Walk the Path of the Demon Again: Searching for Depth in Afro Samurai
Afro Samurai is an anime series starring a stoic, katana-wielding protagonist, who cuts people down on his path to vengeance, simply named: Afro Samurai. The show, only five episodes long, features the very rare occurrence of a black anime protagonist, drawn inoffensively and with a captivating level of stylistic flair. The voice cast boasts Samuel L. Jackson as Afro and his imaginary friend, Ninja Ninja, and the soundtrack was produced by hip hop legend and martial arts enthusiast, RZA. With such a stellar presentation, a viewer just has to assume that an equally impressive storyline sits at its core. Unfortunately, Afro Samurai isn’t really about anything.
See, Afro is the wearer of a number two headband which gives him the sole right to challenge the wearer of the number one headband. It is said that the owner of the number one headband becomes a god. Afro, whose father was the previous number one, was killed in combat by the current “god”, a white man named Justice. So, the plot focuses on a literal son of a god, out to kill a man named Justice, who must then walk as a man once again, reckon with his path of murder and properly assume the throne. And it just really seems like there’s supposed to be something here. So, I’m going to try my best to place the five episode anime and the film that serves as a sequel, under an existentialist lens.
The show is divided between the present, where Afro approaches and ascends the mountain that Justice resides on, killing each new enemy that challenges him, and flashbacks of his childhood, revealing what humanity he’s experienced. In this past, Afro was taken in alongside other orphans as students at a sword school. There he befriends a few of his peers, (even though he rarely speaks), most notably a virtuous, ambitious young boy named Jinno, and a younger girl named Otsuru.
This peaceful period is halted when young Afro learns that their master holds the number two headband. His master offers him the chance to battle him for it, but not before he confronts a mob of swordsmen seeking the same, demonstrating to Afro the toll of the headband. All of Afro’s friends seemingly die in the ensuing battle, and Afro emerges with the number two. And it is at this moment, that he creates an imaginary companion, Ninja Ninja, who, in contrast to Afro’s stone-cold silence, bursts with personality. He is an avatar of the humanity that Afro has henceforth cut himself off from.
In the present, Afro fights a series of enemies seeking to gain the upper hand by use of technology. Early on, he encounters a woman who tends his wounds and turns out to be his childhood friend, Otsuru. They have a gratuitous sex scene and she dies after betraying the organization that ordered her to retrieve information on him. So, Afro’s last tether to possibly enjoying life as a man is severed.
Soon after, he is confronted by a now cybernetic Jinno, existing only to take revenge: a challenge to whatever guilt Afro might bear. Of course, Afro finds his resolve and overcomes Jinno. The battle even kills Ninja Ninja, who acts as the conscience and emotions that Afro never lets show. Then he ascends the mountain, fights Justice, and wins.
Justice has some big plan to collect every headband (there were actually more but he’s been hoarding them) to enact a ritual that will make him like a for-real God. But then Afro wins and releases them into the world. So perhaps, there is something to Afro returning balance to the world, after self-proclaimed Justice, sought to enact his own vision of sovereign rule — a single person, elevated to impossible power, deciding the fate of an entire people. Afro therefore might restore a sense of meritocracy, albeit one based on a cycle of murder, that surely doesn’t encourage the most noble of people to pursue godhood. But at least he’s not a white supremacist cowboy, right?
However, in Resurrection, we are introduced to a future where Afro does not wear the headband at all. He lives like a regretful man, refusing to continue the cycle. So he is easily ambushed, beaten, and robbed of his headband by Jinno’s younger sister, Sio, who has a gang of cyborgs who also hold a grudge against Afro, and a now mindless Jinno. Without the headband, Afro is put back where he started, human and with no barriers to fighting him.
We come to learn as Afro walks through this world, that its inhabitants blame him for its decay. He refused to be a god, and refused the process of the headband. In the world of men, he is regarded as the brutal murderer of countless lives.
So what is there to make of Afro’s indecision? Ninja Ninja rematerializes in the wake of Afro’s fall and asks him if he is ready to take up this task again. He describes this quest, this path to godhood, as the path of the demon. One must discard remorse and regard for human life. One must sever their ties with morality and humanity. To be a god, one cannot be good. But as we see that Afro is not able to discard the headbands entirely, this god cannot be all powerful either.
God exists as a force of indifference. By upholding the system of headbands, violence is directed at the pursuit of ascension. Without it, men continue to carry out violence for pleasure. The headband is a great regulator. A lesser evil, but not undeserving of hate.
Sio’s grand plan is to create a clone of Afro’s father, Rokutaro, to do her bidding and kill him. She just wants revenge — to crush Afro physically and emotionally. His clone father can represent his ideal vision of himself. He has to put to rest the romanticized vision of his righteous quest, yet another tether to humanity. However, he’s only able to defeat Rokutaro because something awakens in Jinno that recalls Afro not as a foe, but a friend he wanted to protect, providing Afro with the opening he needs.
Sio, in contrast, is mortally injured in this conflict. Having lost herself to vengeance with no other goals, she had no real plan for what comes after. Afro even preserves Ninja Ninja this time, an imaginary companion to express his human-like desires and emotions while he sits above the humans. So perhaps, although a god cannot mingle with humans, they should remember their relationship to them. His actions still affect the masses, and even if his only action is to uphold the laws of nature, it is his responsibility to do so.
This reading has a decent amount of evidence. It’s just kind of lackluster. It’s not incredibly original or all that deep, and it comes across mostly as a vehicle to have a cool sword guy go from point A to point B, killing people with style. And Afro Samurai does have style. The fight with the cyborgs is immaculate. If you’re into indulgently sexualized characters, they have you covered there. I just don’t really care about any of the characters or what happens, really.
All of this also ignores the potential subtext of Afro being the only black character (aside from his deceased father) in an otherwise white and non-black world. It seems reasonable to correlate Afro’s life as a living target with his being black. His quest is to dethrone a white gunslinger named Justice who came to power by murdering his black father. Justice’s biggest advantage is also a hidden third arm — a concealed advantage that he pretends not to have until his position is threatened. Afro’s appearance makes him easily recognizable to any potential mob hoping to rob him of his life and headband. Has the nation Afro resides in built itself off a false idea that the violent takeover of the past was justified or righteous?
Unfortunately, none of these ideas are supported by Afro Samurai: Resurrection. Afro just regains his resolve, tracks down the villain, and reclaims his headband. There’s no indication of race playing a part in this world. Afro is hated because he took countless lives as the number two and many believe that the absence of the headband system made people more violent. We never see any substantial evidence that supports or opposes this claim — only dialogue from people who espouse the opinion. And are people lamenting the state of their lives, with swords drawn to take vengeance, simply making a scapegoat of Afro? Are they supporters of the now abolished route of justified murder? The film never tells us.
Once Afro reclaims his mantle, he leaves the number two headband to the son of its previous bearer, accepting the cycle, like a law of nature. He regained touch with humanity for a bit, only to return to where the Afro Samurai series ended. No fundamental changes.
Afro Samurai luckily attempts no racial allegory beyond that initial subtextual implication, and its society is so divorced from reality that it evades irresponsible depictions of race. In an interview with Expanded Books in 2008, author Takashi Okazaki plainly says: “I wanted to make sure that the story is kept simple… so I chose the theme of revenge.” Afro himself even sums it up when saying: “Nothing personal. It’s just revenge.”
It reads like aesthetic flair with a hollow story because it was a non-serious project that evolved from doodles and got picked up for a show because a producer saw the action figures Okazaki’s friend made for the series.
But maybe, even if it’s not some hyper-violent Avatar: The Last Airbender, it was still a positive step for blackness in anime… Then again, this show was over a decade ago, and what is there now? Michiko and Hatchin? Carole and Tuesday? Not much of anything that gives exceptional detail to racial dynamics. I don’t know. Afro looks cool at least.
