By: Kamal Sikder
Sometimes, a story transcends its medium, reaching into the depths of our humanity and forcing us to confront truths we’ve ignored. The new Superman movie, though set in a fictional world, has done just that, stirring hearts and sparking conversations that bridge the gap between fantasy and the raw realities of our world. I’ve never been one for movies—too often, they feel like fleeting distractions. But this film, with its haunting parallels to the Israel-Palestinian conflict in Gaza, has left an indelible mark on countless others navigating their own moral awakenings.
In the movie, the U.S.-backed nation of Boravia invades its impoverished neighbor, Jahranpur, a land stripped of modern weaponry yet brimming with defiant spirit. The people of Jahranpur, armed with little more than their resolve, stand firm against an overwhelming force. At the heart of this narrative is a child, clutching a Superman flag—a symbol of hope, a cry for a savior in a world that seems to have abandoned them. This image, seared into the minds of viewers, echoes the unarmed civilians of Gaza, their resilience shining through the rubble of conflict.
Across the internet, the film has ignited raw, emotional responses. On Reddit, one user shared a story that stopped me in my tracks. They admitted to being a staunch supporter of Israel, dismissing “Free Palestine” chants and skipping any news about Gaza. But the movie cracked something open. “The roads depicted, the struggles of the children, their defiance against the enemy—it reminded me of Gaza’s unarmed civilians,” they wrote. Overwhelmed by guilt, they left the theater and donated $500 to the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund (PCRF), an organization aiding Palestinian youth. This wasn’t just a donation; it was a shift in worldview, a step toward empathy they hadn’t anticipated.
The Reddit thread exploded with reactions, a tapestry of awe, reflection, and debate. Many praised the poster’s vulnerability and the film’s power to humanize distant suffering. Some recommended other works to deepen this newfound empathy: Andor, a TV series that weaves rebellion and resistance into its narrative, and Mo, a Netflix show blending humor and heartbreak, drawn from the real-life experiences of Palestinian American comedian Mo Amer. Others pointed to a poem by Khaled Juma, written during the 2014 Israeli bombardment of Gaza, titled “Oh Rascal Children of Gaza.” Its words, first published on August 24, 2014, during Operation Protective Edge, ache with loss and longing:
Oh rascal children of Gaza,
You who constantly disturbed me with your screams under my window,
You who filled every morning with rush and chaos,
You who broke my vase and stole the lonely flower on my balcony,
Come back – And scream as you want,
And break all the vases,
Steal all the flowers,
Come back, Just come back…
Reading this, I felt my chest tighten. The poem, like the movie, captures the unbearable absence of life snuffed out too soon, the vibrancy of children silenced by war. It’s a plea for their return, for the chaos of their existence to fill the world again.
Not everyone saw the film through the same lens. A Jewish father, who watched it with his young son, left the theater disheartened. His son, grappling with the story, asked, “Why is Superman anti-Israel? Isn’t he Jewish himself?” It’s a poignant question, layered with history. Superman, created in 1933 by Jewish writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster while at Glenville High School, carries a legacy tied to its creators’ heritage. The current film, scripted by Siegel and Shuster in 1945 and produced by a Jewish-owned Hollywood studio, complicates the narrative further. One X user, responding to the father’s disappointment, wrote sharply, “Look at that! You see a rogue country attacking unarmed civilians, and you immediately relate it to Israel.” The comment stings, but it underscores how deeply personal and polarizing these interpretations can be.
In the film, Superman’s friendship with Malik, a character who urges him not to bow to the demands of the villainous billionaire Lex Luthor, even at the cost of his own life, adds another layer of moral weight. Malik’s sacrifice mirrors the courage of those who resist despite overwhelming odds, a theme that resonates with the struggles of marginalized communities worldwide.
The Reddit discussion about the movie’s impact captures a broader truth: art, even superhero fiction, can be a mirror to our world’s pain. Some skeptics argued the Boravia-Jahranpur conflict isn’t a perfect stand-in for Gaza, cautioning against oversimplified analogies. Others countered that the emotional truth of the story—its portrayal of human suffering and resilience—transcends imperfect parallels. Both sides have a point. No fictional tale can fully encapsulate the complexities of a real-world conflict, but stories like this can awaken us to the humanity we might otherwise overlook.
Another Reddit user offered a sobering perspective: “The U.S. conditions its citizens to remain ambivalent about global events and fosters antipathy toward the suffering of others by shifting the blame from institutions and systems onto individuals.” It’s a critique that cuts deep, pointing to how narratives—whether in media or policy—can numb us to distant tragedies. Yet this film, and the conversations it has sparked, proves storytelling can also be a remedy, a spark for empathy in a world too often indifferent.
As I reflect on this Superman movie, I’m struck by its ability to stir both heart and mind. It doesn’t preach or prescribe solutions; it simply holds up a mirror, asking us to see the world—and ourselves—more clearly. For some, it’s a call to action, like the Reddit user who donated to PCRF. For others, it’s a moment of discomfort, a challenge to long-held beliefs. For me, it’s a reminder that even in a world of capes and heroes, the real power lies in our capacity to feel, to question, and to care. The rascal children of Gaza, the defiant people of Jahranpur, the child with the Superman flag—they all ask us to do one thing: come back to our humanity.
