Let me make myself absolutely clear here: Coates' Black Panther kicks ass, but not in the way that we typically think of superheroes kicking ass. This book opens hard, with a group of Wakandan miners being influenced by an evil witch's spell to give into their resentment towards the monarchy, forcing T'Challa's (Black Panther's alter ego) soldiers to kill many of them defending him. If you're unaware of the Black Panther's history, insular mythology, and cast of characters, you'll be just as lost as I was, as Coates just throws the entirety of the conflict at you, along with all of the varied players. Complaining about not knowing all of the characters in a superhero book seems like a common one, and maybe even a pitfall of the medium/genre, but bear in mind, this is literally the first issue of a brand new run on an obscure character. It is literally Coates' responsibility to make us care. If I didn't feel like the narrative being told was important, I might not have pushed myself to read all 12 issues of this arc, and then reread it over and over again as I did. However, Coates did provide an annotation to this first issue, which is helpful I suppose. Here's the link. So we've got the Dora Milaje, a clan of warrior women. If you're confused, don't worry, I was too. The idea is that the Black Panther Cult, which serves as the military, religious, and ruling hub of the country of Wakanda, takes a young girl from each tribe. Raised from a young age to fight and be obedient to the throne, they make up a formidable fighting force, and the king, who serves in the role of Black Panther, protector and embodiment of Wakanda's great panther god, is expected to take one of these Dora Milaje as his wife. On page one of the first issue, before the massacre, we're told that T'Challa fled Wakanda in the wake of Thanos invading the country, was then caught aiding Namor (king of Atlantis) after he flooded Wakanda (under mind control), and was then summarily disowned by his dead father in the form a force ghost. It is with these indignities that we see T'Challa presiding over a slaughter of civilians as they lash out at him, propelled by the witches green magic. She's aligned with a terrorist named Tetu, who has tapped into the resentment the Wakandan's feel for their leader. His terrorist cell is tellingly called The People, similar to how other terrorist groups, like the PLO (Palestinian Liberation Front), who give them names that highlight their ideals, rather than their brutal actions and tactics. At Tetu's side is Zenzi, whose powers to dredge up the negativity in her foe's hearts and Tetu's own shamanistic control of nature appear to stem from the mystical core of Wakanda. Understanding the nature of Wakanda is crucial to grasping the nature of the conflict here, and why The People are able to gain so much ground so quickly. As mentioned in the first part of this series, Wakanda's identity is a fantastic one: it is the most powerful and advanced country on Earth, all due to their ownership of vibranium. Vibranium is a special metal that absorbs any impact and throws its force back, which means it does whatever the writer wants it to do. In fact, Captain America's shield is made from a vibranium-adamantium alloy, making it indestructible and vibrational. The Wakandans are the only ones in possession of the metal because a meteor made of it slammed into the region during the Stone Age, and is the properties of it is what allowed them to become so advanced. Because of this, Wakanda has never been colonized, conquered, or otherwise subjugated. Christianity, slavery, and the other nasty effects of first contact with Europeans have had no impact on Wakanda, though not for want of trying. Check out Reginald Hudlin's awesome Black Panther story, "Who is the Black Panther?" to see this in action. What would result is an African country that exists in the modern age, its history and culture from antiquity preserved, untainted by the corrosion of the religious wars of the middle ages, or the horrors of the colonial era. Wakanda has something no other African country has in the real world: an identity free of the evils of white slavery, and a distinct sense of belonging. They are a united front, defined by their freedom and history just as much as by their wondrous technology. This is all well and good, but why would Coates, a writer who is so fixated on the plight of African-Americans and the evils thrust on them by the latent undercurrent of white superacy, want to write a fantasy story about an African king defending his black utopia against domestic black terrorists? The answer isn't a simple one, but it involves the Dora Milaje, whom I'll discuss in the next part.
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