Anime and Philosophy

by Josef Steiff

  As we shall see, though, the representation of female cyborgs in anime is complex and sometimes ambiguous. In her much-discussed “A Manifesto for Cyborgs,” Donna Haraway asserts that as constructed, part-human, part-machine beings, the cyborg transgresses the boundaries of humanness; this transgression involves blurring conventional distinctions between male and female. In breaking down boundaries in this way, Haraway argues that cyborg imagery challenges conventional understandings of gender—the cyborg inhabits a “post-gender world.” She sees great potential in the cyborg, for as the cyborg blurs conventional distinctions, it symbolizes liberation from the patriarchal domination that forms and reinforces those distinctions. Although this work is not new, and Haraway herself has since re-evaluated some of the ideas she presented, it still provides a relevant framework for examining the representation of gender in Japanese anime. This is because the representation of gender (or variations of it) is a conspicuous and interesting element of anime narratives, and examining these representations helps to convey their complexity. However, the fictional cyborgs in the first series of the anime Gunslinger Girl fall far short of realising the “post-gender” potential that Haraway envisions.

  Gunslinger Girl

  First published in 2002 in Dengeki Daioh, a monthly manga publication targeted at adolescent and young-adult males, Gunslinger Girl is a cyborg narrative by Japanese artist Yū Aida. The first and second volumes of the manga series were adapted into a thirteen-episode anime series that was directed by Morio Asaka in 2003. While the themes in both formats remain consistent, the anime series presents a much more explicit and thorough portrayal of the imagery and concepts that make Gunslinger Girl especially thought-provoking.

  The storyline involves an Italian-based government-run anti-terrorist group, known as the Social Welfare Agency (Shakai fukushi kōsha), which selectively “adopts” abandoned or orphaned girls who are critically injured or severely disabled. Medical technology is used to modify the girls physiologically and psychologically, refashioning them as expert, powerful killers. They possess cybernetically enhanced senses and synthetic materials are used to replace much of their human body. They are controlled by drugs, a process termed “conditioning,” and each young, cute female cyborg is paired with an older male handler. The cyborg’s duty is to protect the handler and complete any assassinations requested of her. When on assignment they are efficient, ruthless and brutal; they have superhuman physical strength and reflexes, and are highly trained in hand-to-hand combat and the use of high-powered weapons.

  We are frequently reminded just how lethal these cute little girls can be. They are regularly depicted with weapons of all kinds—perhaps cleaning a dismantled pistol, polishing a rifle, or innocently staring ahead with wide eyes and a blank facial expression, focusing a weapon directly at the viewer’s face. The components and usage of the guns are shown in all their complexity, and this creates a striking contrast to the depiction of the girls themselves. Although each cyborg is visually depicted with unique traits, physically they all share the fundamental characteristics of cute (or more specifically, what would be termed kawaii in Japanese) style: large, round eyes, oversized heads, small mouths, and small slender bodies with long, straight legs. They are drawn simply and cleanly, and with a limited range of expressions.

  The visual attraction of these girl cyborg images lies in the blatant incongruity of young bodies handling oversized killing weapons. And this contrived contrast between high-powered weapons and their capacity as killing instruments in the small hands of girls may seem at first glance to be a deliberately transgressive depiction.

  Repressing the Self

  In “A Manifesto for Cyborgs,” Haraway asserts that due to the blurring of boundaries between human and machine, newer cyborgs have a degree of autonomy and subjectivity that earlier machines did not. Their unique position in this post-human landscape affords them modes of agency never before possible—the very nature of their subjectivity is unsettled and uncertain, and this opens up a range of possibilities not available to either humans or more simple machines. And this broadening of the scope of their subjectivity simultaneously expands the potential scope of their autonomy. But this potential is not realized by the cyborgs of Gunslinger Girl, as their ongoing victimization diminishes their capacity for self-awareness and severely limits their autonomy.

  Even before the protagonists are altered by the Agency, they are already the victims of misfortune or abuse. Angelica is deliberately run over by her parents; Henrietta is the victim of a violent attack, in which her family is murdered and she is brutally raped; Rico has spent her life in hospital, unable to walk, and her disability forced her parents to abandon her. The Agency, presenting their activities to the wider community as a benevolent service for the critically ill and unfortunate, rescues them from their suffering and, at least apparently, ends their victimization. After all, the process by which the cyborgs are created essentially involves the repair and enhancement of often severely damaged bodies.

  But the agency does not simply create new cyborgs; it also conditions them, a process that eliminates personal memories and apparently removes any feelings of fear, horror or guilt that might arise from their role as assassins. Conditioning ensures obedience and a heightened sensitivity to any threat against the handler; the cyborgs must protect the handler, even at the cost of their own life, because they are always replaceable. Conditioning also produces intense loyalty towards the male handlers, which can lead to feelings of romantic love. The conditioning process remains imperfect, and the adverse effects include loss of memory and concentration, inability to control movement and emotion, and a reduction in life span.

  In addition to being conditioned, the cyborgs are also isolated and restrained. They are allowed outside of the Agency compound only when accompanied by their handler, usually for the completion of a mission; otherwise they have no contact with society. The cyborgs’ situation is poignantly described by the promotional slogan for the first volume of the Japanese manga, which, literally translated, is, “These girls have been given a large gun and a small happiness.” 2 Their lives are only possible within that “small happiness,” a secret, isolated world, like an ephemeral bubble. In this confined and controlled environment, the cyborgs are not entirely dissimilar to many Japanese youths, whose lives can be constrained in what is often an oppressive, competitive educational system with little clear prospect for independence. The cyborgs may also be a displaced reflection of the apparent target audience—boys themselves—who are helplessly “conditioned” by the pressure of social conformity to act their required roles.

  The cyborgs’ method for understanding relationships with others is restricted by the limited structures they are exposed to in the Gunslinger Girl universe. They find it difficult to understand relationships that do not subscribe to the norms that have been set for them by the dominant male figures in the narrative. For example, while on a preliminary reconnaissance operation at his workplace, Rico is befriended by a hotel porter, Emilio. Initially, she is overwhelmed by shyness, and his kind attention and the possibility that he may care for her temporarily distracts her from her mission. But Rico’s hopes for a relationship with Emilio soon seem distant and unreal, for when he catches her during her assassination mission, she stares straight into his eyes and shoots him.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the relationships the cyborgs share with their male handlers can be dysfunctional. These relationships are always unequal and defined by submission and dominance, but they may also be based on misunderstanding, fear or jealousy, and they often lack honesty and meaningful interaction. Henrietta feels overwhelming love for her handler Jose and constantly desires his approval and reassurance; she admits she would commit suicide if she lost him, and in one episode, she stands doubled over with breathlessness, brought on by the stress of the simple task of asking Jose to spend Christmas with her. Triela’s handler Hilshire buys her teddy bears as gifts, assuming that stuffed toys are what s
he wants; what she really wants is for him to treat her like she means something to him. Rico’s handler Jean physically abuses her: in one episode she returns from training with a bloodied mouth, after Jean has hit her, but a smiling Rico seems emotionally unaffected by this treatment.

  The conditioning seems to prevent self-reflective questioning, and inhibits the cyborgs’ ability to distinguish between genuine emotions and those they are forced to feel by the drugs. As a consequence, their self-awareness is limited. Triela and Claes do try to understand who they are and why they exist, but for cyborgs like Henrietta and Elsa, their existence is made meaningful solely through their relationship with their male handler. For Rico, her cyborg existence, where she has a strong body that moves freely, and where she can be outside and enjoy the friendship of the other cyborgs, is far preferable to her former life of solitude and disability.

  The cyborgs don’t usually seem to consciously acknowledge or display any internal conflict as a result of their incongruent behaviors and mental states as simultaneously cute, caring girls and ruthless killers. Henrietta does show concern about her position, but her concern is that as a cyborg, she will not be able to be the “normal” girl that her handler Jose wants her to be. The lack of such turmoil seems starkly unnatural, given their situation, and indicates that their integrity as individuals has been severely fractured by the technology and control that the Agency uses to dominate them. That the cyborgs accept such an existence indicates not ignorance or denial, but an acute recognition of their “reality”—the impossibility of their life outside the Agency and/or away from their handler. They are imprisoned in their submissive role, and only two possible choices exist: death, or acceptance of their carefully crafted “small happiness.”

  The narrative does attempt to present some kind of counterbalance to the portrayal of the cyborgs as powerless and dominated. The project of developing these girl cyborg assassins is regarded as questionable by some of those in the government who are aware of its existence. After Elsa murders her handler and commits suicide, the activities of the cyborg program are investigated and criticized by another section of the Agency. Also, some of the handlers show concern and compassion towards the cyborgs; a recurring motif of the series is the conflict the handlers feel over their role as superiors and their relationship with the cyborgs, their loyal and obedient protectors. For example, despite the official policy of the Agency being that the cyborgs are tools that will eventually be replaced, there is constant debate between some of the handlers on the appropriate level of conditioning. Some handlers (such as Henrietta’s handler Jose, and Triela’s handler Hilshire) maintain the conditioning drugs at lower levels with the aim of limiting the adverse side effects and providing the cyborg with a “normal” existence. Claes’ handler Raballo leaves the Agency because he cannot accept the Agency’s treatment of the cyborgs (he is however killed soon after), and when constant repairs and conditioning cause severe deterioration in Angelica, her handler Marco is so affected that he wants to abandon her and the Agency. This positioning of the handlers resembles many conscientious teachers in the regulated, restrictive Japanese school system, who suffer in their inability to help those students in difficulty. They too are helplessly trapped between the victimized children and the system, which tends to ignore the suffering of the individual.

  However, although the series may be self-conscious and sympathetic, to some extent, in its portrayal of the abuse of the cyborgs, this is constantly undermined by the overt focus on such elements as the submissive position of the cyborgs in their relationship with their male superior, and the cuteness—or physical appeal—of the female characters. The prevailing impression is that the cyborgs of Gunslinger Girl fall desperately short of the ideals of autonomy and self-development envisaged by Haraway in her Manifesto.

  Fearful Technologies

  “A Manifesto for Cyborgs” argues that although cyborg technology confuses or deconstructs the distinctions between human and machine, this confusion and deconstruction should not be feared; instead, Haraway sees a model for the breaking down of other boundaries in society, such as gender boundaries.

  However, in Gunslinger Girl, although cyborg technology is used to repair the damaged or disabled bodies and minds of the protagonists, and create the cyborgs’ superhuman physical power and abilities, this same technology is also often the exact cause of the cyborgs’ physical and psychological weakness and suffering. It is this deliberate victimization of the female cyborgs that makes the narrative especially unsettling.

  Significantly, despite their importance in the narrative, the technologies in Gunslinger Girl are almost invisible; there is only limited and simplistic verbal and visual exposition of the cybernetic enhancement and conditioning processes in this apparently advanced society. This indicates that the narrative is not attempting to inform or entertain the viewer with visions of progressive technologies. This is in stark contrast to Ghost in the Shell, which depicts Motoko Kusanagi’s superb connectedness and intelligence through cyberspace as her unique value and identity, and her abilities enable her to question her own corporeality and presence as an individual.

  The victimization of the girl cyborgs is acutely visualized by the cyborg Claes, who becomes the Agency’s test subject after she is deemed unusable in field operations. She is unfit for service because of severe psychological trauma brought on by the death of her handler Raballo (her memories of whom have been all but erased by the Agency). Claes is bookish, thoughtful, and more mature than some of the other cyborgs, and her sincere efforts to find meaning in her existence, despite her demotion from assassin to test subject, stand in harsh contrast to the actions of the Agency. During relentless strength testing, Claes’s shoulder is violently dislocated. In pain, she is left attached to monitors inside a sealed room as a voice over an intercom calmly explains to her that pain medication will be administered soon, and then orders that she be sent for repairs.

  Despite being aware that their handler is responsible for their conditioning, the cyborgs are not always capable of controlling their overwhelming emotions of loyalty towards them and are scolded by their handlers when these feelings lead to errors in judgment. If a cyborg makes a mistake in an operation or drill, their reaction is one of shame and fear; when they are injured they feel inadequate and try to understate or deflect attention from their suffering, desiring only to return to their duties and regain their handler’s favour. In fact, the narrative often focuses on one cyborg or another making a mistake during an operation or training exercise, usually the result of an impulsive and excessive reaction to a perceived threat to a handler, or triggered by feelings of jealously or competitiveness. For example, soon after she has entered the Agency, Henrietta accompanies Jose in an operation to capture a man who has witnessed terrorist activity. A member of the terrorist group physically and verbally threatens Jose, and Henrietta’s response is uncontrolled and disproportionate: she bombards the terrorists and their hideout with a stream of bullets, leaving none of them alive. Her actions almost cause the mission to fail, and she is wounded in the exchange; Jose admonishes her, and her greatest concern is that she has failed him. In another episode, Triela has captured a man her handler, Hilshire, wants to question; when her captive reaches into his pocket, Triela shoots him, perceiving a threat to Hilshire. And although the conditioning is supposed to prevent the cyborgs from murdering their handlers, Elsa does exactly this and then commits suicide by shooting herself in the eye. Like Henrietta, Elsa is utterly devoted to and protective of her handler, Lauro. She is intensely jealous of Henrietta and Jose’s warm relationship, and Lauro’s cruel criticism of her when she fails to perform during an operation is the catalyst for her actions. She is driven to murder Lauro and commit suicide from despair, caused by her obsessive and unrequited love for him - emotions the Agency’s conditioning had a role in generating.

  Thus with their ability to cope with their experiences disabled, the narrative persistently emphasises the vuln
erability and suffering of the cyborgs. Ultimately the cyborgs are not liberated by their status as hybrids, they are disempowered.

  Reinforcing Boundaries

  In “A Manifesto for Cyborgs” Haraway asserts that the cyborg is a fluid, ironic hybrid: a “creature in a post-gender world.” It does not fit within the boundaries set by conventional gender roles, and as such presents new possibilities for understanding who we are and our relationships with others. Haraway also argues that although in western patriarchal society technology has been used to control, dominate, and exploit others, reinterpretation of the cyborg shows its potential to blur and reconstruct the boundaries between established positions and identities. Patriarchal domination is undermined by the cyborg, which exists outside gender.

  Haraway also asserts that unlike humans, who are the product of heterosexual reproduction, cyborgs are “uncoupled from organic reproduction.” She connects them to regeneration, not reproduction. From a feminist perspective she envisions great possibilities in this regeneration because not only is heterosexual reproduction unnecessary, cyborg conception involves creation of new, fluid, progressive existences that transgress dualistic boundaries. Haraway’s vision is a “monstrous world without gender” (p. 39).