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wordsandrobots · 2 months

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IBO reference notes on . . . deals with the devil

As @gremoria411 rightly commented, I skipped over Isurugi in my essay on character parallels in Iron-Blooded Orphans, even though he's part of a fourth 'leader/follower' dynamic, after Orga and Mika, Gaelio and Ein, and Rustal and Julieta.

And I was thinking about that and why exactly I left him out of the previous essay (beyond tripartite symmetry) when I got to contemplating an aspect of the show of which he's an excellent illustration. So let's get Faustian and unpick the devil's bargains made throughout IBO. Spoilers, as ever, ahoy, and this was also partly inspired by a post from @ember-amber, so cheers for that!

An arm and a leg

I should start with the obvious. Mikazuki's 'deal' with Barbatos, unleashing the Gundam's full power in exchange for the loss of his motor functions, first in his right arm, then down his whole right side, is the bluntest example of a character bargaining for greater power. Indeed, we might press the point and say it's not just his body Mika gives up for the sake of victory but his soul, tying himself ever closer to his mobile suit to the exclusion of the things he once sought beyond the battlefield. He resigns himself to always being what Barbatos allows him to be: the gun Orga fires to destroy obstacles. The hints of livelier, more well-rounded person are subsumed by unrelenting warfare. A boy who cannot stop, even when there is nobody left to order him into the fray, bound to a mechanical nightmare.

Yet to single this out is to overlook that Barbatos isn't the first devil's bargain Mika and the rest of Tekkadan have made in their short lives. Employment as a child at the CGS is predicated on Alaya-Vijnana surgery, after all, and even if that doesn't cripple them, their elevation from the gutter is marked by exchanging one uncaring environment for another. The Third Group are mistreated by adults who see them as disposable and draw scant distinction between volunteers, like Orga, Mikazuki and Takaki, and Human Debris, indentured workers on whom the surgery is actively imposed.

There is an extent to which the distinct is scant in any case. A choice may still be an active one when it is coerced but there are reasons we consider coercion a factor in making moral judgements. Can people be held responsible for decisions made under duress? We generally agree responsibility is lessened or even mitigated in such cases. And what is more coercive than facing a choice between slow starvation and the offer of being fed and paid, albeit at the cost of risking a much quicker end?

Well. Except we also – socially speaking – judge harshly those who trade acts of violence for money. Even when circumstances are considered to mitigate some of the blame, are we ever prepared to excuse fighting and killing on the basis those responsible would otherwise have suffered in poverty?

I don't raise simply as a vague 'makes you think' point. Iron-Blooded Orphans does not overly concern itself with the morality of killing (I'd go so far as to say it actively dismisses the question as meaningless). It is, however, rooted in a world where killing is an ugly necessity, not just for the sake of various causes, but as an act of survival. That is what Tekkadan becomes, for the CGS Third Group. A means of surviving in the face of forces that really would crush them if they did not take a stand. Through their bargain with the adult mercenaries who augmented them, they entered a life of fight or be killed. A struggle for dominance at the bottom of the heap. And they are damned for it.

In the eyes of their society, they are monstrous aberrations. It does not matter that they are in many respects typical, reflecting the exploitation on which the world runs. Their brief stint as heroes is overshadowed by contempt and disgust, by the social taboos they break simply by existing, and by their status as scapegoats, sinking the entirety of the blame for the violence they were a party to. Isn't that the ultimate cost of the deal they made? Their innocence as perceived by others, tarnished such that they can never again be the children they were when they signed on the dotted line.

It is interesting to consider the implications this has regarding the Calamity War and the origin of the Gundam frames. We know, of course, that Gjallarhorn actively demonised (hur hur) the very technology that staved off humanity's extermination by the mobile armours. This appears to have been an act of self-interest, ensuring those advancements remained solely in their control, though the details are vague at best – as always, McGillis must be considered an unreliable source. Nevertheless, their efforts were only partially successful, with a cruder version of the Alaya-Vijnana becoming prevalent in the outer-spheres of Mars and Jupiter (and indeed the inner-sphere of Venus; basically everywhere outside Earth and the near-Earth colonies). They managed to make the thing taboo at home while failing to suppress its use abroad. Stop me if you've heard this one before.

And yet the fact remains: the Alaya-Vijnana and the Gundam frames ended the War. We get to see exactly what a fully-unleashed Gundam is capable of and if we are to parallel the deal Mikazuki makes with Barbatos to those Tekkadan as a whole made on entering their life as soldiers, what then can we say about the original Gundam pilots? They must have been under immense pressure to achieve victory, with the fate of the species on the line. Said victory depended on releasing limiters placed inside their mobile suits to protect them from the strain maximum power would put on their bodies. How many, therefore, willingly ended up in the same state as Mika – or worse?

We don't know. But I don't think it an irrelevant detail that Gjallarhorn's prominence as a military organisation is rooted in this possibility, especially since there are more direct parallels with Tekkadan. Ein opts to side with those who oppress his mother's home planet on behalf of a distant imperial centre and he too trades something for security with that decision, though what we call it may depend on well-disposed we feel towards him. Self-respect? Loyalty to his fellow Martians? Whatever the case, his fanatical tendencies were likely not mellowed by the weight of his choice.

Moreover, what the boys in Tekkadan materially are is at most an extreme version of what your average Gjallarhorn solider is: somebody selling their capacity for violence for the means to survive. For all that the show focuses on the likes of Ein, Julieta, and the other extra-loyal elite forces, we still get plenty of cutaways to troops just doing their jobs. The captain of the Sleipnir, grudgingly setting sail on his daughter's birthday. The CO on the bridge at Edmonton, refusing to waste his men's effort doing more than holding the line. The men deployed during the final episode, frightened and scrambling to survive Mikazuki's ferocity.

They all signed up to do violence. They must have had some idea about what they were getting into, likely more so than anyone who joined the CGS as a pre-teen. Again, this is their job. It could get them killed, or at least maimed, and will certainly lead to them killing others. But in the end, it beats poverty.

These characters exist on a spectrum of bodily sacrifice in exchange for material gains. From Human Debris (fight or die), through Tekkadan (fight to have basic human necessities), on to Gjallarhorn (fight or have less power within society) and to the original Gundam pilots (fight or watch the entire species die), the divisions are by degree rather than kind.

Even Gaelio, the most privileged and 'righteous' character (in the sense of being driven by moral indignation, not practical concerns), expends his body and personal beliefs to get what he's after. Though ending the series in a state comparable to Mikazuki is a personal decision rather than a direct consequence of his Gundam claiming a price for its power, it still stems from an embrace of the taboo.

A soldier is, definitionally, a paid gun. States and businesses exchange money with those willing to kill others – something otherwise generally agreed to be an act punishable by society's rules. This is, for better and worse, the transaction that defines our cast.

Dealing with the devious

In this context, the Gundams are admirably frank. As machines, they cannot dress up what they offer or will take for it. It is left to human characters to play the part of the deceitful tempter.

Via Hush's flashbacks to a cheery Builth heading off to join the CGS, we can form the impression that Arkay Maruba's men did not initially present themselves as the harsh taskmasters they proved to be for anyone who receive a successful implant. This may seem trivial compared to other lies witnessed throughout the show, but I don't know that the rest are much deeper. Honeyed words covering a brutal reality is par for the course when the world is brutal realities all the way down.

In this regard, there is a distinction to be drawn between those offering things at a terrible cost and those who do so dishonestly. Consider Teiwaz: their wealth is underpinned by cold, ruthless calculation and cold, ruthless violence. The conglomerate is staffed by perfectly nice people like Merribit Stapleton, but run by the likes of McMurdo Barriston and Jasley Donomikols, who will kill those who get in their way. McMurdo displays many endearing traits and an indulgent generosity. He also uses Tekkadan to remove a threat to his power, then cuts them off so this act cannot cause infighting between his other lieutenants. His breaking of the sakazuki cup Orga returns to him is a canny move, as by doing so he washes his hands of culpability in Tekkadan's actions. Given the structure of Teiwaz, the other subsidiary leaders would likely have felt threatened if he'd overtly squashed Jasley. This way, he gets that same outcome while also dispelling any notion he plays favourites, because he instantly expels those punk kids everyone was worried about, despite his proven soft-spot for them. Order and peace are restored; business can continue as usual.

Which is appalling and hardly counterbalanced by the aid he gives to Orga afterwards (although, to be clear, I don't think you can dismiss said aid either: he is taking a risk by helping Tekkadan out of the hole he shoved them into; he's just also the one who shoved them into it in the first place).

But we're told who McMurdo is from the word go. And so are Tekkadan. Naze makes very clear the Old Man is driven primarily by seeking profit. This has an upside in that he is not concerned with how said profits are made or who he has to deal with to get them. It also has a major downside for those exact same reasons. I don't believe he ever misrepresents himself. He is frighteningly blunt with Orga by the end. His actions, ultimately, are in line with everything anybody ever says about him (except Jasley, who makes the mistake of assuming McMurdo growing old represents weakness, not outliving challengers). The grandfatherly persona, the cannoli and the bonsai trees – these aren't affectations concealing monstrous depths. McMurdo Barriston simply happens to be a gentleman getting on in years, who enjoys good food and gardening, who will absolutely crush anyone who obstructs his interests.

No, for the real devious bastards we have to look elsewhere. Let's start with the Moustache Man. Todo Micronen is introduced in all his pot-bellied glory slacking off on beating Takaki, Danji and Ride over being too slow at their mine-laying practice. For a brief, shining moment, he gets to look semi-decent in comparison to the real bruisers of the CGS First Group.

Then he sells the newly-formed Tekkadan out to Gjallarhon.

Todo makes a show of being on Orga's side, ingratiating himself to the new leadership with his connections and greater life-experience. That experience, however, is predicated on looking out for number one. In the face of the space police stomping them all to get hold of Kudelia, Todo makes a deal to save his own skin. Unfortunately for him, he isn't what we might call good at appearing trustworthy. Orga and Biscuit twig he's up to something and Tekkadan escape the trap, leaving a beaten-up Todo for McGillis to find. This nicely demonstrates that our heroes aren't complete suckers: Orga follows Todo's suggestions because he's not in a position refuse the assistance if it's genuine, but he's smart enough to plan for the alternative.

At first, Kudelia's dealings with Nobliss Gordon lack this awareness. Where Todo gives strong used-car salesman vibes, Nobliss is more competent at wrapping other people around his little finger. Additionally, rather than trusting solely to gullibility, he positions Fumitan as a watchdog on Kudelia's actions, so that whatever he says, he'll always have final control of the outcome. And it seems he really would say anything, to anyone, to get what he's after. He deals with virtually every major faction in the show, assisting them by turns, the proverbial arms-dealer who will sell to both sides, willing to set in moment immense amounts of bloodshed if it increases his revenue.

Notably, when Kudelia eventually discovers his true nature, her reaction differs from Orga's jettisoning of Todo. Rather than breaking from Nobliss, she seeks to reverse their relative positions so that she is using him. Thereafter, she continues to take his money in spite of recognising his motives. If he wants her to be the face of a revolutionary movement creating profitable instabilities, he must keep giving her the resources to pursue her goals. It's a tenuous, strained relationship that ultimately proves a hindrance to saving the people she cares for. But it too is an demonstration, of how sometimes one cannot simply extract oneself from bargains that provide material advantages. For the sake of inching the world forward, it can be necessary to make deals you know benefit those whose aims run contrary to your own.

Which brings us to McGillis.

With McGillis, the lines between deceiver and deceived blur. It's hard to claim he's honest in his dealings with Tekkadan. There is a lopsidedness to the arrangement, whereby he exploits their combat ability for his own ends while offering little more than pie in the sky in return. His grand promises amount to nothing and for all the munitions he funnels their way, he never gives them anything that doesn't ultimately serve his goals alone. He simply provides the means to fight more effectively: the thing he needs from them, not what they require to prosper.

On the other hand, did he believe he would be able to fulfil those promises, eventually? McGillis spends the entire series working towards a dream of absolute control over Gjallarhorn, a position from which he would have the means to dispense boons to his supporters. Whether he'd have followed through on doing so is an open question. But his admiration for Tekkadan appears sincere, so he might well have tried, as poor an idea as it is to give planet-ruling power to a bunch of violent children and, by extension, their mafia benefactors.

We don't know for sure, because ultimately the person McGillis fooled most was himself. He sold his soul to an ideal taken from an old book and willingly embraced the cost, taking an active role in tearing apart everything good in his life. He is at once devil and bargainer, spinning fairytales from his own self-deception and becoming a Pied Piper, leading others inexorably to the same doom that awaits him.

Any star in the dark

Knowing what you're getting into is a vital component of Faustian pacts. Some people do, and work frantically to ameliorate the negative consequences. Some do not, and are struck down when things do not work out the way they imagined. Getting out of the bargain, or trying to, is usually the meat of stories that feature this device so it follows that it matters whether entering them is done with knowledge or ignorance.

I've discussed Kudelia, who starts out naïve and learns better, and Orga, who makes some bargains with full understanding (Todo, Teiwaz, Makanai too) and some with a mistaken belief in their worth (McGillis). Of these two, I would categorise Kudelia as a pragmatist who recognises the world is such that a successful path forward is built on compromise, and Orga as a gambler, always seeking the quickest route to the highest reward. I won't dwell here too much on stuff I've discussed elsewhere about what drives Orga to act this way except to say that it is as much about the desperation of his circumstances as the desire to possess greater riches.

This is a pattern throughout the show, with characters committing to long odds and risky activities to escape miserable situations. And it repeats once more with Isurugi Camice, McGillis' stalwart aide-de-camp, introduced at the start of Season 2.

It is clear from the word go that he is as loyal a supporter of McGillis' intentions to reform Gjallarhorn as you could hope to find. Furthermore, McGillis trusts him to an exceptional degree. Isurugi is party to all the technical details of the coup, serving as the means by which the moving parts are organised, representing McGillis when it is no longer possible for 'The General' to leave Earth unnoticed, and acting as his wingman in battle. Eventually, this dogged support proves Isurugi's undoing. He is fatally injured while intercepting a killing blow Gaelio meant for McGillis.

At this point, we learn what lies behind his loyalty: like Ein, he is a colony-born member of Gjallarhorn and without a well-placed patron, he would have no prospects. With McGillis' help, he was able to achieve a higher rank and consequently, as he puts it, in McGillis' presence he was able to dream of a better future. Even if it meant the bloodshed that comes of trying to overthrow the Seven Stars' historical control of the organisation – including his own blood, shed on Gaelio's knee-mounted drill bit – he believed it worthwhile to throw in his lot with his General.

Predictably, Gaelio reacts by declaring this a delusion perpetrated by McGillis, with no real possibility of coming true. And while he is broadly correct about the second part of that conclusion, it's worth stressing that Gaelio is textually Always Wrong™ about McGillis right up to their final scene together. He thoroughly misunderstands his ex-friend's motivations and fails to recognise where McGillis' priorities lie at key moments (see the business with the mobile armour; Gaelio takes a fully cynical view of it, not realising McGillis is about the only person to genuinely comprehend the threat Hashmal poses ahead of time).

Moreover, as Isurugi tells him during a dying monologue, Gaelio lacks first-hand experience of what it's like to have no future worth a damn. For all Ein taught Gaelio to look beyond his privileged life, he never has to live long-term with the knowledge that things cannot get better. Isurugi did. And when given the option, he chose a path offering a chance of improvement, however far-fetched and however costly.

Now, we are talking about another character who voluntarily joined the colonial police to improve his lot. Isurugi is presented more sympathetically than Ein but their similarities extend to partaking in the same moral compromise. Becoming a solider, specifically one tasked with enforcing imperial rule, is a way out of being just another oppressed citizen, sure, but the fact that oppression extends to the inside is perhaps not a sob-story stirring too much sympathy. At the same time, the structure of the dilemma echoes those faced by the members of Tekkadan or the people of the Dorts: when the stakes are (or are perceived to be) extreme, extreme responses become understandable.

Indeed, the Dort arc is a useful point of comparison, since it represents an opposing pole of reaction. Rather than seeking to escape via collaboration with the authorities, the workers aim to match strength with them, forcing conditions on the colonies to be recognised and resolved. Consequently, Mr Navona's union makes a deal with Nobliss Gordon, under the misassumption that he is a benefactor to their cause. In this way, they are set up to take a fall Gjallarhorn wipes out those who wanted merely to strongarm the Dort Company to the negotiation table and allows those in favour of more immediately violent solutions to run riot as an excuse for further executions.

Notable here is that the union commits to the threat of violence when they march on the Company HQ. There are no pacifists in this scenario, only a debate about the most effective use of the available weaponry. Everyone gambles that fighting the system head-on will bring a reward.

And the system slaughters them, because it has a far greater capacity for violence than they could hope to possess. It is only through the last-minute tying of Gjallarhorn's hands that anything good comes out of the uprising (and even this is tainted, both by the bargain Kudelia makes with Nobliss, binding herself closer to the devil she knows, and by the long-term consequences of Gjallarhorn's escalating action against colonial liberation movements come Season 2).

Perhaps having seen this kind of thing happen, it isn't any wonder Isurugi would look to someone within the system for hope. To him, McGillis is a bright spark of possibility, worth chasing because at least then he can believe there might be a better world than the one he currently finds himself in. McGillis has institutional power, he is charismatic and clever, and he wants to sweep aside those who administer an unjust structure without complaint. These are alluring qualities even when it is clear the endeavour will to lead to loss, violence and death.

There is no gain without cost. And sometimes, the cost is worth the prospect of the gain.

The final bargain

To an extent, Iron-Blooded Orphans is a story about how this is a fool's logic. In the end, even Mikazuki's honest bargain with Barbatos is a trap, stripping him of the capacity to be anything more than an instrument of violence. 'When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail' is not quite the phrase we want here, but Tekkadan are certainly a group of people who, via the deals they have made, lack opportunities to learn how to use other tools. In many ways, Kudelia, Ein, Isurugi, Naze, Savarin etc. are no different. So many people driven into arrangements that come around to harm them, because that is the nature of things. However pure or understandable or sympathetic the reasons behind the choice, there are always consequences.

And yet, in a world built from pacts between devils and fools, everyone is subject to the same traps. The figures we can identify as playing Satan to our many Fausts are each themselves someone else's supplicant. Todo becomes McGillis' cat's-paw. Nobliss is cowed by McMurdo's greater power, while McMurdo has to tread carefully around Gjallarhorn, as embodied in Rustal Elion. And Elion himself has to make his own deals. As he admits to Julieta, he is not some bastion of integrity but just another shady adult, doing what's necessary even when it conflicts with his stated principles.

At the end, Supreme Commander Elion, the one person we can confidently say came out of this whole business with his goals achieved, sits across from Kudelia Aina Bernstein, chairperson of a free Mars. The man who stood for a modified status quo, freed of disruptive influences, alongside the Maiden of Revolution, who has gotten a measure of what she sought despite everything he took from her.

Two pragmatists, making their compromises, for the sake of moving forward.

I don't mean to position Elion as 'just as much a victim' as the rest. He clearly isn't. What I'm seeking to highlight is a consistent thread whereby everyone has to make arrangements with forces that could destroy them. Which is a lesson worth taking with us to the real world. Compromise is often the death of good intentions, yes, but absent a socialist paradise dropping from the sky, the steps towards building a better world for the people living in it involves working around those who'd stand in the way. Bringing the beneficiaries of the system to the point where they have to make deals with you is a long, hard process involving a great many costs – including that of accepting it is going to be long, that things won't change at single stroke, and anyone promising such a speedy outcome probably can't or won't deliver the goods.

At the very least, I find something worth grappling with here, viewing the series through this lens. Iron-Blooded Orphans is uncompromising in its depiction of violence carrying horrific consequences. It places the callousness of the boardroom and the cabinet meeting on par with the casual brutality of a police baton or a pirate's gun. There is no 'good' fighting in this show and no untainted cause. Mythic heroes occupy a space defined by child-soldiers who know no reaction beyond 'kill the other guy first'. The result is a frank admission that it's rarely a question of if someone is going to sell their soul.

It's a matter of when, and to whom, and how far they can get before the price comes due.