Seán Kennedy is a scholar, writer, and scavenger artist from Ireland. They live and work in Kjipuktuk.

James McNaughton is a professor at the University of Alabama. His nonfiction essays have appeared in Guernica, Southern Cultures, and elsewhere. His book Samuel Beckett and the Politics of Aftermath (Oxford University Press, 2018) grapples with how we normalize the horrors and contradictions of political and economic history.

Fleck disappears briefly, then reappears wearing his clown nose. He’s outside the walls of Wayne Manor. Bruce, playing alone, walks to the other side of the gate to join him. Fleck first amuses the boy with magic tricks. A collapsing wand turns into a feather duster. When this doesn’t work, Fleck reaches through the bars and stretches the young boy’s cheeks into a smile: “That’s better.” Alfred, Wayne’s loyal family servant, interrupts them. Fleck remains calm: “It’s okay, I’m a good guy.” When Alfred threatens to call the police, Fleck introduces himself: “My mother’s name is Penny, Penny Fleck. She used to work here, years ago.” Alfred remembers what happened and refutes Fleck’s claim: “Your mother was delusional. She was a sick woman.” Again, Fleck presents his credentials: “Thomas Wayne is my father.” When Alfred laughs in his face, Fleck reaches in through the gate, grabs Alfred by his throat, then leaves off choking him to run away.

Two brothers happen to find themselves on different sides of the gate. They both wear the same color pants and jacket. But on one side, the clothes are ratty; on the other, fine wool. On one side of the gate, the signs of adult poverty, a man who travels on foot; on the other, wealth and splendor, a monopoly-house inheritance, complete with a loyal servant. For the audience, the split is visually dramatic, marked by a gate we can see through but not cross. Poverty is not without its resources, it’s true. If the brother with everything has his own playground, the brother with nothing has imagination and magic. The brother with everything is isolated, lacking friends or siblings; the brother with nothing offers human contact. What’s more, the brother who fends for himself can joke that he’s more of a man than the brother who has everything handed to him by their father. When Arthur passes the wand to Bruce, it falls limp. But in the hands of the clown, the flaccid wand stiffens to a sizable erection.

Despite this raillery, the scene stages the frustration and danger that follow from inequality. Arthur’s magic tricks are not powerful enough to open the gate; the wealthy protect their property with legal walls and the threat of police. Alfred implies it is crazy for Arthur to imagine he has a claim on the house or the family. But is it crazy if they really are brothers? Is it fair that one child should inherit everything while the other child goes unrecognized and abandoned?

More profoundly, the scene also asks whether these questions about family justice and inheritance pertain even if they are not brothers. Joker leaves it unclear whether Arthur is, in fact, Wayne’s child, with Bruce his biological brother. Wayne may have disavowed and exiled a pregnant Penny, avoiding the trouble of his bastard child. Or maybe Arthur has just inherited Penny’s delusion. This ambiguity remains not because the film takes place before Jerry Springer and paternity tests. Joker leaves the question open because the drama between legitimate and illegitimate siblings poses more difficult questions about liberalism and fairness that are roiling all of Gotham.

Politically, liberalism establishes everyone as political brothers, equal under the law, a fraternity. But economically, liberalism allows for astonishing economic inequality: for political brothers to live on different sides of the gate. Economic liberalism calls this outcome fair because economic freedom, devoted to allocating capital efficiently, rests on the basic compact that those who work harder legitimately deserve to get more. This is the language of merit that Wayne speaks. It’s as old as the philosophy of John Locke, who famously argued that we create individual private property from what belongs to everyone in common through our own labor. But as the protesters in Gotham know, the actually existing system of creating property and protecting wealth is rigged. After all, some brothers, like Bruce, won’t have to work at all, and still, they will inherit the earth. Fleck’s appearance through the gate dramatizes an unequal family inheritance, then. It also asks whether liberalism’s claims about fairness and merit can be believed. As fewer believe those claims, so grows popular indignation at the social arrangements they underpin. And as indignation grows, well, so grows the threat of violence.

Seán Kennedy is a scholar, writer, and scavenger artist from Ireland. They live and work in Kjipuktuk.

James McNaughton is a professor at the University of Alabama. His nonfiction essays have appeared in Guernica, Southern Cultures, and elsewhere. His book Samuel Beckett and the Politics of Aftermath (Oxford University Press, 2018) grapples with how we normalize the horrors and contradictions of political and economic history.

Fleck disappears briefly, then reappears wearing his clown nose. He’s outside the walls of Wayne Manor. Bruce, playing alone, walks to the other side of the gate to join him. Fleck first amuses the boy with magic tricks. A collapsing wand turns into a feather duster. When this doesn’t work, Fleck reaches through the bars and stretches the young boy’s cheeks into a smile: “That’s better.” Alfred, Wayne’s loyal family servant, interrupts them. Fleck remains calm: “It’s okay, I’m a good guy.” When Alfred threatens to call the police, Fleck introduces himself: “My mother’s name is Penny, Penny Fleck. She used to work here, years ago.” Alfred remembers what happened and refutes Fleck’s claim: “Your mother was delusional. She was a sick woman.” Again, Fleck presents his credentials: “Thomas Wayne is my father.” When Alfred laughs in his face, Fleck reaches in through the gate, grabs Alfred by his throat, then leaves off choking him to run away.

Two brothers happen to find themselves on different sides of the gate. They both wear the same color pants and jacket. But on one side, the clothes are ratty; on the other, fine wool. On one side of the gate, the signs of adult poverty, a man who travels on foot; on the other, wealth and splendor, a monopoly-house inheritance, complete with a loyal servant. For the audience, the split is visually dramatic, marked by a gate we can see through but not cross. Poverty is not without its resources, it’s true. If the brother with everything has his own playground, the brother with nothing has imagination and magic. The brother with everything is isolated, lacking friends or siblings; the brother with nothing offers human contact. What’s more, the brother who fends for himself can joke that he’s more of a man than the brother who has everything handed to him by their father. When Arthur passes the wand to Bruce, it falls limp. But in the hands of the clown, the flaccid wand stiffens to a sizable erection.

Despite this raillery, the scene stages the frustration and danger that follow from inequality. Arthur’s magic tricks are not powerful enough to open the gate; the wealthy protect their property with legal walls and the threat of police. Alfred implies it is crazy for Arthur to imagine he has a claim on the house or the family. But is it crazy if they really are brothers? Is it fair that one child should inherit everything while the other child goes unrecognized and abandoned?

More profoundly, the scene also asks whether these questions about family justice and inheritance pertain even if they are not brothers. Joker leaves it unclear whether Arthur is, in fact, Wayne’s child, with Bruce his biological brother. Wayne may have disavowed and exiled a pregnant Penny, avoiding the trouble of his bastard child. Or maybe Arthur has just inherited Penny’s delusion. This ambiguity remains not because the film takes place before Jerry Springer and paternity tests. Joker leaves the question open because the drama between legitimate and illegitimate siblings poses more difficult questions about liberalism and fairness that are roiling all of Gotham.

Politically, liberalism establishes everyone as political brothers, equal under the law, a fraternity. But economically, liberalism allows for astonishing economic inequality: for political brothers to live on different sides of the gate. Economic liberalism calls this outcome fair because economic freedom, devoted to allocating capital efficiently, rests on the basic compact that those who work harder legitimately deserve to get more. This is the language of merit that Wayne speaks. It’s as old as the philosophy of John Locke, who famously argued that we create individual private property from what belongs to everyone in common through our own labor. But as the protesters in Gotham know, the actually existing system of creating property and protecting wealth is rigged. After all, some brothers, like Bruce, won’t have to work at all, and still, they will inherit the earth. Fleck’s appearance through the gate dramatizes an unequal family inheritance, then. It also asks whether liberalism’s claims about fairness and merit can be believed. As fewer believe those claims, so grows popular indignation at the social arrangements they underpin. And as indignation grows, well, so grows the threat of violence.