The Banality of Evil in Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow (Essay 1 of 3 in the Series)

Comic books are often dismissed as simple power fantasies, but the medium has a long, potent history of holding a mirror up to the darker corners of human nature. I've written a few articles over the years on this topic, but I recently got around to reading the DC Compact edition of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow. In issue #3 (by writer Tom King and artist Bilquis Evely), a brightly coloured sci-fi adventure pivots into a devastating exploration of Hannah Arendt's concept of the "banality of evil". The issue demonstrates just how effectively comics can tackle horrific real-world subject matter in a sensitive and thought-provoking way.

The Atrocity at Maypole

When Kara Zor-El (Supergirl) and her companion Ruthye track the fugitive killer Krem to the planet Corunn, they arrive in Maypole—an idyllic, polite town that looks like a calm, 1950s-style American suburb populated by blue-skinned aliens ("the Blues"). However, beneath the manicured lawns lies a grotesque secret: when space-faring mercenaries known as the Brigands threatened their world, the Blues made a chilling bargain. Rather than fighting or risking their own lives, they paid the Brigands specifically to murder and wipe out the planet's purple-skinned minority ("the Purples") in a segregated enclave known as "Purple Town". Krem, an imprisoned outsider at the time, actively assisted in the slaughter before being released and sheltered by the townspeople.

Standing before the mass graves outside Purple Town, Supergirl is forced to confront a soul-crushing truth: even with god-like power, she cannot simply punch her way out of systemic cosmic evil, nor can she cure the quiet complicity of an entire society that chose genocide for their own comfort.

Allegory, History, and Geopolitics

Because of the issue's heavy themes, I did some research online to see if King was drawing direct parallels to modern geopolitics, specifically comparing the plight of Purple Town to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in Gaza. As it turns out, Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #3 was published in August 2021—well before the escalations in Gaza that began in October 2023—and King has never stated that the story was intended as a direct allegory for that specific conflict. While conflict in the region has been ongoing since the 1948 Nakba, the issue draws just as heavily on much older, universal history—from European colonialism to global instances of state-sanctioned ethnic cleansing.

I think this tendency for audiences to apply this modern geopolitical lens has been further fuelled by James Gunn’s 2025 Superman film. Although I still haven't actually seen the film myself yet, it was practically impossible to miss the endless chatter and debate across social media regarding its fictional conflict between Boravia and Jarhanpur, which many viewers interpreted as an explicit real-world proxy.

The Universal Canvas

Instead, King channels universal historical patterns—drawing on his own past real-world experiences to explore displacement, segregation, and ethnic cleansing. The chapter resonates precisely because it avoids being a one-to-one cipher for any single event.

By cleverly abstracting human cruelty onto an alien canvas, the comic strips away our political tribalism and forces us to confront a terrifying reality: evil rarely arrives looking like a cackling monster. Far more often, it presents itself as a polite neighbour, a tidy street, and an entire community looking the other way while their comfort is bought with blood.

It's something I mentioned in my review of Patlabor 2: The Movie, as a protagonist in that anime masterpiece opines:

"We export the realities of war and import the fruits of its labour. We call it a peace, but it's a fraudulent peace—until the front lines come home eventually."

Patlabor 2 - Cult Manga Review

A short while ago, I finally sat down and watched Patlabor: The Movie. I found that it stood out as a titan of late-80s anime and deservedly was oft cited in the same breath as Akira, Ghost in the Shell and Ninja Scroll. So, how would the sequel fare?

Mamoru Oshii’s Patlabor 2: The Movie is less a film about giant robots and more a haunting autopsy of the modern nation-state. Released in 1993, its vision of "gray zone" warfare - where the line between peace and conflict is blurred by misinformation and economic complicity - has only grown more chillingly relevant.

The story is set in a near-future 2002 and follows the Tokyo Metropolitan Police's Special Vehicle Section 2 as they are drawn into a web of domestic terrorism and military intrigue. When a missile attack on the Yokohama Bay Bridge - initially blamed on the Japanese Self-Defense Forces - turns out to be a masterfully staged phantom strike by a rogue former UN peacekeeper named Yukihito Tsuge, Tokyo is plunged into a state of emergency. As the city is slowly occupied by its own military and the rule of law dissolves into martial law, detectives Goto and Nagumo must navigate a landscape of misinformation and political maneuvering to stop Tsuge from shattering the illusion of Japan's post-war peace.

The film was a direct response to Japan’s controversial role in the 1990 Gulf War. While the nation’s constitution prevented military intervention, the government essentially “bought” its way into international good graces by contributing $13 billion to the war effort. Oshii saw this not as pacifism, but as a parasitic extraction: a nation consuming the stability and oil prices secured by foreign blood while maintaining a domestic mirage of moral purity.

At the heart of this complex geopolitical story of intrigue is the character Shigeki Arakawa. During a hushed, atmospheric boat ride through Tokyo, he delivers the monologue that defines the film's philosophical thrust:

"Look at this city. From here, it looks like a scene from a dream, doesn't it? But it’s a mirage. In this city, people have everything. They’re convinced that this peace will last forever. But this peace... it’s a peace bought at the expense of wars being fought elsewhere. We export the reality of war and import the fruits of its labor. We call it 'peace,' but it’s a fraudulent peace. They say that an 'unjust peace' is better than a 'just war.' I used to believe that. But once you’ve experienced a peace that’s been bought with a 'just war' happening somewhere else—in a place you can’t see—you start to realize how thin that line really is. If the foundation of our peace is the suffering of others, then our 'peace' is nothing more than a crime. And yet, I’d still take this 'fraudulent peace' over a 'just war' any day. Because in a 'just war,' everyone dies for a lie. In an 'unjust peace,' at least we can pretend the lie is true. Maybe the front lines will come home eventually... but until that day, isn't the view beautiful?"

This sentiment found a striking modern echo in Mark Carney’s recent speech at the World Economic Forum in Davos. Addressing the rupture of the global order, Carney suggested that our international stability was often a performance - a way of "living within a lie" to maintain economic momentum. Much like Arakawa, Carney suggested that for decades, middle powers prospered under a rules-based order they knew was partially false. The fraudulent peace Arakawa describes is the geopolitical equivalent of what economists call "externalities": the costs of our comfort, such as conflict and labor exploitation, are simply moved off the balance sheet and out of sight.

What makes Patlabor 2 so effective is that it refuses to deliver this message as a dry lecture. Instead, it utilizes Production I.G’s peak hand-drawn animation to create a palpable sense of dread. The film is famous for its empty shots—long, wordless sequences of Tokyo’s infrastructure, canals, and military convoys moving through silent, snowy streets. This use of ma, or negative space, forces the viewer to sit with the weight of Arakawa’s words. The mecha action is minimal, relegated to the background, because the true battle is one of perception.

By the time the denouement arrives, the film doesn't offer the catharsis of a won war. Instead, it leaves the audience with a lingering, uncomfortable awareness that the view from the window is indeed beautiful, but the slaughterhouse is still running.

Overall, Patlabor 2 remains a pinnacle of mature storytelling that treats its audience with the respect of a political thriller while utilizing the unique visual strengths of animation.