Introduction
I was recently invited to lead a session of a reading group that Emily Jones runs at Newcastle Law School. Interestingly, the group discusses non-legal topics for a legal audience. I searched for materials that could provoke meaningful debate, wanting to set fertile ground for discussing contemporary dilemmas, rooted in power structures and moral choices. I was trying to strike a balance by suggesting two discussion pieces: a traditional literary work and something more immediate and audiovisual. I was tempted to suggest reading Hannah Arendt’s The Banality of Evil along with the anime series Death Note (2006, written by Tsugumi Ohba and illustrated by Takeshi Obata). Because I thought they parallel well despite their differences in forms and contexts, as they both interrogate a moral collapse within established systems. However, covering an entire book alongside a full anime TV series was not feasible for one session.
So, I changed direction and suggested a more compact but equally rich exploration: Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas (1973) paired with the cyberpunk anime movie Akira (1988, directed by Katsuhiro Otomo). Though separated by 15 years and seemingly unrelated, I see both works exploring similar themes, with Akira placing a strong emphasis on technology.
Different settings but similar underpinnings
At first glance, Omelas and Neo-Tokyo seem like they belong to entirely different worlds. Omelas is a place of beauty and joy, where prosperity shines, social harmony seems intrinsic, and it seems that fundamental societal problems have been resolved. However, Neo-Tokyo is corrupted, chaotic, and filled with despair and brutality. Despite their differences, both architectures of power depend on the pain of children — whether through silence or explosion.
Omelas presents an “on the surface” utopia sustained by hidden suffering, while Akira depicts a dystopia driven by experiments on children. While much of the discussion surrounding Omelas focuses on ethics and the significance of those who choose to walk away from the city, A crucial yet often overlooked aspect is the people who choose to remain in Omelas. What about the ones who stay? What about those who internalize the system, normalize the sacrifice, and live comfortably within it? They accept and surrender to the structures of their society, embodying the hypocrisy inherent in many real-world systems. Here, Le Guin offers a major insight: societal complicity often arises not from malicious and direct intent but from passivity and self-comfort. Consider how many of us willingly trade privacy for “free” services from tech corporations. We might justify this by saying, “I have nothing to hide,” even as these corporations profit from personal data, perpetuate inequalities, and reinforce systems of power asymmetries.
Or think about our consumer choices. Ethical consumerism often manifests in selective disengagement, whereby individuals boycott certain companies based on perceived moral infractions, yet they simultaneously engage with financial institutions, technological platforms, or logistical services that either sustain or actively reinforce the very practices they claim to reject or, indeed, are companies implicated in analogous or even graver ethical transgressions. It seems that ethical disengagement is often a matter of optics rather than substantive resistance. Like the citizens of Omelas, we are often complicit in systems built on invisible suffering.
Akira, however, does not focus on societal complicity in the same way. It advances a narrative of suffering and uncontrolled consequences thereof within its own universe. Although it has been widely celebrated for its pioneering animation techniques and cyberpunk style, the film’s critique on technological determinism has yet to receive wider critical attention. Akira vividly portrays how military-industrial synergies pursue scientific power with reckless abandon, underscoring that science and technology are not neutral but shaped by political and economic interests. In that regard, the film challenges the idea that progress in science and technology necessarily equates to social or moral progress.
The role of technology
In Omelas, the tension revolves around utilitarian ethics, which prioritize the greatest good for the greatest number while raising questions about the moral cost of that approach. There is no direct mention or even subtle implied role of technology in Omelas, unlike in other works by Le Guin, such as The Left Hand of Darkness. This makes its ethical questions feel timeless. The story’s simplicity is precisely what makes it so powerful: it requires no elaborate systems or machinery to convey the moral weight of its choices. The focus is purely on human responsibility, dilemma and complicity.
In contrast, Akira positions technology and mutation at the heart of its narrative. More precisely, it would be accurate to argue that Akira’s critique is more centered on technoscience rather than merely on “technology,” as it’s not concerned with technological capabilities or advancements in isolation. Nor does it depict technology as an autonomous force. Conversely, the film underscores how scientific discoveries and technological developments do not emerge in a vacuum but are immersed within broader social, political, and institutional contexts. In other words, Akira is not directly concerned with the particularities of any single technology; rather, it illustrates the deeper interplay between ideology, scientific research, intended applications, and unintended consequences.
In Akira, Neo-Tokyo’s destruction and the experiments on children reflect broader societal and governmental aims. The ambition behind experimentation spirals out of control, leading to Tetsuo’s suffering and catastrophic consequences for the city, symbolizing technology’s tendency to exceed human control. This dystopian vision resonates with today’s world as we face the ethical challenges of technological advancements, from artificial intelligence systems to data-driven economies. How often do we consider the hidden costs ¾ environmentally or socially¾ of these systems? For example, think of the energy required to train large language models (LLMs) or the displacement of communities to build data centers, or the exploitation of resources from the Global South. These are the hidden “Tetsuos” of our modern world.
Agency of the suffering
In Omelas, the suffering child is a passive victim, with no agency over their circumstances. Their torment sustains the entire society, forcing its citizens to confront the moral weight of their prosperity. The people of Omelas must decide: Will they accept this suffering to maintain their way of life, or will they reject it and walk away from Omelas, into the unknown?
In contrast, Akira presents suffering in a much more active and explosive form through Tetsuo’s character. Tetsuo is not a passive victim; his suffering manifests as violence and destruction, destabilizing Neo-Tokyo’s already fractured dystopia. While the suffering in Omelas preserves the status quo, Tetsuo’s suffering destroys it, compelling viewers to confront issues of control, power, and the unintended consequences of unchecked technological and social systems.
Both works ultimately ask the same fundamental question: How do we respond to the suffering that underpins our comfort, progress, or survival? In Omelas, the choice is about moral withdrawal or acceptance. In Akira, the question is whether we can control the forces we unleash before consuming us.
Taking Anime Seriously
In this same blog, scholars have highlighted with precision how robots in manga shape technological imaginaries, often presenting alternatives to Western narratives, like Asimov’s Robotic Laws vis-à-vis Tezuka’s Robot Laws in Astroboy, both contemporary in time but fundamentally different in their flourishing and medium of presentation.
The exploration and discussion between the overlaps of Omelas and Neo-Tokyo, reminded me of the marginalization of anime as a legitimate subject for academic study, particularly when compared to Western literature, theatre, or even film and TV.
As a medium originating in Japan (and I emphasize that it is a medium, not a genre), anime often doesn’t fit neatly within Western frameworks and is often viewed as other or peripheral rather than integral to global cultural discourse. This marginalization is evident in legal studies, where academic literature on anime is usually overlooked. Even at pioneering conferences that explore the intersection of law and science fiction, like Gikii, anime does not really have echo.
Anime covers a broad spectrum of themes and styles, from serious social commentary to light-hearted entertainment. Naturally, not all anime is science fiction. Some works, like Barefoot Gen, explore historical events, providing powerful depictions of the impact of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima’s citizens. But one of anime’s greatest strengths lies in its ability to create visually stunning and imaginative depictions of unmaterialized worlds, futuristic cities, and advanced technologies.
Conclusion
Philosophical ideas are not limited to scholarly texts or academic papers. Different genres provide varied entry points for understanding ethical and societal dilemmas, and more so, the subtler or less obvious ones can often spark deeper and more meaningful reflections than the highbrow and overly complex works. Utopian or dystopian depictions like Omelas engage readers in moral reasoning the most basic yet difficult questions, while the visceral and chaotic nature of Akira illustrates how ethical conflicts play out in lived experiences. These works, taken together, push us to question the hidden costs of the worlds we live in, or rather, the world we build and the systems we sustain.
*Many thanks to Mengyu Cui, Bernardo Carvalho, Gaurav Kudtarkar, Emily Jones, and Ben Farrand for their insights and conversations that shape the ideas behind this short piece, and the Digi-Con editors for their very useful edits.
Mauricio Figueroa
Mauricio Figueroa is a researcher of law and digital technologies and has international experience in legal research, teaching, and public policy. Discover more about his work at figuerres.net
