This piece is part of Yellow Scene Magazine’s Opinion section. The views expressed here are those of the author in their role as Associate Editor, and do not represent a reported news position. At Yellow Scene, opinion pieces speak freely, challenge assumptions, and say the quiet parts out loud.

I’m a Superman fan. Let’s start there. I think Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel trilogy had some artistic value, but I never thought it really got to the heart of who Superman is. This new Superman (2025) movie?  It gets it. It understands that Superman isn’t just some overpowered alien or a symbol of might: he’s an ideal. He’s what America wants to be at its absolute best: brave, generous, compassionate, powerful in the service of good, and not afraid to stand up for people when it matters most.

And if we’re being real right now, that ideal feels distant. The systems around us are massive and stuck. We’ve got tech oligarchs hoarding wealth and building weapons, AI accelerating inequality, a political system that feels like it’s fracturing at the seams. The White House feels unaccountable, our congressmen are asleep at the wheel, and the whole structure seems impossible for any one person to meaningfully influence.

That political landscape and the way it makes people feel disempowered is what the movie attempts to tackle. Superman  isn’t naive about politics. It doesn’t handwave away consequences. Its inciting incident begins when Superman intervenes in a foreign war and is met with suddenly a storm of voices: Should he have signed a treaty? Gone to the UN? Respected sovereignty? What are the implications for the world stage ?

Lois Lane’s character arc lives inside that debate. She starts the film cynical, not just about Superman’s choices, but about the possibility of doing good at all. Her background, her loneliness, her cynicism all of it points toward someone who has stopped believing anything truly good can last. She even struggles to believe in her relationship with Clark. However, over the course of the movie, she shifts. Not because Clark lectures her, but because she witnesses good being done. She sees a person choose compassion again and again, even when it’s hard, and she starts to believe that something better is possible.

That’s the first thing Superman teaches us: cynicism is not intelligence. That constant meta-analysis—”Is it it too naïve? What will the UN say? Will this upset the balance of power? “—can become a smokescreen for inaction. There’s a scene where Superman is basically asked, “But what about the consequences of stopping the war?” and his answer is simple: “People were going to die. What should I have done instead?”

There’s a silence. Because that’s it. Sometimes the right thing isn’t safe or neat or bureaucratically sanctioned. Sometimes it’s just… good. And you do it because it needs to be done.

Compare that to the way many establishment voices—media outlets like the New York Times, legacy Democrats, even some younger voices—frame political possibility. You hear a lot of “well, there’s only so much we can do,” or “you have to stay within the lines.” Activists have to “be realistic.” All that cautious hand-wringing is what Superman blows apart. He sees what’s wrong and acts. That’s the second thing Superman shows us: you don’t have to stop being good to be effective. He doesn’t need to “grow up” out of his ideals. He doesn’t need to give up on people, abandon his values, or break himself to win. He doesn’t need a power-up from a special sun or some cosmic boost. His real strength is his humanity. He goes home and talks to his parents. He remembers that there are people who need help, and that’s enough to keep going. He is strong because he cares. 

And that brings me to the third lesson: hope is a chain reaction. Throughout the film, Superman not just do good, but also inspires it. Lois breaks open a global conspiracy. A regular man stands up for Superman and pays the price. Mr. Terrific risks everything to fight for something bigger than himself. They don’t do it because they have to. They do it because they see someone else trying.

Hope is hard. It’s not always practical. It can feel embarrassing. But it’s also powerful and contagious.

That’s what Superman reminds us: even when the world feels impossibly broken, even when you’ve been told your whole life that nothing can change, you can still choose to act. You can be soft-hearted, idealistic, kind, and still be strong.

In other words, pessimism and apathy are out—and optimism is punk rock now.

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