- Registration time
- Last login
- Online time
- 1231 Hour
- Reading permission
Revolutionar Post time: 2015-12-27 19:37
I think it is very impolite to call other people oxymorons......especially labeling someone from a ...
If you feel that way, you should write a letter to NYTimes...
The author, UMAPAGAN AMPIKAIPAKAN, a middle-class Malay who grew up in Kuala Lumpur, is actually telling Malay-USAnians that even though this girl is wrapped inside that "chrysalis" of brown skin, she doesn't have to be "transmogrified" into a "tall leggy blonde" to be a super-hero. That her "brown Muslim self is as potent as can be".
Here is part of the Op-Ed, you are welcome.
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia — THE final page of the first issue of the new Ms. Marvel comic is pitch perfect. A strange mutagenic mist pervades the streets of Jersey City, activating a secret alien gene that triggers a transformation within our teenage protagonist. She punches her way out of a chrysalis to find that she has mutated into another body: The Pakistani-American Muslim Kamala Khan, with her newly minted superpowers, has been transmogrified into a tall, leggy blonde.
It is a fantastic visual gag. And it is the perfect metaphor for the teenage immigrant who is struggling both in her skin and to find her place in America.
Kamala Khan is a teenage Muslim girl living in Jersey City.Marvel Comics Introducing a Muslim Girl SuperheroNOV. 5, 2013
But it doesn’t take long — three issues or so — for Kamala to realize that her brown Muslim self is as potent as can be. All she needed to become super, besides a costume and a mask, was a strong sense of individualism, righteousness, a can-do spirit and a purpose. The superhero comic is an inherently egalitarian genre, even though its lead characters are exceptional: After a bout with a radioactive spider or some Terrigen Mist, it could be you or it could be me.
Which is why the recent push by Marvel and DC for greater diversity in comics doesn’t make much sense. Or maybe it does in the United States, where real-life anxieties about race, gender and identity politics are often played out in popular culture. Captain America is black. Thor is a woman. Iceman is gay.
But for some of us non-Americans, the genre doesn’t need to apologize for itself, no matter how quintessentially American it is. The superhero comic is the American dream illustrated, and by definition the American dream must be accessible to all. However monochromatic its characters, the superhero comic’s message has always seemed universal.
You could say I was primed to buy into all this. I’m Hindu and grew up on the adventures of gods with formidable features: the elephant-like Ganesh; the monkey-faced Hanuman; the blue-skinned, butter-eating Krishna. But they always remained out of reach: I could never be Ganesh or Krishna; they were deities. Yet I could be Spider-Man, because I already was Peter Parker.
In fact, I became a superhero in Damansara Heights, a middle-class neighborhood of Kuala Lumpur, in the waning months of 1989, when, at age 8, I crawled out a bloodied mess from underneath the mangled remains of my jet-black BMX Dyno D-Tour. I had crashed on my way to the corner store to pick up my monthly stash of comic books. The brakes on my brand-new bicycle had failed somehow — sabotage, I was sure. In my comic-addled mind, it was the perfect origin story.