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Superheroes and comic-book vigilantes versus real-life vigilantes: An

anthropological answer to the Kick-Ass paradox

Article  in  Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics · January 2012

DOI: 10.1080/21504857.2012.682624

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Superheroes and Comic Book Vigilantes Versus Real Life Vigilantes:

An Anthropological Answer to the Kick-Ass Paradox

This articles was published as:

Weston, Gavin. “Superheroes and Comic-Book Vigilantes versus Real-Life Vigilantes: An

Anthropological Answer to the Kick-Ass Paradox.” Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics 4, no. 2 (December 1, 2013): 223–34. doi:10.1080/21504857.2012.682624.

Some changes exist in the final manuscript and page numbers do not correspond to the

final print version.

This article explores comic book superheroes and vigilantes through an anthropological lens to

tackle the paradox offered by Mark Millar’s (2010) Kick-Ass: why have comic books not inspired more real

life vigilantism? Applying social science literature on vigilantism, social banditry and death squads to

fictional characters and contexts this article explores the gaps between vigilante fact and vigilante fiction.

It takes as it’s starting point Ray Abrahams (1998) observation that three factors lend themselves to the

emergence of vigilantism; dissatisfaction with justice, awareness of other vigilantes and a pre-existing

social or cultural template. Given the prevalence of comic book superheroes and vigilantes as cultural

template, this paper reappraises the limits of Abraham’s model and reflects on the ambiguities of vigilante

fact and fiction.

The eponymous hero in Mark Millar’s Kick-Ass asks ‘Why do you think nobody’s tried to

be a superhero before?’ (Millar 2010, p.11). The idea strikes a chord with comic book fans as it

represents a thought which has occurred to most of us. Having studied real life vigilantes for my

doctoral research this question is intriguing. Ordinary patterns for the adoption of vigilantism

would seem to suggest that a richer mythology of vigilantism ought to lead to a greater

propensity towards vigilante activity. If the same factors that motivate vigilantes in comic books -

such as crime, social issues, corruption and ineffective policing - exist in real life, why is

vigilantism not more common in the ‘real’ world? This paper explores why such an expectation

is theoretically justified, but also why in turn we have yet to see it realised. In doing so I highlight

not only the limits within the academic vigilantism literature, but also offer an explanation to the

Kick-Ass paradox. While I recognise the paradox proffered by Millar was in fact ‘why do comic

book fans not become superheroes?’ - it strikes me that viewing this question from the lens of

vigilantism is more productive. The answer to Millar’s original question is simple. First, most

readers do not have superpowers, and second, those without superpowers can not afford the

technical wizardry of a Batman or Tony Stark-like figure. The absence of superheroes is

therefore attributable to a lack of super-ness. The absence of vigilantes is not. For those so

inclined, vigilantism is a relatively easily achieved objective. The question then is why do comic

book readers not follow in the footsteps of their superheroes and fictional vigilantes in taking

justice into their own hands given that anyone has the potential to do so.

It perhaps seems a little strange that a social anthropologist should be writing about

superhero genre superheroes (from here on referred to as superheroes). As a discipline social

anthropology is more or less defined by the ethnographic method and participant observation -

research techniques which prioritise face to face engagement with those we research. While

such on-site research is impossible in a comic book universe, my enthusiasm for the genre is

frequently piqued by overlap between the themes encountered within comic book fantasy and in

my anthropological research on popular justice. My doctoral research focused on lynchings in

Guatemala. These were not racially motivated attacks, as the word linchamientos perhaps

suggests, but a wave of attacks which spread across the country in the late 1990’s and early

2000’s which saw citizens taking justice into their own hands. Alleged criminals and other

perceived social deviants were attacked following the inefficient provision of state justice in the

aftermath of thirty-six years of civil war (Burrell & Weston 2008). The echoes of ‘justice’,

‘morality’ and ‘retribution’ are not far from the pages of vigilante and superhero comic books.

Nonetheless having listened to the testimonies of those caught up in the violence, the

disjuncture between the fantasy and reality of vigilantism remains a stark one. In turning my

attentions towards comic books I do not wish to belittle the real suffering which often leads to,

and frequently results from, real vigilantism. Instead my aim here is to use an anthropological

lens to examine a particular disjuncture between expectation and reality. This paper will draw on

the literature around social banditry, heroism, and state justice, to explore the overlaps and

interplay between comic and real world vigilantism.

Coogan notes that there are three defining aspects to superheroes: mission, powers and

identity. “The superhero’s mission is pro-social and selfless, which means that his fight against

evil must fit in with the existing, professed mores of society and must not be intended to benefit

or further his own agenda” (Coogan 2009, p.77). This mission is what makes the superhero

heroic. Powers on the other hand are the aspect which makes this heroism super (Coogan

2009, p.78). The final aspect, identity, is generally expressed through a costume and codename

(Coogan 2009, p.78-82), a trope which differentiates superheroes from other heroic fictional

characters with superhuman powers. “These three elements – mission, powers, and identity, or

MPI – establish the core of the genre. But, as with other genres, specific superheroes exist who

do not fully demonstrate these three elements, and heroes from other genres may exist who

display all three elements but should not be regarded as superheroes” (Coogan 2009, p.82).

The Hulk is an example of an often missionless hero (Coogan 2009, p.82); Batman is a

superhero without powers (Coogan 2009, p.83). Buffy the Vampire Slayer has special powers, a

secret identity (although no costume) and a mission, yet is perhaps best not thought of as a

superhero as she fits more coherently within the category of slayers dating back to Van Helsing

(Coogan 2009, p.86) or a hero genre encapsulating Luke Skywalker and Beowulf (Coogan

2009, p.84-86). Such liminal characters show the category of the superhero to be one that

overlaps with others, but at the core lie these three defining characteristics.

Similarly a concrete definition of vigilantism is hampered by the disjuncture between the

‘ideal type’ and the more nuanced experienced realities. Vigilantes are entwined in a tripartite

relationship involving ‘the state’, ‘good citizens’ and ‘criminals’ (Abrahams 1998, p.9), whereby

real or perceived inadequacies of state criminal justice provisions lead to ‘good citizens’ taking

justice into their own hands. This often takes the form of violent punishment of those perceived

to be ‘criminals’, although it may also extend into ‘vigilance’ (Abrahams 1998, p.5) as a pre-

emptive prevention. But good citizens themselves become criminals through their violence.

Conversely, as is seen later in relation to Nigeria and Mozambique, vigilantes may be co-opted

by the state and given legal or formal legitimacy. Equally state agents can become vigilantes

when acting outside of the legally mandated roles. For the purpose of this article, the term

vigilante will be used to mean those non-state actors who use violence against criminals and

perceived social deviants in a way intended to equate with popular ideas of justice.

Generally there is a distinction between superhero-genre superheroes and comic book

vigilantes in that superheroes largely (with exceptions) act as enhanced police officers unbound

by legal restrictions (bypassing rules regarding surveillance or the use of force for example) in

ways that police are unable to - but they rarely punish criminals. Superheroes generally use

force as part of apprehending the criminals in order to turn them over to the police. In other

words, superheroes rely on and reinforce the existing judicial system; they do not attempt to

replace it. Vigilantes on the other hand often disagree with aspects of the judicial system and

enact punishment (often through killing offenders). The line between arrest and punishment is

generally the line that divides the superhero from the vigilante. There are many exceptions

including Golden Age Batman, Superman and Green Lantern who all killed criminals. More

recently in The Longbow Hunters (Grell 1991), the Green Arrow killed those who tortured the

Black Canary, and has done more killing since. Superheroes acting more militarily, rather than

in relation to criminal justice, also lead to the collapse of these distinctions. Certain superheroes

such as Wolverine, who is liable to kill while in a berserker rage, also step across this divide. But

when superheroes kill the abnormality of the situation is generally emphasised and discussed

within the comic book. As such, superheroes generally offer a blueprint for non-fatal vigilante

violence.

There is a second type of comic book which needs discussing separately; those

concerned with non-super-powered vigilantes. Characters such as The Watchmen’s Rorschach

(and his inspiration Mr A), The Punisher and various characters in Frank Miller’s Sin City are

explicitly vigilantes and often use fatal force. They often co-exist alongside super-powered

superheroes, yet have no superpowers themselves. But without the super-powers, and with

more morally ambiguous missions, it would be wrong to amalgamate the superhero genre with

the vigilante genre. Vigilante comics share DNA with films such as Death Wish and Taxi Driver

and take their inspiration from similar sources such as the real-life subway vigilante Bernie

Goetz (Cline 2010). The fact that these characters often co-exist alongside superheroes allows

comic books to discuss varying vigilante ideologies. As such the wider vigilante genre (including

comic books) and the superhero genre will be treated as separate, yet intertwined genres – both

offering subtly different (but overlapping) models of vigilantism whereby individuals use violence

towards a ‘greater good’.

Both of these models are played with in Kick-Ass, particularly in the film version

(Vaughan 2010). Inspired by comic books the film’s eponymous character becomes a costumed

hero who then gains powers of sorts when he is stabbed and run over by a car leaving him with

nerve damage which leaves him with a massive tolerance for pain (in the comic book he gains

no such power). This ability leads to him being captured on video fending off a brutal attack by a

gang. The recording becomes an on-line viral hit and Kick-Ass himself becomes an inspiration

to others. Not wishing to spoil the book or film, generally speaking Kick-Ass is inept at using

violence and it is his ability to take a beating (with or without powers) which casts him as heroic,

and his use of violence is generally defensive and proportional. However, alongside Kick-Ass

the unpowered Big Daddy (who in the film dresses like Batman and speaks like Adam West)

and his young daughter Hit-Girl use often fatal violence against criminals in what is clearly

outright vigilantism with none of the limits imposed upon superheroes. As such, both models of

super-heroic and outright vigilantism are offered up in the film.

Superhero and vigilante based comic books are predominantly consumed in North

America, Europe and Japan. Comic strips may be popular throughout the world and comic

books are also produced elsewhere (for example see Beck (1999) on Swahili comics and comic

books) but production and consumption of superhero and vigilante comic books (and graphic

novels) elsewhere is a small fraction of that in North America, Europe and Japan. The influence

comic books have on the world is increasingly hard to avoid: a multi-billion dollar industry which

saw 5.63 million comic books sold in the United States in January 2010 alone (Comic

Chronicles 2010); an art-form which increasingly dominates Hollywood’s output; a genre with

millions of fans, spanning from children to the current President of the United States (he

allegedly collects Conan and Spiderman comics - Los Angeles Time 2008). It is therefore not

too far a stretch to imagine that comics impact on people's perception of vigilantism.

Real world vigilantism consists of individuals or groups taking justice into their own

hands outside of state justice systems. It is a global phenomenon occurring within urban and

rural areas, in economically developed and less developed countries and across a broad

spectrum of political contexts (Pratten & Sen 2008). Ray Abrahams (1998) notes that there are

three key factors which lend themselves to the establishment of vigilantism: first, dissatisfaction

with present levels of order and justice; second, experience and awareness of such actions

elsewhere and thirdly a pre-existing social and cultural template. These factors can be clearly

mapped onto Guatemalan vigilantism (Weston 2008) and lead to the emergent behaviour of

vigilantes.

Superheroes exist in universes where justice is fetishised and villainy is caricatured. But

as with fairy tales (Bettleheim 1976) narratives reflect and comment upon reality. They instil

values and moral behaviour in children (Vollum & Adkinson 2003) while also allowing adult

readers to explore the complexities of moral issues through the use of hypothetical situations

and by pushing behaviours to logical or illogical extremities. While these situations are often

literally cartoonish they are still anchored in real world issues and as such vigilante comic books

might be expected to affect opinions in the real world and to reflect real world issues in

themselves. If the real world and comic books both impact on one another we ought ask ‘do

vigilante comic books impact on the three determinant factors Abraham’s links to onset

vigilantism?’ In relation to the first of Abraham’s factors, dissatisfaction with justice, comic book

vigilantes may slightly exacerbate expectation of justice. The concrete answers and tidy

outcomes of particular stories may shape readers notion of justice to some extent. This may in

turn contribute to dissatisfaction with the limits, and often inadequacies of ‘real life’ justice

systems. But inferring too much correlation here would imply an inability of the audience to

distinguish between fantasy and reality, thus I would expect the impact of comic books on

dissatisfaction with justice to be negligible at best. Seeing justice being dispensed in comics is

unlikely to have a direct impact on expectation regarding real world justice in most instances

where people are largely satisfied with their real world justice system. Watching detectives on

CSI or Law and Order solve a murder rarely changes expectations regarding real detectives;

consumption of comic book superheroes affects us no differently.

For the second factor, regarding experience and knowledge of such actions elsewhere,

to be affected by comic book vigilantes would largely rely upon comic books depicting incidents

of real life vigilantism, which they rarely do. In looking here at comic books one is forced to

acknowledge the closeness of this factor and the third - a social or cultural template. Surely

awareness of real life vigilantism is just another social template. This forces us to infer that

Abrahams believes that the concrete reality of real vigilantism is substantially different to other

templates. It is a greater leap for potential vigilantes to mimic the actions of comic book

vigilantes where there is no real world ‘test case’ demonstrating how the public and state will

respond. Without a real life case study to copy, vigilantism does not seem to be a concrete

option, therefore maintaining distinctions between fantasy and reality. In contrast the real

world/fantasy distinction is far more porous when we come to consider Abraham’s third factor-

the influence of pre-existing social and cultural templates.

In Guatemala pre-existing social and cultural templates were diffuse. A civil patrol

system where rural male citizens were armed and trained to act as de facto military was

instigated during the conflict which saw a large cross-section of the public instilled with the

values of taking justice into their own hands (Burrell & Weston 2008, Godoy 2006). Additionally

Maya sometimes draw on pre or post conquest incarnations of customary law, where

punishments were often corporal and sometimes fatal (Gutiérrez & Kobrak 2001) as non-state

alternative forms of justice. I have even heard of folk heroes such as Tecún Umán, who was

killed while fighting the Conquistador Don Pedro de Alvarado, being cited as inspiration behind

ideals of non-state justice. Beyond Guatemala the new incarnation of the Minutemen patrolling

the US/Mexico border potentially take inspiration from the Ku Klux Klan, the Bald Knobbers or

the Battle of the Alamo as inspiring templates depending upon the various levels of intolerance

or patriotism that spur their actions. Their chosen name also clearly demonstrates that they

have also taken inspiration from the Minutemen from the American War of Independence. Such

social and cultural precedents also exist internally within comic book worlds; Batman for

instance inspires the Sons of Batman (Miller 1986) and is pre-existed by the Judson Caspian’s

incarnation of the Reaper (Detective Comics 1987: #575-578) as a prior Gotham vigilante (both

lack superpowers and use fatal force). Vigilantes are inspired by other vigilantes as well as

quasi-vigilantes and others who fight against perceived injustices in various forms. Comic book

characters, be they superheroes or non-super vigilantes, clearly offer myth-like potential for

inspiring vigilantism.

One might perhaps argue that there are people out there who consider themselves real

life superheroes, costume wearing people out to make the world a better place. A look at the

Real Life Superheroes website (reallifesuperheroes.org) suggests that this is an honourably

intentioned extension of cosplay (costumed play), blogging and civic-mindedness rather than

individuals engaged in vigilantism. They do not seem to be taking justice into their own hands.

At least not very often. As such the superhero genre can be seen here to inspire admirably

moral action, but not vigilantism. One might also argue that infrequent acts of vigilantism which

do occasionally occur in countries with high levels of consumption of vigilante comic books and

films may have been inspired, in part, by those comic books. But the rates of vigilantism are far

lower in Europe, North America and Japan than across Africa, Latin America and the Indian

sub-continent where consumption of these materials is lower and vigilantism is more prevalent.

We have a profusion of media directly representing vigilantism in the west, but we do not have a

corresponding abundance of vigilantism. Are our lives so affluent and trouble free that we are in

no need of real life heroes?

Heroes and Social Bandits

Central to the Kick-Ass paradox lies the ideas of heroism, hero worship and the

ambiguity of heroes. To disentangle these issues I turn to literature on social banditry, a term

popularised by the historian Eric Hobsbawm (1969). Social bandits, according to Hobsbawm,

are outlaws on the rural fringes of many societies considered to be heroes by the

disenfranchised, poor or working class masses due to their embodiment of popular resistance.

Figures such as Dick Turpin in the United Kingdom, Pancho Villa in Mexico or Ned Kelly in

Australia represent archetypal examples of such figures as men who challenged the ruling elites

through criminal or dissenting actions and in doing so became heroes to many. Historical, and

sometimes contemporary, examples can be found in most countries. Robin Hood mythologises

such actions with a rose-tinted hue, robbing from the rich to give to the poor. While such

sentiments are sometimes echoed in real-life Robin Hoods (The Guardian 2009) more often

their acts are more self-serving, as was the case with Dick Turpin who robbed from the rich

without the redistributive follow up. They are also more frequently quite ambiguous characters,

as is the case with Pancho Villa, a hero for Mexicans but frequently seen as a villain by those

from the US due to his seizure of hacienda lands on US soil for Mexicans. As a result of such

ambiguities the anthropologist Anton Blok (1972) challenged Hobsbawm’s thesis as being too

idealistic, noting that such individuals, while sometimes held aloft as heroes, are not necessarily

viewed as being entirely or necessarily valiant. Such bandits are often severely detrimental to

rural populations (Sant Cassia 1993).

Modern superhero genre comic books deal with the complexities behind heroism like no

other medium. Questions such as ‘who will watch the watchmen?’ (Moore & Gibbons 1986) are

relatively profound avenues of thought which are explored by a majority of consumers of

superhero comics and related media. Discussion over the appropriate use of force, the use of

fatal force, the morality of vigilantism, the relationship between the state and vigilantes, hero

worship and other issues are common arcs in popular comic series’. Anti-heroes like The

Punisher, Rorschach or Mr A challenge the category of hero, exploring the subtleties of violence

and morality. But amidst this murky greyness however comic books often paint morality as

black and white. When Hartigan castrates and beats the child molester Roarke Jr to death in Sin

City: That Yellow Bastard (1996), when Rorschach avenges the death of Blair Roche (Moore &

Gibbons 1986) or when The Green Arrow avenges the torture of the Black Canary (Grell 1991),

we are not expected to feel anything other than empathy with the protagonist. This is über-

justice; starker, more clear cut, more definitive justice casts bright light over the grey morality

found elsewhere. Unlike the real world we are not fed the story through second hand reporting.

We voyeuristically follow protagonists as events lead to (or in Rorschach’s case flash back to)

the traumatic event which justifies the reaction. Witnessing the atrocity and hearing the thoughts

of those engaged forces us to take a particular side, adopt a particular perspective. In this way

justice is fetishised. There is no doubt that Hartigan is right to commit murder. Consequently not

all comic books are like Batman which divides readers between those who wish he would kill the

Joker and those who empathise with his ‘no killing’ (post-60’s) code. Morality is grey but

sometimes comic book superheroes and vigilantes have to do dark things.

In comic books, heroes can become public enemies overnight but equally villains can

become heroes. Similar inversions can be seen in Dennis Rodgers’ excellent anthropological

analysis of Nicaraguan vigilantes in the barrios of Managua where he looks at a gang who were

initially viewed as having a cohesive social effect locally due to their ‘golden rule’ which insisted

that they were ‘not to prey on local neighbourhood inhabitants’. (Rodgers 2008: 351) and in

addition, due to territoriality, they also protected locals from gangs from other neighbourhoods.

Subsequently this gang ‘turned bad’ as crack cocaine became more central to their endeavours

and the sale of narcotics within their community led to escalation in violence between

themselves and those they had formerly protected. Such switching is an everyday encounter for

the superhero comic book fan. Batman has the likes of Azrael, The Reaper and Jason Todd (as

the Red Hood) moving in the former direction and the likes of Catwoman and more recently The

Riddler moving in the other. The need for characters to have arcs produces such inversions

routinely in the superhero genre. Exposure to such arcs, familiarity with the greyness of morality

and the temporal and inter-personal subjectivity of heroism lend themselves to questioning the

morality of ‘heroes’ rather than over-simplified idolisation. As such comic books force readers to

question the rightness and pitfalls of social bandits and vigilantes making us question the

concept of heroism. While vigilante comic books do not generally depict social reality, through

fantasy we are shown the complexity of the moral decisions encountered by protagonists. Such

awareness does not necessarily lend itself to copycats. It lends itself to appraisal of the

rightness of such actions. Belk also observes:

“Heroes and villains [...] are social types by which we pass judgements on ourselves.

They express cultural values by representing that which the society reveres as being

admirable and desirable as well as that which the society fears and considers to be

deviant.” (Belk 1989: 414).

In this sense superhero genre stories are not cultural directives to be imitated, but instead tools

for thinking about society. This being the case we are as likely to avoid reprehensible qualities

from the villains of comic books, as we are to draw upon the admirable qualities of heroes.

While little information exists on the demographics of comic book readers, personal

experience suggests a broad spectrum of social and class backgrounds but a preponderance of

middle class readers, or at least moderate affluence, amongst a majority of readers. As such

their dissatisfaction with the status quo will rarely be one directed towards anti-state sentiment.

Their thirst for hero based comics is not derived from dissatisfaction with the state, but with

escapism or the simple pleasures of a good book. Most superhero and vigilante comic book

readers have an increase in potential blueprints for vigilantism which is countered by a

diminished displeasure with current provision of justice which is further allied with a greater

appreciation of the moral complexities entailed in taking justice into ones own hands.

Additionally the majority of readers do not suffer the grinding poverty, continuous menace or the

persistence of extreme crime to motivate them into vigilantism. Comic books perhaps then

satisfy what little need there is for heroism in many reader’s lives.

Vigilantes, the State and Death Squads

While a significant part of the Kick-Ass paradox is explainable in relation to a lack of

disenfranchisement and satisfaction with circumstances, it is impossible to consider issues of

vigilantism without also looking towards the state. Being defined in relation to official or

legitimate judicial practices, vigilantes inevitably have complex relationships with states.

Guatemalan lynch mobs sent out distinctly mixed messages to the state, both imploring

improvements in the state justice system while simultaneously further undermining it (Weston

2008). Similarly mixed messages were reciprocated by the Guatemalan state which

condemned the attacks, set up anti-lynching public education campaigns yet almost never

prosecuted assailants due to the popular public support for the attacks. In some contexts

vigilante behaviour may even be legitimated by the state. The vigilante Bakassi Boys in Nigeria

were adopted as part of the police force, having been co-opted by politicians who witnessed

their effectiveness and local popularity (Smith 2008). Kyed (2008) explores similarly ambiguous

state-sponsored ‘vigilance’ of policing organisations in Dombe, Mozambique. In developing

countries states’ reliance on non-state agents to carry out policing can be as much of an

everyday problem as it is in the fantastical cities of Gotham, Metropolis or the Marvel Universe’s

New York. State/vigilante relations, both in reality as in comic books, are often far more complex

than vigilantes being an affront to state justice. The potential distinction between state and

vigilante breaks down still further however when one examines death squads.

Death squads represent agents of the state carrying out extrajudicial acts of violence

(Afflito 2000). Like vigilantes, both real and fictional, they often target murderers, drug dealers

and rapists, echoing the brutal justice of Marv, Hartigan, Wolverine or the Green Arrow. Unlike

vigilantes they also target street children, trade unionists and political dissidents (Campbell.

Brenner et al 2000). They most frequently consist of retired or off duty police or military acting

beyond their ordinary state capacities. The relationship between these agents and the state is

never formalised and the extent to which their actions are sanctioned or tolerated by the state is

rarely clear. Violent acts are carried out anonymously. In parallel with their comic book

counterparts ‘cleansing’ is often carried out by masked individuals in order to maintain

deniability. Across contexts including the Brazilian limpiezas who target street children, the Ku

Klux Klan in the southern United States following the Civil War (Campbell, Brenner et al 2000)

and recent violence in Iraq - death squads are a ubiquitous tool used by states or corrupted

elements of the state to deliver their own brand of justice.

The fine line between death squads and populist vigilantes is perhaps why costumed

heroes with ties to the state such as Batman and Superman necessarily strive to comply with

strict ‘no killing’ policies. Batman's present informal relationship with Commissioner Gordon

(although between the 1940’s and 1960’s he was a deputised member of Gotham’s police force)

would look distinctly death-squad-like if he killed the criminals he targetted. Yet without the

perfectly executed violence brought about by Batman's ninja skills or the precision provided by

Superman’s superpowers the difference between a broken nose and nasal cartilage entering

the brain and killing the victim is not a question of intent, but chance. In the real world vigilantes

are often unconcerned with the physical safety of their targets. Disproportionality is one of the

fundamental flaws with vigilantism. Vigilantism is frequently a spontaneous reaction to

circumstances, consequently adrenaline, crowd psychology and social factors often feed into

vigilantes, particularly when in group situations. As a result acts of retribution often go beyond

what might be considered proportionate to the alleged transgressions of the offender, and it is

not uncommon that death results from even the most trivial alleged misdemeanour.

There are however cases where vigilantes are not only tolerated, but encouraged, as

was noted earlier regarding Nigeria’s Bakassi Boys (Smith 2008) and Mozambique’s ‘policing

organisations’ (Kyed 2008). The difference in these two cases is the relative ‘weakness’ of state

authority. As Giddens notes, fundamental to the success of any state is “Who controls the

means of violence, how complete such control is and to what ends it is deployed” (Giddens

1985: 2). A strong state, according to Giddens, is one which has both a monopoly on the means

of violence and yet no need, or at least minimal needs, to use violence. A ‘strong state’ has the

tools and personnel capable of using force if needed but relative stability means that it does not

need to use such force to exert control. Even where non-state agents use violence which may

be seen by many as legitimate, such as a husband avenging the death their wife, the state

delegitimises this act through courts which declare it illegal and punish accordingly. Thus the

state always has the last word on the legitimacy of violence. Control of the justice system along

with the police sees the state maintain its monopoly on legitimate violence. A ‘weak state’ by

contrast may have no centralised monopoly on the means of violence with violence used by

diverse , seemingly legitimate, non-state actors or the state may be weak due to its need to use

force regularly to exert its control over its citizens. As such it is quite clear that vigilantism is only

tolerated in ‘weak states’ where the state is unable, or at times unwilling, to maintain its

monopoly on the legitimate use of violence. Those states where comic books are most widely

consumed are rarely ‘weak states’ of this type.

As such comic book vigilantism represents an unattainable ideal in ‘strong states’.

There is no tacit acceptance of vigilante practices in a properly functioning state. The best

strong-state-based vigilantes can hope to become is a social-bandit-like anti-hero, working

outside the law, commanding the respect of some and the disdain of others. In strong states the

need to monopolise violence is too great to allow other groups any legitimacy. This is the

fundamental barrier to vigilantism in strong states - the police and the courts are in charge of

justice. The one exception to this rule which springs to mind is Curtis Silwa’s Guardian Angels

(Guardian Angels 2010) which he established in 1979. Initially prevalent on New York’s

subways the group, often referred to as vigilantes, overcame initial suspicion to become an

institution which is praised by the likes of the Mayor Michael Bloomberg. The key difference

between this group and other vigilantes is that they are primarily concerned with violence

prevention - to the extent that they are now more concerned with public education than direct

intervention. When they did/do use force, they are trained in making citizens arrests. This

perhaps then places them outside the category of vigilantes, as they do not take justice into

their own hands to the fullest extent, choosing to pass targets over to the police unharmed. This

perhaps places Guardian Angels closer to the superhero ideal of proportionate use of force and

a complimentary relationship with the police. If you want to engage with deficiencies in justice

while in a strong state, you need to sacrifice all other trappings of vigilantism: giving up any use

of violence as retribution, complying with state law and developing greater accountability.

Conclusion

I began this article by espousing my own interpretation of the Kick-Ass paradox, asking

why do the cultural templates for vigilantism provided by superheroes and comic book vigilantes

not result in more real life vigilantes. It is clear that in part the answer is that while these two

genres in comic books may on the surface appear to espouse a cultural template for vigilantism,

the reality is that their message is far more ambiguous. The superhero genre does not

frequently force idolatry of heroes upon their readers but instead they often highlight the moral

dilemmas of taking justice into ones own hands. Superheroes and comic book vigilantes are not

normatively prescribing ‘do this’ - instead they suggest that ‘doing this’ is hard, morally dubious

and not necessarily a good idea. Sometimes, such as with ‘the Batman rule’ - “no killing” (Rucka

& Williams 2010) - extremities of violence are actively proscribed. Non-comic book, social or

cultural templates for vigilantism are grounded in more prosaic and familiar settings making

them more applicable to real life. The success of superhero and vigilante comic books is not tied

to realism but to the successful wielding, reinterpretation and subversion of the tropes of the

genre. The lack of comic books turning fans into vigilantes may be as much to do with the fact

that superhero and vigilante genre comics satiate urges to ‘resist’, subverting such desires in

readers, decreasing potential aggression or feelings of injustice rather than encouraging them.

It is unfortunate that very little demographic data exists on comic readership. Comic

Chronicles (2010) provide an excellent breakdown of which titles are read, but not who reads

them. Shirrel Rhoades is forced to resort to guess work in his analysis of the comic book

industry (Rhoades 2008, p.19). The relative wealth of comic book consumers may be inferred

from the rising costs and continued consumption of comic books and graphic novels. Such

expenses imply an element of class and a resultant relative satisfaction with the social status

quo amongst the majority comic consumers. Extrapolating from the particularly high readership

of Europe, America and Japan, it may be safe to assume that the majority of comic readers are

coming from social backgrounds of relative personal safety and wealth where basic day to day

survival needs are being met. The disenfranchisement or social struggles that may motivate

actors to seek answers in cultural vigilante templates are not likely to exist in this situation. This

is compounded by the fact most comic sales occur in ‘strong states’ that have functioning justice

systems which undermine the need for vigilantism and which would severely penalise any

individuals who challenged their monopoly on legitimate violence. Given the context a majority

of superhero and vigilante comic book readers find themselves in, should they become

vigilantes their acts would be more morally dubious than if they were to do so in a more chaotic

or crime laden contexts.

However I do not want to jump too far in suggesting that were superhero and vigilante

comic books inserted into weak states en masse the impact might possibly be more

pronounced. Without a concrete example it is impossible to predict. Nonetheless it raises some

interesting cross cultural considerations. The high levels of consumption of superhero and

vigilante comics in Europe, North America and Japan is grounded in diverse factors including a

market for fantastical escapism, urban alienation and the expression of counter-hegemonic

ideas (Nama 2009) among many other factors. Even if a profusion of comic books suddenly

arrived in other contexts there is no guarantee they would be read due to divergent tastes in

media consumption, differing cultural touchstones and alternative pantheons of heroes.

Superhero comic books do not have the monopoly on the representation of superheroics either.

Whether it be gods, mythical heroes or figures such as shamans many other groups are often

held to have powers broadly equivalent to superheroes. There is even depiction of super heroic

vigilantes beyond comic books. Smith notes how the aforementioned Nigerian Bakassi boys

“achieved superhero status” when depicted in Ikassaba, a series of docudramas which were

“fictional stories that drew on real-life exploits of the Bakassi Boys, representing them as heroes

who are protected from harm by magical charms and able to detect innocence or guilt through

the magical use of their machetes.” (Smith 2009, p.438-439).

What this perhaps points towards is that social and cultural templates are different to

Abrahams’ other factors. ‘Dissatisfaction with justice’ is a potentially infinite cause which grows

relative to both crime and expectation. One’s dissatisfaction with the justice system continues

to grow as crime increases, as the state or police fail in their duties or as one’s expectations

develop. It is often this mismatch between justice demanded and that supplied which sows the

seeds for vigilante acts. This is far removed from the experiences of British or American comic

book readers where our justice systems on the whole meet expectations. Abrahams’ other two

factors on the other hand, ‘knowledge of such actions elsewhere’ and ‘pre-existing templates’,

are not similarly elastic, they are finite. Once individuals are aware of vigilante acts occurring

elsewhere, increased awareness will not make them more likely to become a vigilante. Similarly

a cultural template is relatively finite. Once there is a template, additional templates become

unnecessary. In fact one might argue that the profusion of templates, of iterations of heroism

and representations of the complexities of vigilantism actually undermines the initial impact of a

blueprint. The more comics are consumed the less likely one is to consider the realities of

vigilantism to be a good idea. As cultural templates comics may only demonstrate potential

paths of action (while simultaneously sowing the seeds of doubt about the utility of such

activities). To become reality, what is needed is a trigger; a social reality that motivates us to act

and search for fitting cultural models as we endeavour to right perceived social wrongs. In a

position of relative safety, where we are moderately satisfied with society, the complex moral

lives of our comic book superheroes and vigilantes makes the vigilante life seem quite

unappealing. That is unless you had superpowers...

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