Bill Clouse

17 February 2019

The Four Apocalypse: from Alas, Babylon to Children of Men

The threat of nuclear annihilation, so say the history books used in public schools, is over. The wall is down. I remember watching on television German citizens, on both sides, hammering their way through reinforced concrete in a symbolic gesture of triumph (most of them simply scaled the wall, but it made for good TV). But even after the end of nearly half a century of nuclear tension between two global super powers, the collapse of the Berlin Wall having occurred almost 30 years ago, the idea of an apocalyptic event still intrigues us today. Though history has tempered the idea of a nuclear holocaust, the apocalyptic/dystopian genre still resonates in our imaginations.  Natural disasters, terrorism, global warming, zombies—all realistic scenarios. My fascination stems from a desire to understand how we as humans may behave towards one another, should some unforeseen event threaten our existence as a species.  Moreover, how accurate are apocalyptic/dystopian narratives? How do they function? Do they show us how we should behave, or how we would behave?

            In the event of a major catastrophe, I am inclined to believe that humans would set aside their differences in favor of civility. Would it take an end-of-days scenario to finally temper tension among different races? In Pat Frank’s 1959 apocalyptic novel Alas, Babylon, such tension appears forgotten. The story centers on a small community’s struggle to survive a nuclear Armageddon. Located along Florida’s coastline, the town of Fort Repose is seated far enough away from any major city, thus avoiding the initial blast and any risk of nuclear fallout. Forced to find a way to work together, the “laws of hunger and survival” trumped prejudice (Frank 188). Individuals stopped caring about the color of skin and worried more about where they would find their next meal.  To see signs designating which race could use which water fountain lost all meaning, “since neither [water fountain] worked” anyway (188).  However, Jacqueline Foertsch contends that Alas Babylon “sub textually ponders the explosive potential of [the] civil rights conflict” (123) by depicting the Henry family—African Americans—“ultimately as servants” to Randy, the novel’s white protagonist, and all of whom adhere to the racial stereotypes of the 50s: “Preacher the classic tom, his daughter (and Randy’s maid) Missouri the eternal mammy, and her disaffected husband Two-Tone figuring as the ‘coon’—as identified by one of the novel’s minor characters” (Foertsch 133). 

Criticism of social mores of this period went beyond the printed word.  Films such as George Romero’s groundbreaking horror Night of the Living Dead addresses (whether intentional or unintentional) race relations prevalent through the 1960s. Though never explicit, scenes such as the fight between the protagonist Ben, an African American who is clearly “the most moral and praiseworthy character” (Powell 28), and fellow zombie hostage Harry, indicate the volatile racial tensions stirring during the late 60s, as they argue over where to seek refuge against the overpowering zombie horde. One believes the bunker-like setting of the farmhouse basement proves a formidable defense, while the other prefers to remain in the farm house proper. The result ends with the two fighting for control of the only rifle, which Henry Powell calls a “symbolic representation of the power over the household” (26).  More alarming is the film’s ending, when after having survived a zombie-besieged attack, Ben, the lone survivor and film hero, is senselessly shot by armed white militia, thus depicting the reality that existed among the African American population during the Civil Rights Movement (Powell 28).  The racial tension that would become one of the dominant themes that defined the 1950s and 60s would continue to present itself decades later, although in much more subtle manners.

            It does not come as a surprise to me just how overt narratives of the 50s and 60s are when it comes to race relations; however, regarding recent films and literature, post-apocalyptic dystopian worlds offer very little commentary on the status of race…or so I thought.  Initially, when researching The Hunger Games and Children of Men, my intent was to show how very little these two narratives address race.  On the contrary, scholars Mary C. Burke and Maura Kelly remark how The Hunger Games only appears silent about race, as if the novel and film regarded race relations an irrelevant issue, but in fact, it repeatedly shows us just how important it is that readers recognize this issue (61).  They quickly point out the hierarchal structure of the Districts, that on the surface, appear to address class inequality; but upon a closer examination, Burke and Kelly point out the correlation between race and District 11. That District 11 is one of two of the poorest of all districts, Burke and Kelly additionally highlight its function—District 11, the predominately African American district (as portrayed in the film), is the agricultural district, “drawing on the history of African Americans in agriculture” beginning with “the system of slavery, to the exploitative sharecropping system” (63).  In the film the two tributes from this district, Thresh and Rue, are African Americans who are severely outnumbered by their white opponents, which suggests a deeply racialized system designed to ensure that not only will African Americans be chosen for the Games, but are also more likely to die in the Games (Burke and Kelly 64).

            Children of Men also calls attention to current race issues, with some focus on immigration.  I must admit, this one caught me off guard. Yes, the protagonist (played by Clive Owen) is a white man who inadvertently becomes mankind’s hope for survival when he discovers Kee, an African American refugee who also happens to be “earth’s only pregnant woman” (Joo 64).  In a world where the human birth rate has stopped, the disillusioned Theo (Owen) must navigate Kee through a war-torn dystopian London.  One may be quick to point out the obvious race difference between the two characters, while also drawing a parallel between their race and their character roles.  Theo, the reluctant white male hero; Kee, the dependent African American branded with the pejorative label “fugee.” Joo focuses on Theo’s reluctant nature as an indicator of today’s racialized sentiment.  That Kee must rely on the heroism of a white male, whether intentional or not, “suggests Kee’s political subjectivity” for her existence on earth (and the safety of her baby) “hinges upon Theo’s unquestioned and unwavering status as white and male” (72).

            Researching the social subtexts behind Alas, Babylon and Night of the Living Dead confirmed what we likely already knew, but what struck me as especially interesting is what scholars said about the more recent examples of apocalyptic/dystopian narratives—The Hunger Games and Children of Men. Clearly in those films (and likely others too), the issue of race is very much apparent, yet presented in a subtle, seemingly nonchalant manner, as if numb to the subject.  I wonder, have we gone numb too?

Works Cited

Burke, Mary C. and Maura Kelly. “The Visibility and Invisibility of Class, Race, Gender, and Sexuality in The Hunger Games.” Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Post-Apocalyptic TV and Film, edited by Barbara Gurr, and Brayton Polka, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uhcl/detail.action?docID=4082515.

Foertsch, Jacqueline. “‘Extraordinarily Convenient Neighbors’: African-American Characters in White-Authored Post-Atomic Novels.” Journal of Modern Literature, vol. 30, no. 4, 2007, pp. 122–138. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/30053149.

Frank, Pat. Alas, Babylon. New York, NY: Harper Collins, 1959. Print.

Joo, Hee-Jung Serenity. "Reluctant Heroes and Petty Tyrants: Reproducing Race in the Global War on Terror in Children of Men and District 9." Arizona Quarterly: A Journal of American Literature, Culture, and Theory, vol. 71 no. 2, 2015, pp. 61-86. Project MUSE, doi:10.1353/arq.2015.0012.

Powell, Henry, "One Generation Consuming the Next: The Racial Critique of Consumerism in George Romero’s Zombie Films" (2009). Honors Theses. Paper 462. http://digitalcommons.colby.edu/honorstheses/462.