The dynamic between Geordi La Forge and Dr. Leah Brahms in “Star Trek: The Next Generation” (TNG) serves as an uncomfortable reflection of deeper issues surrounding privacy, consent, and the portrayal of male-female relationships in media. Examining the episodes “Booby Trap” and “Galaxy’s Child” reveals not just problematic interactions, but also the limitations of the show’s ethical imagination.

In “Booby Trap”, Geordi creates a holographic version of Leah Brahms to solve a crisis aboard the USS Enterprise. What begins as a technical necessity quickly veers into murky territory when Geordi develops personal feelings for the hologram. This digital Leah, designed to assist with engineering challenges, is imbued with enough personality to simulate human connection, but she’s still a tool, incapable of true agency or consent. Geordi’s affection for the hologram reflects an unsettling fantasy: a world where one can mold a perfect partner without regard for the autonomy of the real person behind the likeness.

This tension explodes in “Galaxy’s Child”, when the actual Dr. Brahms arrives on the Enterprise. Geordi, buoyed by his prior “relationship” with the hologram, anticipates a warm connection. Instead, Leah discovers the simulation, sparking an understandable sense of violation. The holographic version was created – and romanticized – without her consent, raising significant ethical concerns. The show sidesteps the gravity of Leah’s discomfort by centering on Geordi’s good intentions and admiration for her work, failing to grapple with the invasive nature of his actions.

This storyline taps into a broader cultural trope: the “nice guy” who feels entitled to affection because his intentions are pure. Geordi’s well-meaning persona becomes a shield against accountability, excusing behaviors that breach personal boundaries. Meanwhile, Leah’s autonomy and emotional response are marginalized, her discomfort framed as an obstacle to Geordi’s emotional growth.

Even the resolution falls flat. Leah’s justified anger dissipates far too quickly, subsumed by a focus on professional collaboration. The narrative ultimately suggests that personal boundaries are secondary to technical expertise, a troubling message that undermines the importance of respect and accountability in relationships.

The implications extend beyond TNG. Later portrayals of Geordi in “Star Trek: Picard” position him as a family man, with daughters Sidney and Alandra. While the identity of his wife is left ambiguous, non-canon sources such as “Engines of Destiny” imagine Geordi and Leah eventually marrying, a conclusion that feels jarring given the unresolved ethical breaches in their earlier interactions. The novels frame their relationship as one of mutual respect and shared passion for engineering, but this idealized progression sidesteps the critical flaws in its foundation.

The Geordi-Leah dynamic exemplifies a recurring issue in media: the prioritization of male character arcs over the agency of female characters. TNG’s treatment of their interactions reflects outdated attitudes about privacy, consent, and the consequences of male entitlement. It’s a narrative that not only diminishes Leah’s humanity but also leaves viewers with unresolved questions about the ethics of their bond.

If Star Trek is to live up to its ideals of exploration and progress, it must interrogate these missteps, offering more nuanced and respectful portrayals of relationships. Only then can it boldly go where it’s never gone before: toward a future of genuine equality and respect.