With both the English sub
and dub
of the series being uploaded to YouTube, I think it’s time to discuss queerness
as it relates to the Gundam Aerial from the anime Mobile Suit Gundam: The
Witch from Mercury. This anime is one of the highest earning Gundam
properties ever released. It is also the first Gundam anime to have a
protagonist who is either queer, disabled, or a woman. So let me introduce you
to this world by describing what Gundams are, how they tie to queerness, and how
they discuss themes of queerness and disability in The Witch from Mercury.
Before we can talk about The Witch from
Mercury, we first need to know what a Gundam is. To those who don’t know,
Gundam is a multimedia franchise following pilots of giant mech suits. You may
recognize this concept from media such as Pacific Rim, Power Rangers,
Voltron, or Metal Gear Solid. Gundam media typically uses these mechs to
explore themes of anti-war and anti-capitalism. Now, the way a mech is
portrayed in media is much more important than some would expect. Metal Gear
Solid makes its mechs, also known as Metal Gears, very animalistic with tails,
roars, and all. This is a discussion of war being an animalistic fight for
survival in which the strong survive. Blunt objects give way to swords, swords
give way to guns, guns give way to tanks, and tanks give way to Metal Gears. In
contrast, Gundam likes to design its mechs, also known as Mobile Suits, and
Gundams, more like people in armor. Similar to Metal Gears, Gundams are the
next step in corporate and war technology. Why spend millions on human soldiers
who are easy to kill when you can send in an 18-meter robot that takes a
smaller team and can do the same things on a larger scale. Gundam’s mechs
function more on how impersonal they are compared to the pilot.
Now, Gundam is not new to queerness. Older
shows were no strangers to queer-coded characters; newer ones such as Gundam:
Iron Blooded Orphans even had queer characters and potential lovers in Yamagi
and Shino. Sadley, they killed off Shino before the relationship would ever
come to fruition. However, it wasn’t until 2022 that Suletta Mercury, and
Miorine Rembran would break this cycle. Now, you may be thinking “well, it’s
cool that Gundam has a queer protagonist, but what does that have to do with
the mech?” Mechs have an odd connection to queerness. Despite typically being
used to discuss topics such as imperialism, the war economy, and other displays
of fascism, they have also resonated with many queer people. This is eloquently
stated in the article “Big Queer War
Machine” by Cynan-Juniper Orton.
We wouldn’t question why a tank is
used for war but when the machine looks like a person suddenly we begin to have
doubts. Mechs are not practical tools of war. It seems silly to point this out
but there is a reason they look so much like people. They are extensions of our
humanity. A humanity that longs to sing, dance, explore, know, love, and break
beyond its own limits. The tragedy of mechs is that these colossal people
are made to live as a site of conflict; that they are born to die rather than
experience every glorious moment in-between.
It's not hard then to understand why
queer folk might delve deep into the genre. A queer body is also a constant
site of conflict, pulled apart by a thousand forces so large that no one
individual could ever fully confront them. A mech is big enough though. It's
like a pair of six inch platform boots made of solid iron, and when you pilot
one you pour all your alienation into its frame and for one glorious fictional
moment are big enough to fight back. You take what comfort you can from
bloodying their noses even if needing to fight is exactly the horror you want
to escape.
The moment a pilot launches their mech
into battle is a deeply sad one. It is the point at which all the agency that
body affords is taken away. If a narrative doesn’t treat that agency with
weight then those pilots become just as hollow as their mechs. (Orton 2021)
These concepts can be seen in the
Gundam Aerial. Spoiler warning ahead.
Throughout the show, Aerial’s very
existence is a source of conflict. First and foremost, she is a physical body
given to the consciousness of a young girl named Eri who died before the main
series takes place. Areial is the prosthetic, not the person. She is constantly
threatened and defended in conversations she can’t have any say in between
people she doesn’t know. Her existence in the school is so contested that
multiple characters are trying to claim her, and others such as Suletta and
Miorine are so reliant on her that their very livelihoods are left up to her
succeeding in fights against opponents who will lie and cheat just to get rid
of her.
Queer people often have a similar
experience. Their rights to exist are treated as topics of debate from people
too separated from them to truly have a say. Their existence in schools is
treated as walking advertisements for the schools “openness,” while a good
chunk of the school makes their lives a living hell. Their queer friends and
classmates rely on them for companionship, all while groups larger than
themselves will use whatever scummy tactics are necessary to ruin them. Aerial
can be interpreted as a representation of queerness.
While Aerial is relatable in
discussions of queerness, Eri is relatable in discussions of disability. On
July second, Twitter user NilLaney (here’s an alternative link) posted a thread discussing many themes handled
in The Witch from Mercury, here is an excerpt:
Eri is relatable to many folks with
disabilities. She had no choice in being uploaded into Aerial. Many children
with disabilities get procedures and treatment they may not have wanted because
of their parents fears. Deaf kids with cochlear implants. Autistic kids getting
ABA. Eri ends up feeling emotionally responsible for her whole family, while
being unable to move or speak independently. She doesn’t see her own existence
as much other than to prevent her mother’s sadness. Many disabled kids end up
feeling this way about their anxious parents. So many folks with motor &
speech disabilities get treated like objects. Talked about, talked over. Moved
without consent. Subject to the projections of abled folks. All of this happens
to Eri as Aerial.Most authors can’t
imagine a better ending than death for these characters. It is SO beautiful
that Eri not only lives, but is surrounded by loving family who *accommodate
her disability by wearing communication devices.*” (NilLaney 2023)
Similar to Aerial, Eri lacks agency in discussions of
herself. In many of these conversations, both queer and disabled people are
often treated like children who can’t have a say on their existence,rather than people with voices to be heard.
They are treated like they exist so the conversation can exist, not to
participate in it.
Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from
Mercury, in addition to its queer characters, utilizes mechs
to discuss themes relating to queer theory, and crip theory. Gundam Aerial, in particular,
serves as a discussion of queerness, agency, and disability that you simply
don’t see all too often in such a succinct form, especially not with a happy
ending.
This is a bit of a nontraditional image. It is inspired by the last words I said to a trans friend of mine who has since gone radio silent. She once told me that she liked kitbashing ships into new cooler ships, so I represented myself as a Gundam waving goodbye to her, the ship. When saying goodbye to someone on a ship (or the ship itself). you don't know if you'll see it again; the ocean can do with the ship as it pleases. This is similar to saying goodbye to someone you only know online; you have no real way of knowing if this goodbye will be your last.
In a bustling city where diversity painted its streets, Alex navigated the vibrant landscape of queer theory and popular culture. Working at a progressive magazine, they found themselves at the intersection of academia and everyday life.
One day, an idea sparked: a feature exploring the influence of popular culture on shaping queer identities. Alex dove into the realms of film, music, and social media, uncovering stories of resilience, strength, and celebration.
They met Kieran, a young artist challenging norms through their provocative paintings. Each stroke on the canvas told a tale of defiance and self-discovery. Kieran's work not only mirrored queer theory but also became a catalyst for discussions around representation and visibility.
As the feature unfolded, Alex interviewed Jules, a non-binary fashion influencer breaking barriers in the industry. Jules spoke passionately about the power of style in expressing diverse gender identities, highlighting the symbiotic relationship between fashion and queer theory.
The story weaved through the lives of those challenging societal expectations, using the canvas of popular culture to redefine narratives. Alex, inspired by their narratives, realized the profound impact of media and art on shaping perceptions, pushing boundaries, and fostering a more inclusive world.
The magazine's feature became a catalyst for conversations across the city and beyond. In this bustling hub of creativity, where queer theory met popular culture, Alex witnessed a dynamic fusion that not only reflected the community's resilience, but also sparked a wave of change, one story at a time.
This
is a reference to the t-shirts the boy’s swim team at my high school
had printed which said “We are breaststrokers, not ball-handlers” (yes,
some adult(s) at the school approved of this). It was meant as a jab to
the football and basketball teams who traditionally were the most popular
sports. It is a disgustingly sexist and homophobic phrase- all at once
objectifying women and deriding homosexuality. I think it’s significant
that athletics was the vehicle by which this shirt was allowed to be
worn at (and even designed/sold by?) the school. It’s clear that in the
world of sports there can often be even more tolerance for bigotry and bullying
than in the general public, and that “boys will be boys” and “locker
room talk” is acceptable if it motivates or “hypes up” athletes to
perform better.
As a woman you are often given a lot of expectations and sometimes you just want to quit.
This week we talked about being queer in sports and I made this painting because a lot of our problems as a society are from our own pressures. If only we could be ourselves, if only the world were blind to our minute differences.
This week we talked about queer popular culture and I thought about how people use queer characters as a prop rather than an actual person. It inspired me to make this painting.
I painted this with the intention of leaving the viewer with an unsettling feeling. I think a lot of people have an idea of how they want to see people, and the uncanny valley is the type of feeling you get when something is slightly off and you feel a little unsettled.
I made this painting to make people feel uncomfortable.
I crafted this board of devil masks to symbolize the portrayal of queer individuals in popular culture. The devil masks serve as a visual testament to a journey marked by progress and, concurrently, by its own set of limitations. Queer individuals were historically subjected to stereotypical or negative depictions in the mainstream media. However, the evolving attitudes in society instigated a transformation in how media portrayed this community. The emergence of a more diverse range of queer characters across various media forms marked a positive shift. Despite the advancements, contemporary portrayals of queerness find themselves contending with "compulsion for a happy ending." This phenomenon underscores that even with notable progress, there remains a significant journey ahead to achieve truly authentic representations. As I look at the board, I recognize the strides made and the hurdles yet to overcome in the realm of queer representation in popular culture.
