To say that 2016 was a big year for superhero media is a gross understatement. Over the best twelve months, we’ve seen:

1. A truly moving portrayal of the Punisher in Netflix’s Daredevil, courtesy of Frank Berthal.
2. A live-action version of both the multiverse and the Flashpoint story arc in The Flash.
3. The Justice Society of America join the cast of Legends of Tomorrow.
4. Coming out stories on both Gotham and Supergirl, two extremely different shows.
5. A clash of earth’s mightiest heroes in Captain America: Civil War.
6. A fight between the Man of Steel and the Dark Knight (Batman vs. Superman).
7. The first cinematic movie to feature Marvel’s Doctor Strange.
8. A massive crossover courtesy of CW’s Arrowverse.

And even that list is only the tip of the iceberg. So when I say that there’s one superhero story that tops all of those, please don’t take it lightly, because everything on this list is important to me. But there’s one thing that outshines them all: Marvel’s newest Netflix series, Luke Cage.

When I first heard about the series, I only thought of it in relation to the MCU (and the upcoming miniseries Defenders), as a small part of a larger whole. I wasn’t very familiar with Luke Cage’s comic book background, and since I decided to forego watching Jessica Jones, I didn’t have a strong feel for the character. I just figured I’d give the show a try, but I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Before I go any further into detail, I should point out that my skin is about as dark as an eggshell, if you catch my drift. And to be honest, I have a hard time putting myself into other people’s shoes. So obviously, I have no idea what it’s like to be African-American. I don’t know what they go through on a daily basis, and I’m not always aware of the subtler signs of racism in our culture or the tensions that come with it.

That being said, I feel like the show Luke Cage has given me some insight into what it’s like to be African-American (in Harlem, anyway). The show has an interesting way of incorporating racial tension and stereotypes as a part of everyday life, rather than an overlying theme. It’s also notable for a use of music to set the theme and culture, naming each episode after a Gang Starr song. The show also utilizes about thirty different songs in its soundtrack. Most of these numbers, if not all, belong to rap, hip-hop, R&B, soul, and other genres dominated by African-American artists. And before I watched the show, I hadn’t heard any of them before.

While the show’s portrayal of African-American culture is groundbreaking, that’s not its only strength. One of the main conflicts in the show was the struggle between truth and lies, especially in the political circles. Take the character of Mariah Dillard, a city councilwoman. She starts off as an accessory to her cousin’s crime business, but only as a means to an end. She gives him a little funding for his enterprises, and she receives a cut of the profit, which help fund her housing projects and other community work. She views it as a necessary evil, a means to an end.

Mariah begins as a woman dedicated to revitalizing Harlem (and, as she repeatedly mentions, “keeping it black”). But by giving and taking money from her cousin’s criminal empire, she compromises her integrity. And once he dies, his empire is left to her. No matter how much she refuses, she gets drawn in by that world, forced to continue the work that she had a hand in. And although Mariah started out using the underworld to further her political career, she ends up doing the opposite: using her political career to fund the underworld.

In particular, she uses people’s fear in order to manipulate them and bends the truth to suit her needs, which is extremely relevant. 2016 was a year of massacres, coups, and conflicting ideologies. And do you know what most politicians did, in the event of a crisis? They used it to make themselves heard, promising safety and freedom. In the most recent election, both campaigns were dependent on fear: fear of the opponent winning, fear of change, fear of restriction, etcetera.

Fear has always been an excellent motivator, and it’s no different in the world of Luke Cage. In the wake of shootings, robberies, and mass panic, Mariah Dillard uses her platform to send a message: Fear Luke Cage. She manipulates the events, making it seem like he’s responsible for the chaos. She reminds her audience that Luke’s not like them; he’s different--strong, bulletproof, maybe not even human. And once both the public and the police are convinced that Luke’s a menace, she uses that belief to sell enhanced weaponry to the NYPD.

Fortunately, Luke Cage isn’t just about the pervasiveness of fear and lies; it’s also about the power of hope and unity. Luke’s real power isn’t his ability to stop bullets or break through a metal door; it’s the hope he provides. To the people of Harlem, he becomes a symbol, a reminder that someone’s looking out for them.

While I love characters like the Flash or Daredevil, Luke has something over them: he doesn’t wear a mask. People trust him because they know who he is. It reminds them that he is human and not afraid to show his face. They trust him because he's not hiding.

And despite the fact that he is a fictional character, Luke Cage is also an inspiration to the people in the real world. He is unapologetically, irrevocably himself, while still admitting his mistakes and accepting the consequences of them. He also doesn’t work alone, relying on Claire, Bobby, and Misty for help when he needs it. He is a hero with flaws but not so deeply entrenched in them that he can’t move forward.

Luke Cage is the best superhero story of 2016 because it’s the story we need to hear. We need to learn how to live with others who are different, without apologizing for who we are. We need to learn how to overcome fear and lies. And, most importantly, we need to learn how to move forward. Always, forward.