Throughout the course of Planetes, Hachimaki and his companions have pursued a variety of paths to find meaning and purpose in the face of oblivion. The simultaneous grandeur and mundanity of their labor has framed this task in sharper terms than for most; collecting garbage while spotlit against the infinite nothingness of space, it becomes hard to forget your own ultimate irrelevance. You are a speck in a universe that cares nothing for you, that cannot even recognize your presence within its all-enveloping emptiness. Against this backdrop of existential insignificance, they pick up trash and put it somewhere else, certain only that their labors will never end so long as human ambition endures. They are as ants scurrying between the footsteps of gods, but unlike ants, they are burdened with the capacity to desire meaning, purpose, and love.
Each of the Toy Box’s crewmates have found their own methods of reconciling their desire for significance with this ever-present reminder of their cosmic irrelevance. Hachimaki threw himself into the pursuit of the Jupiter Mission, racing towards both the history books and his absentee father, certain that the accolades of an adoring public would quell his longing for something more in life. It didn’t, but he ended up marrying Tanabe, and seems to have gained a healthier appreciation for space’s infinite mysteries in the process. Yuri sought out a final reminder of his lost wife, and having retrieved it, discovered family can be found wherever you lay your head. Tanabe followed the example of her parents towards love and community, while Fee has refused to quell her rebellious spirit, taking pride in her rejection of adulthood’s domesticating influence. We all find meaning and purpose in our own ways; if there were a reliable script to follow, we would not be the awestruck, ever-striving, multifarious and beautiful beings that we are.
But for all that is beautiful in our nature, there is at least as much that is shameful, stultifying, and small-minded. Planetes’ final volume opens some years in the past, when a white family on the forest’s edge are preparing a cook-out while searching for their daughter’s lost shoe. A black man emerges from the wooded darkness – Roy Bryant, Fee’s uncle, a nervous and solitary man who nonetheless wishes to help this family by returning the young girl’s shoe. But the children flee from Roy, and his selfless act is interpreted through the grapevine as “dangerous black man attacks two children on vacation.”
It’s a preposterous interpretation of Roy’s actions, and also precisely how the flames of bigotry tend to be stoked. A suspicious public’s preconceptions become their own validation, and anyone we see as an “other” will be framed as aggressive and threatening regardless of their behavior. This is why news reports frame black children as adult “thugs,” and why black parents urge their children not to play with water pistols. When the dominant class of society has already decided you are a dangerous enemy, any action you take will likely just reinforce that opinion, regardless of how benign it is. The sentencing is carried out before the act is even committed.
Living in a society defined by such injustice, our only choices are to tiptoe within its theoretical guidelines or defy it at our peril. So Fee’s mother believes; all Roy might want to do is live out in the swamp and play his violin, but if he fails to integrate into society, he’s likely to be pilloried regardless. As Fee listens closely beneath the window, we see again how the actions and perspectives of this story’s parents filter down to their children – in this case, demonstrating how Fee still harbors a candle for her uncle’s independence, and wishes to likewise tread her own path. If society’s going to judge you for your alleged “inherent nature” either way, why not do what you really want? Why spend your life cowering and begging for a form of approval that will always be conditional and easily stolen, for the “honor” of being a second-class citizen?
“It doesn’t matter whether he did it. He’s an unemployed and homeless black man. People see him as a threat. He’s alone. He’s a hermit. He’s strange. I’ve lost countless cases defending men like him, especially when the judge and jury are white.” Fee’s mother puts it in the clearest of terms, underlining that it doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do, he’s already been labeled an inherent threat to society. For black people in America, playing along with the expected rules of white society isn’t just a suggestion – it’s a matter of life and death, the only way to avoid being labeled a monster. However innocent you are, society will find a way to spin up your “crimes” into an allegedly unimpeachable rap sheet, taking as evidence all the “crimes” that people like that camping family lay at his feet.
Hearing this stark explanation of the world’s true nature was clearly a formative moment for Fee, informing both the resignation with which she briefly accepted her status as a kept animal, and her fire as she returned to fighting for what is right, whatever society may make of it. Cutting back to her current battle against the inevitability of Kessler Syndrome, it now seems obvious why she rejected the aid of Colonel Sanders. She has known men like Sanders are the enemy all her life, men who claim to stand for justice, but who will ultimately validate the system’s biases and bigotries. Fee can only depend on herself and the people she’s come to trust – like Yuri, who has no home but the Toy Box, and who is proud to stand at her side.
But what can one person do to halt the momentum of a cruel, destructive society? There is a profound resignation in her face as she announces they’ve lost another satellite, that it’s been blown into thousands of pieces, clouds of debris destined to invite further destruction in a terrible cascade. That is what rallying against society feels like – like attempting to hold back the tide with a wall of sand, building up one rampart only for another to sink and retreat, all the power of the world you inhabit arrayed against you, each victory isolated and each defeat prompting a domino effect. Fighting social injustice is an endless battle against what society’s arbiters have decided is the way of the world.
Planetes cuts rapidly between Fee’s impossible battle and the crucifixion of her uncle Roy, a quiet and nervous man who’d simply rather live in the woods than be judged by society. Roy suffers from his own form of Kessler Syndrome; the moment he is perceived as a threat, the cascade begins, one baseless accusation serving as justification for the next. The judgment of white society is endless and implacable, the momentum of their suspicions and hatred gaining force as precipitously as space debris. No one can hold back the tide of society’s hatred, just as no single person can save mankind from destroying their own celestial ambitions.
Our last image of Roy comes after the cascade completes its orbit, and his accusers take vindictive action. Discontent even with the steady progress of their bigoted police, they take matters into their own hands, and burn his house to the ground. No longer able to bear with this senseless cruelty, Roy wanders off into the forest, and is never seen again. The collapse of his house is contrasted against the obliteration of the United States’ enemies, as a twenty-five thousand ton space station is destroyed in an act that will surely render lunar orbit uninhabitable. This world is cruel, and people are crueler still, narrow-minded and short-sighted and always looking for a target on which to act out their shapeless, endless sense of grievance. How can we hope to find peace and security in such a world? How can we deal with the yawning darkness of our own fears and anxieties when the external world works so hard to destroy us, to beat us down and make us content with mere scraps of love and acceptance?
There is such terrible darkness in this world, and it is not the darkness of space – it is human fear and hatred, a force so powerful and destructive that no alliance of rebellious souls can stand against it. Even Locksmith was at least causing destruction with purpose – the violence of soldiers and nations has no such justification, no greater good that is allegedly being sacrificed for, nothing to account for but the endless ranks of the dead. There is truly nothing more contemptible than war, nothing more horrible than violence, and yet we have made ourselves a fetish of such pursuits, somehow seeing honor in destruction. Is there any path forward but to reject it altogether, like Roy did? “Where do people go when they can’t deal with this piece of shit world we live in? Where do we go?” Fee stands solemn and defeated, seeing no path beyond the voracious near-sighted cruelty of mankind.
And so Fee resigns her commission, and heads back to earth. When asked by reporters what she thinks of the impossible task now facing debris collectors, she replies that “I’m the wrong person.” It’s a deflection aimed to hide her identity, but it’s also true in a certain way. She has decided she is the wrong person to fight this battle, the wrong person to save all of humanity. She cannot carry humanity’s future on her shoulders, cannot account for our unimaginably selfish and destructive tendencies. She is only one person, and she has a family she loves. The future can find another savior; she is the wrong person.
It is a messy transition. Fee is not built for domesticity, as her frequent retreats into reckless motorcycle escapades well demonstrate. While Tanabe cannot understand her decision, Yuri is supportive, stating “she doesn’t do what she doesn’t wanna do. It’s refreshing seeing someone her age still able to make that decision.” He respects Fee’s desire for freedom from the cruelties of life completely – he knows well how acutely she feels such injustice, and if she can untether herself from feeling responsible for the fate of the world, that’s all to the better. None of us need to be heroes – it is not Fee’s sole responsibility to halt Kessler Syndrome.
Unfortunately, some of us simply cannot resist the calling, cannot deny our desire to be like Guskou Budori, a beacon who brings light to all. Though she attempts to focus all her energy on baseball with her son, her eyes are aimed skyward, towards the waves of debris that are even now showering the earth. We cannot help what we long for, and we also cannot help what we refuse to abide. Just as there are irrepressible dreamers like Hachimaki, so too are there born fighters for justice like Fee. Later on, during one of her furious bike sojourns, she ends up swerving and crashing to avoid a dog, taking a heavy fall rather than risk the animal’s life. As it licks her face in gratitude, she reflects that “we don’t die so easy, do we?” There is no need to play the hero, but if you find yourself heeding the call, you may discover you are stronger than you realize.
This ordeal tests her, though. Unable to leave her bike at a nearby gas station due to the asshole attendant, she attempts to push it all the way back home along the highway, the dog following her every step. She passes a church, and wonders how long it’s been since she prayed – of course, it was since her uncle left. She has learned since then to only rely on herself, to know that faith and prayer are only for people who are already loved by society. But looking up at the night sky at the end of her rope, strength spent, spirit beaten, she recognizes why people wish on shooting stars, even when they’re just the runoff of space debris. Sometimes hope is all we have – sometimes we have to fight even when our strength is spent, just to prove we’re still alive.
And thus Fee decides to once again follow her son’s example, saving this dog and naming it Roy, after her uncle. In her reflections on his absence, she holds out the hope that he’s still out there somewhere, still maintaining his innocent spirit in spite of all the world’s injustices. Can she be an adult and a child at once, embracing the solidity of family while still raging against the injustices of mankind? Having pushed her bike through the night and arrived at a glorious sunrise, she can at least take solace in knowing that a fight with no end has its own rewards – that nothing is more satisfying than struggling through the darkest of nights to arrive at the brightest of dawns. And so Fee decides to heed the call of her heart, and once again take to the stars.
Elsewhere, after a year and a half of space flight, Hachimaki and the Von Braunn are at last approaching Jupiter. Even here, at the furthest reaches of human existence, the mundane realities of life march onward. The captain stresses over coming up with just the right phrase for arriving on Jupiter, Hachi takes embarrassing candid videos and gets chased by his crewmates – it’s all the same sort of daily shenanigans he engaged in all the way back in lunar orbit, even here at the edge of the traversed solar system. Wherever humanity finds itself, our cultures will propagate themselves. The distant horizon is just another place, and our fundamental nature does not change even after a glimpse of the infinite. Our ultimate consolation is that wherever people can be found, community will follow, and all that is good in life alongside it.
“The captain wants to write the perfect speech. One that will move every living person, from babies to old men. Every one of them.” Sally immediately declares this impossible, but Hachi isn’t so sure. Is creating such a speech any more impossible than flying to Jupiter, than conquering the stars? Than achieving peace across mankind? We must seek impossible things, just as we must find happiness and contentment in ordinary things. The two instincts must coexist – that is the nature of mankind, in all our sentimental community-building and infinite striving. Like Fee, we must occasionally wish upon falling stars while knowing they are simply debris. It is the great and frustrating truth of mankind that we are born to be unsatisfied, and that is part of what makes us great. We must be the adult and child in one, for it is the child within us that drives us beyond the mundane and accepted, beyond the intolerable concessions to social convention, beyond the reach of the earth itself.
And while the child strives, the adult must find peace, fostering community wherever they find themselves. It is this Tanabe-inspired instinct towards peace that prompts Hachimaki to break up a fight between crewmates, stating that “out here in space, everyone’s business is my business!” Those words prompt his father to recommend Hachi offer the speech for their arrival at Jupiter, serving as a curious conclusion to his quest for significance. It was not Hachi’s implacable drive to conquer the cosmos that earned him his place in the history books – it was his very ordinary sense of righteousness, a feeling of social responsibility inherited from the woman he loves. Only through coming to accept the dignity and cruciality of everyday happiness and community has he come to represent all that is truly great in humanity, ambition tempered by love and respect for his fellow man. A Guskou Budori at last.
Planetes’ final chapter opens on a confession, as a man relates his tale of pressing his own ambitions on his son, and thereby leading that son to suicide. It is a confession that echoes across this story of parents and children, of great men and the lives they trample beneath their feet. This priest was once a distinguished engineer, a teacher of Locksmith, who saw great potential in his student. Perhaps he chose the priesthood in an attempt to forgive himself, for the passion he inspired in Locksmith, and the violence that passion would inflict on the world. The same childlike instinct that drove Fee to fight injustice drove Locksmith to inflict it at unimaginable scale – perhaps it truly is mature to turn away from such instincts, and embrace the communal provinciality that these characters see as embodying adulthood.
Locksmith, of course, finds this all to be a convenient retreat from what truly matters. When the priest declines his invitation to return to science, Locksmith’s reply reveals the unimaginable loneliness of his philosophy. He believes God is the unknown, waiting out in the vastness of space, and he is determined to either know or become God. Only in understanding does he believe true love can be found – therefore, any loss is acceptable in pursuit of that ultimate goal. Locksmith cannot understand the unity of the infinite and the intimate that defines a life well-lived, and thus seeks forever, always hungry, always certain that God or some other form of existential satisfaction waits beyond the next discovery. He can never look down, and thus he will never find a home.
“We humans thirst for true love, but cannot find it. And so… we cannot help but wander the cosmos searching. Well, I’m tired of wandering. I’m really tired. I want peace.” It took this priest all of his life to discover what Tanabe seemed to understand instinctively – that happiness is always close at hand, if we’ve only the perspective to recognize it. When asked what she loves about Hachimaki, Tanabe can’t come up with an answer – when asked why she married him, she said “he was there.” While we reach out towards the stars, we forget that there are so few people we can become truly close to in this life, that we can find standing beside us through the good times and the bad. Significance and enlightenment might await the dreamers beyond the stars, but love and happiness await anyone who is willing to embrace them.
Hachimaki’s Jupiter broadcast begins with his own confession, reflecting on how he didn’t feel good about his job as a debris collector, and perpetually told himself that he was just doing it to save up a little money. Hachimaki gave up everything in his pursuit of some grand horizon, but realized in the process that he could not stop loving people. His feet remained on the ground, his eyes focused on the people who needed him. And though his soul cried for some greater significance, he came to respect the incredible, undeniably mundane power of loving others, and being loved in turn.
And so, having achieved his dream to travel to the far reaches of human experience, Hachi admits he’d like to come back home and be a trash man again. He couldn’t appreciate it at the time, but it was a really good job. He was with people he cared about, doing dignified and important labor, up there in space. That’s incredible! With Jupiter right there in front of him, Hachi at last understands that living a life of dignity and love is a laudable, incredible feat, truly the most any of us could hope for. We cannot help what we strive for, but we must remember too that we are communal animals, that there is infinite dignity in doing right by the people who care for us. If there is truly meaning in this world, we can only hope to find it together, hand in hand with the people we love.
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