XPost: alt.politics.usa, alt.tv.star-trek.tos, rec.arts.sf.tv
XPost: rec.arts.tv

To vastly over-simplify a decades-long conflict involving dozens or
more countries and myriad shifting allegiances, the Cold War was
fundamentally about two warring ideologies: capitalism and
communism. And while most wars have their ideological components
(even if those components don’t extend beyond “we want that land”
vs. “no”), the nature of this particular struggle meant that the
power of ideas took center stage. For many Americans in the ’50s and
’60s, communism wasn’t just a different way of thinking, but a
conceptual virus threatening to corrupt anyone foolish enough to
listen. It’s a rigid perspective that treats the open discussion of
ideas as an invitation to collapse—a position that sits directly
opposed to the humanist philosophy at the heart of the original Star
Trek.

One part of the greatness of that series, which aired around the
time the Vietnam War was starting to really pull in public notice,
was its freedom to explore allegory in a pulpy, sci-fi setting. The
original Trek was never consistent; to modern eyes, its frequently
ham-fisted writing, sexism, sluggish pacing, and lack of continuity
between episodes can take some adjustments to accept. But at the
show’s peak, those flaws could never obscure the raw energy that
drove the adventures of Kirk, Spock, and the rest of the crew of the Enterprise, nor the way that energy so often coalesced behind a
fundamentally optimistic view of the universe.

Take “The Corbomite Maneuver” from season one. While gallivanting
through space one fine afternoon, the Enterprise enters into a
conflict with a larger, more powerful ship. Kirk saves the day by
bluffing his way through the encounter, only to learn that the
captain of this unknown ship is a lonely alien no larger than a
human child. In facing each other down, both sides made decisions
based on their fears of what the other was capable of, and it was
only in putting aside that fear that Kirk and the others are able to
make contact and form a lasting peace. [Umm, that's not what I
recall happening at all!]

Again and again on the series, we see that communication is the
solution to problems, and that understanding your enemy (if they
even are an enemy) is the only way to resolve a dangerous situation.
It’s a concept that seems to belie every piece of Cold War doctrine
foisted on the American public. The Red Menace was a danger so
insidious, so malignant, that even trying to understand its beliefs
and systems meant a form of surrender. This wasn’t just a physical
force, but a kind of philosophical brain snatcher whose tendrils, if
left unchecked, would lay waste to the free world.

That kind of paranoid faith in the untouchable—the assumption that
some beliefs must be walled away in silence and fear—was something
that Star Trek stood against in stark opposition. But that
opposition didn’t presume that such openness would be easy. In “A
Taste Of Armageddon,” another episode from the show’s first season,
Kirk and the rest beam down to a planet engaged in a centuries-long
conflict with an enemy they’ve never seen. Their “war” is done by
computer; variables are counted up, death tolls are assigned, and
each side is held responsible for killing off the assigned number of
its own citizens.

It’s a chilling, if somewhat implausible, view of a society that
gives over everything, even war, to the machines. But underneath the
science fiction is a chilling end game view of the American/Russian
conflict. As each side becomes further entrenched in its own
philosophies, and further determined to protect those philosophies
from even the slightest whiff of outside perspective, the appeal of
a “hand’s free” war becomes increasingly apparent. In “Armageddon,”
Kirk is told that the computer systems were designed to prevent the
destructive cost of conflict, the attrition to society and culture
of long-term battle, but it might just as well have been a way to
keep either side from talking to one another. Read the printouts,
warm up the disintegrator booths, and make sure no one ever picks up
a phone; that’s how you keep the balance of power in check.

Kirk, of course, is having none of this, but his solution—destroying
the booths and the computers—doesn’t offer immediate peace. In fact,
his goal (as he explains in a speech that borders on gloating) is to
force the locals to get up close and personal with the ugliness of
real war, to make them get their hands dirty and realize the actual
horror of the experience. It’s a speech that rings slightly hollow
in context, but carries considerable weight outside of the episode.
Americans were getting their first real taste of what actual war was
like in footage shipped home from Vietnam, and here was Kirk,
preaching the gospel of in-your-face carnage. But even then, the
core message remains consistent: If people of “Armageddon” had to
deal with an actual fight, they might finally have to reach out to
their enemy and talk things through.

Yet even with its faith in the power of communication, Star Trek was
never less than clear about which side of the conversation would
ultimately win out. If a number of episodes revolved around the
importance of treating with an opponent on common ground, just as
many featured Kirk waltzing into some society, deciding he didn’t
like how things were done, and wrecking up the place with his good
old fashioned (American) values.

“A Taste Of Armageddon” is one example, albeit one where it’s hard
to argue against Kirk’s ultimate decision. Things are a little more
unclear in “The Apple,” a second season episode that has our heroes
landing on a planet where a group of childlike adults live their
lives at the behest and beneficence of a computer in a cave. The
adults have no concept of sex or violence, and live in a state of
Eden-like innocence. So Kirk, for reasons that nearly make sense,
decides to destroy the computer and introduce the nice people to
what it’s like to be a real human being.

The way this decision (with some minor pushback from McCoy) is
presented as a triumph for everyone involved betrays a certain lack
of objectivity on the part of the writers, the assumption that,
while we’re open to discussion, let’s not kid ourselves as to what
the real, best way of life actually is. Perhaps that was why the
show was able to get away with its subversive optimism. At its
heart, that optimism was founded on an unwavering belief in the
righteousness of its own assumptions. Hard to get more American than
that.

--
On this horrific day of terrorism when 9 Americans were wounded,
Pres Obama took-in a baseball game and had a great time.
Take THAT, ISIS!!

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
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