On Redemption (NOTE: THERE ARE RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS BELOW)

I agree with Rainbow Rowell on this one. Or with her character, Wren, rather. In the book Fangirl, Cath, a college student who writes fan fiction, contemplates killing off one of her characters in a big redemptive arc. Here’s the abbreviated scene (and also, I should note that THERE ARE FANGIRL SEMI-SPOILERS IN THIS POST ALSO):

“I never thought I would kill Baz,” Cath said. “Ever. But it’s the ultimate redemption, you know? If he sacrifices himself for Simon, after all their years of fighting, after this one precious year of love . . . it makes everything they’ve been through together that much sweeter.”

[Cath goes on to argue:] “But it makes him the ultimate romantic hero. Think of Tony in West Side Story, or Jack in Titanic—or Jesus.”

“That’s horsehit,” Wren said.

Cath giggled. “Horseshit?”

Wren elbowed her. “Yes. The ultimate act of heroism shouldn’t be death.”

[Wren goes on a bit, then ends with] “Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said, “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for.”

And that is why I think the redemptive arc of The Rise of Skywalker is crap. Let me clarify this very important point first. I REALLY enjoyed this movie. I’ve seen it twice already, and am getting ready to see it in the theater a third time. I’m not here to nitpick the narrative choices, and I’m not even here to argue that Kylo Ren/Ben should have lived (although I think he should have lived). The story works, and I’m satisfied. But the reviews I’ve seen (and while I will look up and quote Fangirl, I’m far too lazy to look up reviews I don’t like in order to quote them) discuss how the redemptive arc and death of Kylo Ren is the best part of the movie. And it’s not. It’s a cop-out. It’s a cop-out I accept, but a cop-out just the same. The redemptive death is easy. The character doesn’t have to live with their past, their choices, their errors, their atrocities. The character doesn’t have to strive to be better, to learn, to change, to grow, on a daily basis (which is what real change is—that’s why it’s hard). The character just wakes up one day, sees a memory of his murdered dad, throws away his light saber, and sacrifices his life because it’s easier than having to look at himself in the mirror each morning. It’s easier than having to see the memory of his dad every day. It’s easier than having to commit himself to loving someone else instead of only himself. The redemptive death isn’t redemption. It’s escape.

In this case, though, it’s convenient for the plot. Can you imagine the post-fight party scene? Rey gets out of the x-wing, everyone is cheering, and then Kylo/Ben steps out from behind her. Hey everyone. Sorry about all that before. Btw, I love ya girl here, hope that’s not a problem. The movie suddenly becomes much more complicated, right at the very end. Hard to end a three movie story arc there, that’s for sure.

So the choice makes sense. But I don’t like seeing it praised. I don’t like this cultural idea that the redemptive death is a heroic death. If we believe that people can change, that people can be redeemed, than we need to give them room to live, to continue their arcs, their growth, their uncomfortable trajectories of change. The redemptive death is more of a belief in a moment of change, a shift of consciousness, than it is in lasting, permanent change that requires work and dedication and effort to continue. Which means that maybe belief in the redemptive death means that we don’t really believe that people can change at all. We believe they can have a change of heart, but not a change of life.

And that’s really sad, when you think about it. But it fits where we are culturally right now, too, where we want to punch people who are wrong, rather than try to change them or educate them. We believe that monsters are intrinsically monsters, that they were born monsters or at some point made into monsters, but that once someone is a monster, they can never be anything else. The best thing they can do is die, and ideally they will die redemptively and heroically. Gender is constructed, but monsters? They’re innate.

It’s uncomfortable to think about, isn’t it? It’s a bit hypocritical of us to think that we can punch a Nazi in the face because there is no hope for them, but that a person can choose their gender identity separate from the biological sex that they’re born with. If we can change, but they can’t, that excuses our own atrocities and justifies our behavior. And that’s a dangerous line. That’s how good guys become bad guys. That’s how Thanos destroys half the population (NOTE: There’s Infinity War spoilers here, too). We, the good guys, have Othered a group of people by believing that they cannot change, but we can.

That’s what so great about Wonder Woman (NOTE: Yes, and Wonder Woman spoilers). She doesn’t destroy Dr. Poison, Dr. Isabel Maru, in the movie, even though Dr. Poison’s actions directly contribute to Steve Trevor’s death. Wonder Woman destroys Ares, her actual enemy, who is trying to kill her, rather than the enemy that could change.

Obviously, I’m not saying we need to cuddle monsters or Nazis, and I’m certainly not apologizing for the terrible things that terrible people do. Terrible actions deserve consequences. And some people won’t change, or can’t change, or refuse to change. And no one can be forced to change. And it’s not your job to make people change. But what if instead of punching someone in the face, literally or metaphorically, what if you tried to educate them first? What if you accepted that maybe you weren’t the one to convince them to change, but someone else could? What if instead of believing that monsters were innate, we believed that they could change, and gave them that chance, helped them with that chance. Maybe we should only condemn people who are irredeemable AFTER giving them an opportunity be redeemed.

Real redemption isn’t death. It isn’t sacrificing yourself. It’s living a good life. It’s changing. It’s living with what you’ve done, with who you’ve hurt, and facing that pain, and choosing to be better, each day. It’s hard and painful and scary. And helping someone find redemption can be hard and painful and scary, too. But that’s a true heroic arc. Living, as best you can, one day at a time.