Trope: "Compulsory Romance"

Image description: This week's essay is all about moments where characters with little to no relationship - or who are even staunch enemies, in this case - are pushed together just for the sake of it.

As a huge Trekkie, you might think that I’m anti-Star Wars, the franchise often cast as Star Trek’s ultimate rival. While it’s true that Star Trek will always be the winner in my eyes, I do enjoy Star Wars as well and have come to care a great deal about many of its characters – especially Rey from the new trilogy. Although I know Star Wars fans have extremely mixed feelings about these movies, I felt a connection to Rey from the first moment I saw her in The Force Awakens, surviving in a hostile environment with both determination and optimism, and forming meaningful friendships while still maintaining her strength. Watching her undertake her journey to find herself resonated with me deeply, and by about halfway through the first movie, I found myself hoping that Rey was AroAce; by the end, I found myself desperate for it. And by the time The Rise of Skywalker was released, I found my hopes dashed yet again (Spoiler alert!) thanks to an eleventh-hour lip-lock she shares with Kylo Ren, a moment that upsets me so much I refuse to even watch the film, and a prime example of the trope I call “Compulsory Romance.” 

When I discuss tropes for this blog, I often discuss things that are shown on-screen as part of a character’s “normalization” – for instance, Sheldon Cooper discussing how he will probably “get over” his non-romantic and non-sexual nature in The Big Bang Theory. But “Compulsory Romance” differs from other tropes primarily because these out-of-the-blue moments and relationships feel like they are happening due to behind the scenes reasons, and I call it “compulsory” because it feels like the characters are being forced into these situations while important elements of their characterization are being ignored in the process. While there are other romance tropes about couples that have little to no previous involvement, or in fact very little chemistry at all, I consider “Compulsory Romance” a separate aphobic trope because in these cases, the characters often had AroAce tendencies, and because media often conflates both sex and romance as a shorthand for the idea of "relationship". As such, watching these forced romances has echoes of what aromantic and asexual people are often subjected to in our everyday lives in a world that all but demands we find sex and/or romance.

Spoiler warning! 

Star Trek: Voyager ("Unimatrix Zero, pt. 1 & 2"; "Imperfection"; "Human Error"; "Endgame")

Star Trek: Picard ("Stardust City Rag"; "Et in Arcadia Ego", pt. 2)
Dragon Age: Inquisition ("Subjected to His Will" and related dialogue, including Trespasser dialogue and scenes)

Posts referenced in this one; Spoiler warnings still apply:

"An Introduction to Anti-Asexual Tropes Used in Media", "Trope: Asexuality = Childish/Prudish", "Trope: Asexuality = Frigid/Emotionally Stunted" "The Dangers of Shipping" "Asexuality in Star Trek", "I Am Alone, But I Will Adapt: An Asexual Analysis of Seven of Nine", "Remembering the Forgotten Boy: An Asexual Analysis of Cole from Dragon Age"

Content warning: Discussions of Aphobia/Asexual and Aromantic Discrimination

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“Compulsory Romance” is often two pronged. It starts with a relationship that doesn’t entirely make sense and then leads to the complete vanishing of a character’s aspec tendencies. A good example of this is the “relationship” between Sherlock Holmes (often cited as a character who could be AroAce) and Irene Adler. The original story in which Irene Adler appears is called “A Scandal in Bohemia,” during which she and the famous sleuth interact once. For about ten seconds. When she passes Holmes on the street in disguise. And yet, inexplicably, this is interpreted by several pieces of media as the perfect set-up for a romance, such as in the Guy Richie Sherlock Holmes films or the American show, Elementary. Additionally, although a romance never develops in the BBC’s Sherlock, the episode based on the story nevertheless makes use of the same “will they or won’t they?” tension. This and other similar instances of a random romance featuring a character who was previously non-sexual or non-romantic often demonstrate how eager people are to see sex and romance in every situation. In the cases of Holmes and Adler, the assumption is “because Holmes is impressed by Adler’s cleverness, surely he must want her.”

As such, this trope often overlaps with the issues I discussed in my “Dangers of Shipping” post. Whether in a fandom environment or a writer’s room, the assumption often is that everyone must have romantic or sexual relationships, and that a character not having them is too strange to be allowed. I firmly believe we see a clear example of this in the character of Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager. As I discussed in previous posts, I relate to Seven’s journey to find herself and as such I feel the many instances of her being pushed into romantic relationships throughout the show are extremely disappointing, mostly due to the fact that they seem compulsory. Because Seven spent most of her life among the Borg, a collective of cyborg-like beings who strip people of their individuality, she feels neither completely human nor completely Borg, and her best stories center on self-exploration. Additionally, Seven often seems to exhibit AroAce tendencies, which makes romance plots involving her that much more jarring, such as in the episode “Unimatrix Zero,” in which she discovers the titular Borg dreamworld where drones interact with each other as individuals. Returning to it for the first time since her liberation from the Collective, she re-meets a man named Axum, with whom it is revealed she used to have a romantic history.

This episode plays into the “Compulsory Romance” trope in many ways. For a start, the original story was not pitched as a romance, but rather a father-daughter story. Seven was assimilated as a child alongside her parents because they took her along when they went to study the Borg, and as such, there is a great deal of emotion surrounding them that she never gets to address, which would have been amazing to see explored. Instead, however, we are given a random romance plot, and one I find rather insulting, thanks to the reactions of the Voyager crew and Axum himself. For a start, when Seven experiences her first dream of Unimatrix Zero and tells Voyager’s Doctor, he analyzes it by saying the man she saw (Axum) could represent “a suppressed desire for male companionship.” Yes, I’m cringing as I write that. Lines like this once again demonstrate the belief that she surely must want a romantic and/or sexual relationship, even when she herself never expresses that interest. This happens again when a Klingon member of Unimatrix Zero refers to Axum as Seven’s “mate” and tries to give her romance advice, which he calls “advice for the bedroom.” This is especially awkward, given that Seven doesn’t seem exactly receptive to rekindling the romance with Axum. In fact, earlier in the episode when she realizes they share that previous connection, she actually gets very uncomfortable.

Image description: Seven and Axum in the episode "Unimatrix Zero." Axum gets slight brownie points for not telling Seven about their previous relationship because it's clear she doesn't remember it... then loses all those points when he gets indignant that she doesn't want to continue that relationship once she does know. Image obtained from Trek Core.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the episode plays this with shades of the “you’re just denying yourself happiness” trope that becomes a factor in a lot of Compulsory Romance cases. As it often does, that notion sets up the erroneous implication that happiness and romance are mutually exclusive. It also implies any relationships Seven had before simply aren’t good enough. When Seven tells The Doctor about Axum, he replies, “all this time we’ve been trying to develop that part of your humanity and it was there all along.” This reply is extremely sad because Seven has plenty of incredible platonic relationships throughout the show and ironically, the very next episode – “Imperfection” – proves this point perfectly. In that episode, we see the lengths the crew goes to in order to help a dying Seven, as well as the ways they assure her she is important to them. The episode highlights that the crew cares about Seven where she is now, not just who she could be or who she was. Axum, on the other hand, only seems to care about who she was, and their relationship only works on that basis. He leaves no room or respect for the person she is now, one that is both human and Borg.

Rather sadly, the events of “Unimatrix Zero” come back later in the season in “Human Error”. Claiming that she feels “empty” without Unimatrix Zero in her life anymore, Seven begins obsessively practicing romance in the holodeck until it impacts her duties and eventually her health. Disclaimer: I want to be professional, but I hate this episode so much that most of my notes for it read “I want to vomit,” starting with how forced it feels that Seven would long for Unimatrix Zero (and Axum) enough that she wants to change herself, as if her personality is a flaw that keeps her from attaining “deeper relationships.” The way Seven does this is by practicing romance with a holographic version of Commander Chakotay, a person with whom she had never shared anything more than professional interactions during pretty much the entire series. It becomes even more baffling that this then becomes an actual relationship in the series finale, something that has been viewed as bizarre by Voyager fans for years and which becomes even worse from an AroAce standpoint.

But how ever cringey their real relationship might be, it’s nothing compared to the weirdness of the scenario between Seven and the holographic Chakotay. While the forcedness of it can be somewhat explained because it’s a simulation, that does not excuse the mechanics of this episode, which I would argue are littered with mistreatments of Seven’s character, starting with the fact that this “romantic practice” causes her to nearly endanger the ship. To see Seven, who is always dedicated to her job, shirking it to practice romance is insulting. This leads to a scene where Seven tries to break up with holographic Chakotay because their “relationship” is interfering with her duties, which prompts him to suggest she should have fewer duties (which offends me as an AroAce person and a woman).

Of course, as stated in my first Star Trek post, the pinnacle comes when one of Seven’s Borg implants shuts down because of too much emotional stimulation – a failsafe to keep Borg from regaining their emotions – which clearly means romantical or sexual attraction, given the circumstances under which it happens. The Doctor, who discovers the malfunction, claims it makes sense because “the heart is the fastest way to one’s individuality.” But it gets worse – with multiple surgeries, the failsafe can be removed. I’ll talk more about that in the upcoming “Asexuals Need to be Fixed” trope essay, but for now, let’s just say I find this problematic for many reasons, primarily the fact that this is most certainly not the only time Seven has felt strong emotion. Let’s return to “Imperfection,” where one of Seven’s vital implants fails and the only way to save her is to replace the part with one from another Borg. Seven’s young ex-Borg mentee Icheb volunteers for the dangerous procedure, and when it’s complete and Seven sees that Icheb is okay, she is moved to tears, an emotional reaction I would argue is far stronger than anything in “Human Error.” The fact that the series chooses to ignore this type of emotion in favor of romance and sex is disappointing, especially since this is how Seven’s story arc ends… at least until nearly twenty years when she returns in the 2020 series Star Trek: Picard.

As stated previously, although I loved seeing Seven in the series, I found most of her storyline depressing, not least of which because it contained yet another moment of “Compulsory Romance.” While Seven and Chakotay’s previous relationship is never mentioned in the series, which leads me to believe the writers knew it’s somewhat infamous, they nevertheless fall into the same pattern. Once again, Seven seems to enter into an eleventh hour relationship, demonstrated by a moment right at the end of the first season’s final episode when she links hands and locks eyes with fellow crew member, Raffaela “Raffi” Musiker, with whom she has shared almost no prior interactions. While I’m thrilled Star Trek is including more diversity, this moment demonstrates that I am once again not allowed to have an AroAce character, regardless of whether the show in question is from 1995 or 2020.

I had hoped a modern Trek show would be willing to treat Seven’s friendships and other strong bonds as equally valuable to romantic relationships. I thought that’s what we would see when the show made it clear how enduring and powerful Icheb and Seven’s bond is, something which even Voyager sometimes forgot and which I definitely appreciated seeing here (what I don’t appreciate is how it ended – #IchebDeservedBetter). I also don’t appreciate that, even though his relationship with Seven was shown as important, it mostly felt like a plot device to get her into the story and then was largely dropped. I will never get to see Seven and Icheb’s friendship continue, but I am once again forced to endure a romance, and that saddens me. Seven’s relationship with Chakotay came at the very end of Voyager, whereas this relationship merely came at the end of season one, which makes it seem likely it will be explored in future seasons of the show. I hope it’s treated with the respect and emotional exploration it deserves rather than being forced and slapdash like Seven and Chakotay’s romance, but I will nevertheless mourn that I can’t have Seven as AroAce representation, even twenty years after Voyager.

Even so, I’m not saying a romance for Seven is necessarily bad. As someone who low-key ships Seven and The Doctor, I can appreciate romantic moments for her character. But I appreciate them when they come as a slow build up, shared between her and a character who knows, understands, and respects her for who she is. Alas, I don’t feel I’ve seen that in any of her on-screen romances, precisely because of the “Compulsory Romance” trope making these relationships feel less like respectful partnerships and more like the last barrier that must be broken in order to be “normal”. That idea is insidious, especially for characters that aren’t entirely human, such as Seven, or Cole, my favorite spirit boy from the game Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Image description: Once again blogging about my beloved spirit son, Cole, this time focusing on the ways the human path changes him and the ways he falls victim to this particular trope as well.

Like Seven, Cole is a frequent subject of mine. I have several posts discussing his AroAce tendencies, and the ways he falls into or subverts various aphobic tropes. But there are ways where I feel the writers do him a disservice, most notably in his personal quest, during which we learn that Cole took on human form because he tried and failed to save a dying young man. Cole is overwhelmed by a desire for vengeance against the person responsible for this death, and it’s up to you to decide how Cole copes with this moment – does he forgive the wrong and in so doing embrace his true spirit nature, or does he learn how to work through the pain and become more human? Putting aside the cringe-inducing nature of deciding Cole’s fate for him, the quest is a poignant one; but alas, the “human path” has disappointing consequences that include Cole getting a girlfriend named Maryden in Dragon Age: Trespasser, set three years later.

Something that attracted me to Dragon Age in the first place is the incredible diversity among the characters and the way that diversity is, many times, excellently portrayed. Even Cole’s AroAce tendencies are portrayed extremely well up until this point, making this result of the human path even more heartbreaking. In Cole’s relationship with Maryden, we once again have an example of how romance is used as a shorthand for “normal,” even though Cole never expressed interest in relationships in the first place. This is very clearly demonstrated when the other characters are surprised he has a girlfriend and Cole replies with “I am human now,” prompting them to respond in varying degrees of “good for you.” These exchanges completely ignore everything Cole was before by simply chalking it up to “human Cole is real and that means romance,” even though it is entirely possible to show this in other ways.

In fact, Cole has a line of dialogue in Trespasser if he is made more human that demonstrates this nicely. When asked about how he keeps working to help people now that he’s no longer a spirit and can’t just hear their pain, he replies, “it’s harder now… but harder doesn’t mean you don’t do it.” I would argue that watching Cole work through that is far more meaningful than sticking him with a girlfriend. Obviously the writers had limited time to show us the change in Cole, but it wouldn’t have been hard to show him interacting with people in new ways or show us how he helps people now that they can see and remember him. We get tiny snippets of it in dialogue like this, but it’s minor compared to the scene in which we are introduced to his relationship with Maryden, which clearly the developers felt was more important to show us instead.

The characters mentioned in this post are just some of many that get forced into oddly out of the blue relationships simply because their creators seem to deem it necessary. I believe this idea comes about because amatonormativity and a general lack of asexual and aromantic visibility mean that relationships have become the go-to way to wrap up a person’s storyline and to show they’ve attained completeness. As such, this trope really highlights the fact that being an asexual and/or aromantic geek often feels like shaky ground. As I’ve said many times before, it is already frustrating to try and find characters that can be reasonably headcanoned as asexual or aromantic; it is heartbreaking to realize they will likely be forced into sexual and/or romantic relationships simply because that’s what is considered “normal.” So often, media is a tool used to help us understand the world and our place in it, but when ace and aro people are shown these types of things in our media, what does it tell us about our own worlds and how we should relate to them?

I think the worst thing about this trope is that it never seems to be done maliciously; it seems to be done because the romance is thought to be a reward for these characters, a gift of a happy ending. But that ignores the various ways characters can be happy or feel content in the world around them. A romantic relationship is not the be all to end all, nor should it be the barometer of normalcy for characters that are in the process of evolving and changing. Because those ideas are so ingrained into our media and our culture as a whole, it is clear that this trope will take a lot of work to erode, but as Cole says, “harder doesn’t mean you don’t do it.” I hope eventually media will commit itself to giving ace/aro people and ace/aro characters alike a method for which we can opt out of compulsory romance.