It’s more difficult to be a female superhero

Shelina Zahra Janmohamed examines the nature of heroism in fiction and real life.

The characters we choose as our superheroes tell us about how we would like to see ourselves. Fairy tales explore women’s historic aspirations to be saved by a prince and live a life of marital perfection. Girls believed if they acted as perfectly beautiful, docile females, they would net the prize prince. Many of today’s comic book heroes have troubled back stories, and their super powers are their means towards societal redemption. This reflects our hope that our flawed journeys still allow us to assert our heroism.

The story of today’s female super­hero is perhaps most telling about how we see the role and expectations of women. Disney, in responding to criticisms about its passive “save-me” princesses, has been testing out feisty female characters, with more agency over their own destinies. Our female superheroes are still cast primarily by their looks. They are still visualised as almond-eyed, with heads bigger than their waists, they still wear outfits ridiculously unsuited to heroic stunts so they look voluptuous.

Even in real life, the characters that populate our global news and social discussions influence our aspirations and our beliefs about how to live our lives. It has become an accepted idea that the celebrities of our time act in many ways as small gods: they look perfect, they act perfectly and they have perfect lives that are entirely unattainable. Yet in them we seek some insight into our own individual and communal attempts to change our societies.

This month, the world’s most famous bachelor, George Clooney, was finally “bagged” by Amal Alamuddin. An accomplished lawyer in her own right, her story was cast as the woman who finally got her man, a modern-day princess story. But there were glimmers that she could be a new kind of female superhero. As one satirical headline put it: “Accomplished professional marries actor.” In this tale, she is the protagonist, he is the afterthought. While the recognition of her talents and achievements was important, the underlying characterisation of her story was that her accomplishments served only for the goal of securing a man, and that was her success.

Malala Yousafzai had her heroine status further elevated by winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Her horrific shooting, recovery and then continued advocacy for education and girls’ empowerment have created the perfect superhero story for a particularly western audience who sees that she has been saved by their intervention and transformed into a native proponent of their values.

The perception by some that her heroic narrative has been artfully created to prop up an agenda has turned her into a villain. As a woman, she is challenged about whether standing up for women’s rights really is of her own will. This world view asks: can a woman ever really be a superhero?

What is laid as the challenge to her cause is: why is Malala important when millions of other girls exactly like her are so easily overlooked and even bombed by the same West? Her agency is questioned. Politically, diminishing Malala scores points in the war against the West.

The better question is: why are these voices so keen to diminish a female super­hero who speaks and acts? If they are concerned about her elevation, then they should elevate a thousand more such female superheroes so that the archetypes our society builds are not based on looks and docility, but on voice, articulation, bravery and engagement. These are the kind of female super­heroes we need.

Shelina Zahra Janmohamed is the author of Love in a Headscarf and blogs at www.spirit21.co.uk