In the wake of September 11th, as America grappled with questions of diplomacy, intervention, and national identity, one of comics’ most enduring symbols of peace was undergoing her own transformation. Phil Jimenez’s run on Wonder Woman from 2001 to 2003 didn’t just continue the character’s legacy—it fundamentally reimagined what Paradise Island could represent in a post-9/11 world. Through 25 issues that spanned from Wonder Woman #164 to #188, Jimenez crafted a vision of Themyscira that was equal parts utopian dream and political manifesto, challenging readers to reconsider what heroism looked like in an age of uncertainty.

Building on Pérez’s Foundation

When Jimenez assumed both writing and artistic duties on Wonder Woman in January 2001, he inherited a character whose modern identity had been largely shaped by George Pérez’s post-Crisis reinvention. Pérez had successfully rebooted Wonder Woman as a mythologically rich ambassador from an ancient Greek-inspired society, but his Themyscira was still fundamentally isolated—a timeless refuge removed from contemporary politics. John Byrne’s subsequent run had moved the character toward more traditional superheroics, emphasizing action over diplomacy and power over wisdom.

Jimenez, who has called Pérez his “comic book father,” took a different approach entirely. Rather than rejecting his predecessors’ work, he synthesized their best elements while pushing the character into boldly political territory. “I reinvented Paradise Island,” Jimenez explained in a Comics Journal interview, describing his vision as “a sort of cosmic United Nations and a school”—a living embodiment of progressive ideals that could actively engage with the modern world.

The Floating Utopia: Themyscira Redesigned

Jimenez’s most striking innovation was his complete visual reimagining of Themyscira itself. Gone was the static ancient Greek polis of previous interpretations. In its place, he created a floating archipelago of interconnected islands, bound together by cascading waterfalls and lush greenery that seemed to defy conventional physics. His Themyscira gleamed like mother-of-pearl, with structures that reflected light in iridescent patterns—though he later joked that the limitations of early 2000s print coloring sometimes made his grand vision “look like My Little Pony palace.”

This wasn’t mere aesthetic flourish. Every visual element served Jimenez’s larger political vision. The floating islands suggested a society that had transcended earthbound limitations, while the interconnected architecture reflected a community built on cooperation rather than hierarchy. In detailed spreads throughout issues like #177’s “Paradise Found” arc, readers could see Amazons not just as warriors, but as teachers, builders, diplomats, and citizens engaged in the full spectrum of civic life.

The visual design drew heavily from Art Nouveau and psychedelic influences, with recurring peacock motifs symbolizing immortality and divine wisdom. But perhaps most importantly, Jimenez’s Themyscira was crowded with activity. Multi-panel sequences showed Amazons in heated debate in amphitheater-like settings, working together to rebuild damaged structures, and gathering in elaborate ceremonies that emphasized the island’s role as a functioning democracy rather than a mythic relic.

Gods of Politics: The Early Arcs

Jimenez wasted no time establishing his political themes. His opening arc, “Gods of Gotham” (#164-167), co-written with J.M. DeMatteis, saw the Olympian gods possessing Gotham City villains in a direct challenge to Diana’s commitment to peaceful resolution. The story served as both an exciting crossover with Batman and a meditation on the limitations of divine intervention—a theme that would echo throughout the Bush administration’s own claims of moral authority in foreign affairs.

But it was in “Paradise Island Lost” (#168-169) that Jimenez’s political vision truly crystallized. Co-written with George Pérez himself, this two-part story depicted a civil war on Themyscira that fractured the Amazon community along ideological lines. The conflict wasn’t simply about succession or personal grievances—it was fundamentally about Themyscira’s role in the world. Should the Amazons remain in splendid isolation, preserving their utopian society, or actively engage with a troubled world that might corrupt their ideals?

This philosophical debate gained tragic urgency during the “Our Worlds at War” crossover (#171-173), when Queen Hippolyta died heroically defending Earth from cosmic invasion. Her death wasn’t just a plot device—it was a political statement about the costs of engagement, the price of heroism, and the burden of representation that would define Diana’s character throughout Jimenez’s run.

A Day in the Life: Diana as Diplomat

Perhaps no single issue better encapsulated Jimenez’s vision than Wonder Woman #170, “A Day in the Life.” In this standalone story, Lois Lane shadows Diana through a typical day, offering readers unprecedented insight into the mundane realities of being a superhero diplomat. The issue was revolutionary in its commitment to showing rather than telling—readers saw Diana navigating press conferences, diplomatic meetings, and media scrutiny with the same care she brought to battling supervillains.

The story’s genius lay in its self-awareness. Through Lois’s journalistic eye, Jimenez examined the very concept of symbolic representation. What did it mean for a mythical Amazon to serve as a UN ambassador? How could one person, however extraordinary, represent the hopes and fears of entire populations? In one particularly pointed scene, Diana herself expresses doubts about the appropriateness of a superhero holding such a position—a moment of meta-commentary that invited readers to question their own expectations of heroic representation.

This wasn’t just character development—it was political philosophy in action. At a time when America was asserting its global influence with increasing confidence, Jimenez used Diana’s diplomatic struggles to explore the complexities of soft power, cultural exchange, and the responsibilities that come with privilege.

Diversity and Diplomacy: The Trevor Barnes Experiment

One of Jimenez’s most politically charged decisions was the introduction of Trevor Barnes, an African-American State Department worker who became Diana’s romantic interest. In interviews, Jimenez was remarkably candid about his intentions: “I wanted Diana’s world… to look more like my friends and the world I live in… more properly represented.”

Barnes wasn’t just a token gesture toward diversity—he was a walking embodiment of the political tensions that defined early 2000s America. As a State Department employee, he represented the machinery of American foreign policy, while his relationship with Diana created a personal lens through which to examine diplomatic relationships. Their romance forced readers to confront questions about cultural exchange, power dynamics, and the personal costs of political engagement.

Jimenez later reflected on the complex reception Barnes received, noting how diversity introduced by minority creators is often perceived as inherently political, even when similar changes by white creators pass without comment. This meta-textual awareness—the understanding that representation itself is a political act—permeated his entire approach to the character.

Paradise Found: Rebuilding Utopia

Following the devastation of “Our Worlds at War,” Jimenez’s “Paradise Found” arc (#171-177) became his most sustained examination of political philosophy. With Hippolyta dead and Diana assuming leadership responsibilities, the Amazon community faced fundamental questions about their society’s future. Should they rebuild exactly what they had lost, or use the crisis as an opportunity to evolve?

Jimenez’s visual storytelling during this period was particularly striking. Pages showed Amazons working together to reconstruct their homeland, but the new architecture was notably different from what came before. Buildings gleamed with that characteristic mother-of-pearl effect, but they were also more open, more welcoming to outsiders. The visual message was clear: this wasn’t just physical reconstruction, but social and political evolution.

The arc’s central tension—between preservation and progress—reflected broader debates in early 2000s America about tradition, change, and national identity. But Jimenez avoided simple answers. His Amazons struggled with real disagreements about integration versus isolation, with characters like Philippus and Artemis representing different philosophical approaches to their society’s future.

The Witch and the Warrior: Feminism in Action

Jimenez’s commitment to feminist themes reached its apex in “The Witch & The Warrior” (#174-176), which featured Circe transforming the men of New York into monsters while empowering women to fight back. The story served as both an exciting urban fantasy and a pointed commentary on gender dynamics, power structures, and the ways societies respond to role reversals.

What made the arc particularly sophisticated was its refusal to present simple answers. While Circe’s actions were clearly villainous, her critique of patriarchal power structures wasn’t entirely wrong. Diana’s response—seeking to restore balance rather than simply defeating the villain—reflected Jimenez’s broader philosophy of healing rather than conquest, diplomacy rather than domination.

This approach extended to Jimenez’s artistic choices. Throughout his run, he consistently depicted Diana and her fellow Amazons as powerful without being masculine, diplomatic without being weak. His figure work emphasized grace and intelligence alongside physical strength, while his costume designs celebrated both functionality and feminine aesthetics. In interviews, he explicitly critiqued the trend toward increasingly militarized and masculinized superheroines, arguing for a more “queered, feminized, flamboyant” vision of heroism.

The Cosmic University

Perhaps Jimenez’s most enduring contribution to Wonder Woman mythology was his reconceptualization of Themyscira as what he called a “cosmic university.” This wasn’t just poetic language—it was a fundamental reimagining of the island’s purpose and identity. Rather than a warrior society or mystical retreat, Jimenez’s Themyscira was a center of learning, cultural exchange, and diplomatic innovation.

This vision was most fully realized in the guided tours featured in Wonder Woman Secret Files & Origins #3, where Jimenez provided detailed looks at the island’s educational facilities, cultural centers, and diplomatic quarters. These weren’t just background details—they were evidence of a society that had evolved beyond traditional concepts of power and governance.

The “cosmic university” concept also reflected Jimenez’s understanding of Wonder Woman’s unique position in the DC Universe. Unlike Superman’s Fortress of Solitude or Batman’s Cave, Themyscira was inherently communal, inherently educational. It represented the possibility that societies could grow beyond conflict toward genuine wisdom—a particularly resonant message in an era marked by increasing polarization and international tension.

Truth in the Age of Spin

Throughout his run, Jimenez consistently returned to Wonder Woman’s connection to truth—both through her magical lasso and her personal commitment to honesty in all its forms. But his treatment of this theme was notably sophisticated, acknowledging the complexities of truth-telling in a media-saturated age.

Diana’s regular appearances on television, her work with a press secretary, and her decision to write a book all reflected Jimenez’s understanding that modern heroism required media literacy. In an era of increasing spin and propaganda, Diana’s commitment to unvarnished truth became both her greatest strength and her greatest vulnerability. The stories consistently showed how truth without context could be misleading, how honesty without wisdom could be harmful, and how even the most well-intentioned communications could be distorted by those with political agendas.

This theme gained particular relevance in the post-9/11 media landscape, where questions of truth, propaganda, and national narrative dominated public discourse. Jimenez’s Diana navigated these challenges with characteristic grace, but never without acknowledging their complexity.

Legacy and Impact

When Jimenez concluded his run with issue #188 in March 2003, he left behind a Wonder Woman who was fundamentally transformed. No longer just a warrior princess or even a superhero diplomat, she had become something entirely new: a global citizen committed to the hard work of building bridges between worlds, cultures, and philosophies.

His visual innovations—from the floating archipelago to the mother-of-pearl architecture—would influence Wonder Woman comics for years to come. But perhaps more importantly, his political vision provided a template for how superhero comics could engage seriously with contemporary issues without sacrificing their essential sense of wonder and possibility.

In an era when superhero media often defaults to cynicism or simplistic moral binaries, Jimenez’s Wonder Woman offered something rarer: genuine optimism grounded in political sophistication. His Themyscira wasn’t just a fantasy escape—it was a challenge to readers to imagine what their own societies might become with sufficient wisdom, courage, and commitment to justice.

The timing of his run, spanning from the last days of the Clinton administration through the early years of the Bush presidency, positioned these stories as both time capsule and prophecy. While deeply rooted in the specific political climate of the early 2000s, Jimenez’s themes—the tension between isolation and engagement, the complexity of representation, the power of truth-telling in a media age—remain remarkably relevant.

Conclusion: Paradise as Process

Phil Jimenez’s greatest achievement may have been his recognition that paradise isn’t a destination—it’s a process. His Themyscira was never presented as a perfect society, but rather as one committed to the hard work of constant improvement, continuous learning, and genuine engagement with an imperfect world.

In transforming Paradise Island from a static mythical realm into a dynamic political entity, Jimenez created more than just compelling comics. He offered a vision of what progressive politics might look like when grounded in wisdom rather than ideology, in compassion rather than conquest, and in the understanding that true strength lies not in the ability to dominate others, but in the courage to remain vulnerable enough to grow.

That vision, crystallized in 25 issues published over two crucial years in American history, remains one of the most sophisticated political statements ever achieved in superhero comics—a reminder that our highest ideals are worth fighting for, even when the battle must be waged with diplomacy rather than force, with truth rather than power, and with hope rather than fear.