My Captain America

I love legacy characters. A legacy character is someone who receives a title or mantle. Barry Allen’s Flash sacrificed himself, leaving Wally West, Kid Flash, to become the new Scarlet Speedster. Legacy. Captain America or Batman dies, and then one of their best friends or proteges takes on the cowl/shield, relaunched with a fresh #1 on the shelves. Legacy.

Legacy characters are so exciting because they mark the passing of time in a more permanent way than comic book continuity usually allows. When Miles Morales becomes Spider-Man, it’s after Peter Parker dies. When Kyle Rayner becomes the new Green Lantern, it’s because one of the old ones went fucking nuts.

With the Marvel Cinematic Universe Experiment running as long as it has, the passing of a mantle had become an eventuality. And there wasn’t one that I was excited for quite like Captain America.

Someone said once that minorities are so used to being empathetic when they consume any media because it usually doesn’t feature them. Unless you’re a straight, white, man, the media that the America has created hasn’t been made for you, or even made by people who are like you. America’s demographics do not correspond with representation in our entertainment. But as a child of parents who put on Fox News and Bill O’Reilly every night, I didn’t realize that to be an issue. All my favorite heroes were, for the most part, straight white men. They had a green skinned member of the Justice League before they had a Black one.

It wasn’t until what I would call my “slow woke awakening” in my 20s that I realized that I could have more. Nowadays, that’s what I find exciting about legacy. Not a passing of time in a medium made for aging men, but an opportunity to prove that everyone can “put on the mask”.

Alright. I know I referenced Into the Spider-Verse in this Captain America essay. And that movie is great. Certified banger. Masterpiece. Classic. But it’s one thing to make Spider-Man Black. He’s covered up from head to toe, he’s a hero that’s always embodied the everyman.

It’s another for a Black man to become Captain America.

Let’s be real here. To be a minority in America is to be constantly reminded that you are a part of the other. To be constantly reminded that you are not the norm, in one way or another.

Today, in 2025, the American dream, to join in a cause and an idea, to be an ingredient in the great melting pot, the American experiment - is lost.

Somewhat recently, a man called me a ‘chink’ on my way to the subway. I am ashamed of the power that I have given this man and his words. I frequently thought about his words. I questioned my place in this country (his country? my country? our country?). Not too long ago, I was researching my options to emigrate. Maybe abandoning my roots, as my parents did forty years ago, leaving their native Hong Kong for the “land of the free”. However, upon a viewing of One Battle After Another, I became convinced of a simple thing.

I cannot give up. I will not give up. There has to be hope.

One day at work, I was eating lunch when the topic of the percentage of Asians in prestigious colleges came up. Affirmative Action. These coworkers, both white, said that they understood the desire to have less Asian Americans in these universities. They said that there should be more diversity, not only smart people. One of them said that they should have athletes, too. To which I responded, “So there aren’t any Asian athletes? We don’t have basketball players? Swimmers? Tennis Players?”

Then one of them said something that I will never forget. “You can’t have it all.”

Fuck that.

I want it all. We can have it all. I want Asian Emmy winners, Oscar winners, world-class gold medalist athletes, NBA Finals MVPs, Golden Glove winners, Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer authors. I want a fucking Asian American President. That’s what America means. America should mean possibility for everyone, no matter their ability, race, sexuality, gender, or religion.

The America that exists in my mind, that exists in so many minds across our nation, can exist. I believe in America. I believe in the dream. The American Dream. The one that says that one day, we can have peace and prosperity, we can protect the ones who need protecting, and we can live in harmony.

Back during the days of World War 2 when the character of Steve Rogers, Captain America was created, America was at war. Two young Jewish men wanted to make some money and contribute to the patriotic spirit of America. They wanted to draw a character who stood up for truth, justice, and the American way (punching Nazis). They created Steve Rogers, a sickly young man who was possessed with the determination to serve his country, even if his body failed him. Rogers, bombarded with vita-rays and injected with a Super Soldier Serum, would become the representation of our nation’s ideals, an impossibly strong and fit white man with blonde hair and blue eyes donning our flag and fighting those who would harm the innocent. So goes the legend of Captain America.

The nature of a flag wearing character rubs up against the reality of the times. As America changes… so must Captain America. As our identities as Americans evolve, and we re-examine our history, a simple costume change into Nomad no longer suffices. We need another Captain America, one that represents the modern struggles of being an American. Maybe who we need is… Sam Wilson.

Sam Wilson is one of Steve Roger’s closest friends, a regular guy who happens to be a veteran-turned social worker-turned-Avenger. whose shtick is flying around in a pair of robot wings and doing crazy aerial acrobatics. Sam Wilson is also Black.

Sam Wilson as Captain America means everything to me. At first, I thought it was a simple love and excitement for a legacy character finally being brought to screen - an onscreen handing over of the mantle. A dream come true. But as time has passed forward, and as the cracks in our nation have only grown larger and larger, I’ve attached more and more significance to Sam Wilson as Captain America. What does it mean that we can have the representation of the American ideal be a Black man? What does it mean that in the era of America post Rodney King, post Fruitvale Station, post George Floyd, an America still grappling with racial inequality and systemic injustices can have a Black Captain America? What does it mean that Sam Wilson actively refuses to take a serum and become more like Steve Rogers, and instead forge his own path with his own faults and insecurities?

Maybe it means that despite everything, we can still hope. Maybe it means that we can still dream, and maybe dare to dream that very sweet and elusive American Dream. Maybe that means we can have a chance to be Americans, regardless of the racists, misogynist, transphobic pieces of trash that plague our nation. And perhaps maybe we might not just be Americans, but shining examples of what America could aspire to be; a nation of individuals committed to being good, reaching out to each other and protecting the people who cannot protect themselves, being intolerant of intolerance, and looking good while doing those things.

If a Black man from the South who can’t get a loan from the racist redlining banks and gets stopped by the systemically inept, racist, and malicious police can become Captain America…

Then maybe anyone who is brave and willing enough can be Captain America.