Avatar Aang, Feminist Icon?
âWhoâs your favorite character?â I hear that question come up a lot over Avatar: The Last Airbender, a show particularly near and dear to me. Iroh and Toph get tossed around a lot. Zuko is very popular. Sokka has his fans. But something Iâve noticed? Aang very rarely gets the pick. When he comes up, itâs usually in that âOh, and alsoâŠâ kind of way. Which is strange, I think, considering heâs the main character, the titular airbender, of the entire show.
I never really thought much about it until a couple weeks ago when I finished my annual re-watch of the series and found myself, for the first time, specifically focused on Aangâs arc. Somehow, I never really paid that much attention to him before. I mean sure, heâs front and center in most episodes, fighting or practicing or learning big spiritual secrets, and yet, he always feels a little overshadowed. Katara takes care of the group. Sokka makes the plans. Zuko has the big, heroic Joseph Campbell journey. AangâŠgoofs around. He listens and follows and plays with Momo. And yes, at the end his story gets bigger and louder, but even then I feel like a lot of it dodges the spotlight. And hereâs why:
Avatar casts the least traditionally-masculine hero you could possibly write as the star of a fantasy war story. Because of that, we donât see Aang naturally for everything he is, so we look elsewhere.
To show what I mean, I want to talk about some of the showâs other characters, and I want to start with Zuko. Zuko is the hero weâre looking for. Heâs tall and hot and complicated. He perseveres in the face of constant setbacks. He uses two swords and shoots fire out of his hands. He trains with a wise old man on ship decks and mountaintops. Occasionally he yells at the sky. Heâs got the whole 180-degree moral turn beat for beat, right down to the scars and the sins-of-the-father confrontation scene. And if you were going into battle, some epic affair with battalions of armor-clad infantry, Zuko is the man youâd want leading the charge, Aragorn style. We love Zuko. Because Zuko does what heâs supposed to do.
Now letâs look at Katara. Katara doesnât do what sheâs supposed to do. She doesnât care about your traditionally gender dynamics because sheâs too busy fighting pirates and firebenders, planning military operations with the highest ranking generals in the Earth Kingdom, and dismantling the entire patriarchal structure of the Northern Water Tribe. Somewhere in her spare time she also manages to become one of the greatest waterbenders in the world, train the Avatar, defeat the princess of the Fire Nation in the middle of Sozinâs Comet and take care of the entire rest of the cast for an entire year living in tents and caves. Katara is a badass, and we love that.
So what about Aang? When we meet Aang, he is twelve years old. He is small and his voice hasnât changed yet. His hobbies include dancing, baking and braiding necklaces with pink flowers. He loves animals. He doesnât eat meat. He despises violence and spends nine tenths of every fight ducking and dodging. His only âweaponâ is a blunt staff, used more for recreation than combat. Through the show, Aang receives most of his training from two young women â Katara and Toph â whom he gives absolute respect, even to the point of reverence. When he questions their instruction, it comes from a place of discomfort or anxiety, never superiority. He defers to women, young women, in matters of strategy and combat. Then he makes a joke at his own expense and goes off to feed his pet lemur.
Now thereâs a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this, and itâs the one that shielded Aang from the heroic limelight in my eyes for ten years. The reasoning goes like this: Aang is a child. He has no presumptuous authority complex, no masculinity anxiety, no self-consciousness about his preferred pastimes, because heâs twelve. Heâs still the hero, but heâs the prepubescent hero, the hero who canât lead the charge himself because heâs just not old enough. The problem is, that reasoning just doesnât hold up when you look at him in the context of the rest of the show.
Letâs look at Azula. Aside from the Avatar himself, Zukoâs sister is arguably the strongest bender in the entire show. We could debate Toph and Ozai all day, but when you look at all Azula does, the evidence is pretty damning. Letâs make a list, shall we?
Azula completely mastered lightning, the highest level firebending technique, in her spare time on a boat, under the instruction of two old women who canât even bend.
Azula led the drill assault on Ba Sing Sae, one of the most important Fire Nation operations of the entire war, and almost succeeded in conquering the whole Earth Kingdom.
Azula then bested the Kyoshi Warriors, one of the strongest non-bender fighting groups in the entire world, successfully infiltrated the Earth Kingdom in disguise, befriended its monarch, learned of the enemyâs most secret operation, emotionally manipulated her older brother, overthrew the captain of the secret police and did conquer the Earth Kingdom, something three Fire Lords, numerous technological monstrosities, and countless generals, including her uncle, failed to do in a century.
And she did this all when she was fourteen.
That last part is easy to forget. Azula seems so much her brotherâs peer, we forget sheâs the same age as Katara. And that means that when we first meet Azula, sheâs only a year older than Aang is at the end of the series. So to dismiss Aangâs autonomy, maturity or capability because of his age is ridiculous, understanding that he and Azula could have been in the same preschool class.
We must then accept Aang for what he truly is: the hero of the story, the leader of the charge, who repeatedly displays restraint and meekness, not because of his age, not because of his upbringing, not because of some character flaw, but because he chooses too. We clamor for strong female characters, and for excellent reason. But nobody every calls for more weak male characters. Not weak in a negative sense, but weak in a sense that he listens when heroes talk. He negotiates when heroes fight. And when heroes are sharpening their blades, planning their strategies and stringing along their hetero love interests, Aang is making jewelry, feeding Appa, and wearing that flower crown he got from a travelling band of hippies. If all Aangâs hobbies and habits were transposed onto Toph or Katara, weâd see it as a weakening of their characters. But with Aang itâs cute, because heâs a child. Only it isnât, because heâs not.
Even in his relationship with Katara, a landmark piece of any traditional protagonistâs identity, Aang defies expectations. From the moment he wakes up in episode one, he is infatuated with the young woman who would become his oldest teacher and closest friend. Throughout season one we see many examples of his puppy love expressing itself, usually to no avail. But thereâs one episode in particular that I always thought a little odd, and thatâs Jet.
In Jet, Katara has an infatuation of her own. The titular vigilante outlaw sweeps her off her feet, literally, with his stunning hair, his masterful swordsmanship and his apparent selflessness. Youâd think this would elicit some kind of jealousy from Aang. Thereâs no way heâs ignorant of whatâs happening, as Sokka sarcastically refers to Jet as Kataraâs boyfriend directly in Aangâs presence, and she doesnât even dispute it. But even then, we never see any kind of rivalry manifest in Aang. Rather, he seems in full support of it. He repeatedly praises Jet, impressed by his leadership and carefree attitude. Despite his overwhelming affection for Katara, he evaluates both her and Jet on their own merits as people. There is no sense of ownership or macho competition.
Contrast this with Zukoâs reaction to a similar scenario in season threeâs The Beach. Zuko goes to a party with his girlfriend, and at that party he sees her talking to another guy. His reaction? Throwing the challenger into the wall, shattering a vase, yelling at Mai, and storming out. This may seem a little extreme, but itâs also what weâd expect to an extent. Zuko is being challenged. He feels threatened in his station as a man, and he responds physically, asserting his strength and dominance as best he can.
I could go on and on. I could talk about how the first time Aang trains with a dedicated waterbending master, he tries to quit because of sexist double standards, only changing his mind after Kataraâs urging. I could talk about how Aang is cast as a woman in the Fire Nationâs propaganda theatre piece bashing him and his friends. Because in a patriarchal society, the worst thing a man can be is feminine. I could talk about the only times Aang causes any kind of real destruction in the Avatar state, itâs not even him, since he doesnât gain control of the skill until the showâs closing moments. Every time he is powerless in his own power and guilt-ridden right after, until the very end when he finally gains control, and what does he do with all that potential? He raises the rivers, and puts the fires out.
Aang isnât what heâs supposed to be. He rejects every masculine expectation placed on his role, and in doing so he dodges center stage of his own show. Itâs shocking to think about how many times I just forgot about Aang. Even at the end, when his voice has dropped and his abs have filled in, we miss it. Zukoâs coronation comes and we cheer with the crowd, psyched to see our hero crowned. Then the Fire Lord shakes his head, gestures behind him and declares âthe real hero is the Avatar.â Itâs like heâs talking to us. âDonât you get it?â he asks. âDid you miss it? This is his story. But you forgot that. Because he was small. And silly. And he hated fighting. And he loved to dance. Look at him,â Zuko seems to say. âHeâs your hero. Avatar Aang, defier of gender norms, champion of self-identity, feminist icon.â
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