Militarism and nationalism are frequently buttressed by a resurgence of images of the ideal patriarchal and heteronormative family. These images discursively construct a cohesive national identity in opposition to an enemy “other.” Post 9/11 and during the Iraq war, this neo-conservative focus on the family has been in evidence in American dominant culture. The reimagined “Battlestar Gallactica” is a cultural product informed by post-9/11 realities. The series’ human protagonists are the only survivors of a genocide executed by the robot Cylons, and live amidst displacement, crisis and war. The series resonates with contemporary political contexts without drawing obvious or reductive parallels, allowing for complex and multi-dimensional ethical explorations.
The majority of “Battlestar Gallactica’s” dramatic action takes place aboard the Gallactica, a military ship commanded by Commander William Adama. The Gallactica protects a small fleet of civilian survivors as they quest for a new home. The Gallactica’s crew can be analyzed as a family unit; Adama himself frequently invokes familial metaphors to instill accountability and interdependence within his crew. Adama fulfills the role of the benevolent patriarch, commanding loyalty from his crew who look to him for guidance and hope amidst difficulty. Adama approaches his crew as individuals rather than interchangeably, cultivating their distinct talents and forgiving their failures. Adama’s matriarchal counterpart is President Laura Roslin, the former Secretary of Education who assumes leadership as the only surviving Cabinet member. Roslin frequently functions as the series’ moral center, ensuring that civilian democratic values are not subsumed by military procedures and that the long-term interests of humanity are prioritized.
While constructing the Gallactica as a “family” facilitates social cohesion, it is important to note that this cohesion is always solidified against the threat of an enemy “other.” Although the Cylons are a creation of humanity, they are understood by the majority of Gallactica’s crew to be humanity’s antithesis. Although they are now partly biological, can appear in human form, and possess emotions and consciousness, the Cylons are still understood by humans as “things” and referred to by such epithets as “toaster” and “skin job” (when referring to the human-likeness models). The Cylons, for their part, believe humanity to be irredeemably corrupted by destructive impulses. In contrast to humans’ complete disavowal of any human-Cylon connection, the Cylons actively and regularly refer to themselves as “humanity’s children,” and see the annihilation of the parent as necessary for the child’s evolution. Additionally, they believe that their monotheistic God (humans worship a polytheistic pantheon very similar to that of the Ancient Greeks) mandates that they “be fruitful and multiply,” which because of their hybrid biology still requires human involvement. Thus the human-Cylon struggle is sometimes cast in Oedipal terms as sexualized intergenerational conflict. For humans, refusing to acknowledge Cylons’ increasing humanity or the potential validity of their claims means successfully avoiding any ethical implications these realities may impose upon their war project. Family metaphors help divide the world into inflexible polarities of “us” vs. “them,” “insider” vs. “outsider.” Family discourse serves the interests of dominant culture during wartime.
In one wrenching sequence of episodes, the “extended family” of humanity is divided from within by the discovery of another surviving Battlestar, the Pegasus. The Pegasus functions as Gallactica’s mirror image, an example of what Adama’s crew might’ve become had they made different choices. In contrast to the Gallactica’s benevolent patriarchy, the Pegasus is a rigid hierarchy ruled with an iron fist by the autocratic Admiral Helena Cain. Rather than emphasizing civilian protection, survival and species relocation a la the Gallactica, the Pegasus has gone on the offense against the Cylons and prioritized military objectives to the point of requisitioning civilian ships and “stripping” them for valuable supplies and crew members. As Cain takes command of Adama’s fleet, a three-way triangular interparental conflict develops between Admiral Cain, Commander Adama and President Roslin. While Roslin immediately recognizes the threat Cain poses, Adama initially defers to her superior rank, only balking after she criticizes his command and interferes with his ship’s internal affairs.
The blending of Pegasus and Gallactica’s respective families is ridden with conflict, and can be analyzed on multiple levels. The separation of public and private spheres often serves to mask private violence. To the extent that military crews are deeply isolated and privatized “families,” they are often not accountable for internal abuses. On the Pegasus, torture and rape of Cylon prisoners has been fully normalized. Additionally, Cain is known to have once publicly shot her second in command in the back of the head after he disobeyed a direct order. In gendered terms, Admiral Cain embodies the archetype of the powerful female who takes on masculinized characteristics in order to survive in male supremacist institutions. Cain shows disdain for President Roslin’s more traditionally feminized background as an educator and is critical of Roslin’s “soft” diplomacy, wanting to “cut through the hand holding.” Although Commander Adama’s protest against Cain can be understood as a defense of democracy, it is also a response to her usurpation of his patriarchal authority. It is also worth noting that the crews of the Pegasus and the Gallactica are able to achieve a tenuous truce only when the opportunity is presented to combine resources for a new campaign against the Cylons; family cohesion is once again achieved in opposition to an enemy “other.” At the same time, tensions between crews reach their boiling point when the Pegasus officers abuse the Gallactica’s Cylon prisoner Sharon Valerii, suggesting that “the enemy” can also become a source of disunity.
Realities on Gallactica highlight the limitations of family metaphors and family discourses in militarist contexts. I’d like to conclude by suggesting alternatives to “family” as it is traditionally constructed within militarist settings. Cultural critic Judith Halberstam notes that family frames often prevent us from conceptualizing alternative models for collectivity. Halberstam provides as an example the film “March of the Penguins,” in which our nearly obsessive focus on the reunification of the penguin nuclear family blinds us to the other potentially beneficial relational forms employed by penguins, such as when male penguins huddle together en masse to conserve warmth during the coldest months. Cylons employ a consensus model for collective decision-making in which a representative copy of each of the eight human-hybrid Cylon models voices the concerns of their constituency. Humans’ blind hatred for Cylons prevents them from seeing the potential merits of Cylon social systems. Family metapors in wartime can create dysfunction, mask atrocities and encourage hatred of the “other.” Alternatives to “the family” may prove beneficial.
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