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Andor Leftists

What do you have to feel when you're a revolutionary?

โ€œIโ€™ll assume Iโ€™m dead already and go from there.โ€

Kino Loy (Andy Serkis)

Andor is not a work of leftist propaganda. Itโ€™s made by a leftist, calling for leftist revolution in the United States, but the show itself would be more accurately referred to as antifascist revolutionary propaganda. At no point do any of the characters – not Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), not Luthen Rael (Stellan Skarsgard), not even actual politician Mon Mothma (Genevieve Oโ€™Reilly) ever articulate once what kind of government they intend to replace the Empire with; thereโ€™s no talk of redistribution of resources or anything like that. We do get a deep dive into indigenous peoples seeking autonomy in the first season, but even this is part of how the show is far more concerned with showing the negative effects of fascism than the positive intentions of leftism.

Thereโ€™s really no way it could have been about leftist policy in the dramatic storytelling sense, not because itโ€™s a Star Wars product (if anything, thereโ€™s more room for this idea in the Star Wars franchise than any other, blockbuster or otherwise – as Abigail Nussbaum pointed out, Andorโ€™s first season is essentially a complex retelling of the original film) but because any TV show like that would go on four more seasons after the fall of the Empire. That is to say, Andor finishes precisely one step before the end of act one of a tragedy; the characters are relentlessly pursuing a goal, and at the end of the first act, they should achieve it, with the rest of the story being the consequences for that.

(Michael Collins tells this kind of story – the first hundred minutes covers the Irish rebellion against the English, and the next twenty covers how they deal with success.)

Instead, Andor is a meditation on the emotions of a violent revolutionary. In a lesser sense, it covers how clownish and absurd fascists are; one notable part is when we discover that a superprison is causing environmental destruction to the area around it, but the show takes glee in presenting the Imperial forces performing banal and petty acts of evil; my favourite is Orson Krennic (Ben Mendelsohn), all half-confident gestures covering a complete lack of competence, but thereโ€™s also Jayhold Beehaz (Stanley Townshend), an Imperial Commandant who we see openly abuse his wife and son and threaten physical violence against for the crime of being bored and irritated.

The most major expression of this, of course, is Syril (Kyle Soller), an Imperial civil servant; heโ€™s taken as a typical fascist, though I think he is more effective as a liberal civilian duped by fascist thought. The funny thing about him early on is that heโ€™s the only Imperial who actually cares about solving the murders that bring Cassian to the attention of the Empire, and heโ€™s revealed to be someone not particularly thoughtful about his place in the world, casually accepting the propaganda of the Empire and simply wandering through the world, trying to live up to an ideal of a Worker (fascismโ€™s greatest strength is appealing to the natural human desire to be part of something bigger than oneself).

His death is actually a pretty funny Shaggy Dog Story, where he stumbles across Cassian (who he has been chasing all show) and, caught in the shell-shock of a brutal massacre, tries to kill him out of rage, to Cassianโ€™s complete confusion (โ€œWho are you?โ€). The show has gone out of its way to humanise Syril, to show his relationship with his domineering mother, to show his point of view and feelings (however little you might respect him) and how he fits into the larger world, and his sudden and pointless death that never affects anything going forward feels like a clear message: if you are a revolutionary, men like Syril are beneath your notice.

As for the revolutionaries themselves, they are defined by a total sense of exhaustion. The main theme they hit upon is that people become violent revolutionaries when they feel they have no other option; the first few episodes convey the sheer effort required to talk around the truth on all sides, with the most iconic example actually coming from an Imperial officer (Rupert Vansittart):

โ€œThey were in the brothel, which we’re not supposed to have, the expensive one, which they shouldn’t be able to afford, drinking Revnog, which we’re not supposed to allow. Both of them supposedly on the job, which is a dismissable offense.โ€

And this is before the constant humiliation of having to submit to pointless authority, violent crackdowns on behaviour, imprisonment over nothing (another absurdist action from the Empire: they actually catch Cassian after his robbery of an Imperial outpost, but as a result of a random pointless arrest and without ever knowing who he really was – even when they succeed, they fail), and genocidal violence (not for nothing is this the Star Wars property with the fewest aliens).

Compounded on top of this is that the revolutionary tactics take an inhuman toll on the rebels. Luthen, one of the leaders of the rebellion, has long surrendered anything resembling humanity for The Cause, and in one speech, he describes himself as forced to take on the tactics of his enemy in order to defeat them. He treats everyone and everything around him as disposable; I was particularly shocked towards the end when he murders one of his own spies – a man who has been nothing but loyal to him, who is terrified not only for himself but for his wife and child – in order to reduce the risk of his information getting out to zero.

The other rebels suffer moral and emotional blows almost as much. Allies who not only die, but die from stupid mistakes; that failed robbery of an outpost that gets quite a few people, including a clever writer working on a manifesto, killed; violence and torture and fear. Nevertheless, this is inevitably a part of their triumphs. The first season ends with Cassian, having survived and even escaped prison, concluding that he is going to die regardless and would prefer to die fighting the Empire than running away from it. His adoptive mother (Fiona Shaw) leaves behind a message to her people begging them to take up the cause she wished sheโ€™d given her whole life to.

As triumphant as this is, it leads to a horrible but fascinating conclusion: the role of a revolutionary is to die. Characters are never more effective than when they die, inspiring others to take up the cause in their name. Luthen understands this better than anyone; the single most boss moment in the entire series is when he realizes heโ€™s surrounded by Imperials, and the only option left to him is to shove a knife in his gut like a samurai committing seppuku rather than fall into the Empireโ€™s hands.

It makes sense that these people would not once consider what kind of world theyโ€™re building next, because they have no intention of living to see it. The argument of this show is that, if you seek to revolutionize this world – to destroy the System completely – you have to die. Not the enemy (though they will), not your allies (though they will), you personally. Not that you should be stupid and actively throw your life away – one of the best sequences in the show is the first three episodes of season two, when Cassian has accepted his role in the Rebellion and is scheming around some younger, less talented rebels – but you are freed from moral and practical responsibilities for your actions in exchange for your life.

You will operate under the faith that others will be inspired by your death to pick up the cause after you, just as you were inspired by others. You will set extreme action in motion knowing you wonโ€™t live to see it pay off. Youโ€™ll sacrifice material comforts – not just a nice house and dying in a bed, but family, a spouse, seeing whatever children you have grow up – for the sake of The Cause. Itโ€™s on this level that Andor absolutely needs to be a prequel; we know Cassianโ€™s story ends with him dying during a mission, and his life was spent observing examples of that and hearing arguments for it. If youโ€™re not willing to die for The Cause, then you arenโ€™t a revolutionary.


I was nudged into watching this by my fellow Magpies, with them having understandably forgotten that Iโ€™d already watched the first seven episodes back before the second season aired and found it disappointing. While my take is more moderated, unfortunately, I do still find it has fatal flaws undermining my enjoyment. For one thing, while the first season ultimately does have a complete and satisfying arc, it has the infuriating habit of โ€˜prestigeโ€™ television of our time of being unbearably, obnoxiously slow; it feels like one character makes an actual decision every twenty minutes of screentime, with much of the rest being quiet, moody scenes illustrating a point.

The easiest example to point to here is actually Syril; in the first few episodes, heโ€™s fascinating to watch as a guy trying to sincerely solve a problem by navigating a fascist bureaucracy, but once his superiors shuffle him out of the way, he spends much of his time getting into pissy discussions with his mother that do nothing to advance the plot and little to advance the theme (though much to advance the emotion that fascists are silly and uncool).

The difference between the first and second seasons is like the difference between the first two seasons of The Shield – more propulsive, more plot, holding together as a unit more effectively. I put a lot of this down to the show being reduced to one more season as opposed to a five-season run; the crew are forced to crush five years of action into twelve episodes, skipping over things I know they would show, like Syril changing jobs to go undercover for Dedra (Denis Gough). And yet, not only does it have some of the same problems, it introduces another and fails to deal with fundamental issues at its core.

The most infuriating thing about the show is that Cassian is, for the most part, the least interesting part of it. In the first season, heโ€™s mostly a reactive figure; the first episode is about his search for his missing sister, but that gets dropped pretty quickly, so heโ€™s mostly reacting to things without any clear direction; characters without motivation are almost as dramatically frustrating as characters with muddy motivation, even if this pays off in the end of the season when Cassian takes up the Rebel cause.

Irritatingly, though, the second season simply puts Cassian through this arc again instead of building on top of it; rather than choosing between his life and the Rebel cause, he chooses between his girlfriend Bix and the Rebel cause, which is really just the same thing over again. Itโ€™s a shame, because those first few episodes of season two are the most fun the show ever is to watch and where all the great elements of Cassian are brought to the surface; heโ€™s surrounded by young rebels still caught up in ego and ideological splits, and heโ€™s politely giving them advice (despite being their prisoner) and working out how to stay alive and get the Rebellion mission done.

None of this, though, makes up for the conceptual element of the series: itโ€™s a narrative of good vs evil, and like all narratives like that, itโ€™s predictable even beyond its nature as a prequel. Like, yeah, the less important good guys will die, (Cinta (Varada Sethu) was an obvious one in there), all the bad guys who donโ€™t lose and die in Rogue One will die. The surprise was less that things ended the way they did and more the scale on which they ended (again, Luthenโ€™s death was totally fucking boss). I ended up most compelled by Syrilโ€™s story simply because I had no idea how exactly it would turn out.


Part of the reason I delayed in writing an essay on Andor was because I wanted to research the things it drew on. In his youth, Diego Luna was a member of the Zapatistas – a Mexican armed revolutionary group that, in 1994, seized control of five towns in Chiapas, on the border of Guatemala. They went on to attempt greater political action in Mexico and disentangle the country from neoliberal policies and globalization, and Iโ€™m told were an influence on Andor. I prioritized getting this article out in a timely manner as opposed to thoroughness, so I only had the time, energy, and money for one book on the subject: Zapatistas: Rebellion from the Grassroots to the Global, by Dr Alex Kasnabish.

So far as I can tell, the Rebellion as presented in Andor and the Zapatistas could not be more different in their tactics. The Zapatistas came from a merging between urban intellectuals and peasants, with the former very much choosing to submit to the latter. The Zapatistas didnโ€™t so much seize territory as support it; their philosophy and goals are extremely clear, choosing to build off and support indigenous values and autonomy. They wear masks to downplay the individual, avoiding charisma-based issues in organization; no one Zapatista will gain control, no one Zapatista will be targeted, no one Zapatista falling will fell the movement.

Furthermore, unlike the Rebellion, violence is strictly downplayed; they began as an armed force, but so far as I can tell, the only violent action theyโ€™ve taken was the initial seizing of territory. Under orders from their community, the Zapatistas have been largely nonviolent since then, with their most major action being a nonviolent protest storming Mexico City in 2001. While they dedicate themselves to teaching other revolutionaries around the world how to, uh, revolutionize, their main priority is to expand and maintain their state with as little violence as possible, and to serve as an example of autonomy. What similarities exist between the Rebellion and the Zapatistas appear to be some philosophical points as opposed to tactics; specifically, the destruction of the individual and subsumption of individual material success for the greater collective good.

(If there are tactical similarities, theyโ€™re actually the tactics of both the Empire and the Mexican government, who responded to the Zapatistas seizing territory with brutal violence that, ironically, only bolstered support for the Zapatistas nationally and internationally.)

Tactically, the Rebellion seems to have much more to do with the Russian Revolution than anything else; the use of bank robberies to fund revolutionary activity, spies within the ranks of the Empire, and of course, revolutionary violence. Comparisons between Josef Stalin and Cassian seem overstated to me; Cassian lacks his middle class education, his total dedication to organization, and even much of his ruthlessness, and their stories end totally differently. Cassian strikes me as one of the guys Stalin sent out on a mission more than Stalin himself.

Much has been made of the showโ€™s greater realism, but I strongly suspect this is exaggerated; whenever people tout โ€˜realismโ€™ as a virtue in fiction, theyโ€™re really saying that it conforms to their expectations. To be less dismissive about it, I suspect itโ€™s emotionally realistic – this is how revolutionaries feel as opposed to how they should specifically act. I recall when The Bear first came out, and some people pointed out how unrealistic the idea of a restaurant with a new menu every day is, whilst every chef I knew begged me to watch it because they insisted it was totally realistic, and I see comparisons there.

You know, realistically, if Iโ€™d wanted to study a violent revolution that was successful not only in seizing power, but in building a government and system that lasted hundreds of years, Iโ€™d have studied the American revolution for independence.


Andor is going to be a show that defines leftists and anarchists for the next fifteen years. I believe weโ€™ll have โ€˜Andor leftistsโ€™ the way weโ€™ve had โ€˜West Wing liberalsโ€™ over the course of the Obama administration. I donโ€™t think thereโ€™s been a more effective work of propaganda over that decade than The West Wing; the primary movers-and-shakers – by which I mean, the primary workers – of the Obama administration filtered their jobs and lives through the symbols, messages, and morality of that show. I donโ€™t feel that The West Wing or any of its creators can be โ€˜blamedโ€™ for what Obama and America became or are now, because they were as much a product of Americans hungry for the world to look like that as they were presenting a specific vision of American politics to aspire to, but you must admit, thereโ€™s enough of a correlation to make blaming them fun as hell.

Andor will bear as much responsibility for where leftists go from here. There will be a generation of leftists who see their struggle in Andor terms, who will name themselves Cassian or Luthen or whatever; their enemies will be Syril and Dedra and Krennic. Theyโ€™ll use the language of the show – carefully chosen for strongest effect – to motivate themselves; theyโ€™ll compare things that happen to them to events in the show. Andor has set out to be revolutionary propaganda, and it will, within the limits of its world, succeed.