The hero’s energy in Newfoundland and Labrador
To change our politics of energy, we have to change the attitudes involved in creating energy. Instead of thinking “heroic,” can we think “humble”?
Politics in Newfoundland and Labrador, like politics almost anywhere in North America and Europe, suffers from a hero complex. In literature, a hero is often a male soldier who fights against all odds to win a major battle or contest. He is the model Olympian and a distant relative of all politicians. Although he might win fame and glory, he seeks primarily to stabilize his corner of the world and is therefore a political figure.
In politics, the leaders who are sometimes described as heroes evidently imagine governance and even democracy as a battle or contest. Listen for martial metaphors in politics — attack ads, war rooms, strategic planning — and you will hear them everywhere, sometimes as a sports/ war metaphor that encourages fans to be receptive to war as a game and to male domination. They appear, too, in business and can be “barriers to effective organizational change” when change might help more women to reach executive positions not only in corporations but also in organizations and governments. These metaphors are one example of evidence of a heroic mindset that is only rarely progressive.
In history and in myth, heroes were actual warriors such as Beowulf and Leonidas, and in the United States and other countries the highest leader often gains respect for having served in the army, navy, or other forces. As myths evolved, and as the scope of political and military power increased, heroes became superheroes: Superman, Iron Man, Batman, Spider-man, and so many more. These four, some of the most prominent in contemporary comics and movies, almost always battle their enemies physically and with great power. Their enemies often become threatening when they find the source of that power and either steal or compromise it.
Energy is often the heart of the matter, and how we use it offers insight into our democracy. Iron Man’s “heart” is his power supply. Superman’s energy is solar. Batman’s is money, a sign of (energy) consumption. Spider-man’s is radioactive (i.e., nuclear) in the classic comics and genetic in the movies. In Newfoundland and Labrador, hydroelectricity and oil are central in narratives of boom and bust. Joey Smallwood’s Churchill Falls hydroelectric project and Brian Peckford’s focus on development through natural resources have both been described in the media and in political circles as heroic. Peckford might be described as the “selfless superhero” fighting against the legacy of Smallwood the “devil,” but in fact they can both be interpreted as “superheroes” or “supervillains,” depending on your point of view. We might add Danny Williams and his “fight” for offshore oil, and Kathy Dunderdale of Muskrat Falls. They are all public figures whose major focus on energy has been a power play to create economic stability (that hallmark of heroism) through economic growth.
In focusing every generation or so on a single new source of energy, however, these leaders and the mass media have fostered a with-us-or-againstus relationship between other politicians and the public. Megaprojects overshadow smaller projects and their contributions to the economy. And the polarizing of opinion that comes with megaprojects involves suspicion. A key difference between classic heroes and modern superheroes is that, today, superheroes usually have a secret identity or a mask. If the public senses that politicians want to be heroes (e.g., through a legacy project), they expect them to wear masks. They expect deceit. When public confidence in politicians is low, legitimate government is difficult to maintain.
Co-operation between heroes is not the answer because, according to the narratives of the Avengers and the Justice League, teaming up only widens the scope of the damage. In these recent superhero movies, the public momentarily turns against the superheroes partly because of the damage they cause in defeating their enemies. The “team” is just a sign of escalation in the war.
The metaphors related to heroism could be replaced with non-heroic metaphors of interdependence. Dispersed and local but connected power generation could be not only more reliable but also more innovative and greener. Our province has wind and waves that could contribute more significantly to our network of energies. Diversity can help to ease the historical reliance on a few sources of energy and revenue (e.g., hydro or oil and cod).
Questioning the hero as a figure (that is, as a public figure and as a product of figurative language) and seeking nonheroic leaders might help, too. Coalition governments based on non-partisan co-operation might be an outcome. Another result might be more women in city councils and legislatures. More people — not only women — who do not usually think of themselves as potential leaders might participate if the ideal were humbler, less heroic. When politicians are superheroes, people sometimes learn helplessness, and the almost inevitable electoral failure of any politician can lead to apathy rather than engagement.
About the Author
Joel Deshaye (English, Memorial University of Newfoundland) has published on superheroes and on metaphor, which come together in this contribution through war metaphors and notions of heroism in politics. One of his most recent publications is “Tom King’s John Wayne: The Western in Green Grass, Running Water” in the journal Canadian Literature. He is the author of The Metaphor of Celebrity: Canadian Poetry and the Public, 1955–1980 (University of Toronto Press, 2013).