Twenty years have passed since Mark Waid and Leinil Francis Yu gave us Superman: Birthright, a twelve-issue series that dared to reimagine the Man of Steel’s origin for the 21st century. Looking back now, in 2026, it’s fascinating to see how this retelling both honored Superman’s legacy and pushed him forward into modernity. It’s also interesting to note how quickly it came and went as the “official” origin story—but more on that particular bit of comic book continuity chaos later.

A Writer’s Mission

Mark Waid came to Birthright with a specific goal: create a Superman origin story that new readers could understand without needing a PhD in Kryptonian history. This wasn’t just another reboot for reboot’s sake. Waid wanted to craft something that captured what he felt when he first saw Superman: The Movie—that sense of wonder, that belief that a man could fly, and more importantly, that humanity could aspire to something greater.

What makes Waid’s approach particularly interesting is how he chose to make Superman more relatable by making him explicitly not infallible. This wasn’t your grandfather’s Superman who always knew the right answer and never struggled with self-doubt. Waid’s Clark Kent loses his dry cleaning, has problems with his boss, and—here’s the kicker—genuinely longs to connect and be accepted. It’s almost like Waid looked at decades of Superman being criticized as too perfect and said, “Hold my cape, I’ve got this.”

The Journalist’s Journey

One of Birthright‘s strongest elements is its treatment of Clark Kent as a journalist, and not just as a convenient secret identity. The story opens not in Smallville or with Krypton’s destruction, but with Clark in his mid-twenties working as a freelance journalist in Africa. He’s there to interview political leader and activist Kobe Asuru, and this isn’t just set dressing—it’s fundamental to who this version of Clark Kent is.

Waid uses this opening to establish Clark as someone who seeks out important stories, who wants to understand different perspectives and cultures, and who uses journalism as a way to connect with humanity on a global scale. When Asuru is assassinated during a political rally, Clark saves scores of potential victims while managing to avoid detection (mostly). This sequence brilliantly demonstrates what kind of journalist Clark is—one who gets involved, who can’t just observe tragedy without acting, even before he officially becomes Superman.

This approach to Clark’s journalism career feels remarkably prescient in 2025. In an era where journalism faces constant challenges and questions about its role in society, Waid’s Clark Kent represents an idealized version of what journalism could be: truth-seeking, globally conscious, and inherently activist in nature. He’s not just pushing papers at the Daily Planet to maintain a cover story; his journalism and his superheroics are two sides of the same moral coin.

The African Connection

Let’s talk about that African opening, because it was a bold choice that sets Birthright apart from virtually every other Superman origin story. Waid deliberately wanted to establish Kal-El/Clark as a citizen of the world, not just of Kansas or America. By having Clark form a genuine friendship with Kobe Asuru and being deeply impacted by his emphasis on family and cultural traditions, Waid expands Superman’s worldview beyond the traditional Smallville-to-Metropolis pipeline.

There’s something powerful about Clark learning about heroism and sacrifice not from stopping bank robbers in Metropolis, but from witnessing political activism and tragedy in Africa. It adds layers to his character that feel especially relevant in our increasingly interconnected world. Plus, Asuru’s sister Abena, who survives the attack and sees Clark’s powers in action, becomes a key figure in the political revolution her brother started. She represents the idea that heroism inspires heroism—Superman’s actions have ripple effects beyond just the people he directly saves.

The Krypton Connection

After his time in Africa, Clark returns to Smallville and finally explores the ship that brought him to Earth. This is where Birthright does something clever with the typical origin structure. Instead of front-loading the story with Krypton’s destruction, Waid saves these revelations for when Clark is ready to understand them. The ship becomes a sort of cultural time capsule, teaching Clark about Kryptonian history and his heritage.

Martha Kent—and can we just appreciate Martha for a moment?—helps adapt the Kryptonian clothing and a “dramatic flag banner” (I love that description) into Superman’s costume. This isn’t just mom sewing a costume; it’s a blending of Kryptonian heritage with Earth practicality, with Martha serving as the bridge between Clark’s two worlds. The fact that the costume materials came from Krypton but needed Martha’s touch to become Superman’s uniform is a beautiful metaphor for Clark’s dual identity.

The Luthor Factor

Now, here’s where Birthright makes one of its most interesting choices, one that would echo through adaptations for years to come. Lex Luthor isn’t just some random megalomaniac who happens to hate Superman. He and Clark knew each other in Smallville as teenagers. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Smallville was already exploring this concept on TV, and DC wanted to align the comics with the popular show’s continuity.

But Waid doesn’t just copy Smallville‘s homework. His Lex is a tragedy of hubris and denial. After losing his father Lionel and his hair in an accident involving a wormhole experiment (because comics!), Luthor leaves Smallville and becomes a billionaire tech genius obsessed with extraterrestrial life. The irony is delicious—he’s searching the stars for alien life while denying he ever lived in the same small town as Earth’s most famous alien.

When Superman confronts Luthor at LexCorp after the terrorist helicopter attack, Luthor pretends to endorse Superman while secretly working to destroy his reputation. This two-faced approach to villainy feels more insidious than the traditional “mad scientist in a purple and green battlesuit” version of Lex. He’s playing a public relations game, which again feels remarkably relevant to our current era of information warfare and public perception battles.

The Soul Vision

One of Birthright‘s most distinctive additions to Superman lore is the concept of “soul vision”—Superman’s ability to see the “aura” of living things. This isn’t just x-ray vision with a fancy name. It’s Waid’s way of visualizing Superman’s connection to life itself. He can literally see the life force in people, which adds a spiritual dimension to his powers that goes beyond simple physical abilities.

This power serves both practical and thematic purposes. Practically, it helps Superman identify threats and understand people’s conditions in ways beyond just seeing through walls. Thematically, it reinforces the idea that Superman sees the inherent value in every life. He’s not just saving bodies; he’s preserving the unique essence of every individual. It’s a beautiful concept that sadly didn’t stick around in later continuities, probably because it’s a bit too metaphysical for some Superman stories.

The Fake Invasion

The climax of Birthright involves Luthor engineering a fake Kryptonian invasion to panic humanity and turn them against Superman. This is peak Luthor—using fear and xenophobia as weapons, manipulating public perception, and trying to make Superman into humanity’s enemy rather than its hero. The fake invasion includes elaborate holograms and technology that make it seem like Superman was just the scout for a full Kryptonian assault.

What’s brilliant about this plot is how it forces Superman to not just punch his way to victory but to prove his allegiance to Earth through his actions. He has to save the very people who are being turned against him, showing that his heroism isn’t conditional on being loved or accepted. It’s a test of character that goes deeper than just stopping a physical threat.

The Moment of Connection

The ending of Birthright contains one of the most emotionally powerful moments in any Superman origin story. During the final battle, Superman discovers that Luthor’s technology has somehow managed to make contact with pre-destruction Krypton through time and space. On a flickering monitor, Superman sees the shadowy figures of his birth parents, Jor-El and Lara, in their final moments as Krypton dies around them.

Here’s where Waid delivers the emotional knockout punch. Superman, standing in his full costume with the S-shield clearly visible, appears on their monitor. He looks at them and says simply: “Mother, Father, I made it.”

Can we just sit with that for a moment? In most origins, Jor-El and Lara die hoping, believing, but never knowing that their son survived. Here, through this temporal paradox, they get confirmation. They see him grown, powerful, heroic—everything they hoped he could be. They smile and embrace as Krypton finally explodes, dying with the knowledge that their sacrifice meant something.

It’s a moment that recontextualizes the entire Superman myth. The S-shield becomes not just a symbol of hope for Earth, but a message across time to doomed parents that their hope was justified. If you didn’t get a little misty-eyed reading that scene, you might want to check if you’re actually Brainiac.

The Brief Canonical Reign

Here’s the awkward thing about Birthright: it was officially Superman’s canonical origin for about… three years. Initially conceived as a non-canon “Ultimate Superman” style story, DC decided during publication to make it the official origin, replacing John Byrne’s 1986 Man of Steel series. Then Infinite Crisis happened in 2005-2006, and suddenly Birthright‘s canonical status was up in the air. By 2009, Geoff Johns’ Secret Origin had taken over as the official origin story.

This might seem like Birthright failed, but that’s missing the point. Comic book continuity is, to put it mildly, a hot mess on the best of days. What matters isn’t whether Birthright remained “official,” but whether it told a good story and influenced how we think about Superman. On both counts, it succeeded spectacularly.

The Lasting Legacy

Even though Birthright isn’t the current canonical origin, its influence can be seen everywhere. The 2013 Man of Steel film borrowed several elements, including the idea of Clark as a wandering young adult trying to find his place in the world and the S-shield as a Kryptonian symbol of hope. The emphasis on Superman as a global hero rather than just an American one has become increasingly important in modern interpretations.

The series also demonstrated that Superman’s origin could be retold without losing what makes the character special. Waid proved you could update Superman for contemporary times while keeping the core of hope, heroism, and humanity that defines the character. You could make him relatable without making him dark or edgy—something that not all modern Superman interpretations have remembered.

The Modern Relevance

Looking at Birthright in 2025, it’s striking how many of its themes feel even more relevant now than they did in 2003. The journalism angle, with Clark using his reporting to understand and connect with diverse cultures, speaks to ongoing conversations about representation and global perspectives in media. Luthor’s use of fear-mongering and fake invasions to manipulate public opinion… well, let’s just say that doesn’t feel particularly dated.

The story’s emphasis on Superman as an immigrant who must prove himself to a suspicious humanity has only become more poignant. Waid didn’t shy away from the fact that Superman is, fundamentally, an alien—an illegal one at that, who crossed borders without documentation as an infant. The fake invasion plot explicitly plays on xenophobic fears, forcing readers to confront their own prejudices about outsiders.

The Art of Origin Retelling

Birthright also stands as a masterclass in how to retell an origin story that everyone already knows. Waid understood that the beats of Superman’s origin—doomed planet, desperate scientists, last hope, kindly couple—are American mythology at this point. Instead of trying to surprise us with plot twists, he focused on character moments and thematic depth.

The story asks: What would it really be like to be Clark Kent? Not just the Superman part, but the Clark part—the young man trying to figure out his place in the world, trying to honor both his birth culture he never knew and his adopted culture that raised him. How do you become a bridge between worlds when you barely understand one of them yourself?

Conclusion

Superman: Birthright may not be the current official origin of Superman, but it remains one of the most thoughtful and emotionally resonant versions ever told. Mark Waid and Leinil Francis Yu created something that felt both timeless and contemporary, honoring Superman’s 65-year history (at the time) while pushing him forward into the 21st century.

The series reminds us that Superman’s origin isn’t just about an alien becoming a hero. It’s about an outsider becoming a symbol of the best of humanity, a journalist dedicated to truth, a son honoring two sets of parents, and ultimately, a story about hope transcending time, space, and even death itself.

In the ever-revolving door of comic book continuity, Birthright may have had a short reign as the “official” origin. But in terms of emotional truth and thematic power, it stands as tall as the Man of Steel himself. Sometimes the best stories aren’t the ones that last forever in continuity—they’re the ones that last forever in our understanding of what makes these characters matter.

And if that’s not worth your dry cleaning getting lost occasionally, I don’t know what is.