Its Continuing Mission

Gay ships have existed since Gilgamesh and Enkidu, as our own Captain Picard can no doubt attest. But Spirk, the ship for Spock and Captain Kirk, is arguably the first slash ship in modern fandom culture, i.e. an imagined romance between two men that is independently written or drawn about and then shared with a broad community of fans who do not know each other. And it’s easy to see why. Spock and Kirk have a deep textual bond that is only strengthened subtextually.

Their relationship is stronger than flings on either side. Most notably, it’s strong enough to break Spock out of a deadly lust-fueled rampage. I, personally, don’t think their relationship was meant to be read as romantic, and I don’t see it that way, but I do think it was meant to be queer, and that it is queer. Queerplatonic, that is.

I’m a little biased, because that’s the kind of relationship that I value, but if we could ask dear old Gene, he might agree with me. I’d never try to put words into someone’s mouth, so let’s hear from him. Yes, the famous Roddenberry Footnote, from the novelization of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Roddenberry invented a word for a relationship in Vulcan, one that can mean friend, brother, or lover.

The note says this: The human concept of friend is most nearly duplicated in Vulcan thought by the term t’hy’la, which can also mean brother and lover. Spock’s recollection (from which this chapter has drawn) is that it was a most difficult moment for him since he did indeed consider Kirk to have become his brother. However, because t’hy’la can be used to mean lover, and since Kirk’s and Spock’s friendship was unusually close, this has led to some speculation over whether they had actually indeed become lovers. The note continues in Kirk’s voice, who denies the rumors and solidifies his position as a lover of women, though of course, love is love.

This note can be interpreted as confirmation or rejection of the ship, but I still like to focus on the word itself: t’hy’la, which can mean friend, brother, or lover. To me, that sounds exactly like a queerplatonic relationship, one that has the depth of a friendship, the connotation of a family, and the commitment of a lover. Still, it’s dangerous and inappropriate to apply modern terms to historical relationships, even fictional ones.

What we can say is this: even though much of the audience can read queer themes into the show, nothing in TOS was intentionally written for the queer community or about queer topics. Racism was the big topic of the day, and Stonewall occurred 25 days after the premier of the final TOS episode. Notably, George Takei, a gay man closeted at the time, brought up the idea of addressing gay rights on the show, but Roddenberry could not do it without risking cancellation, especially after the episode where Kirk and Uhura kissed.

That episode could not be aired in several southern states, which tanked the ratings. In order to continue talking about important issues like civil rights and the wars, they really couldn’t take on another controversial theme. As such, our first taste of that accepting utopian future we all strive for did not include queer people.

But we have 60 more years to say something. So let’s keep going.

If you watch the very first episode of Next Generation carefully, you may spot a male-presenting crew member wearing the short dress version of the Starfleet uniform that Uhura did. You will not see that ever again.

Even so, TNG improves upon the legacy of its predecessor: out of all seven seasons, there is one queer episode. You’ll find it in season five. It’s episode 17, the outcast. The plot revolves around an encounter with a genderless race of aliens. While helping them prepare for a rescue mission, Riker gets close with a pilot called Soren. They get closer, and Soren confesses that she identifies as female—which is seen as a perversion by her people, so she lives in hiding. When Riker and Soren’s relationship is revealed, Soren has to undergo a trial where she makes an impassioned speech about acceptance and normalcy. Her defense falls on deaf ears, and she is forced to undergo a treatment akin to conversion therapy to correct her deviant identity. Riker violates the Prime Directive to rescue Soren, but it’s too late: the procedure has been performed, and Soren refuses rescue.

The first time I saw this episode, I hated it. I thought the writers were cowards for not exploring a genderless species more deeply, and for going the romantic route with Riker. In my mind, they had something really interesting with an androgynous species, but of course they had to go back to the binary, of course the deviant had to identify as female, and of course she had to fall for Riker.

But I was just a wee bairn at the time, and there were a lot of things I didn’t yet know about myself. Naturally, I’d matured a lot by the time of my second viewing just a few months ago, and my opinion of the episode changed. Now, I am knowledgeable enough to appreciate the underlying social commentary, which was loudly anti-conversion therapy and quietly pro-queer. Those stances are positive steps, and Soren’s speech was actually pretty good for something written by a straight person.

Here it is, with a few edits: I was born this way, it’s not unnatural, I’m not sick. I don’t need to be helped or cured, I need your understanding and compassion. We have not injured you in any way, yet we are scorned and attacked. All because we are different. But what we do is no different from what you do. We talk, and laugh, and complain about work, and wonder about growing old. We talk about our families, we worry about the future, we cry with each other when things seem hopeless. All the loving things that you do with each other is what we do. What right do you have to punish us? What right do you have to change us? What makes you think you can dictate how people love each other?

But, of course, even with a speech that blatant, I can still only say the episode is “quietly” pro-queer, in small part because it somewhat ignorantly both confuses and equates gender and sexuality, but overall because the story itself is again heteronormative. I understand that that’s sort of the point. It’s a really easy way to make a commentary on any type of discrimination by simply turning it around. What if white people were enslaved? What if men were suppressed? What if straight people were deviants? But all of these assume a privileged audience. They’re positive commentaries, but poor representation.

And so even in the queer episode, queerness is invisible.

DS9 takes another step forward. A big one! In this series, two women kiss each other. In Season 4, Episode 5, Rejoined, Jadzia Dax is rejoined with the widow of one of the Dax symbiont’s previous hosts. The most important part of the episode is that the Trill species have a taboo: new hosts cannot rekindle relationships with former hosts’ partners, and if they do, they’ll be exiled, and the symbiont will never be joined to another host. Jadzia decides it’s worth it, but the widow ultimately does not agree. The taboo in this context is a clear allegory for homophobia or queerphobia, i.e. coming out is dangerous, and you may be disowned by your family for doing so. The fact that it’s a heartbreaking ending for Dax does not negate the importance of the message, nor does it belittle the fact that Dax would have received support from Sisko no matter what she chose.

But can we say something similar about the kiss itself? Does the fact that two women kissed negate the underlying heteronormativity? Because in context, there is still a very straight explanation for the kiss. They’re kissing the memories of their former, heterosexual lovers, not really each other. I think the kiss mattered, especially for 1995. I like the episode, and there’s an interpretation where it’s cool that no one really mentions the gender angle of the whole situation, as that implies normalization. But it would be disingenuous to call the moment queer. It’s wlw for sure, but that doesn’t mean women who love women, it means worms who love worms. In other words, it wasn’t about attraction or romance between two women at all, it was about the worms!

But that wasn’t the only opportunity that DS9 took to acknowledge the LGBTQIA+. Enter, the mirror universe’s Intendant Kira, who hints at bisexuality. Now, we love an evil gay in this household, but I’m sure it’s easy to understand why Intendant Kira wasn’t exactly the warm embrace that queer audiences were hoping for. This Kira’s bisexuality is meant to amplify her wickedness, especially in contrast to our beloved Kira’s more righteous straightness. So, a queer identity is finally visible in Star Trek—but only in the evil timeline. Not exactly a good look.

But DS9 has one more queer little trick up its sleeve—unfortunately, it’s not in the script. It was entirely in the performance of our collective favorite recurring guest star, Andy Robinson in the role of Cardassian spy and tailor Garak. In interviews, he has shared that yeah, he for real played Garak as attracted to Julian Bashir, and that practically drips off of his excellent performance. Alas, Berman vetoed any hope of canonization. Still, the intent was there on both sides of the performance, and it’s easy to interpret. In Lower Decks, the pairing is revived through alternate reality versions of Bashir and Garak, but…well, I don’t have time to get into my thoughts on Lower Decks today. Take my tone as you will. Within the realm of DS9, and the reality of the 90s, I appreciate and applaud Robinson’s choices, but we certainly can’t claim Garashir (Basharak?) as a win for the queer community.

There are more interpretations you can ponder around DS9 if you’re generous—such as the inherent transness of Trills, a sentiment which Ezri Dax genuinely voices shortly after her joining—but even the most generous interpretations don’t add up to anything meaningful. Lesbian kiss and all, DS9 didn’t even have an episode that was on our side, like The Outcast.

Neither did Voyager. In fact, there’s nothing to say about Voyager in this particular podcast episode, except maybe fie and a plague upon your household! Now I freaking love Voyager, but 3 million people shipping Seven and Janeway isn’t representation. Correct me if six years apart from the show has dulled my memory, but there’s nothing queer about it. Not even a metaphor.

Does Enterprise do any better? Unlike any of its predecessors, it has not just one queerish episode, but two! The first is Cogenitor, season 2 episode 22, which tells the story of Trip forming a relationship with a lower-class, third-gender, member of an alien species whose sole purpose in society is to contribute to procreation. There’s nothing romantic about the relationship, but gender diversity is another important angle of queerness to explore, especially separate to the romantic and sexual angle. However, the overall situation of the Cogenitor is more analogous to a racial metaphor than a queer one, and as such I hesitated to include it in this episode of the podcast at all. But, I felt I had to include it simply because the episode might make you think about queer people for a second, and I thought it was positive because the Cogenitor was portrayed in an empathic light.

However, it gets a few things wrong. In the end, the Cogenitor dies by suicide, which reaks of bury your gays. Note, this trope is only applicable if the death of a queer-presenting character serves to forward the development of a straight character. Not all queer deaths are bury your gays. But, if you consider the Cogenitor queer, than this definitely is bury your gays. The news of suicide is delivered via communication, and the focus is placed not on the character’s tragic death, but on Trip’s reaction to it (and the consequence that without the Cogenitor, a child won’t be conceived).

The second failing is, of course, the issue of pronouns. Once Trip starts seeing the Cogenitor as a friend and a person, he assigns a gendered pronoun based on what he perceives as feminine traits—at least in comparison to a lack of masculine traits. T’Pol calls this out, but pretty much everyone starts referring to the Cogenitor using she/her, including Dr. Phlox. The Cogenitor chooses a name, Charles, but does not choose pronouns. This pretty much negates that faint whiff of queerness that we got from a third-gender, while also reinforcing harmful gender stereotypes, i.e. the Cogenitor is in a subservient position, therefore she/her.

The Cogenitor is a very good episode, probably one of the best, and certainly one that we’ll talk about again in a later episode, but it doesn’t offer much more than the idea of genderqueerness.

The second queerish episode, which actually comes first but I did not remember that when I started writing my script, is season 2 episode 14, Stigma. This is about T’Pol dealing with the effects of a deadly disease which she contracted through a mind-meld, which was taboo at the time. T’Pol risks losing her position professionally and societally if her disease is found out, which it is. A quite heavy-handed metaphor for HIV/AIDS, which was and may still be a stigmatized disease often associated with gay men. The point of the episode was that diseases shouldn’t be stigmatized, no matter how you get them. The episode ends with a sort of promise about challenging the prejudice around the disease, which is positive, but I feel we must consider the fact that the narrative does everything to cleanse T’Pol of any actual stigma. The mind meld that gave her the disease was forced upon her. T’Pol is dignified and morally upstanding. Of course she would not willingly engage in a taboo practice. Ultimately, that’s what gives her a quote happy ending, but it does undercut the message a little. It’s pretty much the same plausible deniability of the Trill lesbian kiss in DS9. T’Pol has the gay disease, which shouldn’t be stigmatized—but T’Pol is certainly not gay. The episode’s A plot really doesn’t have much to do with queer issues at all—it was about a stigmatized disease.

The important queer plotline of this episode is actually the B plot! One of Phlox’s wives comes aboard the Enterprise and tries to woo Trip, much to his dismay. A generous interpretation would applaud the positive representation of polyamory. Phlox and his wife clearly love each other, Phlox is clearly supportive of any relationships his wife wants to have, and both the Denobulans are clearly happy in their queer relationship. Hurray!

But Trip’s perspective is the one the narrative framing supports: he is uncomfortable with the advances and with the idea of polyamory as a whole, which isn’t normal for humans. The audience is meant to take Trip’s side, once again reinforcing that humanity’s utopian future simply does not include queer people. Un-hurray.

But this all changes in the Kurtzman era. Finally, we enter a world where queer identities are visible, normalized, and totally mundane. All Adira has to say is “Actually, I prefer they/them.” And everyone says okay, and no one messes up. Paul and Hugh, Seven and Raffi, Nurse Chapel, Darem and Jay-Den, Jett and Lura — it’s so so good to see them and their complicated queer relationships. It’s so so good that the problems they face are just relationship problems, not anything to do with prejudice and hate crimes. Queer issues are non-issues, just like we always wanted. Utopia is for us, too!

But we don’t live in that future yet. And, unfortunately, today’s inequalities quite obviously bleed into that utopic vision.

Here’s just something that I noticed. Paul and Hugh give each other chaste little pecks. Michael and Booker kiss with tongue. Okay, well Michael’s the main character, fair I guess. So then why does Ash Tyler get a straight Klingon sex scene? Okay, okay, maybe it was plot-relevant. Wait, so then why does Spock make out with T’Pring in Strange New Worlds? And Nurse Chapel? And La’An? Okay, calm down. Who else kisses in that show?

Hmm. I think it’s only straight people.

Well, we have even more queer people in Starfleet Academy, so let’s look there. Weirdly enough, the straight couple gets naked and gaspy, while the queer couples…walk next to each other and exchange flirty eye contact.

Look, I’m not saying Nurse Chapel has to kiss a girl to prove she’s bi. That would be ridiculous. I’m not saying that Jay-Den and Darem can’t enjoy a slow-burn—I’m obsessed with that actually. What I am saying is that yeah, the queerness is undeniably there, but it’s still invisible. Queer relationships are mentioned, not portrayed. Queer culture is totally unaddressed. Queerness in modern Trek shows is pasta with no sauce—delicious, but lacking flavor.

In my utopian future, queer culture is accepted and valued, not swallowed up and homogenized by straight culture. Enterprise had movie nights—why didn’t Discovery have drag shows?

In conclusion, I believe that Star Trek as a whole fails the queer community, just like pretty much every other show ever. It took positive steps forward with each new iteration, which is commendable, and in the newest shows it demonstrably contributes to queer representation.

But, it does so timidly, without pushing any boundaries and without showing vocal, outright support to the community. It maintains plausible deniability in the earlier shows, and in the modern ones, it quickly brushes past its queer moments so as not to cause waves and alienate potential viewers—and probably, potential investors.

In the 23rd century and beyond, queer identities are invisible, and ultimately this prevents queer people from imagining a future with themselves in it and absolves straight people of sharing their utopia, which is disappointing for a franchise that has always billed itself as progressive and accepting.

Episodes of Star Trek were filmed across seven to ten days, and call times for main alien characters like Quark were probably around 3 or 4 am. The makeup artists needed that much time to get Armin into the rig. There’s footage of Leonard Nimoy saying that his relatively simple costuming - the ear and eyebrow prosthetics, wig, and makeup - took either 30 minutes or 45 minutes to get into. I saw that in a video years ago, but I wasn’t able to find it again to confirm. The makeup team is not an army. In order to get everyone into their costumes on time - often including a bunch of extras - the alien designs needed to be simple and could not require advanced face molding or sculpting. Even with these limitations, they of course took their art seriously. Every Klingon has different forehead ridges.

The second reason, budget, should not require that much explanation. Clearly, episodes can only be so expensive. Simple makeup and costumes are much cheaper than full-body prosthetics that require casting, sculpting, and painting! And don’t think that advances in computer graphics automatically opens big, heavy doors that were long locked to the creative teams — they look better nowadays, certainly, but computer effects are always expensive, even though visual effects contractors bid in a sad and harmful race to the bottom for work. Graphics still require casting, sculpting, and painting — it’s just that the money that used to go to buying materials now goes to tracking and rendering. As a tangent, before you say there’s less waste in computer graphics and thus perhaps less environmental impact, please remember the energy demand, and the fact that computer graphics cannot be reused or remade in the way that real objects can.

The final reason I mentioned is empathy. When doing non-human character work, there’s a sort of rule of thumb amongst special effects makeup artists, costumers, and designers. Which is: leave the eyes alone. Sometimes this rule extends to the mouth as well. The reason is simple; if an actor cannot use their eyes or cannot speak easily, they cannot do their job. People connect to characters through the eyes and through the voice. If you hide these avenues, you damage the project!

So, if you need a cheap, practical, and emotionally available alien for your sci-fi show, the forehead really is the best canvas. And Star Trek creatives really knew what to do with it. Of course, many were just mild ridges and bumps, others, as I’m sure you know, go all out. Klingons, Ferengi, and Cardassians are prime examples — but one of my favorites has to be Andorians, with their iconic antennae. In the original series, these antennae were more to the back of the head, designed by Fred Phillips in one night since he didn’t know that he was going to be designing the makeup. The antennae became even more remarkable when the look was updated for the Enterprise series because they moved in real life, controlled via radio by puppeteers! That must have been fun for the performers and very fulfilling for the team behind such a feat. Thank you very much, makeup supervisor Michael Westmore.

Other notable foreheads—and, okay, maybe now is the time to expand beyond foreheads into alien makeup in general, include the Trill—with spots handpainted with originally watercolor before switching to a different type of paint (Terry Farrell was quite distraught at the loss of the on-set fan that kept her watercolor spots looking nice)—and another one of my favorites, the Borg. The sickly skin and cybernetics are very beautiful to me and to freaks everywhere. And, of course, no discussion of cool alien makeup is complete without a Benzite mention. They were not featured frequently in the shows—21 episodes total—but they are extremely memorable. They have blue skin, an almost catfish-like face, and fascinating hands. Their breathing apparati are not necessarily part of the makeup, but I do find them fascinating.

One look that I could go either way on is the Changelings. That’s Odo’s species, from DS9, for those who need a refresher. Odo’s look is perfect to me, I love his smooth face, but when they introduce the rest of the Founders, I start to question things. Odo’s appearance is not his natural form, which is a pile of goo. His appearance is modeled after a humanoid, and his face is like that because he was a young, inexperienced Changeling raised in captivity. He couldn’t get it right. The other Changelings would have been able to get a humanoid appearance right, and would have been an excellent opportunity to invent a new look, one that makes Odo feel isolated because it’s different from him. But, on the other hand, one could interpret the Changelings’ appearance as mocking, which I do approve. I would have also liked to see Odo’s humanoid appearance change and adapt as he became better at shapeshifting. Alas.

And now, to answer a question that nobody asked: is Klingon makeup blackface? Blackface is a disgraced performance art revolving around white people darkening their skin and acting out offensive stereotypical caricatures of what racists think black people are. Yellowface is another angle of this, where Asian people are the butt of the joke, and that may be the best term to use for this particular discussion since the first description of Klingons in the original series’ script was “oriental,” which itself is now sometimes considered an offensive term. And yes, the original Klingons had stereotypically Asian facial hair and skin darkened with—gasp—shoe polish. Plus, they were unequivocally villains in an America not even three decades removed from Japanese internment camps, of which Star Trek actor George Takei was a victim.

However, it’s been a while since I watched the original series, but I don’t think Klingon culture was very well-developed yet, so while their appearance coupled with their villain status can be alarming, it’s hard to say that they were a caricature of anyone, especially since the closest parallel at the time would probably be the Soviet Union (but I haven’t studied that part of history very deeply). Post redesign, in Next Gen, Klingons still had dark skin, and white actors still often portrayed them, though black actors did as well—including Worf, the Klingon we are closest to. Now, I’ve only seen the shows remastered on my high def TV, where the white actors look a little more orange to me, but I’m not sure what they looked like in the 80s and 90s. In this era as well, the facial hair became more diverse and less stereotypical. But that “oriental” description still might fit the now-fleshed-out Klingon culture, which is clearly heavily inspired by at least the appearance of Japanese samurai culture, or bushido, with a little Norse mythology thrown in there for flavor.

Let’s get on the same page. The plot of this episode is simple. There are two alien societies seeking to resolve a long standing conflict between them through a peace ceremony, and the Enterprise is charged with picking up the participants and hosting the event. On the way, and with one side already on board with some precious cargo, the ship also rescues two Ferengi, who have ulterior motives. The Ferengi go into the cargo bay and deactivate the stasis field around the cargo. Turns out, the cargo was a woman named Kamala — and she’s not just any woman, she’s a rare empathic metamorph who senses male emotions and instinctively adjusts her personality to their desires. She is a gift for the other side of the conflict. Though her pheromones drive men crazy, and she is rapidly approaching her sexual maturity, at which point she will permanently take on the personality of a man she bonds to, Picard insists that she be given human rights aboard the ship. The Ferengi cause more trouble, leading to the ambassador being incapacitated and unable to perform the peace ceremony, so Picard steps in, with Kamala guiding him. They grow closer, but Picard attempts to resist the effect of her pheromones, despite the fact that she’s increasingly becoming more and more perfect for him. On the day of the ceremony, Kamala reveals that she bonded to Picard and will forever be the person she was with him, but she still must go through with the arranged marriage to the other ambassador, who is not interested in her, and she’ll have to pretend to be what he wants for the rest of her life. Picard gives her away, and we’ll never see her again.

This episode is an interesting disaster, made especially tragic because it almost works. It was very close to delivering a real, progressive, and valuable message, but fell flat at, unfortunately, the very last minute. Now, there’s nothing wrong with a tragedy. In fact, another episode in this very season that we may or may not be discussing soon uses tragedy to drive its message home. The prime reason for this episode’s collapse is the stark conflict between what it thinks it’s saying, and what it actually says. If you zoom out, there are angles at which you can see the outline of a story where a woman is empowered by self-actualization as she chooses her own identity and rises above the limited and somewhat demeaning purpose that was placed on her by her society. There’s also discussion of and pushback against the objectification of women. Doctor Crusher insisted that Kamala should have her freedom and that the way she is treated by her people is wrong. And maybe we can look past the modest but very much see-through clothes because Kamala liked who she became at the end of the story, and because she enjoyed changing herself to please men to begin with. We see a lot of Kamala throughout the episode, she tells us about herself and her upbringing. For a 44 minute guest star, she is a very well-rounded and developed character.

But during Kamala’s wedding, who does the camera follow, cut to, and zoom in on? Of course, Captain Picard. Because this was never a story about a woman at all. It was about Captain Picard resisting the siren song of the perfect mate in order to uphold his principles and priorities. And herein lies the episode’s fatal flaw: as much as it tries to be about a woman gaining something, it is ultimately about a man losing something. This is Picard’s tragedy, not Kamala’s. Yes, underneath a thin veneer of loosely attempted feminism is just another male protagonist.

The reason this episode fails so badly to deliver the message it desperately wanted to is that the final version of the story is not the original. Now, every story has revisions, especially in big collaborative projects like TV shows. But few go through such drastic changes that the writer insists on being credited with a pen name (which happened for TOS episode This Side of Paradise as well). There were four possible endings total, two of which were filmed. I was not able to identify which ending the original draft writer Reuben Leder, credited as Gary Perconte, preferred. Michael Piller, the other credited writer and showrunner at the time, preferred the second filmed ending, as did Patrick Stewart, where Captain Picard imagines objecting to the wedding. This option would not have solved any problems, and were it aired, my criticisms would be exactly the same.

But there is one more option that has made its way into the forums, in which Kamala refuses the wedding herself, and rejects both the man she was promised to and Picard, claiming that she was enlightened on the Enterprise and wants her own adventures. Rick Berman, another executive producer and the authority behind the ending that was ultimately aired, says that no one will ever know which of the four endings would have been best.

Of the three endings the fandom knows about. I think we very much do know which ending would have been best. And it is unquestionably the option where a woman chooses her freedom. There is nothing inherently unfeminist about Kamala’s canon choice. In fact, her decision was quite admirable and selfless, because her marriage guaranteed peace between two people who would destroy each other otherwise. The problem is that the narrative places no weight on this decision. Her choice is not impactful to anything but Picard’s sadness. We don’t really see her make this choice, she hardly seems to make it at all. It has nothing to do with Kamala.

Piller says that this podcast’s ideal ending was ultimately rejected because some thought that it wasn’t justified by anything else in the script. I posit that this ending is the logical conclusion of the episode. From the moment that we found out that Kamala bonds to a man at the end of her puberty, it was inevitable that it would be Picard — that point, I wholeheartedly grant to the opposition. Chekhov’s gun, et cetera. But from the moment that Crusher defends Kamala, wasn’t it equally fated for her to grow? Ay, there’s the rub — Kamala does not grow. In a world where she chooses to have her own life, one following the interests that she prefers, she would certainly be the protagonist of a successful, feminist story. And she does have preferences. Those seeds were there. Furthermore, the conflict between the two species did not need Kamala in order to resolve. The man she is given to has no interest in her. That seed was there, too. Everything you needed for a satisfying ending that focuses and empowers a liberated woman was there.

Now let’s talk about what wasn’t there. Any other woman. Kamala only interacts with men. And I have to think this was on purpose. A memo from Piller says, “This show does not work if the audience, at least the men, do not fall in love with this woman too.” In context, this is about Kamala’s roundedness as a character, but it’s clear that even in trying to make her a full person, attention was really only placed on her status as the perfect mate. She flirts with all the boys because she can’t help it, and that’s disruptive, so she’s paired with Data for a tour of the ship. But her pheromones only affect men. Couldn’t her tour guide have been literally any woman? Yes. But that wouldn’t advance her position as the perfect mate, even though challenging that position would be a far more interesting and progressive story. Crusher defends her, but does not meet her. Troi isn’t in the episode at all — another huge oversight as, presumably, Kamala has never met another female empath, which would have been a meaningful way for her to be enlightened.

In the end, The Perfect Mate is what I would classify as what a room full of men thinks feminism is. I’m sure that the Star Trek writers and team, for the most part, generally respect women. They just hadn’t yet done the work of figuring out what that actually means in practice. So you have characters who rightly argue against Kamala’s objectification — while she is simultaneously objectified by the narrative itself. You have a woman who makes a brave choice to do, quote, the right thing — while the entire impact of her choice is on the conclusion of a male-focused storyline. Contradiction upon contradiction. They tried. They failed.

This is a long-standing issue throughout the franchise. Guest stars and featured characters are rarely women, and when they are, they’re almost always love interests for male cast members. Yes, these women are typically strong characters, but aside from a few examples, male guest stars are rarely restricted to romantic roles in the same way. Yes, female cast members are high up in the ranks. They hold positions of power, they’re well-respected, they’re experts in their fields — but at least one is always, shall we say, out of uniform? I would mention Hoshi falling from the vents if Travis didn’t take his shirt off just as often. Deanna Troi and T’Pol are both sexually assaulted more than once — more than twice, actually. How many matriarchal societies have we encountered in the whole of the Star Trek universe? Three? How many alien species are openly misogynistic? Funny enough, I think it’s most of the ones that I can actually name.

Star Trek doesn’t always fail in this regard. Season 6 Episode 6, True Q, is an episode that stands in stark contrast to The Perfect Mate because it does everything right. This episode is about a young human woman, Amanda, interning on the Enterprise who discovers that she’s part of the Q continuum. The story follows her as she struggles with her newfound identity, develops her powers, and decides how she’s going to use them, or if she’s going to use them at all. But it’s not just Q and Picard advising her: Amanda’s closest relationship and the person who gives her the best advice is Doctor Crusher. Amanda does have a brief romantic moment with Riker, but romance was not the end goal of that scene nor the ultimate purpose of her character. That scene was designed to show her that she can not use her omnipotence to garner true love, it will always feel hollow without choice. Finally, the episode concludes with Amanda making a choice—a choice that was about her, that concluded her character arc and no one else’s. I think the reason it succeeds where the Perfect Mate fails is because this was a story about a person before it was about a woman. Feminism really is that easy. Sometimes it has to be about uplifting, but mostly it’s just about equality.

Luckily, the Kurtzman era has done a lot to move past earlier shortcomings and to embrace the non-event that feminism should be at this point. In fact, I can think of no standout complaints in the area of feminism in any of the newer shows.

Let’s start positive. Starfleet Academy is a concept that I hoped for before the execs did. When this podcast was originally going to be one really long YouTube video four years ago, I actually wrote the pitch. Here it is in full:

PICTURE IT!!!! We’ve got young cadets, targeting a brand new demographic. We have a few humans, maybe one with a powerful legacy to uphold, then we have the alien students, one of whom is the first ever of their species to attend Starfleet Academy so they have a lot to prove. Then, we have one or two professors, the guiding lights, the voices of wisdom, and there’s also a great opportunity here for guest lecturers from different series to show up and remind us of something or teach us something new, to impart their wisdom and show us where they are now. And then, this character is a must: Boothby. The original Boothby is dead, but his grandchild, wise beyond their years, is taking up the mantle of groundskeeper and offers a powerful outside opinion whenever we need it. To be used sparingly.

Now I know what you’re saying. Earth isn’t that interesting. What, we’re just going to be in San Francisco? Where are the stars? Where’s the trek? Well, there’s a lot of opportunity for adventure. They’ve got to learn how to fly somehow. Kids in the science track have experiments going wrong all the time. Think about the people from other planets who come to tour the school. Think about the field trips! Think about an episode where the students all get sent to different ships for a week. Think about practical tests and exams. The whole galaxy is still open to us, we really could be in a new place every week—the cadets have a lot to learn, we don’t have to stay on Earth. Not to mention that Starfleet academy could be targeted by some nefarious enemies. It’s a high profile target, after all.

Obviously, since I’m the one writing it, I get to choose the format. Naturally, I pick episodic with series long arcs over top. Episode one: I’m picturing one student scammed by a Ferengi has to keep malicious goo from escaping their dorm room. Meanwhile, the studious one uncovers a secret forgotten by history in the library, and if they can just follow the clues one by one over the season, in the finale maybe they’ll be able to rebuild some powerful technology just in time to save everyone from a time traveling threat. Also picture this: one season is one semester. We could go on like this for seven seasons if we want. Some students will graduate, some will join us as underclassmen, some won’t make it through their first away mission. But through it all, you’ve got young adults figuring out themselves, their values, and how to be good people in a vast universe that is stretching out way too far in front of them—and sometimes they’ll get it wrong, but they’re not officers and captains yet, so there’s more time to learn from their mistakes and do better next time. Wouldn’t that be comforting? I think that would be comforting.

That was my pitch. And it would seem that I got exactly what I wanted. Episodic, young adults with a few teachers, figuring things out. I got the alien character who is the first of their kind attending with a lot to prove. I got someone with a powerful legacy. I got a guest lecturer from a previous series—though I think the Doctor is a fully-fledged teacher. I was even spot on with the goo if you’ll allow me to mention episode two in a podcast about premiers. I really, really like the way the Athena, a beautiful name by the way, can be on Earth or go into space. I think that’s a fantastic way to balance school and the galaxy.

I’m also surprised by how okay with the 32nd-century setting that I am. I thought going to the future was the right decision for Discovery, but I ended up disappointed in how dark that future is. I know that no empire can last forever, but Star Trek to me is supposed to be about hope. It’s a fun place to imagine a future to strive for, so when it suddenly wasn’t a future I wanted, of course I had misgivings about the continuation of that arc. But Starfleet Academy’s premier was promising. Rebuilding the Federation is an interesting premise, especially when combined with the school setting—that’s, forgive me, the next generation, and they’re creating the world they want. That’s inspiring in a reality that my elders fumbled hard. I wouldn’t ask a handful of screenwriters to tell us how to build a utopia, but I hope they can handle a few strong themes in that vein. We shall return to this idea anon.

Now, let’s talk characters. A good premier has to introduce most of the characters in a memorable way—that’s not easy for an ensemble show with a big cast. But, for the most part, I think the introductions went okay, Though a few of them were a bit over-expository. More on that when we discuss dialog.

As for the characters themselves, I think we have a strong cast that I’m willing to befriend for several seasons. The personalities are big and I can already see how the dynamics can help drive plots forward and, of course, get people into trouble. The Jem-Hadar/Klingon teacher is my favorite so far, and not just because she’s beautiful, but because she’s loud, too. I’m not sure how I feel about the rich kid or eyebrows yet, but the scientist Klingon is very interesting specifically because he’s different from other Klingons — I like the fresh take, and how the show isn’t afraid to expand beyond established tropes. The Doctor’s inclusion was perfect. He’s a familiar face that grounds us back into the universe after such a big timeskip — and he’s the only one who could fill that role as someone who isn’t dead. The actor slipped right back into character, and I think the writers understand him very well, too. His acerbic wit is just right in contrast to the other photonic, Sam’s, bubbly positivity. I’m sure they will be paired up as a duo often, but hopefully they won’t be overused.

And speaking of duos, we have our main characters: Chancellor/Captain Nahla Ake and Caleb Mir. I like Captain Ake; it makes sense that someone who can remember the Federation at its finest is one of the people most instrumental to its rebuilding. She seems principled and empathetic, so it should be easy to follow her lead. And she’s quirky and good-humored as well. Probably fun to be around.

Caleb Mir, protagonist, may be a different story, though. I can see the appeal of having a main character in Starfleet Academy who doesn’t actually want to be there. It’s an easy way to create conflict and what you might call teachable moments. However, I worry that it won’t be long before Mr. Mir hits a wall in development. His main goal, the driving force behind his actions, is finding his mom. He can’t look for his mom forever. One day, probably at the end of the season, he’s going to find her. And what happens after that? I can see a future where the main character torch passes to a different student each season. I would actually really enjoy that, and it makes a lot of sense for a series about a school. People graduate and leave, underclassmen take their places. But even if that becomes the case, I’m still not satisfied with Caleb’s goal for even one season. It has nothing to do with Starfleet, beyond the fact that Starfleet separated them in the first place. A goal so far removed from the academy pulls us away from our setting and our concept. That means our episodic A plot and our series-long B plot are probably not going to come together seamlessly. That’s going to divide the themes of the show and leave an overall messy impression. Now, I’m not an idiot. I can see already that they’re probably trying to work with the idea of repairing mistakes of the past, and big mistakes from galaxy-sized conflicts that harmed millions after the Burn might mirror this small mistake that harmed two people, but also I’m not an idiot. Finding Caleb’s mom is going to be a step-by-step quest across the galaxy and it’s probably not going to leave a big impression or be interesting at all. If they prove me wrong, I’ll gladly eat my words, but as it stands, it just doesn’t strike me as cohesive or fulfilling. It’s okay to have a very personal goal, but it would be much better if it was intrinsically tied to the academy in some way. You could argue that Caleb needs Starfleet resources to find his mom, but I’m not convinced that he does, especially because he already has, like hacking skills or whatever. He was getting by just fine before getting arrested; the only benefit of joining the academy to him is maybe saving time. It would be very different if he needed to study and learn something to do what he needs to do. But finding someone is just following a trail, and I don’t know how much a course in xenobiology is going to help. Well, we’ll see I guess.

We must now briefly discuss the dialog. As always, compliments first. They absolutely nailed the Doctor. I couldn’t be happier; I freaking love that guy. Another positive is that each character has their own voice. It’s easy to lose characterization in dialog, especially if a conversation needs to accomplish a specific goal, but here the writers are succeeding in doing the much harder thing: using unique character voices to accomplish those goals. The lines don’t feel like anyone could have said them, or like they were just given to a character who hasn’t talked in a while, they feel like those specific people are saying them. It’s great.

But, my overall review of the dialog is that it’s not…great. I could tell that it was difficult to perform for the actors, too, and not just because their chemistry is weak. A lot of it was poorly-paced exposition and both unnatural and overly direct. Yeah, it was all stuff that we needed to know quickly, but why bring it up and why in such detail, why so honestly and vulnerably, often to strangers? The beginnings of conversations are also quite contrived, especially when the cadets are meeting for the first time. I found those scenes to be half cringe, half empty, all forced. Everyone just states their species, background, and character quirks. If you want the main characters to be together, just skip to the emergency and have everyone show their strengths and traits through action. Instead of having the rich boy whose name I haven’t learned yet say I’m the first Khionnian and I’m going to be a captain, have him try to boss everyone around when the programmable matter hits. Rinse and repeat with everyone. There were more graceful ways to generate interaction between the kids rather than talking about nothing and becoming fast friends or talking about too much and becoming fast enemies.

But back to dialog. Sadly, non sequiturs abound, even from the very first scene. Example: “Mama, if you stole it, it’s okay.” followed by “You know…we’ll always be together.” I also thought there was too much empty dialog that just fills space and tries to make the setting appear populated and busy, but just clutters things up with noise: you know, hellos and excuse mes between bots and quippy announcements from the Digital Dean of Students.

With a little extra insight from episode two, I also want to complain about slang. Why on earth, or in space for that matter, would someone in the 32nd century say “it’s giving unpaid dating coach energy.” And then eyebrows, whose name I haven’t learned yet, responds with the most I’m not like other girls line I’ve ever heard. Get out of here. Side note: Why would they randomly have that conversation in public in the middle of a party. End side note. It’s giving hello there fellow kids. Speaking of, I think the dialog and behavior of the cadets is skewing a little younger than they are. They’re 17 to 21, not 15. This should be college, not high school. In high school, bullies take things out of your hands and play keep away. In college, you have drunken fist fights at a frat party.

I don’t expect these dialog problems to get better. Honestly, Discovery and Strange New Worlds have similar problems.

Moving on to the final point I want to make about Starfleet Academy episode 1, which finally brings us back to the theme of premiers. Question for you: what was this episode about?

The plot is pretty easy to summarize. Caleb Mir loses his mom, joins Starfleet Academy because of ambiguous promises about finding her, accidentally gives away their location to an old enemy, and gets help from fellow new cadets to neutralize the threat. That’s what happened. But why is there an audience for these events? What was it all for? What is the theme of the episode?

Not every episode of Star Trek has a big fancy theme that’s supposed to stick with us. But a premier absolutely has to have one. The premier is the promise of the series. It has to prove that there’s something here worth watching and people worth getting to know. On a high-concept show like Star Trek, the premier has to do even more. It has to introduce a huge ensemble of characters and set up both a unique setting and a unique premise.

Let’s look at Voyager, which had a super unique set-up even compared to other Star Trek shows. They chose to do it as a two-parter, for a total of about 90 minutes. That’s pretty comparable to the runtime of Starfleet Academy episode 1, so I think it’s a fair comparison. These episodes manage to introduce the entire crew, showcase the Maquis/Starfleet tension, and establish the predicament that plagues the rest of the show—i.e., being stranded alone in the Delta Quadrant 75 years away from home. Starfleet Academy does pretty much the same things: we meet the cast, we see the tension around rebuilding after the Burn, and we clearly establish our setting and mission. Great!

But here’s where Voyager succeeds and Starfleet Academy fails: Caretaker was about something. There were principles at play and themes to examine. Overall, it was about the value of sacrifice. The Caretaker sacrificed their entire life to care for the Ocampa out of a sense of personal responsibility for a mistake made by their people. Chakotay sacrifices his ship to protect everyone from violence. And Janeway made the choice to respect a dead stranger’s wishes even though it stranded her and her crew. They all made sacrifices for the benefit of others, and didn’t allow themselves to regret their choices.

I have to really activate my literary analysis skills to come up with even the slightest hint of a theme for Starfleet Academy’s premier. Maybe you saw something else, but I can only come up with the idea of first impressions, and that doesn’t have anything to do with the conflict. Like I mentioned earlier, I see the beginnings of a major theme being repairing mistakes, but that also doesn’t have anything to do with the conflict. And even if they did integrate better with the plot, those themes are really weak. They don’t leave as big of an impact as Janeway sticking to her values and choosing the hard way home. And I’m sure Next Gen fans don’t need me to tell them that first impressions has nothing on whether humanity deserves to be wiped out for savagery.

I am prepared to watch Starfleet Academy and receive nothing but thrills and giggles in return. If a premier is a promise, then I think this series is going to be more coming of age than anything else. We’re going to see friends doing friendship with some explosions for flavor. And that’s fine. It’s entertaining; it’s just not extremely thoughtful.

We can divide Star Trek into three distinct eras based on the executive producer. Gene Roddenberry started it all with the original series and the original animated show. He was succeeded by Rick Berman who produced TNG, DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise. Now, Alex Kurtzman is in charge. His shows include Discovery, Strange New Worlds, Picard, and Starfleet Academy. Lower Decks and Prodigy are also under his leadership, but I tend to categorize those series a little differently.

Each era has a distinct tone, and so does each individual show. I do think growing and changing within the shared universe is important and positive. In other words, going where no one has gone before — and quite boldly, I might add. I don’t want Discovery to be exactly like DS9. I want fresh shows. And even in the modern era, each show delivers. But Alex Kurtzman has made one major change to the franchise that I believe weakens it tremendously. I now humbly submit to the fandom a simple thesis: the Kurtzman extended universe is not science fiction, it’s action-adventure.

Action adventure as a genre is about high stakes and thrills. It’s characterized by its fast pacing, and it typically follows a quest-type structure. It is meant to excite you, and the journey itself is the point for both the protagonist and the viewer.

Science fiction, on the other hand, is a genre centered on wonder and pushed forward by questions and answers. It’s not required, but science fiction also frequently critiques or even protests society.

Certainly, Kurtzman’s shows are set in space. Certainly, there are aliens. Certainly, there are problems that need to be solved with a fictional sort of science. But, when you look past the setting, you’ll find stories about heroes defeating enemies primarily using explosions.

Let’s look into Discovery first. This series fully shrugged off the episodic nature of previous Star Trek shows as well as the ensemble cast structure, and those shifts necessitated a quest for the main character. Even as the later seasons, and especially season 5, recaptured more self-contained stories as steps to the quest, even those smaller chunks resembled fantasy-inspired heroes’ journeys. Michael Burnham entered a library that featured countless works from an untold number of cultures. And, well, we learned a lot about Michael in that library, didn’t we? But what did we learn about ourselves? What did we learn about our world? Unfortunately, the clock was ticking, our enemies were at the door, and we had to leave before we could even ask truly interesting questions about our universe and our place in it.

Season five also featured the episode Whistlespeak, which I think comes closest to a true science fiction story, and it does ask one interesting question: what happens to us when our beliefs change? In this case, as soon as the question is asked, the Discovery leaves. They created a problem, acknowledged that it was a problem to consider, but the story does not sit with the question at the heart of it — or, at least, at the end of it. There is no real challenge, no exploration, no consequence, and no critique. Once again, we had to go right away in order to get to the next destination ahead of our enemies.The action-adventure focus and pacing robbed us of what could have been an interesting science fiction conversation.

Picard is also a quest-based adventure narrative clothed in a science-fiction setting. I believe for this series in particular, it is fair to draw direct comparisons to Next Gen, which I think is the shining example of a true science fiction show. Of course TNG had battle episodes and quests, but most often it was just look at this weird concept for 44 minutes, isn’t that crazy? But within those frequently insane plots, it posed questions and arguments and even answers in some cases that were ethical, critical, and forward-thinking. The most obvious examples usually deal with Data’s personhood — surprise, surprise, what does it mean to be human is a major theme of the show — but there are plenty of other episodes like to a lesser extent the ones where Star Fleet is arbitrating a dispute between two planets or when the crew has to decide between doing the right thing and following orders, or when they learn to accept something that was at first very strange. These episodes that pose questions like these, even after the resolution, are still asking in a lot of ways. You get to think about what you would do. You’re invited to the story, and they are genuinely challenging a lot of the time. Would you rescue the woman from the agender species who just wants the freedom to be herself? Because you do have the opportunity to. How do you feel about traumatized veterans abandoned by the countries they fought for? Because you don’t have to wait until they storm the government office to do something about it. Picard’s narrative structure supports strong themes that align with TNG like loyalty, responsibility, and personhood, but it really doesn’t support that same interaction with the audience. In a lot of ways it just feels like moving through the story beats—ones that I actually don’t remember much of. We are more seeing other people’s answers to problems that will never be ours than we are being asked questions relevant to us and our world.

This is my impression of Strange New Worlds, too. This series mostly returns to the episodic formula, and pays plenty of homage to classic Star Trek must-haves, like solving a mystery in the holodeck, or having a little baby of a different species mess with you for a day before its parent comes in to resolve everything deus ex machina fashion. What it does not return to is anything relevant or pointed. The space shenanigans are really fun, but they’re only fun. In season 3, there is an episode where Kirk takes command for the first time aboard the Farragut—and don’t think I didn’t notice that the Enterprise crew that came in to help were his future subordinates because of course I noticed that. In the episode, they have to rescue the Enterprise from vicious, faceless pirates, and in the process, Kirk makes the call to destroy them. An estimated 7,000 enemies die, and the twist is that they were all human—as if that mattered. Older, wiser Captain Pike delivers the episode’s milquetoast lesson: leadership is hard, and leaders must bear the weight of their decisions alone. Did Kirk do the right thing? Nobody asked.

Don’t misinterpret this somewhat scathing critique of the modern shows. I think it’s a real shame that the team has left behind their core audience—I, for one, like Star Trek specifically because it’s supposed to be science fiction. But I really do like the shows! These more character-driven stories definitely encourage me to keep watching. It’s just that they don’t invite me to keep thinking. And thinking is my favorite part of Star Trek.

Though I bemoan, I do not blame. To earn back their high budgets and draw new people to the streamer, Star Trek episodes have to keep up with what audiences expect out of their TV shows, which these days is fancy camera work and tearful relationships. If they try to ask too many questions, they could be wrong about too many answers. Like when Janeway murdered Tuvix. You cannot critique your own audience, and if your ideal audience is as many people as possible, whom can you critique?