All Aboard

By: Jonathan Seidel

Kafka's trial Snowpiercer and political hegemony

Spoilers for those who haven’t seen the movie. Yet the movie’s finale is a kafkaesque conclusion to a whirlwind frenzy.  A mysterious aura clouds Kafka’s novel. A solidified order and established routine denote a carefully constructed model. The train is meticulously capitalized. The fate of the train in the hands of a conductor. A slanted classist divide hinging on a methodical mantra. Both protagonists confused by the system. Both seek to unveil its true nature.

Snowpiercer is the last train on earth. Revolving around earth in the global ice age. Outside the train is the frosty freeze. Ice fills the grassy terrain covered in crystal white snow. The train is the sole haven against the sheer disaster outside. There is no life nor growth outside. Leaving the train is terminal death. The train is humanity’s last stand. Surviving through the ice age. Traversing the global continent to outlast the cold. The perpetual movement fuels the warmth inside. Also personifying quest for life. Continuous cycles seek to uncover areas of life hidden in previous cycles. 

The train is arranged like a feudal system. Those with the most money are provided the best accommodations. Living lavishly in the front of the train. Those behind first class receive less privileges. Similar to an airplane, first class business and economy reflect wealth. Yet the price meets the qualifications despite the majority of stakeholders being rich to afford such accommodations. Nicer seats more leg room and free dining encourage a wealth disposition. The train acts the same way. All are on the commercial express but those with more money receive better privileges and prettier enjoyments. 

Ironically, despite being the last hope for humanity, democracy regressed. Capital insured differences between individuals. Rights were not equal and the train ran on monetary achievement. Those who accumulated a subpar living wage happy in their home filled experience were bounced to the back of the train. Forced to encounter dire conditions befitting peasants. The middle class was now the paupers. Plebeians revived in the new ice age. When democracy crumbles in the face of human termination, class revives to maintain order. Anyone who isn’t quite well off is shipped to the back to fend for limited scraps.

Orderly cooperation foils in a premodern enterprise. The tickets have been paid for prior to boarding. The train is set up to follow certain patterns. First class boards then business then economy. Each follows their place in their pecking order. Entering the aircraft like sheep. Greeted by smiling attendants guiding the passengers to their seats. Yet depending on the ticket the passenger is designated to the high life or the low life. To the left or to the right. Fitting like cattle into their destined zones. The framework is priorly registered to ensure a smooth transition from the streets to seats. 

Flooding cabins on the train the pilot calls over the intercom. His voice emanating from the cockpit. He provides instruction and ensures an easy travel. His voice originating in a life echo. His voice a reassurance of order and direction. Passengers strapped in will be protected and provided. There is a guide no need to worry. The pilot is the field piece to a successful journey. His voice fades and the engine revs. The aircraft hurries along down the runway and passengers brace for lift off. A sigh of relief as motion succinct with the travel. Stewardesses walk up and down the aisles checking passengers. Reminding them to straighten their seats and fasten their seatbelts. All is going according to plan. All are complying with the security measures. All follow for a safe flight.

Lift off is a bit tumultuous but once in the air with seat belt sign off, serenity reaches the passengers. Unbuckling seat belts receiving a cold drink from a stewardess passing by. All is good. The pilot has lifted the plane off the ground and is keeping everyone safe. Passengers feel safe. The plane is moving toward the destination without turbulence and with refreshments. Periodically the pilot’s voice enters the intercom reminding the passengers of their progress or slight delay but for the most part the stewardesses play the medium. They coordinate the information from the pilot to the passengers. They are the middlewomen. Providing and caring for the passengers. A hands on reminder.  

Wilford’s train works quite similarly. Stewardesses with a stronger military background man the resources. Divvying them up by class. Wilford’s voice periodically enters the intercom reminding and reassuring passengers of their journey. As the captain he is their savior and supplier. Their faith in him is absolute. The train keeps chugging along. His voice soothes and cements his authority. He chugs along and his assistants pick up the slack. Allowing him to focus on his job. Everyone else holds faith that he is pushing forward. His rules accepted as he conducts them forward. His voice is the ethos that prevails behind the wall. His face never seen only his voice heard over the intercom. A daily routine never missing a beat. Verbatim lyrics calming the minds and hearts of the passengers. 

Everyone accepts their role aboard. Everyone doing their part to ensure their survival. All fitting to a regiman for the perpetuity of the train. Accommodations are set in stone. All according to Wilford’s stone tablets. He has set the rules and the stewardesses enforce the rule. He has closed the cockpit and left it up to them. They are his eyes and ears in the cabins. Their job is to manage the order of the train and cargo. Passengers are clients. They are passively protected. They have bought their way on and by virtue cared for. A duty of the train to her passengers. Stewardesses are the train’s extension. Policeman enforcing society’s law. A canonized code with enforcers roaming to corral uniformity.

Not everyone falls in line. Some push back. Some miss the equality, some desire socialism. A technocratic order is one that yields acceptance initially but progressively shatters. First class is privileged but has no power to derail economy. Stewardesses are the sole insurance for classist divide. Only they can push economy back. They are the muscle and political anchor. It isn’t private security but societal makeshift enforcement. State courted officers on behalf of president Wilford. Wilford’s orders are absolute and his minions forcefully execute their orders without reflection. 

Rebellion from economy to first class is paramount. As travel persists comfort corrodes. Economy is the for the sheep in the cave. The escapee, the enlightened exiting the cave shifts the paradigm. Rallies the troops with a reinforced inspirational sermon. Bottom-up blowback against the regime. The order is systemically boxing them in. It is about time Wilford is spoken with. Yet economy is far away from the cockpit. The cockpit is locked sealed off. Bypassing the militaristic stewardesses is a struggle moving from car to car. Making way toward business and then first class. It is the tail that is upset. Business and first class wish for norms to remain. Happy with the allocated resources. Wilford has been kind to them. They do not actively defend as they as simple passengers but they jeer at the patriots. Loyalists to the monarchy. Happy for the status quo. 

Overpowering the stewardesses they make a break for the cockpit. Alarm bells ring to first class. Terrorists seek to beech the cockpit. Freedom fighters are subjective to the end of the train. To the less fortunate seeking better conditions. Seeking an audience with Wilford. He doesn’t respond in kind so violence is applied. The first class sees their privileges overpowered by economy nobodies. A true disaster and tragedy. Oh the patriots have burst forth. Patriots or rebels. Pushing back the invaders. Their place is in the back, storming the capital. The privileged space of the elite is crumbling. Crying in horror for the stewardesses to protect them. Order for class division to defend the first class.

Passion and power pushes forth. The cockpit sealed temporarily. Enough banging disfigures the door. Dents and bulges cover the once steel curtain. The runner has breeched the stronghold to the open field. Marks fade into holes. Holes plunged through. Breaking down the distance to the pilot. A showdown face to face. The architect and self proclaimed tyrant must be tried for his imbalanced creation. A system cruelly subjugating the less privileged to the end of the line. Caesar had been courted yet not betrayed by his own (in the show) but upstaged rebellious fury. There is no Brutus no Washington but Straw or Sala. A glaring disconnect between the lord and the people. The lord runs a systemic masterpiece but at the expense of enabling social growth. 

Economy are not degenerates. Hard working people seeking a comforting life. Wilford has stolen that. He has forced them into a downtrodden corner. Scraps allocated to those who previously afforded basic necessities. Autonomy stripped and dignity reduced. Anger boiled over fantasized into payback. Weapons hot as the doors fling open armed and ready for action.