By Toren Chenault — Violence is complicated. Audiences are fine with violence in movies like Transformers or Infinity War, and for readers of comics like Batman or Spider-Man, violence inflicted on villains feels necessary. Here comes a man called Bane, high on venom, or a man dressed as a goblin throwing exploding pumpkins from a glider. We see these villains, and we want heroes to pummel them. It quickly becomes good vs. evil, right vs. wrong, and then it’s on to the next issue, the next arc, the next story.

A huge reason why this works is because superhero comics let go of realism, maintaining just enough for readers to relate. That, however, is comics. When I look outside at the real world, I see violence of a far more complex nature. It’s not Batman and Bane throwing the same three punches at each other. Police are killing people and escalating situations with protestors, the vast majority of which are peaceful. They’re shooting rubber bullets at mothers or at people watching them from their porches. They are pelting crowds with clouds of tear gas. Superhero comics rarely depict this sort of violence, and if they do, it’s usually watered down and made palatable for readers who buy these books each month.

There’s also invisible, political violence, wars waged everyday by billionaires and politicians with big business interests. People lose their healthcare of mass evictions take place amid a pandemic. The current president once told people to possibly, maybe, sort of drink bleach. And if you ask me, the one time $1200 stimulus payment to Americans was basically a middle finger with an implicit message of “you should have had more savings”, which just might be one of the biggest acts of political violence in this country’s history. Yet, none of this will catch attention or stir conversation like the burning of several cars.

It’s all very complex, and relatively simple superhero comics are a way for us to process a complex world, to make it understood and bearable. Sometimes, however, superhero stories can also be quite bold, and when that happens, I absolutely love it. One superhero comic that has done a masterful job of late capturing a complex world is Marvel Comics’ current Daredevil run, written by Chip Zdarsky and primarily illustrated by Marco Checcetto.

Daredevil by Zdarsky and Checcetto

Daredevil is my favorite superhero, in any medium, and I recently re-watched of Daredevil Season Three from Netflix…a few days before George Floyd was murdered. As the world changed afterward, I thought of the complicated nature of societal violence. Daredevil Season Three does a wonderful job exploring the inherent complexities, and I saw too many coincidences between our world and the show. It was an extremely hard, but I went on to write a blog about this.

In that piece, I explored how Matt Murdock as a character is rooted in violence. He wades in it like a child discovering love for the pool. It’s second nature. Season three of the show forces him to confront the dark side of his soul. The current comic takes a different yet similar approach. In the comics Daredevil is getting old. He’s been around a little while, and he’s turned to painkillers because of an accident suffered in the last run. He’s off his game, hasn’t taken the proper time to heal, and is slightly delusional about his role in society.

There are great flashbacks in the early issues, wherein Matt converses with people from church. In these flashbacks, Matt tries to rationalize his violence because God himself wants it. God put Matt in a position to inflict violence on bad people because the system is failed. At least that’s how he sees it. And that’s how Daredevil has existed for a long time, as a character. But everything changes when he accidentally kills a man at the end of Daredevil #1.

I’m not going to directly say Matt Murdock is a cop. But I think his struggles in this run share parallels with the abuses of power we see in U.S. police departments. Whether you believe in the institution or not, cops are people. They experience happiness, love, and, most importantly, struggles. Also important, they often don’t see some people as human. Just like Daredevil saw the criminals in issue 1 as thugs to practice with because he’s rusty. He wasn’t Matt Murdock; he was Daredevil and Daredevil hates criminals. Officer John Doe isn’t Officer John Doe when he’s beating Black people. He’s a sworn officer of the Los Angeles Police Department. And just like Matt in issue 1, police can be delusional about their role in society. They hype themselves up as morally superior to the rest of us but are rarely held to standards. I don’t know if Chip Zdarsky thought the same about Daredevil, but this grave mistake Matt makes at the start of the run is a bold storytelling choice, one that pushes these comics toward deeper questions about violence.

Daredevil as a metaphor for the police

Matt continues to spiral as the arc progresses, culminating with Spider-Man paying him a visit in Daredevil #5, after which Matt quits being Daredevil, adjusting to normal life. The run hits a new gear in issue 8, putting a full understanding of the complexities of violence on display.

Matt isn’t fully recovered by Daredevil #8. He still has that delusional sense of purpose, the “I am Daredevil” mentality. He’s becoming aware of this, and he has decided as a result that Daredevil should no longer exist. Meanwhile, he’s involved with a married woman, to the point of going to her house for dinner (because it isn’t a Daredevil comic without Matt getting into romantic nonsense). When he arrives, he finds her family is one of the biggest crime families in Hell’s Kitchen — The Libris Family. The conversation starts simple, with Matt verbally spars with the men of the family. They hate laws and the system, while Matt argues he likes to believe in the system, etc. It’s a normal comic book progression of our hero coming up against “criminals.” And usually, this is where most superhero comics draw a line in the sand. But this run sees Zdarsky making more bold writing choices here, letting conversation dive into a discussion about the necessity of violence within an inherently violent system.

Matt goes on a pretentious rant about the Libris’ family record as a criminal organization. Izzy Libris, the family leader, acknowledges his intelligence, but she points out to him that while she has a reputation, her system, her “code” is inherently fair. It is, in fact, more human than the system Matt supports, which protects the wealthy while punishing the lower class. This is such a stab at Matt’s ego because he knows it’s true — Izzy is right. The issue only gets bolder from there. The topic of gentrification and political violence is raised. One of the Libris men argues that Hell’s Kitchen is built on inequality, with neighborhoods gutted by the rich after the working glass make them livable. Izzy agrees, noting, “The rich feed off the poor. They keep them down, and they push them out.”

The literal next panel has Izzy telling Matt about different kinds of violence: hers and his, the beating up, the shooting, the intimidation. It all makes the news. It’s visceral, it’s scary. It’s easy to understand. But the bigger picture, the violence enacted by the government everyday, that’s the stuff that isn’t covered. “If only they worked hard enough, they’d have what we have,” is what she says to mock the system. I found myself fist pumping reading this. The whole conversation encapsulates not only the complexity of violence but of Daredevil. It isn’t implied, it isn’t softly mentioned. It comes from a woman in charge of a criminal organization. And she understands the power structures of the world better than a superhero. Huh, how about that?

You can see the truths of Daredevil #8 in the real world today. With the ongoing protests around racial inequities, the narrative of violence strictly focuses on damage done to property or the idea of the so-called “right way to protest.” It’s all images of burning buildings, people taking things from stores, and people standing on top of cars chanting. It is often discussed with such fear, such palpable disgust that you almost forget why the hell people are protesting. Police violence is rarely the topic, the systemic violence of the courts and big business even less so. And the violent, misleading rhetoric of the president is waved off as “craziness” or framed in a context of “could this lose him the election?” So, what should one do when the world doesn’t care? And what should one do when “doesn’t care” turns into active targeting because of class or race? Violence is uncomfortable. No one wants to see it, engage in it, or live in a world where it’s so visible. But we reap what we sow. And this issue of Daredevil explains that better than most analysts on CNN ever could.

The issue continues with Izzy telling a story about the effectiveness of violence in her community. And here, a conversation about the definitions of justice arises. And as if constricted by capitalistic direct market constraints, the issue is cut short when someone shoots at the Libris house. It’s one of the slower issues in the entire run. But to me, it is the most significant — the crown jewel or thesis statement of the entire thing.

The bigger picture violence that Izzy mentions is often eluded to in mainstream comics. Albeit in diluted ways. Because why would a company so deeply entrenched in capitalism and exploitation want critiques of the system, no matter how clever? Well, I applaud Zdarsky and crew here for committing to the discourse in this series. They give that political violence a name, a face, and a personality. We get more than elusions; we get a front row seat to how it operates. And that comes in the form of the Stromwyns.

The Stromwyns

An extremely wealthy pair of siblings, the Stromwyns invite Wilson Fisk (aka Kingpin) to their home for dinner. There, they engage in talk about their business affairs. One of the guests casually mentions buying an international government. Fisk is made fun of for his barbaric past, and they laugh at his status as Mayor of New York, as if it makes him a commoner. There’s such a casual air to how Zdarsky writes these characters. There isn’t a price in the world these people cannot afford., and you can’t find a shred of morality in any panel.

This bit is interesting too because this run sees Fisk attempting to go legit. He attempts to end his dealings with the crime families in Hell’s Kitchen, instead cuddling up to these billionaires. But Fisk ends up murdering one of their dinner guests in rage, as The Owl goes on a rampage through Hell’s Kitchen. Fisk misunderstood the power these people possess. He’s dreamt of it, and in a sense, he’s had a taste of it in New York as Kingpin. But controlling entire countries and governments and considering it a part of the portfolio is a different type of evil. Fisk enjoys money and the things it brings him, but it’s the power he genuinely loves. These people love nothing but money. This was a level Fisk wasn’t prepared for, all written perfectly by Zdarsky.

We see this political violence play out throughout the story. The Stromwyns have literally bought Hell’s Kitchen. The property, the police, the press. It’s all theirs, and they’re basically operating it as a fun experiment while the characters on the ground struggle to understand. It comes to a head in Daredevil #17 when Matt confronts the Stromwyn siblings for dismantling Hell’s Kitchen. Matt crashes a party, thinking he holds the power. He thinks he has the upper hand and can catch these criminals off guard. But Matt is the last thing on their minds. A few issues prior, Matt and Elektra swiped a few billion dollars from the siblings. Not only do the Stromwyns admit to being behind what’s going on in Hell’s Kitchen, they merely wave off that substantial sum of money. As the room clears out and they reveal that Matt has no horse in this race, they utter the most despicable words in the entire run…

“We know who you are. The big, bad devil. Who stole from us as ‘punishment’ thinking we had nefarious plans to ruin your home when really….we barely gave it a thought.”

What a powerful, gut-wrenching moment.

In my piece on my blog, I mentioned how even though Wilson Fisk is not a white supremacist by definition, he would uphold white supremacist values if it meant bolstering control of his empire. The Stromwyns work the same way. Not a racist word comes from their mouths. It’s bigger than race. But they know how the game works. And they know how to control people. If they must use a white supremacist militia to swing favor of a political protest in a neighborhood they want to turn a profit in, you can bet your best CGC-graded comic they’d do it. President Donald Trump has maneuvered this way, politically, his entire life. He was once heralded by rappers and actors for of his commitment to making money. That same commitment has led him into the arms of white supremacy, police, sports owners, and people who protest not being able to go fishing. If it was economically viable to support a progressive agenda and movements like The Green New Deal, he might. Bezos might. Zuckerberg might. But, like the Stromwyns, these men are not guided by morality. Just money, control, and power.

Daredevil and Race

These conversations raised in Daredevil are important, but you cannot have conversations about violence, capitalism, and class, without talking about race, due to how race has been used to divide people historically: from slavery to the populist party movement to the war on drugs. And if there is an area where this run has suffered, it is in those conversations. But, let me just say that I respect the effort Zdarsky, Checcetto, and the other creators have made. It is not Chip Zdarsky’s job to be a conduit for racial issues in his Daredevil comics. He’s white, of course. But, when engaging with conversations like the ones he does, it helps to show a diverse world surrounding your main character. Because those people are the ones suffering most due to the political violence of the Stromwyns. And that’s exactly what this run does. Hell’s Kitchen is full of Black and brown people in this run, and one is a character at the center of the themes of corruption — Detective Cole North.

North’s introduction is dramatic, almost a bit too much. He has a passion and a flare that is palpable. The man has a literal street fight with Matt in the third issue. In time, however, he realizes the extent of the vast corruption in Hell’s Kitchen. Police have been ordered to stand down in the middle of a tense gang war, and half of the force refuses to arrest Cole’s main target, Daredevil. North’s hotheadedness gets him in trouble with the corrupt cops on the force. Eventually, he ends up working with Matt as they save Hell’s Kitchen when it’s under attack from the Stromwyns.

That’s not a groundbreaking character arc, but I appreciate this character being a Black man. Corruption does not start and end with white people. The systems were built by whites, but anyone and everyone can participate in the corruption. There’s a good chance when you get pulled over by a cop in a big city that they won’t be white. This doesn’t dilute their experience as a minority, and it also doesn’t mean they are any less culpable than their white coworkers. They believe the system, as is, works in some capacity. North’s arrogance and rigid belief in the system is one I think a lot of police share. They’re seen as the good apples, yet they fail to see that just because you believe in a fair and equitable system, doesn’t mean you operate in one.

The Most Powerful Moment in the Run

The most powerful moment of this run, however, comes through characters we don’t know much about. I talked about Matt struggling with his own delusion throughout this run, believing that Daredevil cannot exist if he physically can’t perform as Daredevil. But Daredevil is more than that. It was never just about Matt, and after he’s gone, the spirit of Daredevil will live on. In Matt’s absence we see numerous poser Daredevil’s pop up, whether it’s to save someone for getting mugged or for bigger stuff. These fake heroes pop up constantly throughout the issue. Except they are far from fake. Hell’s Kitchen is their home too. And people can tell when their home is under attack. The most recent issues of the run saw the Stromwyns locking down the city so some of Matt’s most notorious foes can run rampant. ‘Burn it down’ was the order. Drive the people out so profits could go up.

But even when Daredevil is absent, his presence is felt via a legacy of fighting for justice and peace for everyone, no matter of one’s race, social status, or religious affiliation. If you live in Hell’s Kitchen and you need protection, Daredevil will be there. That’s something that, after a while, people start to believe in. Time and again, Daredevil represented what was right with the world. Matt being gone from the role didn’t change that. There’s a powerful image in Daredevil #19 of the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen wearing Daredevil masks, ready to defend their homes from destruction. Unfortunately, a lot of these people die. One man dies in Matt’s arms, uttering the words, “I tried.” As Matt wept for the man, so did I. It was a moment where Matt put his arrogance and delusion aside, realizing he isn’t just a superhero, but a symbol. He defends the Kitchen alongside Kingpin and dons his classic red suit one issue later to face his own crime of killing a man in that first issue.

Like Daredevil, Black Lives Matter is an idea. It is not one organization. And it damn sure isn’t one person. It’s a simple idea, really: Black people don’t want to be killed by police. Also like this Daredevil run, there’s more layers to it, but that’s the basic premise. In the last few months we’ve seen that basic premise manifest on the streets. People taking to the streets to protest police brutality and racism in all forms, and these people have been met with violence by police. Not just police, but other citizens too. Caravans of people drove into Portland last weekend with violence on their minds. And Kyle Rittenhouse murdered two people to protect property in a state he wasn’t even from. If you threaten people, if you harass them and provoke them, they will fight back. And if you kill them, if you refuse to accept the role your violence has played in their lives, the people will let you know. An idea, it will always be bigger than one person, and this run illustrated that beautifully.

I’m so happy that Zdarsky and co. are doing what they’re doing with this character and the people of Hell’s Kitchen. There is no clear right or wrong in this run. The layers of violence and the role of violence in society have been discussed almost perfectly. As I said, I wish a Marvel comic would discuss the topic of white supremacy and political violence a bit more directly, but this comic is the closest thing to it. Daredevil operates on a vey fine line of realism and super heroism, and I’ve argued that if Daredevil was real, or if he was Black, he wouldn’t be celebrated nearly as much as he is in this story. Humans have a weird obsession with violence, but only when it fits our capitalistic instincts or threatens our immediate possessions. This comic paints a more abstract and confusing picture of violence, and it’s one that needs to be thoroughly aired for us to progress as a society.

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Toren Chenault is a writer and creator from Lansing, Michigan. He released his debut novel, Mystic Man in 2018. He's the owner and co-founder of Black Hole Comics and Entertainment. Toren has a passion for comics and all forms of storytelling. His influences range from hip-hop to anything science fiction related.