody grab at sensationalism and exploitation of real-world troubles, is found in the book's main protagonist - the acting president and and her Secret Service agent Bree Bartel offer strong female characters who are not only fighting for survival but also navigating their careers in male-dominated fields. The writing and artwork are captivating and compelling, creating, as Bleeding Cool described a "read that feels much like a film caught on paper" - but that is partly because it offers a movie we've already seen repeatedly in "The Purge" franchise and, more frighteningly, on the nightly news. In this heated political climate, The Recount may just add fuel to the fire.

The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem (2020) is the follow-up to The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (2013) which was a sequel to the My Chemical Romance concept album "Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys" (2010). All three Killjoys stories follow a group of youths as they battle the rampant commercialization and the corporatization of America. - But only "National Anthem" feels like being inside of Marshall McLuhan's head on an LSD trip. In the latest battle between identity and conformity, punk and money, the Killjoys fight to defend reality itself from the emotion-numbing, mind-erasing power of television and advertising. "National Anthem" is one of the latest entries into a growing field of comics dealing in techno-dystopias and media-horrors. In recent years, I Breathed a Body (2021, also discussed in Guttered Politics), Ana Galvañ’s Press Enter to Continue (2019), Juan Doe's Bad Reception, Inés Estrada’s Alienation (2019), Ezra Claytan Daniels and Ben Passmore’s BTTM FDRS (2019), the Pander Brothers’ Dissident X, Oliver Schrauwen’s Parallel Lives (2018), Adam Glass's The Normals (2017) - and a host of reality-show, social media, cult-of-personality, materialism, corporate control, and commercialism inspired stories like I, Paparazzi (2002), Killer Stunts, Inc. (2005), Paparazzi (2011), America's Got Powers (2012), Snapshot (2013), Pop (2014), Mall (2019), Hollywood Trash (2020), and American Ronin (2020) - have joined the ranks of Howard Chaykin’s media-saturated world of American Flagg! (1983) and the overwhelming environment of sight and sound in Video Jack (1987). But "National Anthem" seems to have tapped directly into the zeitgeist of media ecology in the 1960s. In March 1969, Playboy magazine published an interview with media philosopher Marshall McLuhan. In this interview, McLuhan talked, among many things, about the "TV child" who had "all his senses involved by the electric media" in the "cool, inclusive womb of television. [...] "The TV child has been relentlessly exposed to all the 'adult' news of the modern world—war, racial discrimination, rioting, crime, inflation, sexual revolution.The war in Vietnam has written its bloody message on his skin; he has witnessed the assassinations and funerals of the nation’s leaders; he’s been orbited through the TV screen into the astronaut’s dance in space, been inundated by information transmitted via radio, telephone, films, recordings and other people. His parents plopped him down in front of a TV set at the age of two to tranquilize him, and by the time he enters kindergarten, he’s clocked as much as 4000 hours of television." "National Anthem" realizes McLuhan's concept with the authority known as "Mom and Dad," depicted as television screens on pearled and neck-tied carts that brainwash the country's children. The back cover of "National Anthem" issue #1 declared, "Turn On. Tune in. Drop out" - a counterculture phrase popularized by Timothy Leary in the 1960s which McLuhan found to be an apt expression of television's effect in society. When asked about the drug culture of the '60s, McLuhan told Playboy, "They're natural means of smoothing cultural transitions, and also a short cut into the electric vortex. The upsurge in drug taking is intimately related to the impact of the electric media. Look at the metaphor for getting high: turning on. One turns on his consciousness through drugs just as he opens up all his senses to a total depth involvement by turning on the TV dial. Drug taking is stimulated by today's pervasive environment of instant information, with its feedback mechanism of the inner trip. The inner trip is not the sole prerogative of the LSD traveler; it's the universal experience of TV watchers. LSD is a way of miming the invisible electronic world; it releases a person from acquired verbal and visual habits and reactions, and gives the potential of instant and total involvement, both all-at-onceness and all-at-oneness, which are the basic needs of people translated by electric extensions of their central nervous systems out of the old rational, sequential value system. " The "all-at-onceness and all-at-oneness" of the psychedelic trip is further reflected in the neon excesses of "National Anthem." Leonardo Romero's art and Jordie Bellaire's coloring immerse readers into a crass commercial environment that is part '80s kitsch and part vintage '50s, with a dash of Mad Max-style futurism. The all-encompassing chaos of the visually-overloaded panels capture McLuhan's idea of "the electronically induced technological extensions of our central nervous systems" that he saw "immersing us in a world-pool of information movement and are thus enabling man to incorporate within himself the whole of mankind." The concerns he raised in 1969 are all the more pronounced in 2020s with social media and mobile devices not merely blurring but erasing the lines between public and private. All our alienation and atomization are reflected in the crumbling of such time-honored social values as the right of privacy and the sanctity of the individual; as they yield to the intensities of the new technology's electric circus, it seems to the average citizen that the sky is falling in. It is within, and against, such a media-saturated, arguably fully-mediated, environment that the Killjoys are fighting to retain not only their individualism and identity, but reality itself. And it is the fight for reality that makes the The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem a story of the 2020s in retro-trappings. Because not only are we, as McLuhan suggested, "as unaware of the psychic and social effects of his new technology as a fish of the water it swims in," but we are also all now fighting to define reality, fighting in a war on truth, of truth, and for truth.

As noted previously in this blog, reporters were once very common characters in comic books, heroic figures working for the people to expose and stop corruption; the journalist and the superhero have often been one-and-the-same, both identities fighting for truth and justice: Superman is Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent. Spider-Man is Daily Bugle photographer Peter Parker. And The Lightbringer is hard-nosed Chronicle reporter Elena Abbott. Set in Detroit during the early 1970s, Abbott (2018)- from writer Saladin Ahmed (Black Bolt) and artist Sami Kivelä (Beautiful Canvas) - brings racial politics to the foreground of supernatural noir. Abbott is a hard-hitting, chain-smoking, near fearless, Black and queer reporter who covers the stories that no else will and investigates the crimes that the police try to ignore - crimes against Detroit's poor and Black populations. "Crimes," the publisher's description notes, "she knows to be the work of dark occult forces. Forces that took her husband from her. Forces she has sworn to destroy." The original Abbott series is a fun occult mystery that pits an urban Black woman in the 1970s against the White patriarchy devoted to the traditions of ancient Greek and Roman lore. In the battle good versus evil, Abbott is "the light" fighting dark forces of not only the occult but also of racism, sexism, and homophobia. Her characterization as The Lightbringer calls to mind Martin Luther King, Jr.'s declaration in Strength to Love (1963), “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that.” Yes, she is gifted with supernatural abilities - but the magical light she brings is realized through the light she shines in the dark alleys of her city as a "detective for the people." She is not just The Lightbringer, she is also a truth seeker. Abbott is, as the comic covers note, a Black Lois Lane. And this characterization becomes ever more clear in the new Abbott: 1973 (2020) as Abbott chases leads in the racist propaganda blanketing the city against its first Black mayoral candidate. In this latest installment of the story, Abbott, like Lois Lane before her, displays ruthless investigative skills, while negotiating relationship complexities, workplace sexism, and extraordinary dangers.... plus some monsters and ghosts, because this is a horror comic after all. One reason that Abbott and Abbott:1973 are standout comics is in their treatment of important issues. As Emma Lawson noted for CBR, Taking place in 1970s America, there’s a lot of casual racism and sexism in Abbott, but it’s delicately used and then immediately shut down either through context or characters’ own words. In his writing Ahmed shows that yes, these attitudes did exist in 1972 and yes, it often was this explicit, but at the same time no, it’s not OK -- and it wasn’t at the time, either. There’s a difference between historical fiction that revels in racism and sexism and that which critiques it; this is the latter and shows us how it’s done. Abbott is also notable because it celebrates American journalism at a time when Americans express hardening attitudes toward, and growing distrust of, the news media. More specifically, it calls attention to the enormous responsibility of reporting while Black in America and it sheds light on an aspect of the #BlackLivesMatter movement about which many White Americans have too long been in the dark: Racial violence and racial policing have always been part of the country's reality. As journalist Errin Haines told Glamour in June 2020, “A lot of the work I did [at the Associated Press] was around the killings of unarmed Black people by the police and by vigilantes, and when I moved on from that job, I thought I had moved on from that work. I certainly didn’t think I would be doing this work in the midst of a pandemic. But here we are.” She is not alone. After the 2020 killing of George Floyd, a lot of Black journalists struggled with and reflected on the experience of reporting while Black and the emotional toll of having to bear witness to so much violence against their community. Abbott is also not the only comic art to draw attention to the history of police violence/negligence in race relations. Cartoonist Keith Knight's book, They Shoot Black People, Don't They? collects 20 years of his cartoon strips commenting on police brutality, cartoons such as the one below from 2011. It will be interesting to see how Abbott:1973 goes on to speak to racial campaign politics in the 1970s and, by extension, the 2010s-2020s. It has so far been kind in linking Klan activity to dark occult forces, rather than to merely darker human impulses - though visually the shadowy tendrils of evil energy seem to be a fair metaphor for the insidiousness of institutionalized racism.

AfterShock's Misktatonic, by Mark Sable and Giorgio Pontrelli, promises "a revisionist look at classic cosmic horror tropes" combined with "noir crime and real-world politics." The publisher claims, “The first ‘Red Scare’ of the 20th century — when paranoia over the threat posed by far-left political extremists overtook certain elements of the United States — is the backdrop for the latest series to be announced from AfterShock Comics, but Lovecraftian crime book Miskatonic has far more going on than just politics [...] the series mixes terrorist bombings, cultists worshipping ancient gods, scientists hoping to bring back the dead, and — of course — a spooky house where rats live inside the walls.” In truth, the well-written series is more cosmic horror and less politics. It ably weaves together the monsters and heroes of Lovecraft's New England tales of terror into a single cohesive, intertextual, story, under the umbrella an FBI investigation launched by J. Edgar Hoover. Hoover, and his campaign against radicals, immigrants, "deviants," and other assorted undesirables, acts as little more than a narrative device for highlighting, with tepid criticism, the racism, misogyny, and xenophobia inherent in Lovecraft's original works. Cultists meet under the hoods of the Klan, believing that ethnic cleansing will be achieved through destruction of humanity. Radical ideas, such as those espoused by Leftists and Catholics, are intertwined with the immoral writings of the Necronomicon. But, readers (like me), who anticipate a vast political conspiracy intertwined with the Cthulhu mythos will be disappointed. "In reality," Mark Sable reveals, "it’s a white supremacist occult conspiracy, and can only be stopped by the very people that Hoover detests." In sum, it is a 1920s story with 2020s political sensibilities and relevance. This plot point carries with it its own risks and weaknesses, as attempts to disrupt the deep racism of Lovecraft’s work frequently reinforce certain stereotypes (see, for example, criticisms of the HBO series Lovecraft Country). Miskatonic's hero, Miranda Keller — one of the first female agents of the nascent FBI - for example, rails against the people and sexist sentiments that suggest she is less than capable because she is a woman. And yet, she devotedly adheres to the demands, expectations, and worldview of Hoover who implemented the sexist policies that prohibited the hiring of women in the FBI for decades to come. Her partner on this particular mission, Tom Malone, who Lovecraft fans will recognize from The Horror at Red Hook, also chooses to persecute innocent immigrants in his quest to stop The Esoteric Order of Dagon and the return of the Deep Ones. Miskatonic, and Lovecraft Country for that matter, are not alone in their struggle to address prejudice without reinforcing stereotypes, or at least reinforcing, through recreating, distinctions of class, race, gender, etc. For example, even if the often-celebrated "blue eyes/brown eyes" experiment designed to help people understand the experience of subjugation effectively normalizes social hierarchies. Overall, Lovecraft fans may appreciate how deftly Miskatonic brings the characters and plots of Herbert West-Reanimator, The Dunwich Horror, Color Out of Space, The Horror at Redhook, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, At the Mountains of Madness, and more together. Noir fans may appreciate the aesthetic. Readers looking for conspiracy on par with The Department of Truth or even X-Files may be left wanting more.

I belatedly discovered Ex Machina by Brian K. Vaughn with artist Tony Harris through Comixology's current free and Unlimited-access titles. I am dismayed that I didn't encounter it earlier to have included amongst the superheroic and supervillainous mayors highlighted in Politics in the Gutters. (Maybe if 2020 hadn't been so filled with other distractions, I might have caught the news that Legendary Entertainment was developing it into a movie.) Ex Machina debuted in 2004, running for 50+ issues from the DC Comics imprint Wildstorm. It focused on Mitchell Hundred: a civil engineer who mysteriously gains the ability to talk to, and control, machines. After a brief stint as an unpopular superhero called "the Great Machine," he runs as an independent, non-partisan, candidate for mayor of New York City - and wins... in the election following 9/11. The comic involves monstrous mysteries and concerns of terrorism, but Hundred is more concerned with issues of government and political leadership: campaigning, image management, damage control, and trying to do the right thing surrounding a range of issues from domestic security to gay rights. Basically, it's The X-Files meets Spin City. And if that reference is too dated, Supernatural meets Mr. Mayor also works (but not quite as well). The Eisner Award-winning series is by now well reviewed, and re-reviewed. It's considered a complex sci-fi series with compelling character development that makes strong emotional ties to real-world situations and persons, not the least of which is the Great Machine's trauma trying to rescue people from the first Tower on 9/11. This makes it notable among superhero comics, to be sure. What makes it notable in political comics is its earnest optimism. As discussed at length in the forthcoming Politics in the Gutters, many overtly political (as in politicians and government and campaigns) comics capture the cynicism, distrust, apathy, and bemusement that permeate public sentiment surrounding modern politics-as-usual. Though these comics also frequently suggest that The People have the power to make a change, they rarely seem to find the will to do so. But, Ex Machina is surprisingly different. It opens with a candid acknowledgement of the pandering pageantry of the political spectacle, as the narrator takes the blame for creating the image of the superheroic politician replicated by President George W. Bush's flight-suited "mission accomplished" message and elected through Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Governator. Of course, we back in the real world, know that the Great Machine's turn to politics has nothing to do with the myth of superheroic presidency, which actually goes back to the Cold War (see The American Monomyth, by Robert Jewett & John Shelton Lawrence). But the comic's development during the disenchanted second term of Bush into the hopeful first term of Obama is reflective of Green Lanternism - a term coined by Matthew Yglesias during the Bush years to criticize conservatives who believed that "the only thing limiting us is a lack of willpower" in foreign policy. Though Ex Machina repeatedly acknowledges the reality of political, ahem, machinations as each story arc unfolds, but Mayor Hundred, no matter his tactics, remains dedicated to doing the right thing - or, at least, what he believes is the right thing. He sincerely wants to help people. And, unlike other superheroic mayors (I'm looking at you, Mayor Queen), he [mostly] gives up his masked vigilante alter-ego in order to do it. Mayor Hundred tackles gay rights, the war in Iraq, political corruption, freedom of the press, governmental transparency, terrorism and homeland security - issues that continue to resonate, albeit in different ways, in the present day. (For example, the gay marriage issue raised in the book has now been supplanted by transgender rights.) Perhaps the one aspect that didn't age so well was the Mayor calling in a favor with Donald Trump to borrow his private jet for personal business... Many comics with political storylines tend to advocate for echo the vox populi, believing the people, united, using their voices and their votes, will improve the system and society. But not this one. Here, the people are shown as fickle, as partisan, and as perpetually dissatisfied. Hundred is criticized for being a conservative and for being a liberal, just as his Great Machine alter ego was both entreated to offer salvation and condemned for doing so. No, Ex Machina does not put The People on a pedestal. Instead, in true superhero fashion, it celebrates the power of the individual, arguing that one person can make a difference. Mayor Hundred, with his inner circle of friends, advisors, and friendly adversaries, set out to change NYC one moment, one issue, one citizen, at a time. Basically, if a comic book were written premised on Margaret Mead's quote, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has," this would be it... for part of its run, at least. And yet it manages to be compelling and real rather than saccharine and trite because it doesn't offer a Schoolhouse Rock version of democracy at work. Hundred's administration doesn't win every battle and it wins none of them easily or without cost. Nor does it completely shy away from acknowledging the reality of public dissatisfaction with real-world politics. Hundred's mother was an activist and advocate with the League of Women Voters in the late 1960s and 1970s, who eventually drops out of the public scene because of personal demons and political disappointments. In a scene diegetically dated November 2002, she complains, "Who cares about women voting anymore? Who cares about anyone voting? Felt important back in '74 after we got Dick kicked out and took this country back. But now we've got that thief in office. Why should anyone care about democracy when the bastards just steal elections?" And it is precisely this blending of the fictional world of Ex Machina with the real world, fictional characters and real figures, that makes it work so well. Newer political comics like Vote Loki (2016) and I Pledge Allegiance to the Mask (2020) -both of which are discussed in Politics in the Gutters- tackle real politics through allegory, allusion, and satire. Ex Machina doesn't use homonyms or vague physical similarities to entangle it's world with ours, it simply blends reality and fantasy into a gripping political drama, offering a little commentary with a side of civic advice. Perhaps one of the most interesting and truly unique ways that Ex Machina employs real-world touches to tell its story is through its use and discussion of political cartoons in issues 17 and 20. At one point, Hundred complains about the political cartoons that always depict him as a former superhero, caricatured wearing a cape - though he never wore one as The Great Machine. Hundred considers these cartoons in light of NY Governor William Tweed's career: "It was the funny pages that took down Boss Tweed, you know? His constituents couldn't read the news, but they knew how to read the comics. Comics! Talk about being hoisted by my own goddamn petard!" Later, when the cartoons opt to praise rather than mock Hundred as a hero, his journalist friend sees it as a win. Hundred, however, is more skeptical and he reflects on Herbert Block: "Political cartoonist for the Washington Post. He was one of the first guys to recognize Nixon as shady, always drew him with a Five O'Clock Shadow. But when Nixon got elected, Herblock drew him clean-faced for the first time. Caption read, 'Everybody gets one free shave.' Guess how long that lasted...?" Hundred is right. Usually, to be featured in an editorial cartoons is to be the butt of a joke, the target of barbs, the object of ridicule. And, he is right that these cartoons - these comics - have an influential role in political communication. For more on political cartoons and comics, be sure to check out chapter five in Politics in the Gutters or see my chapter called, "The Democratic primary debates in political cartoons, or Santa Claus gets voted off Fantasy Island" in Studies of Communication in the 2020 Presidential Campaign.

Writing about Reagan's Raiders in Comic Art Propaganda: A Graphic History (St. Martin’s Griffin, 2010), Frederik Strömberg , observed, “The funny thing about this comic book is that it’s quite hard to work out whether the creators were trying to make the then-president look silly, or macho. So, is it a parody? Certainly! Is it satire? Definitely! But is it propaganda, one way or the other? Well... that answer was less clear.” Similarly, when I finished reading the first issue of Lady Freedom from Second Sight Publishing, I couldn't decide what I had just read: A conservative backlash to the perceived pandering encroachment of liberal identity politics in superhero comics? A liberal commentary on such nonsensical fears? A satire of the whole politics in comics debate? Or just a confusing story? The comic, and its larger "Freedomverse" line, began as a Kickstarter, where the creators explained,”The Freedomverse is comprised of stories we wanted to tell using familiar but different hereos. They are our own versions of some classes [sic] main stream heroes but, with our own flair. For instance, Lady Freedom is my take on Captain America. Freedomverse is a reimagined batch of public domain heroes such as Death Rider, Miss Masque, Spy Smasher, Ben Dunn’s Tomorrow Girl, the characters of Lady Freedom—Camille, Scarlett, Villainess Black Valkyrie and the big bad known only as Eschelon.” Lady Freedom, written by Art Bellfeild, penciled by Larry Spike Jarrell, and inked by Bill Marimon, is the story of Native American Natalie Cloudrider and her freedom fighting team. Cloudrider is a sergeant in the army inspired to join the "Freedom Fighting Program" (like Cap's Super Soldier program) because she wants to do more to serve her country. She is transformed into the masked superhero Lady Freedom and, joined by friend Sgt. Camille Abhorghast and sidekick Scarlett, fights the Villainous Black Valkyrie in a battle of good versus evil under the watchful eyes of the Statue of Liberty. If the premise alone isn't a little heavy-handed with the patriotic Americana, the dialogue is didactic. Black Valkyrie is introduced with a monologue to the Statue of Liberty, wherein the villain expounds, “Some would call you a symbol of universal freedom and democracy. However I was raised to destroy symbols! Clearly, she is an evil enemy of America if she wants to destroy Lady Liberty! Because symbols are meant to entrap you within a false belief system, forcing you to ignore your own.” Wait... What? Symbols only have the meanings that we give them and the Statue of Liberty is polyvalent symbol. Scholars have repeatedly noted that Liberty is one of the most widely replicated and manipulated symbols in American history, and it has been used in thousands of political cartoons (see Adam Hjorthen's "The Past is a Present" in Making Cultural History: New Perspectives on Western Heritage, 2013, or Roger A. Fischer's "Oddity, Icon, Challenge: The Statue of Liberty in American Cartoon Art, 1879-1986" in Journal of American Culture, Winter 1986). Its meaning has changed over time, each new era supplanting its interpretation over the ones of the past. Politically, it has stood for international cooperation between France and the United States, as a monument to the end of slavery, as a symbol of national unity, as a sign of immigration and opportunity, as an emblem of freedom, and as an icon to the resilience of the United States and, more specifically, of New York City (see David Glassberg's "Rethinking the Statue of Liberty: Old Meanings, New Contexts.") The image of Liberty, like the word “liberty,” is what Michael C. McGee calls an “ideograph” – a culturally-grounded, summative, and authoritative term whose meaning adapts with the evolution in cultural ideals and experiences. Liberty or [liberty] lacks fixed meaning, but instead depends on particular historical moments and serves as an argumentative warrant regarding the necessity or appropriateness of political action. Thus, Liberty has been both symbol and synonym for “patriotism,” “America,” “military vigilance,” and more, as the moment demanded (see John Louis Lucaites & Maurice Charland's “The Legacy of [Liberty]: Rhetoric, Ideology, and Aesthetics in the Postmodern Condition” in Canadian Journal of Critical & Social Theory 13/3). What belief system, exactly, is Black Valkyrie opposing? Blind patriotism? Nationalism? Immigration? Unity? International cooperation? Freedom? Individualism? The United States itself? Government?... Depending on the reader's own interpretation of the Statue of Liberty, Black Valkyrie might be the hero of this piece. Her self-revealed origin story, which echoes that of Wonder Woman (a variation of the Lady Liberty imagery herself), doesn't clear things up any. Black Valkyrie reveals, “I was raised by a group of warrior women who saved me from a fate worse than the final death. They remade me within the image of one who takes the souls of the dead to Valhalla. They made me their Black Valkyrie. And now that I'm done dealing with my former employers who fed off prejudice and xenophobia to terrorize the world - - I can finally bring this country to its knees.” So... the villain is opposed to xenophobia and prejudice? And the indigenous hero wants to defeat someone who fights prejudice? But the villain also wants to destroy the country, starting with a statue that represents, among other things, a safe haven for all peoples? Olly MacNamee posed similar questions on Sunday Service, asking, “Like they say, someone who is seen as a terrorist by many can also be seen as a freedom fighter to others, and in Black Valkyrie’s words there are revoked core values we can all relate to. [...] Surely she can’t be all that bad, right? So, why blow up the Statue of Liberty and all it symbolises? Will this be a story of redemption, I wonder? Or, will Black Valkyrie open up Lady Freedom’s eyes to the realities of the world? How will our Native American female lead deal with a villain who fights against the very same things Lady Freedom does; xenophobia, prejudice and racism.” MacNamee seems to suggest this may be a case like that of the X-Men versus the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants - both sides seeking equality but from different moral codes. He concludes of Lady Freedom and Black Valkyrie, “They’re both pursuing the American dream, but with very different ideologies and very different methods.” That is one possibility and one that might help to untangle the ideological and narrative knots created in issue #1. But it won't change the clumsy politicking of the comic. In recent years, more and more attention has been given to politics in comics. Critics claim that comics used to be less political, but there was nothing apolitical about Captain America punching Hitler, Superman breaking up mob rings, Wonder Woman advocating peace through submission, Batman fighting city corruption, or the X-Men being "children of the atom." Crime, war, peace, corruption, nuclear power... these are all political issues. (The only thing that has really changed is that more of these fights are being taken up by women and non-binary persons, people of color, openly queer persons, disabled persons, etc. The comics have acknowledged that American society is not exclusively the domain of White masculinity. Such recognition looks "political" to people who were comfortable with existing American mythology, unaware that others were not.) But the politics of Lady Freedom are something different. The book is clearly trying to make a statement about American politics currently, rather than just reflecting them in the story line. And the book also seems to be trying to make a statement about politics in comics, but it may be one that is only comprehensible to readers who share the same unspoken assumptions about symbols and belief systems that the writer possesses.

At first glance, Heroes Reborn and Heroes Return appears to be a typical superhero "Event" run; a sort of "else-world" story that will either allow creators some temporary latitude to play around with old characters or that will allow the publisher to effectively reboot a franchise to generate new story lines, new characters, and new revenue. In some ways, it is a typical superhero Event, but it's also parody, satire, and political commentary. Marvel frames the premise as, “A WORLD WITHOUT AVENGERS! Welcome to a world where Tony Stark never built an Iron Man armor. Where Thor is a hard-drinking atheist who despises hammers. Where Wakanda is dismissed as a myth. And where Captain America was never found in the ice because there were no Avengers to find him. Instead this world has always been protected by Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, the Squadron Supreme of America. And now the Squadron faces an attack from some of their fiercest enemies, like Dr. Juggernaut, the Black Skull, the Silver Witch and Thanos with his Infinity Rings. But why is the Daywalker Blade the one man alive who seems to remember that the entire world has somehow been…reborn?” In this world, the heroes are parodies or pastiches of rival DC Comics' Justice League, riffing on the brooding Batman (now Marvel's Nighthawk), the warrior Wonder Woman (as Power Princess), Flash (now Blur), Green Lantern (re-imagined as Dr. Spectrum) and Superman (as Hyperion) as bloodthirsty, self-righteous, and blindly patriotic. The villains, meanwhile, are mash-ups of Marvel's own characters: Dr. Doom and the Juggernaut as Dr. Juggernaut, Scarlet Witch and Quick Silver as the Silver Witch, Venom and Red Skull as Black Skull, etc. With this cast, Marvel effectively plays with ongoing fan debates and meme wars about DC versus Marvel franchises. But Heroes Reborn does something more. Despite Marvel's claims of being "apolitical," this is a very political comic. To begin with, it's DC-inspired heroes (first introduced in 2018) are frighteningly nationalistic. They invade Canada to claim it's resources for the United States. They justify their violence in the name of upholding American ideals. Their philosophy is an explicit and unapologetic take on colonialism and American Exceptionalism - exemplified by a monologue by Dr. Spectrum in issue 4: "Like most red-blooded American boys, I grew up dreaming of planting Old Glory on unexplored alien worlds. Of meeting the ancient native peoples of the darkest, most untamed depths of space... ...and punching them square in their jaws. Showing those savages firsthand the two-fisted glory of American Exceptionalism." The series also employs a now well-established comic book formula when it comes to American politics - blaming government failures on demonic intervention. As articulated on the Marvel Fandom Wiki, the heroes of this series - the Squadron Supreme of America - is a team created by Mephisto (a Marvel villain & extra-dimensional demon who rules a version of Hell) and programmed by the Power Elite (a cabal of influence brokers formed in response to the neo-Nazi HYDRA's takeover of the US & the political climate of the country) to serve as the USA's first line of defense. Government (SHIELD) agent Phil Coulson served as their liaison in the Pentagon. In Heroes Reborn, Coulson has sold his soul to Mephisto to gain the power to warp reality itself, creating a version of the world in which he is president, the USA holds dominion as the world's unchallenged and unchecked super-power, and the Squadron Supreme of America is unfailingly loyal to his vision of what America should be. We've seen this before. -Etrigan the Demon gets unwittingly drawn into the 1992 election. -The 2015 Citizen Jack is premised on a demonic deal to win the presidency. -Vote Loki harnesses the powers of the trickster god to win the 2016 election. -A couple different stories in Army of Darkness engage demons to take over the White House. The influence of supernatural evil in the halls of American government has been a rising trend in popular culture in recent decades. -It was seen in The Simpsons Halloween specials in 1996. -It is seen in the ongoing campaign presence of Cthulhu for President. -It's even found in real campaign ads, like Carly Fiorina's infamous "demon sheep" spot. -It was the center of the short-lived sci-fi TV series BrainDead. (Read my brief discussion of that show online at In Media Res.) Inserting demons, aliens, and dark magic into American politics, on one hand, reflects the public's general dissatisfaction with government and certainly echoes the divisive climate in which both sides paint the other as evil and vile. But, as discussed in chapter seven of Politics in the Gutters, and in chapter one of The Politics of Horror, introducing supernatural forces into the political spectacle only gives more power to the spectacle while reducing the power of people by relieving them of responsibility (and culpability) in the political process. In the end, We the People - along with Phil Coulson of Heroes Reborn, Jack Northworthy of Citizen Jack, the voters in Army of Darkness, Vote Loki, and Etrigan the Demon - when asked why we didn't vote, stand up, or speak out, or why we knowingly voted for weak candidates, get to shrug and say, "The devil made me do it."

Mayor Good Boy, the new kids' graphic novel from RH Graphic by Dave Scheidt and Miranda Harmon proclaims, “The votes are in! The new mayor is... A DOG?! Mayor Good Boy is ready to make change! But... With foes around every corner trying to ruin his campaign of fun, will he still enjoy a future full of belly rubs? The town of Greenwood seems surprised that its new mayor is a sleepy, cheese-gobbling, dog... But most of the residents don't really mind all that much, with the exception of one very cranky, loud, and devious "old man." When Mayor Good Boy's election night is disrupted by heckling, two outgoing children - Abby and Aaron Ableman (yes, they are very able) - immediately come to the nervous pupster's aid, landing them positions as junior mayoral aids. To this Gen-X reader, the story seemed to follow the formula established by Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel in the 1990s and 20-aughts: precocious children (who somehow don't seem to have to go to school) saving the day from implausible disasters, the trouble they cause along the way being quickly forgotten by the somewhat clueless adults surrounding them; lots of gross-out gags about smelly feet, burping, and passing gas; and a smattering of sarcastic witticisms, random silliness, childish pranks, and plenty of junk food. At times, it looked as though the book was nothing more than a humorous story of what amounted to a prank war: Mayor Good Boy's main detractor attempting to derail the canine mayorality, and Abby and Aaron trying to thwart the cranky old man's plans. But, like any typical children's book, it had its concluding moral. The story eventually advocated for community, cooperation, and civic engagement. The smart, but insecure, Abby discovered that even a kids like her, and her gross little brother, could make a difference in their community and made an appeal for other children to do the same. At the end of the 200+ page book, kids find step-by-step guides for drawing the main characters and then encounter "The Mayor Good Pledge," entreating them to promise to "use my bark more than my bite," to "help make my community a better place," to "remember that being different is what makes me special," and to "always root for the underdog"... as well as to "try to fart less than a hundred times a week." Abby and Aaron Ableman then "show you how to contact your representatives" because in a democracy everyone can make their voices heard. Such messages were quite common in comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Civically-produced floppies entreated people to vote. Commercially-produced floppies celebrated the American political system. The government, civic fraternities, and political organizations used comics to remind people of the importance of voting, to reaffirm faith in democracy, and to oppose Communism. But, despite a common perspective of comics as children's literature, most of these Good Government books, unlike Mayor Good Boy, were not aimed at children. In fact, they asked their adult, voting-age, readers to vote in their children's interests. The smelly socks and fart jokes of Mayor Good Boy not only reach out to audiences in ways these stodgy, propagandist, comics could not, but they are also reaching an audience these earlier comics ignored. Or, maybe, Mayor Good Boy is simply trying to tell us that politics stink.

Telepaths flips the script of the dystopian surveillance-state. The excesses of state, or corporate, surveillance is a familiar staple in dystopian fiction. 1984. Logan's Run. V for Vendetta. The Net. The Bourne trilogy. ... and the list goes on. Each of these (reality-based) fictions, recognizes that They are watching us, and imagines what will happen if Their power is left unchecked. Revolution is often presented as the only possible way out of the Surveillance State - though resistance may, ultimately, be futile. J. Michael Straczynski and Steve Eptin present an alternative to this standard dystopian fare by turning the eye of the surveillance cameras around to point at the authorities in Telepaths. When a solar flare gives a sizable portion of the population telepathic abilities, no one's secrets are safe: the government has the means to police thoughts, and the people can finally learn what the government is hiding. While many texts have asked, "who watches the watchmen?" (often suggesting that no one does, to society's detriment), Telepaths considers what would actually happen if The People could surveil their government and corporate authorities. With only one issue released so far, it is too soon to know where this inquiry will lead us, but the timing of the comic's publication is, alone, worthy of discussion. Officially released on September 1, 2021, it effectively coincided with the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in the United States: an event that precipitated an unprecedented, and lingering, surge in government surveillance - and a corresponding opposition to that surveillance. Telepaths was also released just shy of a year into rampant public fears of government surveillance and control via the COVID-19 vaccine. Among the assorted myths and conspiracy theories surrounding the vaccine is a persistent belief that the shots will "microchip" individuals for government tracking. As C/NET reports, “The COVID-19 vaccine [does] not contain any sort of microchip or tracking device implemented by the government. The vaccine syringes [...] contain something called an RFID microchip from [a] medical solutions company [to] allow public health agencies to collect information about [vaccine use], but that microchip [isn't] injected into your body. Plus, if the government wanted to track you, they could just use your social security number, your Facebook data, your cellphone usage, your home video security system or your mortgage loan information.” ...not to mention your credit card purchases, your shopping discount club card usage, your ATM transactions, your streaming service logins, your toll road and bridge charges, your license plate, your passport activity, etc. (Really, even if the vaccine did contain a tracking chip, it would be unnecessarily redundant; the government can already find you.) Robert Goldberg, History Professor at the University of Utah, argues that public fears of large surveillance conspiracies orchestrated by people like Bill Gates and George Soros, are possible because, “There's something intriguing about the possibility that these powerful people are behind the scenes or puppet masters fooling us all, and I think there’s also something alluring about being on the side of really knowing what’s going on… that's attractive- the idea that you're on the know as opposed to the other people who aren't.” In our current post-truth, fake news, era, this very real, very dangerous, allure of conspiracy theories makes dystopian and political thriller fictions like Telepaths and The Department of Truth [see blog 7/12/20] disturbing because they perpetuate the notion that reality is not what it seems. To be sure, Telepaths is not the only comic currently taking on the excesses of electronic existence. But, whereas titles like I Breathed a Body, Maniac of New York [see blog 13/2/21] and Red Room challenge us to consider our culpability in perpetuating digitized destruction and desecration, Telepaths actively suggests the government has something to hide and authorities are not to be trusted. And, as true as this might be to varying degrees, given the world's current socio-political turmoil, it feels a bit like throwing a Kraken at a ship already sinking beneath waves of sedition and conspiracy. Nonetheless, it is an engaging read and a well-told story that showcases Straczynski's talents, knowledge, and experiences - and the creator's letter to readers at the back of issue #1 is a worthwhile read for every Media Literacy class in high school or college... as well as every anti-vaxxer worried about microchips.

The recent release (July 29, 2022) of season one of Paper Girls on Amazon Prime - the live-action adaptation of the Image comic book series by Brian K. Vaughn, Cliff Chiang, and Matt Wilson - is but the latest installment of media that pay homage to the 1980s. It joins the ranks of Netflix's Stranger Things and GLOW, Deadly Class (both the Syfy show and the Image comic series), FX's American Horror Story: 1984, CW's Riverdale season 3, episode 5 of Disney+'s WandaVision, Oni Press's Morning in America comic series, Wonder Woman 1984, and two returns of the Ghostbusters franchise, to name but a few. This current wave of 1980s fetishism is notable because it is nearly double the usual "nostalgia gap" for media products, which typically runs 15-25 years - as documented in an August 2022 Twitter thread. This fascination with the 1980s nonetheless makes a kind of sense given that the years 2015-2022 have been punctuated by the slogan "Make America Great Again" - popularized by Donald Trump through his candidacy for and term as President of the United States, and first used as the campaign slogan by candidate and President Ronald Reagan in the 1980s. So, with the ghost of Reagan echoing throughout 2010s and 2020s political discourse, it is not surprising to see shadows of his visage, his anti-Communist Americana, his war on drugs, and his ideas of morality peeking out through the era's DayGlo-tinted entertainment media. But don't let the big hair, bustling shopping malls, parachute pants, and quaint references to phone booths and video tapes fool you about the nostalgia in any of these titles. Most are deceptively dark. Of Amazon's Paper Girls, Caroline Framke, in Variety, wrote, “Let’s get this out of the way now: The comparisons ‘Paper Girls’ will get to ‘Stranger Things’ are inevitable, but not especially fair. Yes, ‘Paper Girls’ also opens in the 1980s with four 12-year-olds on bikes who end up tackling otherworldly forces way bigger than themselves. But by the middle of the first episode, ‘Paper Girls’ — which was a comic book series before ‘Stranger Things’ was a TV show, anyway — turns itself inside out to become something else entirely. Suddenly, what at first looked like yet another throwback Amblin-esque series reveals a more bittersweet lens, and harder science fiction heart.” When the comic series premiered in 2015, it was heralded as capturing the hopes and fears of 1980's America - the Cold War, the Reagan-worship, the materialism, and the gun culture. The story focuses on four girls with newspaper delivery routes – Erin, Mac, KJ, and Tiffany – in the town of Stony Stream, a fictional suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. While delivering papers on "Hell Night" - the pre-dawn hours that follow Halloween, the main characters get caught in the middle of time-traversing inter-generational war. The comic book was described in Slate as, “a nostalgia-rich story about coming of age in the 1980s. Except that instead of the boy heroes that typically dominate '80s adventures, Paper Girls is centrally concerned with the lives and relationships of adolescent girls.” Paper Girls evokes a similar thrill as many of the best kids’ films of the ’80s: Instead of looking at childhood through a rosy, sanitized lens, it makes being 12 feel exactly as dangerous and exciting as it truly is. Laced with smoking, swearing, fighting, and an accidental shooting injury with a stolen handgun, the book captures the freedom and vulnerability of youth in the absence of parental supervision. The comic, and less so the streaming series, is littered with 80s kitsch: Varsity letters and "jean" jackets; the then-new Apple logo; a visual of the Challenger explosion and a dream sequence with Christa McAuliffe; a poster for Monster Squad (1987); a Far Side desk calendar; Halloween costumes based on Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and The Terminator (1984); walkie-talkies purchased from Radio Shack; a mention of The Today Show with Jane Pauley and Bryant Gumbel; allusions to E.T. (1982), Mask (1982), TV’s Bloopers & Practical Jokes (1984-1998), and Siskel and Ebert’s At the Movies (1986); t-shirts for Guns N' Roses and Public Enemy; screen views of the popular Breakout video game, first released in 1976; a flashback to television coverage of the assassination of John Lennon in 1980... Politically, the comic also invokes a reference to the AIDS crisis, a newspaper headline about the Iran-Iraq peace talks, a connection to the Cold War and the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster, a campaign sign for "George Bush for President '88," and dialogue connecting candidate Michael Dukakis to Armageddon. Also, like its live-action adaptation, it includes a hallucination-induced cameo by Ronald Reagan, who recalls his near-assassination in 1981. In both versions of the series, Reagan is a quiet presence and a kind of mythical companion to one character - the Chinese-American Erin Tieng who dreams of being a politician someday. Also, like Reagan, she survives what should have been a fatal gunshot wound. But don't let this nod to the American monomyth, the superheroic presidency, and Reagan's larger-than-life persona fool you. Paper Girls is not a tribute to the 1980s. It is a condemnation of it. Speaking about the show at the 2022 San Diego Comic Con-International, comic writer Brian K. Vaughn explained, “We watched a lot of fiction that views the '80s through rose-colored glasses. But [artist] Cliff [Chiang] and I lived through the '80s, and it wasn't always so awesome. So we wanted to do something that was anti-nostalgic, that was about recognizing we've actually made a lot of progress and it's worth pushing forward and looking ahead, not constantly dwelling in the past. So even though some of our show takes place in the '80s, it isn't so much a love letter as it is a death threat.” Paper Girls - and its comics compatriots Deadly Class (which also uses Reagan cameos) and Morning in America (which gets its title from Reagan's campaign) - are all critical of not only the 1980s but also of nostalgia for the era. These series focus less on the decade as a time of break dancing, Pac-Man, Members Only jackets, and Swatch watches, and more on the decade as a period of factory closings, nuclear fears, the Satanic Panic, and Stranger Danger. Ronald Reagan's War on Drugs and Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No" campaign are clearly ineffectual, as underage protagonists smoke and drink their way through their difficult lives. According to historian Gil Troy, there are two competing stereotypes, narratives, or, perhaps, realities, of the 1980s. One is hopeful and features a rising economy, a falling Soviet Union, and a surge of American patriotism. The other is bleak, with with crime rising, schools failing, families crumbling, and the wealth gap increasing. The decade is frequently pointed to as a time of renewal, idealism, and unity - but the reality is that it was also a time hedonism and greed, in which rampant individualism undermined the illusion of a patriotic community. Accordingly, Paper Girls is critical of a nostalgic yearning for the decade - the same nostalgic yearning that ushered in Trump's 2016 election. As Andrew O’Hehir noted in Salon, “the Trump electorate had half-consciously voted for an incoherent fantasy of an imaginary American past...” We see the harsh reality of the idealized 1980s within the parameters of the 2010s most clearly through Paper Girls' attention to race and immigration as Erin, a Chinese-American youth, dreams of the White House but is the focus for her economically depressed town's hatred of immigrants and foreigners who they perceive as stealing their jobs - the same issues that were pivotal for Trump's appeal. Returning to Framke's assertion in Variety that comparisons of Paper Girls to Stranger Things are not especially fair, such comparisons are truly of apples to oranges. Stranger Things, despite its dark horror, mostly gives audiences the idealized 1980s of bright neon colors and assertive girl pop music. Racism, homophobia, sexism, and economic hardships exist, but are more of individual flaws and personal challenges than systemic problems. The Satanic Panic even seems somewhat reasonable in a reality with actual demonic entities on the rampage. Meanwhile, Paper Girls gives audiences a gritty 1980s of selfishness and xenophobia. With the main characters jumping from 1988 to 2016 to 1999, the series tells a story of a future being shaped by the past, of our todays being forged by our yesterdays. This brings us back to Reagan and Trump and making America great again, because if we take off our hot-pink tinted Ray Ban Wayfarers, we might wonder what was so great about it back "then."