Some decades ago, as an excitable young teen, I purchased what these days we would consider to be a pulp magazine from my local newsagents. It turned out to be a religious publication aiming to proselytise young people, but what attracted me was the cover photograph from a TV sci fi series and the headline asking whether sci fi would be the religion of the coming decade.
No, I thought to myself in answer to the question, sci fi was based upon science and was secular – such consolation and reassurance coming from the contemporaneously messianic prophetic figure connected to Star Trek (Gene Roddenberry, also known as The Great Bird of the Galaxy). Any irony in my mindset was later discerned after intervening decades matured my life perspective.
But it cannot be denied that sci fi taps into a very powerful impulse that also empowers religion: seeking hope and consolation from awe, wonder, and pondering our individual/collective place in the Universe. (In my own case, I lost my reverence for religion in my twenties when I realised that while sci fi looks ahead, religion too often looks backward and seeks to perpetuate archaic attitudes and moralities that humanity strives to outgrow. I like to think, however, that science and sci fi enabled me to retain my sense of awe and wonder, and my questioning impulse).
It is this same sense of veneration of our cosmos and our material, humanist potential that was captured in the recent return of the Cosmos TV series (produced in part due to the hard work of Seth MacFarlane) and then extended into his more recent sci fi series, The Orville, which recently telecast season 3 after a COVID-induced hiatus.
The wait for Season 3 was worth it.
Whereas its first two seasons struggled to balance sci fi aspirations with low-brow populist college undergraduate humour, Season Three has matured into a series beyond its inspirational sources (the original Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation TV programs) and even occasionally outstripping them with nobility and marvel.
The longer production time for Season 3, along with presumably a bigger budget, have enabled the series to expand into a noble and creative masterpiece within which each episode rivals the length and cinematography of a TV movie. Forget college undergraduate humour; this is a serious and philosophical sci fi production.
The opening episode of Season 3 takes an excursion into our modern world: our fear of developing technology and emergent sentientism, wherein the character of Isaac is bullied to the point of desparation. While this touches upon a prejudice first explored by Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry who created a robot in his Questor Tapes TV pilot (he is credited as quoting the anti-robotic attitude of studio executives: “Yes, but would you want your sister to marry one?”) but it also provides arguably the weakest premise of the season, where prejudice and bullying are tolerated aboard the starship Orville with barely more than a metaphoric shrug and slap on the wrist. This opening episode also introduces the character of Charly, who is readily established as a nuanced but unlikeable character who must make her own journey through the season in order to find redemption.
Subsequent episodes explore strange new worlds both without and within. The Orville’s characters undertake journeys through metaphor and social issues that are as relevant as today’s news headlines: same sex marriage, LGBT rights, racism and prejudice, anti trans* bigotry and its ties with misogyny, war, hate and forgiveness, the morality of withholding life saving technology from deprived people, and definitions and clarifications of family. Go back and watch the first two seasons as an introduction to this optimistic season, which, retitled as The Orville: New Horizons, definitely takes us from familiar territory into new explorations of the human adventure.
The final episode (episode 10) brings Season 3 full circle, showing how race, culture and species can grow together into a form of family. This conclusion should be enough to bring human audiences (and a collective army of ten billion robots) to their feet in applause. In maturing into a serious series, the Orville points the way ahead with hope and optimism for our humanist and sentientist future. A new, better species traverses the heavens where once only trod the gods. All that and human too.
“The idea of leaving any species to die in its own filth when you have the ability to help them… it’s a bunch of fascist crap,”
– Robert Beltran, C│NET, 2016.
In 1939, the SS St Louis arrives in Cuba and then Miami, carrying hundreds of Jewish refugees who are fleeing the Holocaust. They are sent back to Europe, where many of them die. Just over 60 years later, in 2001, the MV Tampa arrives in Australian waters, carrying hundreds of (mainly) Afghan asylum seekers. The Australian government refuses to take them.
In 2019, a 26 year-old US missionary approaches an isolated group of indigenous people whom he is seeking to convert to Christianity, and they kill him in order to protect their culture, their privacy, and – although they may not realise it – their vulnerability to attack from microbes beyond their isolated island.
In August 2021, the US-led military forces in Afghanistan withdraw, leaving behind an inadequately trained defence force and a human rights catastrophe facing tens of millions of civilians who have been abandoned by the western nations. Critics of the US-led occupation argue that Afghanistan should be left to sort out its own problems.
Such examples – out of myriads in our recent and collective human history – demonstrate a principle that was examined in modern science fiction pop culture – within the Star Trek TV series.
To Boldly Go?
Elizabeth Welch provides a succinct summary of the principle within the Star Trek franchise:
“The Prime Directive, or Starfleet General Order 1, states that members of Starfleet are prohibited from interfering with the internal and natural development of alien civilizations. In other words, colonization of inhabited worlds is a no-go.”
Various episodes of various Star Trek series have explored the Prime Directive,often pitting Enterprise crew members against indigenous laws or customs that they consider to be barbaric or ethically unsupportable.
YouTuber Steve Shives points out the problem with this principle, even within the context of the Star Trek series: “At some point, one of the writers or producers must have noticed that pledging to uphold a non-interference principle is kind of an odd thing for people to do when their primary mission is to seek out new life and new civilisations…” (Shives, 2018b, @4:10). He also asks whether it is ethical to prevent saving a civilisation that faces extinction from a natural disaster.
All in all, the Prime Directive might seem to be an interesting intellectual exercise, except…
Falling Back to Earth
Star Trek’s Prime Directive was problematic from the start. The original series forbade the Enterprise crew from interfering with the ‘natural’ development of any indigenous world – undoubtedly as a response to US involvement in the real-life Vietnam War. The original series treated the Prime Directive with ambiguity, as Eric Greene (2006, 60) points out:
“…in the course of the series, the Prime Directive was often debated, occasionally derided, but rarely obeyed. The Prime Directive was not a directive as much as it was the Prime Question: how much power should a superpower use when dealing with other peoples?”
Exceptions to the rule of non-interference were permitted (and frequently carried out by Kirk) if deemed necessary to reset a cultural aberration back onto ‘healthy’ development or to rescue victims of injustice. One commentator summed up Kirk’s frequent violation of this policy: “The Prime Directive was instituted to protect people. When the directive gets in the way of protecting people, ignore it … People will be more important than rules.” (Marinaccio, 1994, 50.)
This was a humanitarian principle that the sequel series Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG) conceded in the 1989 episode, Justice, the very first time its characters clashed with alien laws:
“There can be no justice so long as laws are absolute. Even life itself is an exercise in exceptions.”
“When has justice ever been as simple as a rulebook?”
– Picard and Riker
And yet in this episode, there was a problem with this outcome – Riker and Picard seemed to be making excuses on why their own people should be singled out for special treatment, implying that Federation citizens were entitled to human rights whereas citizens of other (or indigenous) planets were not – a form of apartheid. Here we see a fundamental change. The Prime Directive had been written into the original Star Trek series as a means to challenge the 1960s Vietnam War and thereby confront cultural imperialism that was being enacted by a superpower. Two decades later, the same Directive was reinterpreted in the era of the Gulf War (and wars in Rwanda and Bosnia and Iraq and other places, US aggression in Paraguay and Libya and Panama etc) to reinforce the entitlement of superpower citizens – the metaphoric Federation – with human rights that were denied to those living on subordinate worlds.
In 2021, we see the real-life outcome of such a disgusting policy – the withdrawal of western military troops from Afghanistan, and the abandonment of tens of millions of human lives on the implicit justification that these lives are somehow of lesser value than those of people in western nations.
On the whole, TNG prohibited virtually all interaction between the Enterprise crew and indigenous worlds which might allow for the transfer of technology, morality or life saving necessities. Needy planets were denied technology until their civilisations collapsed (“The Last Outpost”), drug traffickers were allowed free travel (“Symbiosis”), and even planetary genocide was allowed (“Homeward”). In this allegorical future, ethnic cleansing would be dismissed as a localised problem, a Christian theocracy would be free to persecute gays, and honour killings would be permitted across the galaxy wherever women were oppressed under some interplanetary version of Sharia law. This dystopia is far removed from the humanist utopia envisaged within the original Star Trek series.
Possibly the worst offender of Prime Defectiveness can be found in the first season of the series Star Trek: Enterprise in 2002 (just after the real-life ‘War on Terror’ had commenced), where the captain and doctor debate the ethics of their eventual collusion to conduct planetary genocide (by neglect) upon a sentient species in the episode, Dear Doctor. One wonders whether the Jewish staff working within the Star Trek offices had ever heard of the Holocaust.
In 2003, under a pen name, I criticised the ethics presented in this episode:
“… Captain Archer alludes to the Prime Directive, which [in his timeline] is not yet written. He decides that until any such set of rules is in place, he will not “play God” – but then he does exactly that – plays God – by genociding a whole race. We would suggest that Archer’s humanitarian attitude for most of the episode should have led to his proclamation that until the Prime Directive was written, he would always err on the side of compassion” (Gaetano, 2003, 6).
Nearly twenty years later, I agree with Edward Clint, who in a cogent written piece, argues that the Prime Directive is an example of Star Trek’s Doctrine of Moral Laziness:
“The utopian future of Star Trek (most specifically, that of The Next Generation [TNG]) is sometimes described as an idealized liberal world… Unfortunately, TNG also encodes some of the utter failures of 20th century liberal thought. The consequences of adopting them, whether in fiction or real life, can be pretty horrifying, not to mention morally disgusting.”
Star Trek was originally born during the era of hippies, civil rights, and baby boomers at the height of their idealism. Decades later, younger generations have rebooted the franchise to be less optimistic, more nuanced and sadly much more cynical. Let’s use that nuance to correct and reboot the Prime Directive so it becomes an inspirational philosophy rather that a source of nihilism and human rights abuse. Star Trek has the power to inspire and educate; let’s make it so.
Sources:
Adrian Gaetano, 2003. ‘Review: Enterprise: Bad Science, Bad Fiction’, in Geoff Allshorn and Miriam English (eds.), Diverse Universe: Newsletter for the club ‘Spaced Out’, Melbourne: Spaced Out, #16, June, 4 – 6.
Eric Greene, 2006. ‘The prime question’, in David Gerrold & Robert J Sawyer (eds.), Boarding the Enterprise: transporters, tribbles and the Vulcan death grip in Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek, Dallas: BenBella Books, 57 – 86.
Dave Marinaccio, 1994. All I really needed to know I learned from watching Star Trek, London: Titan Books.
Ian Sherr, 2016. Star Trek’s Robert Beltran: The Prime Directive is ‘fascist crap’, C│NET, 7 Sept.
Steve Shives, 2018a. Did Captain Archer Actually Commit Genocide?, YouTube, 18 April.
– – – – – – -, 2018b. Why the Prime Directive Might Actually Be a Terrible Rule, YouTube, 23 May.
You recently skimmed my bookshelves full of Babylon 5 DVDs, and novels by Clarke, Asimov and Le Guin. Then, you asked me your questions about “sci fi”. “Haven’t you outgrown these childish stories?” one of you asked. “Why does this fairy tale stuff appeal to you?” added the other, disparagingly. I felt like I was fifteen years old again, being chastised for staying up too late at night to watch a scratchy episode of Star Trek. But here is my answer.
I enjoy science fiction because it allows me to view the world through the eyes of a child – a youthful and enquiring mind. It gives me the chance to retain a childlike (not “childish”) sense of magic and awe at the world around me. Like a child, I can view everyone and everything as being full of potential and possibilities.
I enjoy science fiction because it is not fairy tale stuff. It is literature that dares to promise me possible utopias or warn me of possible dystopias. It challenges me to act, to take my individual place in the timeline of history, to actively create the future that I would want for myself and for those who will follow.
I enjoy science fiction because it renews my sense of wonder at the Universe. It reminds me of the insignificance of human ego when compared to the magnitude of galaxies, interstellar distances and planetary timescales. It tells me that our daily news – dominated by wars, politicians, economists and sports heroes – is fleeting and transitory. Science fiction reassures me that the beauty of the stars and galaxies will endure, long after our petty worries have been forgotten.
I enjoy science fiction because it promises me that humanity has a future, full of dreamers, explorers and heroes. It promotes the joy of diversity – including aliens, robots, cyber citizens, sentients, men and women, queer and trans and gender non-binary humans – all living together in peace and equality.
I enjoy science fiction because it prepares me for that future. It has introduced me to many concepts from tomorrow’s world – cloning, IVF, mobile phones, the Internet, space travel, ecological problems, robotics, computers and virtual reality – in many cases, years before the “mainstream” even considered the possibilities.
I enjoy science fiction because it has given me friends who represent the future. They are folk with open and enquiring minds, and they display a healthy scepticism about so many of society’s assumptions. They are true scientists in a world that too often equates science with militarism, religion or superstition.
I enjoy science fiction because I recall a television series, “The Invaders”, from the misty days of my childhood. The plot focussed on aliens invading the planet but symbolised American fears about communist infiltrators. In retrospect, I now see the show as an unintentional metaphor for gays and lesbians, bisexuals, transgender and intersex people living in every strata of society. We are here – get used to it.
I enjoy science fiction because it is a form of literature that will one day become “mainstream” literature – when the rest of the world is ready to accept its challenges.
I enjoy science fiction because it is all of these things – and more. It always promises me that the best is yet to come.
The popularity of the original series of Star Trek is based, in no small part, upon its portrayal of racial equality, possibly explained most succinctly by Star Trek actor George Takei (2015, @4:35 minutes) when he postulated that the starship Enterprise was a metaphor for starship Earth, adding that: “… the strength of this starship lay in its diversity…”. The show’s racial mix was exemplified in its most famous interracial kiss during a third season episode, Plato’s Stepchildren, originally telecast in November 1968. This legendary kiss forms one of Star Trek‘s most endearing urban myths, and serves as a focus of intersectionality entwining societal racism, misogyny and homophobia. The episode in question was a favourite of one of my Star Trek friends and mentors, Diane Marchant, because it also featured a kiss between Spock and Christine Chapel, but for some reason, even as an adolescent, I greatly detested the episode, although I could never quite clarify to myself why I disliked it so much.
Eric Greene (2006, 59) points out one of its obvious problems, and in doing so, he provided me with a personal revelation as to why I had always found this episode repulsive: ‘Kirk and Uhura were forced into that kiss – it was desired by neither and resisted by both. And a Black woman forced to kiss a white man against her will ain’t romance. It’s rape.’
Oops. It is time for Star Trek‘s 23rd century to have its own #MeToo moment.
Another major problem is that, according to this urban myth, the smooch was television’s first interracial kiss – which is incorrect. It was not even Star Trek‘s first interracial kiss. Kirk kissed Marlena Moreau in Mirror Mirror, an episode that aired the year before Plato’s Stepchildren (O’Boogie, 2015). Another, earlier interracial Star Trek kiss featured Khan Noonian Singh and Marla McGivers in the episode Space Seed; their romance having been made possible by the removal of an even earlier interracial relationship that had been planned for first season episode, The Alternative Factor (Cushman with Osborn, 2013, 474 – 476).
In all myths – urban and otherwise – the mythical and fictional dimensions grow as time passes, and mundane details can later assume Olympian proportions. We see this metamorphosis take place within living memory, wherein the mythology of Roswell grows from shattered weather balloon to alien visitation, and then to full-blown government conspiracy within a few short years. Similarly, having been a Star Trek fan for about fifty years, I can testify that in the 1970s, Plato’s Stepchildren was considered to be just another episode, and was not seen as being anything significant in Star Trek lore. It was only some years later, perhaps after The Next Generation, that I seem to recall ever hearing the idea that Plato’s Stepchildren gave us television’s first interracial kiss. This was not the only Star Trek urban myth that appears to have developed some years after the original events, to accommodate the needs of the franchise expanding to meet audience demands. But like all myths, this tale tells us perhaps more in its unpacking than in its telling: we desire racial equality, and a utopian story featuring utopian heroes is more uplifting and emotionally appealing than more mundane realities.
The realities are that various interracial kisses had already appeared on US TV as far back as 1951, when Lucille Ball kissed Dezi Arnaz Jr (Mcleod, 2015). In a wider scope, a television kiss between black and white participants actually first took place (O’Boogie, 2015) in a 1959 TV program called Pension Hommeles on Netherlands TV; followed by a similar kiss (Mcleod, 2015) in a 1962 UK TV play, You In Your Small Corner. Even the first season of US western series The Wild, Wild West – which I would see as a template for much of what happened later in Star Trek – featured an interracial kiss between a Caucasian man and an Asian woman in 1966 (Jay, 2019).
The presumption within all these kisses was heteronormativity. By contrast, David Gerrold (2014) points to a very early Star Trek episode, What Are Little Girls Made Of?, which includes a scene where Uhura spontaneously gives a ‘sisterly’ kiss to Christine Chapel in a moment of shared excitement. It is there that we find Star Trek‘s first interracial kiss, possibly overlooked for fifty years because it involves a same-sex kiss between two women. Yet the ‘groundbreaking’ kiss which Star Trek promotes in its urban mythology is the patriarchal, heterosexual rape kiss (with racist overtones) between Kirk and Uhura.
Our human adventure is just beginning; and we do not need to invent fallacious myths in order to find inspiration. By all means, let us find value and significance and vision in our modern literature and art, but let’s base these stories upon truth and positive human values. Star Trek was transformative as television; we do not need false folklore to fully appreciate its positive humanism.
Sources:
Marc Cushman with Susan Osborn, 2013. These Are The Voyages: TOS Season 1, (Revised Edition), San Diego: Jacobs/Brown Press.
David Gerrold, 2014. Facebook posting, 7 November, accessed 1 November 2016.
Eric Greene, 2006. ‘The Prime Question’, in David Gerrold & Robert J Sawyer (eds.), Boarding the Enterprise: Transporters, Tribbles and the Vulcan Death Grip in Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek, Dallas: BenBella Books, 57 – 86.
Kayla Iacovino et al, 2015. Oh Captain, My Captain (Kirk), Women at Warp, Episode 6, 10 May. (See also Rebecca’s response of 22 July 2015 on that webpage).
Maurice Mcleod, 2015. ‘Why TV’s first interracial kiss is a proud British snog’, The Guardian, 24 November.
Dr Winston O’Boogie, 2015. ‘Did Star Trek really show TV’s first interracial kiss?’, The Agony Booth, updated 22 November.
George Takei, 2015. In Neil DeGrasse Tyson (host), Star Talk, 20th Century Fox.
