false consciousness

Everyone gets the Stockholm syndrome story wrong. It wasn’t even a “syndrome” to begin with: it was one specific situation in which hostages in a bank robbery in Stockholm decided to ally with their kind, charismatic captors in order to escape an armed standoff with the Swedish police who would catch them in the crossfire. But it was international news, and it needed to be “explained” why these hostages, the most often-referenced of whom was a woman, would make an irrational decision during a traumatic event. So, “Stockholm syndrome”. When victims, usually women, fall in love with their captors. On a feminist level, it elicits knee-jerk rage; it just feels like another long-winded justification for how a woman secretly wanted it all along. But on a personal level, it is cloyingly familiar. It’s self-preservation, it’s calculation, it’s familiarity, it’s camaraderie, it’s forgiveness, it’s an intricate tangle of the material and emotional factors in a harmful situation. And above all else, it makes you look like a hypocrite.

But this is a story about Guilty Gear.

 

You’d think the world of international murderers would be rather small, but surprisingly, this is Millia and Baiken’s first meeting. They knew of each other, of course; the Assassin’s Guild kept copious records, and Baiken had heard of another killer striking out on a path for revenge. But her focus was singular, and the Guild was always its own faction separate from That Man and his allies. Or they were, until they became an international Bureau and the Gear Maker became a guest of the United States.

The story is this: Millia, the newly appointed head of the Post-War Administration Bureau, is on her way to meet with representatives of the U.S. government to officially obtain the required classification clearance—a microchipped badge accompanying a massive pile of documents, because digital methods aren’t secure enough—to prepare for the evacuation of the Gear Maker in the event the upcoming G4 goes sideways. The idiosyncratic Secretary of Defense had suggested they meet at a restaurant and make the arrangement under the guise of sharing a meal. A nonsensical decision, simply inviting more eyes on top secret material, but Dickinson had insisted on “getting to know her” before handing the clearance over, so she had no choice but to agree to dinner, and at Boston Pizza of all places.

The story is this: everyone knows the Gear Maker will attend the G4.

The story is this: Baiken is out for revenge.

Their appetizers have just arrived (spicy cactus-cut potatoes for the both of them) when the samurai kicks through the door to the restaurant. Perversely, Millia is somewhat glad for the ambush. Gives her a chance to say I told you so. Next time can just be a discreet drop off like any normal agent would do instead of this inane charade.

Within a second she and Goldlewis are both out of the booth, her heading for the assailant while he flees with the briefcase securely in his grip. She vaults off of a table, Angra sharpening into a blade as she brings Bad Moon down on her opponent; Baiken is ready for it, though, catching her with that chain hidden up her sleeve and throwing her to the side. She tries to pursue
Dickinson, but Millia is back on her feet and intercepting her again.

Baiken hits her with a tatami mat. Millia hits back with a crown made of hair. A standoff.

“Move.” Baiken’s gaze alone would kill a lesser woman. “I don’t have time for petty murderers.”

Millia lifts her chin in response, ever-proud. “We’re reformed now.”

“I bet you are,” The other woman sneers, before whipping a chain at Millia’s head, which Millia dodges. The fight continues for a while, but you know their movesets, there’s no need for me to catalog every Tandem Top and Youzansen. The important thing is that Millia succeeds in holding Baiken back until Goldlewis is long, long gone with the information she was seeking. When Baiken realizes this, she stabs her sword into the ground and growls.

“What, did they pardon you for all your crimes? Is that why you protect them?” She snarls.

“I am simply fulfilling my duty as director of the Bureau,” Millia says, primly adjusting her hat.

“Right, the ‘reformed’ Guild as an ally of the American state.” Millia is turning to leave as Baiken speaks, no value in listening to the enemy complain, when Baiken says, “One criminal organization to another. I guess your reform is as serious as your ‘revenge’ was.”

At that, Millia stills. Narrows her eyes. “Come again?”

Baiken leans on her sword, feigning nonchalance, but Millia can read the real frustration behind her words. “You couldn’t go through with either one.”

“I killed him.”

“And then went right back to him.”

“Is that what you think this is? You think you understand my decisions better than I do?”

And from here on it is an argument, one between two women whose sole purpose in life had at some point been vengeance on men.

The scene is long, and dialogue-heavy. It goes something like this.

BAIKEN: I respected you once, you know. Thought we were the same, from what I had heard.

MILLIA RAGE: I was never anything like you. You’re a serial killer. I could never respect endangering others in your personal quest for revenge.

B: We had revenge in common.

M: We did.

B: But you gave up.

M: I didn’t “give up”, I succeeded. I killed him. Which is more than you can say. You’ve killed everyone but him–

B: And then you went right back to him! Right back as soon as his corpse started walking around. I would get it if you had let revenge go, had left it all behind and reclaimed your own life instead, but I cannot fucking respect that you went back to him. We had revenge in common until you–

M: Until I succeeded. I killed him, and he came back different. I changed everything I wanted to change. How is that not a success?

B: Because you are standing in the exact same spot that you started in.

M: But I am no longer hurting.

B: Is that all that mattered?

M: We always had less in common than you thought.

B: Fuck you.

M: I’m being serious. You’re chasing someone who’s only ever hurt you. You had a family, and he took them from you. For me, he is my family. Is it wrong for me to want to fix my home? To make it somewhere I can live?

B: … you’re still making excuses for him?

M: I didn’t say I forgave him.

B: But you did. Functionally, you forgave him.

M: Functionally, I am coexisting at a distance with the man who raised me while giving up none of the things I gained when I killed him. I’m in control now. I run the Guild, and I have remade it in my image.

B: “Reformed.”

M: Yes, reformed.

B: Do you believe in reform? As atonement? You think if the Gear Maker “reformed” it would undo the Crusades?

M: There you go again. I already told you we don’t have that much in common. I’m not meting out criminal justice, I’m trying to reclaim my life. No one has the right to decide for me what my path forward is. Criticize my Bureau, condemn me for my crimes, but don’t tell me I’m not reacting “correctly” to my own trauma.

B: …

B: Alright.

M: What, nothing else you want to argue?

B: Fuck off. I get what you’re saying, I think. We don’t have that much in common. I still think you should just kill him again, though.

M: I might. But I’ll make that decision when I make that decision. The first time, I thought… I thought killing him would undo everything that happened to me. But I was just left with the grief of losing him on top of the grief of everything he did to me. I’m aware that it doesn’t make sense, that it makes me seem like some confused little girl or something, but I can’t change how I feel. When I decided to kill him I made a promise to listen to my feelings more. To remember that I have them. And at the time all I felt was rage. Good rage, useful rage, righteous rage. He deserved to die. But life keeps going, and feelings change.

Baiken is silent for a very long moment. Then she asks, “Are you ever afraid? That if you ever let go of the anger, all of it will have been for nothing?”

Millia sighs. “That, we do have in common. It’s like… the fear that changing means admitting your past self was wrong. The fear’s not misplaced: accusations of hypocrisy follow me everywhere. But the whole situation is hypocritical to begin with. He raised me, he abused me, I killed him, I missed him. A fucking beast puppeted his fucking corpse. That doesn’t make it some sort of twisted love story. It’s abuse. Abuse is fucking complicated.”

She’s interrupted by Baiken’s snort, which quickly turns into a loud, full laugh.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of you swearing,” Baiken all but giggles at her, “You come off as such a proper princess I figured you wouldn’t know how to.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Millia rolls her eyes, and Baiken laughs even harder. “Let me finish my train of thought.”

“Alright, alright. You were saying?”

M: I was talking about the fear of being wrong. Which, it isn’t really. It’s the fear of having everything that happened to you swept aside as if you were somehow lying about it. When you have to carry your own torch, putting it down would be like admitting that there was no darkness to be lit in the first place.

B: You have a real way with metaphor, you know that?

M: I’ll choose to take that as a compliment. The point I’m trying to make is that being called a hypocrite for not reacting the “right way” to my abuse feels the same as being told I’m overreacting and making up the abuse. It’s all people telling me that I’m wrong for what I’m feeling, and that they know my life better than I do. It’s infuriating.

B: I don’t think that’s a fair comparison. People are allowed to think he hasn’t been punished enough.

M: … I suppose. But it’s my life.

B: It is, but as much as revenge is a personal vow, it has effects. It has politics. I go after the Gear Maker in part because when everyone else lets him go, it’s like they’re saying that it doesn’t matter what he did to my family, to my people. When you let the man who abused you go, I imagine it sends a similar message.

M: But it’s my life, I’m not trying to send a message with it.

B: I’ve gathered that, princess, but life ain’t fair.

M: Stop calling me “princess”.

B: I will when it stops making you blush.

M: You’re insufferable.

B: Whatever you say, princess.

Silence reigns for another long moment. Millia pretends her face isn’t hot. When it actually isn’t, she says

M: Do you think I have a responsibility to punish him more?

B: I think… I think someone should beat him to death until he stops coming back, but I don’t think it should be you. You should be happy. And if reforming your fucked up Guild makes you happy, gives you purpose, then keep doing that.

M: … Thank you.

B: For what?

M: For listening to me. I don’t think I’ve talked for this long in… years, a decade even.

B: You should do it more. Got a nice voice.

M: Quit that. This was supposed to be a battle and an argument.

B: It’s been a heart-to-heart for a while now.

M: … Would you like to fight again?

B: Absolutely. I’m not meant for this cheesy shit.

And from there on the scene is another brawl.

 

They end up going out to dinner afterwards, making up for the meal that Baiken had interrupted. It’s a dingy little place, only serves pub food, but it’s not like Millia was expecting any fine dining this evening; they had just come from a Boston Pizza, for god’s sake. They order fried fish and potatoes, and then eat in awkward silence and avoid eye contact. It is surreal, to say the least. Millia still feels carved open from their conversation earlier. Baiken is simply quiet.

It’s not until they’ve both finished that she speaks. “I’m thinking of quitting,” she says suddenly.

“Aren’t you already unemployed?” Millia raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. Quitting… all this,” Baiken gestures around them with her hand. “Not killing myself over something that can’t bring anyone back. But I guess it's like you said. That I’m afraid if I put down the torch it’ll be like admitting that I was wrong the entire time.”

Millia nods, leaning back against the booth they’re in. “I don’t have an answer for that. You have to decide for yourself. Don’t simply try to do what I did thinking it will fill the hole inside you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She sighs. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. What you said earlier just brought it back up.”

“… If you do quit,” Millia says cautiously, looking down at her empty plate, “There could be a spot for you in the Bureau.”

Baiken snorts. “Absolutely not. No way in hell can you make me work for the government.”

“We don’t work for the government, we work with the government.”

“That’s semantics and you know it.”

“Fine. But the offer won’t expire if you ever change your mind.”

Baiken stares at her, a smirk playing at her lips. “If you want to hang out with me you can just ask.”

“I don’t,” Millia responds stiffly. “I just think your skill set would be valuable.”

“Sure, princess. But next time you want me to beat you up and yell at you about your life choices, just call.”

It’s Millia’s turn to smirk, now. “Ah, trying to get my number, are you? I’ll have you know my standards are high. A diner like this won’t do it for a proper date.”

“Good thing I only go on improper dates, then.”

They prod at each other and hold back smiles until the bill comes.

 

There was a conversation with a Soviet history professor that has coloured this entire story. They said, to paraphrase, that to tell someone they have “false consciousness” (rather than true worker’s consciousness) is perhaps the most insulting thing you could possibly say. To tell someone that you know their oppression better than they do, as if you hold the answers to their life.

The moral of the “Stockholm syndrome” story is that people exist in three-dimensional space, they live through complicated situations and make choices accordingly. At the end of the day no one was hurt in that bank robbery; if they had been, it would have altered the calculus of whether the hostages sided with their captors or with the police.

The moral of this story is that Millia Rage exists in three-dimensional space. Love and hate are all caught up in the same person; that’s how domestic trauma is. But her life is not about him, it does not have to be dedicated to his punishment. It should be dedicated to whatever makes her happy; it should be dedicated to learning what those things are. And so far, they include shitty diner food and muscular women.