To Change the Future, Redefine Our Heroes Today
A train of thought on heroism as a change agent from the Dubai Future Forum 2022
“Why do we like dystopias so much?”
An audience member posed this question at a discussion on the 2nd day of the Dubai Future Forum, titled “Can We Decolonize the Future?”, hosted by award-winning science fiction author Dr. Nnedi Okorafor and Futures Lead Alisha Bhagat from Forum for the Future. The words echoed comfortably around the amphitheatrical setup in a dim room decorated with waves-on-water light show that was clearly meant for deep contemplation. There were spots of laughter and I probably laughed too; it’s a guilty pleasure that many of us don’t even know we indulge in.
Implicit in that question, perhaps, is a wish to see more utopia represented so we can run towards the light, not just away from doom. The question held many philosophical implications but one surprisingly simple answer. To paraphrase Dr. Okorafor:
Because we like them… and because it easily enables the hero’s journey.
When we think of a hero’s journey, what comes to mind? A person, usually a white man according to Hollywood, who is down on his luck and facing some physical, emotional, or other forms of struggle, who learns to believe in his abilities and to skill-up with the help of guides, and who eventually overcomes said struggle against all odds.
In my humble opinion as a passionate consumer of Netflix and HBO, stories starring the imminent death of the human species exemplifies the conventional hero’s journey in action because the stakes are so high and the villains or threats are usually spelled out for the audience. Like an invasion by water-hungry aliens, brain-eating zombies, or generic extreme weather events. In a dystopia, said man’s internal defiance of his struggle occurs in parallel with whatever apocalypse is happening in the world and so his success in overcoming said threats becomes humanity’s breakthrough too. We often see this hero celebrated as a solo adventurer, leaving a mark on the world in some tangible way.
Dystopia, then, enables the kind of gloriously dramatic, single-character storytelling that we —the couch potatoes of the now!— can relate or even aspire to.
Utopias, on the hand, are beautiful, harmonious, threat-free. Our so-called hero would not feel explicitly challenged, and the world is just fine. One could say we’ve arrive at a desirable future though Dr. Okorafor is quick to remind us that writing utopian stories doesn’t mean there are no problems for us to deal with.
One of the most of thought-provoking utopias I visited recently was in Becky Chamber’s Psalm for the Wild Built, wherein a traveling gender non-conforming monk-therapist goes on a pilgrimage to discover themselves through connecting with their past and stumbled upon a benevolent sentient robot descended from the liberated manufacturing automatons from ages ago who’s also, coincidentally, on a quest to “check-in” with humans. They proceeded to talk about the meaning of life, a usual affair for two English-speaking species connecting without weapons. I felt peaceful reading the book and I figured that’s what the monk-therapist must’ve felt as they questioned their purpose in a world that was… thriving?
That utopian world is one in which communities pave across nature only when necessary, where shower water is filtered for other purposes, where houses are built from repurposed wood, and where tea ingredients are sourced from local farmers and food markets follow seasons again. Reduce, reuse, recycle, support local, buy organic. Sounds familiar?
I must admit: the monk-therapist’s internal existential crisis read a tad much like a futuristic version of a Millennial’s complaint about first-world problems. For the pilgrimage, they left a comfortable, meaningful job to seek the sound of a possibly-extinct cricket. Amongst grandiose visions within science-fiction, this particular hero’s journey is philosophical and slow, and the inevitable growth of the character is more so a luxury than a necessity. (Don’t get me wrong, I love the book and is waiting for the sequel to come in the mail any time now). Utopia, perhaps, resists drama. And where there is no drama, there are no relatable people, and thus no heroes.
Is this why, when we look at the visuals and visions of our smart cities of the future that claims — either explicitly or implicitly — to be a technology-enabled utopia, we often see them without people? There are figures populating the glass-and-metal urban landscapes in computer-generated scenes — I’m sure I’ve seen runners and suited-up men and families with strollers even — but we don’t necessarily see their lives in the city.
In a lively discussion with fellow NGFPers and DFF attendees Clarice Garcia and Ana Tiquia on a hotel balcony overlooking sleek office spaces that might as well be from 2030, we wondered about the techno-centric futures that was promised:
What would people do in the new spaces created in the future? How do they fall in love or eat lunch or collaborate or connect coffee chats ? Would they like it?
This and many cultural and social questions are what we love to pose around futures discussions today. Without these human stories to ground us in empathy, it is difficult to imagine what living in supposed utopian futures would be like and, more importantly, to decide which is a good — happy, ethical, equitable — future to strive for.
Right now, we are running towards technocratic visions clean of human drama even though we know that we don’t change as quickly as our technologies do. So if we like dystopian stories because they are dramatic, and drama lends itself to the hero’s journey where utopian harmony doesn’t, then it seems we do not really have a human “hero” in our imagination to champion desirable futures.
I’m not sure if I want to live in a future running on technological progress rather than empathetic human stories (and people that care for the world beyond their own needs). I think that we are in dire need of new utopian stories that flips the script, and so I propose:
To change how we collectively imagine desirable futures, we need to re-imagine the definition and character arc of the hero.
To get nerdy for a second: my favourite signal of this change might be the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s attempt, in my opinion, to re-shape heroism as a team effort. The MCU has an increasingly diverse cast of characters that from time to time “crossover” to support each other with their unique powers and humour. Avengers Endgame is a monument to this ensemble-based brand of heroism. In the final fight scene, we see 36 heroes essentially play American football with the Infinity Gauntlet, charging towards the end zone that is the portal to the Quantum Realm. Each hero used their individual powers to move the ball forward as a team (and, spoiler alert, wins the game, though not with a touchdown per se). Everyone waits their turn to shine, becoming the guide to their peers’ journeys when they’re not in the spotlight. The irony that Endgame is very much dystopian is not lost on me.
Another example of team-based heroism can be found in a documentary on the first solar-powered flight across the world, Point of No Return. What I remember from the screening and panel discussion of the documentary I helped organize was a feeling of camaraderie in the team of engineers, pilots, ground crew, and other contributors. The narrative showed strong objective-driven over bravely heroic decisions. The team rallied around and definitely argued about how to get the pilots and plane across the world safely. I cannot recall a spotlight shining on a single hero who persevered against dangerous weather. It was refreshing.
Replace the Infinity Gauntlet or circumnavigation of Earth with climate change or smart cities and we can start to imagine a collective version heroism for creating future utopias. Teamwork makes the dream work, as a friend likes to quip, so we can lean into positive drama by including and elevating a diversity of voices as heroes who can both create and guide us to an empathetic, livable versions of utopia for all. This sentiment came from Dr. Okorafor’s words:
“If only a fraction of humanity is contributing knowledge, we’re missing out.”
So in order to imagine better futures, we are faced with the task of redefining our cultural narrative of the hero, from an individualistic journey to one of community effort. A community of underrepresented voices.
Of everything spoken and dreamt about at the Dubai Future Forum, I was surprised by this train of thought on how futurists and changemakers and designers are essentially champions of future heroes and their stories. So the tools, arguments, provocative questions, and network of collaborators at the Forum became the means by which begin to redefine our utopian dreams.
One clear message for me was that we can all be heroes, if we are heroes together.
Thank you Dr. Nnedi Okorafor and Alisha Bhagat for a beautiful discussion on questioning future narratives. Thank you to NGFP fellows and futurists of the School of International Futures for enabling a safe space to revisit the Forum with a critical lens. Thanks to the Dubai Future Foundation for including this voice in the process of imagination. I’m looking forward to more hilarious adventures into the future with you all. All photos are taken by yours truly.
