Brought up as I was in a politically astute family, I can’t help but pick up on political themes and subtext when engaged in life’s diversions. Even when, as an adolescent, I believed the search for symbolism in literature to be tiresome and forced, I always noticed even the most understated commentary on government and its place in society. Now that I’ve grown into my skepticism and recognized that even the most mindless or juvenile creative work can’t help but reflect the artist’s opinions, those of a political slant stand out like beacons. So naturally my libertarian sense (that fierce defense of autonomy that activates whenever the dual pillars of individual sovereignty–free will and responsibility–are called into question) started tingling when it looked like Marvel’s Daredevil was set to portray the ruthless criminal mastermind Kingpin as just another greedy corporate developer.

My objection wasn’t rooted in the cliche nature of the characterization. After all, by the time Wilson Fisk even makes his appearance, the show had already proven its unique ability to reinvent somewhat trite story elements. Instead, my issue was that more often than not this particular stereotype is used to reinforce the notion that accumulation of wealth is a vice, and by extension, poverty is an inherent virtue.

I’ll be the first to admit that I think succeeding in business takes a certain set of values that, frankly, I’m glad that I don’t possess–a higher premium on financial success than on personal relationships. While it’s easy to characterize such priorities as greedy or heartless, it’s also fair to say that the inverse of these values can lead to some very shortsighted decisions. If I’d had my druthers, there are some financial decisions I’d do differently, not simply because I’d have an easier time paying my mortgage, but also because for once I’d rather be the one giving to charity rather than accepting it. On the whole, though, I think I’ve been served well by my decisions to err on the side of compassion. What’s important, what I think is lost on far too many people who find themselves in economic hardship, is that I realize my decisions have lead me where I am.

However, the sad fact remains that a sense of propriety doesn’t pay the bills. So when the past due notices start piling up, its easy to be resentful of those whose decisions have left them with piles of cash instead. It’s this rich vs. poor narrative that sustains itself across generations, that has lead to social upheavals across the globe, that birthed the petty system of reprisals and theft that passes for equality these days, and, perhaps most pervasive of all, that has all but monopolized the plight of the poor in the arts. Daredevil strayed so close to the typical blanket objection to creative destruction that cheapens many works of fiction with the whole Cardenas apartment kerfuffle that I half expected to learn that Kingpin’s next nefarious plan involved leveling a perfectly good youth center just to line his filthy pockets. Where the show manages to overcome this pitfall is in Fisk’s motivation.

Your garden variety caricature of an evil mogul desires money above all else, to the point of apathy to the protagonist’s plight. The overt implication is that such traits are inherently evil or those who possess such traits are otherwise without redeeming qualities. For Fisk, money and power are merely tools. His endgame is a neighborhood cured of the unsavory elements that have earned it the nickname Hell’s Kitchen. He’s not trying to turn out the tenants in Mrs. Cardenas’ building because he can make more money with a high rise or parking garage, he’s doing so because he genuinely believes the neighborhood would be better served with them replaced with fresh blood. His methods are not what make him evil. He is evil, through and through, and his methods are merely the outward manifestation of that.

For their part, most other interchangeable developer villains don’t confine their actions to run of the mill cutthroat real estate tactics. Usually they forge a document or withhold pivotal information that would benefit the protagonist, just in case the audience didn’t think they were sufficiently heartless. This necessary plot device is perhaps a tacit, if unintentional, admission of the true agent of the protagonist’s misery: authority. Without that court order or the hidden will enforceable by law, the villain would have no course but to actually be a villain. Instead, he relies on the authorities to do his dirty work.

While the case could be made, and most often is made, that they are in his pocket, and thus, an extension of his maliciousness, the truth of the matter is that without a corrupt authority, or a plot device that dupes the legitimate authority, he is rendered powerless. While Kingpin is shown with practically the whole precinct in his pocket, it is underscored that this is merely a smokescreen, a shell game that, in conjunction with a bribed media, provides cover for his overtly criminal enterprise. The series realizes the role of institutional corruption as a facilitator of corporate greed rather than its puppet.

This may seem to be a mere semantic distinction, but it more accurately depicts the situation. A puppet is lifeless without it’s puppeteer. It has no power to harm anyone until it is animated by an outside force. Daredevil‘s depiction of the media and police force, and Fisk’s relationship to them, make it clear that they possess clout in and of their function to society, which is precisely why Fisk appeals to them. Each is an accepted facet of what society looks to for legitimacy. Each is societal shorthand for right and wrong. Life is too complicated to fully immerse oneself in every event and person to completely weigh the merits of each, so we take shortcuts. We make reasonable assumptions, like if the news attributes terrorist bombings to an individual caught on camera beating up cops, he’s probably a bad guy.

The trust inherent to those institutions is a powerful tool that exists independently of Fisk’s wealth and influence. In fact, as is shown by his eventual downfall, once stripped of these allies, or at least circumvented in their utility, he is severely hindered in his goals. He is forced to own his identity as a villain, to drop the smokescreen and his lofty rationale and admit that he is a selfish, despicable human being whose primary function is to crush all who oppose him.

I struggle to call to mind a real world developer, the intended targets of the vitriol engendered by such dime a dozen fictitious characterizations, who has escaped police custody by way of a coordinated paramilitary assault. However, there are undoubtedly real world tycoons who have managed to bend the institutions of society and government to their advantage and against their fellow man. In fact, history is replete with them, and the distinction between these political entrepreneurs and businessmen who manage to succeed without resorting to such favoritism–market entrepreneurs–has been largely obscured for well over a hundred years.

This wide net, ensnaring both crony capitalists and those whose worth to society and economic acumen catapult them to wealth and power, is no accident. Equating the two allows for the indictment of trade and commerce in general rather than the abuse of positions of public trust. It allows for the twisting of inspiration into wealth envy. It allows for the perpetuation of the inane narrative that a rigged system can be undone by increasing it’s scope and authority.

It’s probably a safe assumption that the writers of Daredevil didn’t intend to turn this well worn fiction on its head. They most likely were just trying to make a comic book villain realistic, to add depth and believability to a character that was, let’s face it, already a caricature of corporate greed, while still doing justice to the mythically proportioned monster he has grown into over years of outlandish story arcs. In preserving the depths of his fiendishness, they set him apart from the pack of ruthless cinematic real estate tycoons by extending his influence from the bribed politician or two to a sophisticated network of dirty cops, manipulated mobsters, and media shills. In setting up the very Jules Winsfieldian moment of clarity, that choice scene wherein Wilson Fisk realizes that he can no longer disguise his true form, the writers showed that true evil makes shady development deals seem like adolescent shenahigins.  They showed that misdirection is a would be tyrant’s most powerful tool. Most importantly, they showed that exposing corruption is only the beginning of the fight.