Censoring Games
Marvel Rivals is one of the biggest video games in the world. Since its launch in December, more than 40 million people have signed up to fight one another as comic book heroes like Iron Man and Wolverine.
But when players used the game's text chat to talk with teammates and opponents, they noticed something: Certain phrases, including 'free Hong Kong' and 'Tiananmen Square,' were not allowed.
While Marvel Rivals is based on an iconic American franchise, it was developed by a Chinese company, NetEase Games. It has become the latest example of Chinese censorship creeping into media that Americans consume.
You can't type 'free Tibet,' 'free Xinjiang,' 'Uyghur camps,' 'Taiwan is a country' or '1989' (the year of the Tiananmen Square massacre) in the chat. You can type 'America is a dictatorship' but not 'China is a dictatorship.' Even memes aren't spared. 'Winnie the Pooh' is banned, because people have compared China's leader, Xi Jinping, to the cartoon bear.
The restrictions are largely confined to China-related topics. You can type 'free Palestine,' 'free Kashmir' and 'free Crimea.'
Why does all of this matter? Video games are not just sources of entertainment; they are also social platforms. Every day, hundreds of millions of children and adults log on to games like Fortnite, World of Warcraft and, yes, Marvel Rivals to play together and hang out. For many young people, these games are as social as Facebook or X.
China's video game industry is growing. As it does, the country's authoritarian leaders are setting the terms of how these social platforms work.
Growing problem
China's market, with hundreds of millions of potential customers, has long enticed game developers. But companies have to play by China's rules to get in, and that means accepting censorship. (Other industries, including movies and sports, have faced similar challenges.)
Until recently, this censorship mostly appeared in the Chinese versions of Western-made games. China deemed the military shooter PUBG too violent, so its developers reworked it. When someone shoots and kills another player in the Chinese version, the victim doesn't exactly die; he kneels and waves goodbye before vanishing.
As China's game developers have grown and gone international, however, they've also exported their style of censorship.
Last year, the Chinese developer Game Science released Black Myth: Wukong. It was a hit with Western audiences, and it became the first Chinese-made game to be nominated for game of the year at the Game Awards, the industry's equivalent to best picture at the Oscars. But before the game's release, a company affiliated with Game Science told people streaming the game that they should avoid talking about certain topics, including 'feminist propaganda' and Covid.
The problem stands to get worse. As China's economy grows, Western developers will have greater incentives to release games there. China's game industry is taking off and will continue to export games. Chinese publishers, such as the conglomerate Tencent, have also bought Western developers, and the Chinese government could push them to censor their games, too.
Player pushback
In some cases, consumers have pushed back against censorship. In 2019, the American developer Blizzard suspended a player from Hong Kong and revoked his prize money after he said, 'Liberate Hong Kong, revolution of our times,' at a competitive event.
Many fans saw the punishment as Blizzard bowing to censorship so it could continue to sell games in China. The fans started a boycott and canceled subscriptions to Blizzard games. Members of Congress spoke out. Blizzard eventually reduced the player's punishment and returned his prize money.
Chinese developers are insulated from this kind of public criticism. But Western companies like Blizzard aren't. With Marvel Rivals, Disney licensed its intellectual property for the game. Microsoft allows the game on its Xbox consoles. The Valve Corporation, based in Bellevue, Wash., hosts the game on Steam, the biggest marketplace for computer games.
In that sense, the responsibility for censorship is shared by China's leaders and the Western companies that play along.
Related: I recommend reading The Times's exploration of Metroidvanias, a video game genre that leverages mysterious, mazelike settings to evoke feelings of discovery and progression.
Trump Administration
German Election
More International News
Other Big Stories
It can be hard to keep up with the deluge of news from the White House. The Times has created a page to track the Trump administration — including its major executive orders, memos, lawsuits and social media posts. Here are some from the past week:
See the full list here.
Some scholars say the U.S. is already in a constitutional crisis. Who bears responsibility?
Trump. Behind a curtain of culture war distractions, the president is consolidating power. 'Trump has unconstitutionally usurped control over the steering wheel of democracy, shoved the gear into reverse and slammed on the gas all while making sure you have enough going on to not look up from your iPad in the backseat.' Aidan Cummins writes for The Daily Cardinal.
Congress. Thirty years of congressional dysfunction brought us to this point, and their continuing inaction enables Trump to do as he wishes. 'Members of Congress are not helpless cogs in a political machine they cannot control. Individually, collectively, they have agency, responsibility and power,' Steven Pearlstein writes for Roll Call.
Ukrainians are tired of fighting. But pride and determination won't allow them to end the war on Russia's terms, Artem Chekh writes.
JD Vance and Elon Musk should not lend credibility to Germany's far-right party, which is both pro-Russian and anti-American, James Kirchick writes.
Here's a column by Maureen Dowd on Trump portraying himself as king.
A long journey: Leonard Peltier spent 50 years in prison for the murders of two F.B.I. agents. Now he's back on his home reservation to serve the remainder of his sentence.
Coin purge: If the U.S. gets rid of pennies, it might want to consider scrapping nickels, too: The five-cent pieces cost about 14 cents to make.
Vows: A 'perfect fit' in love and fashion.
Most clicked yesterday: See what $475,000 can get you in Manhattan.
Lives Lived: Carlos Diegues was a film director who highlighted Brazil's ethnic richness and its social turbulence. He died at 84.
'Dream State,' by Eric Puchner: Weddings gone wrong have long been fictional catnip, but Eric Puchner puts a fresh spin on the plot in his second novel, 'Dream State,' which Oprah Winfrey just selected as her 111th book club pick. The trouble starts when Cece, a bright-eyed bride-to-be, arrives in Montana to finalize the details of her wedding alongside her husband-to-be's depressed best friend, who is (to her chagrin) performing the ceremony. The pair develop an unexpected rapport. Then norovirus disrupts the nuptials, setting in motion a chain of events that spans 50 years, two generations and an ever-worsening climate crisis that leads to respirator masks and a death cult. If this sounds like a bit of a bait and switch — a romantic romp turned dystopian — well, it might be. But it's also a thoughtful meditation on the seismic impact of small decisions on human and earthly conditions. It couldn't be more timely.
More on books
This week's subject for The Interview is the best-selling science writer Ed Yong, who talked about how engaging with nature helped him combat feelings of professional burnout.
When you're watching birds — and this could apply to the natural world writ large — there is so much going on beyond our comprehension. Because of our sensory capabilities as human beings, we are condemned to having only an ankle-deep understanding of what it is to be alive on Earth. To me, that's humbling and mind-blowing. What do you think?
I fully agree. I mean, that is a beautiful précis of basically my entire body of work.
Nailed it!
[Laughs.] I can go home now, right? All of it is about the idea that much of the world is hidden from us, that we don't perceive it and don't understand it, and that it is worth understanding and it is necessary to understand.
I have a curmudgeonly question. Developing an awareness of the magic that's happening all around us at any given moment, and understanding that there's this vast cosmic dance playing out — in the abstract, I can see how internalizing those perspectives might change one's perspective. But did your understanding of the bigger existential stuff you were writing about actually help you when you were struggling?
I can say that thinking about these ideas constantly really helped me. It felt like a salve to all of that moral injury and despair that I was feeling. It doesn't cure it, but it fills my life with wonder and joy, and that acts as a buffer against all the other existential dread and fear that we have to grapple with. There is a kind of implosive effect of the modern world, and the science and nature writing that I'm prioritizing, and the birding that I do, are all counters to that.
Read more of the interview here.
Click the cover image above to read this week's magazine.
Turn store-bought rotisserie chicken into a healthy dinner.
Embrace monochromatic dressing.
Use sleep headphones.
Emily Weinstein's favorite recipes to make at home aren't the most elaborate — they're simple, with a single technique or ingredient that makes the dish distinctive. In this week's Five Weeknight Dishes newsletter, Emily suggests meals that feature what she terms 'lightbulb moments' including roasted chicken thighs with hot honey and lime, and blistered broccoli pasta with walnuts, pecorino and mint.
Here is today's Spelling Bee. Yesterday's pangram was honeydew.
Can you put eight historical events — including Einstein's theory of general relativity, the invention of the Ferris wheel, and the development of Chinese porcelain — in chronological order? Take this week's Flashback quiz.
And here are today's Mini Crossword, Wordle, Sudoku, Connections, Sports Connections and Strands.
Thanks for spending part of your weekend with The Times.
P.S. It's been nearly five years since the coronavirus was declared a pandemic. Do you travel differently now? Tell The Times how your habits have changed.
Sign up here to get this newsletter in your inbox. Reach our team at themorning@nytimes.com.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Atlantic
34 minutes ago
- Atlantic
How I Accidentally Inspired a Major Chinese Motion Picture
In December, a friend sent me the trailer for a new Chinese movie called Clash. It's a sports comedy about a ragtag group of Chinese men who start an American-football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learn to block and tackle, build camaraderie, and face off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. Funny, I thought. In 2014, I wrote an article for The New Republic about a ragtag group of Chinese men who'd started an American football team in the southwestern city of Chongqing. With the help of a foreign coach, the Chongqing Dockers learned to block and tackle, built camaraderie, and—yes—faced off in the league championship against the evil Shanghai team. The Chinese studio behind Clash, iQIYI, is not the first to take an interest in the Dockers' story. My article, titled 'Year of the Pigskin,' was natural Hollywood bait: a tale of cross-cultural teamwork featuring a fish-out-of-water American protagonist, published at a moment when Hollywood and China were in full-on courtship and the future of U.S.-China relations looked bright. It didn't take much imagination to see Ryan Reynolds or Michael B. Jordan playing the coach—a former University of Michigan tight end who'd missed his shot at a pro career because of a shoulder injury—with Chinese stars filling the supporting roles. Sony bought the option to the article, as well as the coach's life rights. When that project fizzled a few years later, Paramount scooped up the rights but never made anything. Now a Chinese studio appeared to have simply lifted the idea. I texted Chris McLaurin, the former Dockers coach who now works at a fancy law firm in London. (Since my original article published, we have become good friends.) Should we say something? Should we sue? At the very least, one of us had to see the movie. Fortunately, it was premiering in February at the International Film Festival Rotterdam. I booked a flight to the Netherlands. The movie I saw, which came out in Chinese theaters last month, did not alleviate my concerns. But the film, along with the conversations I had with its producer and director, provided a glimpse into the cultural and political forces that led to Clash 's creation. Indeed, the trajectory of the IP itself—from the original article to the Hollywood screenplays to the final Chinese production—says a lot about how the relationship between the United States and China has evolved, or devolved, over the past decade. What began as a story about transcending cultural boundaries through sports has turned into a symbol of just how little China and the U.S. understand each other—and how little interest they have in trying. I went to China in 2011 because I had a vague sense that something important was happening there. I moved to Beijing, with funding from a Luce scholarship, and started looking for stories. They weren't hard to find. The years after the 2008 Beijing Olympics turned out to be a remarkable era of relative openness. Many international observers saw Xi Jinping's rise in 2012 as the beginning of a period of liberalization, the inevitable political outcome of the country's growing prosperity. For journalists, China was a playground and a gold mine at once. We could travel (mostly) freely and talk to (almost) anyone. Along with the wealth of narrative material came a sense of purpose: We felt as though we were writing the story of the New China—a country opening up to the rest of the world, trying on identities, experimenting with new ways of thinking and living. The story that captivated me most was that of the Chongqing Dockers. It was one of those article ideas that miraculously fall in your lap, and in retrospect feel like fate. I'd heard that McLaurin, another Luce Scholar, had started coaching a football team in Chongqing, so I flew down to visit him. The first practice I attended was barely controlled chaos: The team didn't have proper equipment, no one wanted to hit one another, and they kept taking cigarette breaks. 'It was like 'Little Giants,' except with adult Chinese men,' I wrote to my editor at The New Republic. He green-lighted the story, and I spent the next year following the team, as well as McLaurin's efforts to create a nationwide league. The movie analogy was fortuitous. Just before the article was published, Sony bought the IP rights, as well as the rights to McLaurin's life story. The project would be developed by Escape Artists, the production company co-founded by Steve Tisch, a co-owner of the New York Giants. Maybe the NFL, struggling to break into the Chinese market, would even get involved. The deal changed McLaurin's life. Sony flew him and his mom out to Los Angeles, where a limo picked them up at the airport. He met with Tisch and the other producers. They floated Chris Pratt for the role of the coach. One executive asked McLaurin if he'd considered acting. McLaurin also met with high-level executives at the NFL interested in helping establish American football in China. He'd been planning to apply to law school, but now he decided to stay in Chongqing and keep developing the league. In retrospect, the China-Hollywood love affair was at that point in its wildest throes. As the reporter Erich Schwartzel recounts in his 2022 book, Red Carpet: Hollywood, China, and the Global Battle for Cultural Supremacy, China spent the late 2000s and 2010s learning the craft of blockbusting by partnering with Hollywood filmmakers and executives. Hollywood studios, meanwhile, got access to the growing market of Chinese moviegoers. (In 2012, then–Vice President Joe Biden negotiated an agreement to raise the quota of U.S. films allowed to screen in China.) It was, in effect, a classic technology transfer, much like General Motors setting up factories in China in exchange for teaching Chinese workers how to build cars. Erich Schwartzel: How China captured Hollywood With a potential audience of 1.4 billion, every U.S. studio was trying to make movies that would appeal to the Chinese market. This led to some ham-fisted creative choices. The filmmakers behind Iron Man 3 added a scene in which a Chinese doctor saves Tony Stark's life, though it wasn't included in the U.S. cut. The Chinese release of Rian Johnson's time-travel thriller, Looper, contained a gratuitous sequence in which Bruce Willis and Xu Qing gallivant around Shanghai. In the same film, Jeff Daniels's character tells Joseph Gordon-Levitt's, 'I'm from the future—you should go to China.' The threat of being denied a Chinese release also resulted in countless acts of self-censorship by Hollywood studios. Sony changed the villains of its Red Dawn remake from Chinese to North Korean in postproduction, and removed a scene showing the destruction of the Great Wall of China from the Adam Sandler film Pixels. In this environment, Hollywood put a premium on stories that could appeal equally to American and Chinese audiences. That usually meant going as broad as possible and leaning away from cultural specifics, as in the Transformers and Marvel movies. But in theory, another, more difficult path existed, the Hollywood equivalent of the Northwest Passage: a movie that incorporated Chinese and American cultures equally. This could be a breakthrough not only in the box office but also in storytelling. It could even map a future for the two countries, offering proof that we have more in common than we might think. The producers at Sony apparently hoped that a 'Year of the Pigskin' adaptation could pull off that trick. 'The movie we want to develop is JERRY MAGUIRE meets THE BAD NEWS BEARS set in China,' Tisch wrote in an email to Sony's then-chairman and CEO, Michael Lynton. 'This is the perfect movie to film in China.' But there was a puzzle built into the project. 'The struggle for me was trying to figure out who the movie was for,' Ian Helfer, who was hired to write the screenplay, told me recently. His task was to create a comedy that would be a vehicle for a big American star while appealing to Chinese audiences. But nobody in Hollywood really knew what Chinese audiences wanted, aside from tentpole action movies. They seemed happy to watch Tom Cruise save the world, but would they pay to see Chris Pratt teach them how to play an obscure foreign sport? Helfer's vision mostly tracked the original article: An American former college-football star goes to China and teaches the locals to play football. Everyone learns some important lessons about teamwork, brotherhood, and cultural differences along the way. He turned in a draft and hoped for the best. Most Hollywood projects die in development, and the autopsy is rarely conclusive. Exactly why the Sony project fizzled is not clear. Helfer said he'd heard that Sony's China office had objected to the project because it didn't feature a Chinese protagonist. Whatever the reason, when the 'Pigskin' option came up for renewal in 2017, Sony passed. By then, the China-Hollywood wave was cresting. The Zhang Yimou–directed co-production The Great Wall, released in 2017 and starring Matt Damon, flopped in the United States. That same year, the agreement that had raised the quota of U.S. films in China expired. Xi Jinping, who was turning out not to be the liberal reformer many Westerners had hoped for, railed against foreign cultural influence and encouraged homegrown art. His plan worked: Although China had depended on the U.S. for both entertainment and training earlier in the decade, it was now producing its own big-budget triumphs. In 2017, the jingoistic action flick Wolf Warrior 2 broke Chinese box-office records and ushered in a new era of nationalist blockbusters. At the same time, however, U.S. box-office revenues had plateaued, making the Chinese market even more important for Hollywood profits. After Sony declined to renew, Paramount optioned the rights to 'Year of the Pigskin,' and the development gears ground back into motion. This time, there was apparent interest from John Cena, who was in the midst of a full-on pivot to China, which included studying Mandarin. (He hadn't yet torpedoed his career there by referring to Taiwan as a 'country' in an interview, after which he apologized profusely in a much-mocked video.) The Paramount version of 'Pigskin' died when the studio discovered belatedly that football wasn't big in China, according to Toby Jaffe, the producer who'd arranged the deal. 'They realized that it wasn't well-suited for the Chinese market,' he told me recently. 'So the reason they bought it for maybe wasn't the most logical analysis.' The option expired once again in 2019. The coronavirus pandemic snuffed out whatever flame still burned in the China-Hollywood romance. McLaurin's China dreams were fading too. His hopes for a broad expansion of American football in China—he had started working for the NFL in Shanghai—seemed out of reach. He left China and went to law school. I figured we'd never hear about a 'Pigskin' adaptation again. When I met the Clash producer and screenwriter Wu Tao outside a hotel in Rotterdam in February, he greeted me with a hug. He told me he couldn't believe we were finally meeting after all these years, given how our lives were both intertwined with the Dockers. 'It's fate,' he said. Wu has spiky hair, a goatee, and an energy that belies his 51 years. He was wearing a bright-green sweater covered with black hearts with the words THANKYOUIDON'TCARE spelled backwards. We sat down at a coffee table in the hotel lobby alongside the director of Clash, Jiang Jiachen. Jiang was wearing computer-teacher glasses and a ribbed gray sweater. Wu, who'd produced and written the script for Clash, right away called out the elephant in the room with a joke. He had stolen one line from my article, he said with a chuckle—a character saying, 'Welcome to Chongqing'—but hadn't paid me for the IP. (This line does not actually appear in the article.) 'Next time,' I said. Wu said he'd been working as a producer at the Chinese media giant Wanda in Beijing when, in 2018, he came across an old article in the Chinese magazine Sanlian Lifeweek about the Dockers. He'd already produced a couple of modest hits, including the superhero satire Jian Bing Man, but he wanted to write his own feature. He was immediately taken with the Dockers' story, and a few days later, he flew to Chongqing to meet the players. They mentioned that Paramount was already working on a movie about the team, but Wu told them that an American filmmaker wouldn't do their story justice. 'In the end, Hollywood cares about the Chinese market,' Wu told me. 'They don't understand China's culture and its people.' He paid a handful of the players about $2,750 each for their life rights, and bought the rights to the team's name for about $16,500. Wu also met up with McLaurin in Shanghai, but they didn't ultimately sign an agreement. 'I understood that, in his head, this was his movie,' Wu said. But Wu had his own vision. Shirley Li: How Hollywood sold out to China Wu got to work writing a script. By 2022, he'd persuaded iQIYI to make the movie and gotten his script past the government censorship bureau with minimal changes. In summer 2023, they began shooting in Chongqing. Wu told me that he'd set out to tell the Dockers' story from a Chinese perspective. 'It's easy to imagine the Hollywood version, like Lawrence of Arabia,' he said. 'A white Westerner saves a group of uncivilized Chinese people.' Even if he'd wanted to tell that kind of story, Wu knew it wouldn't fly in the domestic market. 'We're not even talking about politics; that's just reality,' Wu said. Jiang added, 'It's a postcolonial context.' This argument made sense to me in theory, but I was curious to see what it meant in practice. That evening, I sat in a packed theater and took in the film. Clash opens with a flashback of Yonggan, the hero, running away from a bully as a kid—behavior that gets him mocked as a coward. (His name translates to 'brave.') It then cuts to adult Yonggan, who works as a deliveryman for his family's tofu shop, sprinting and careening his scooter through Chongqing's windy roads, bridges, and back alleys. When Yonggan gets an urgent delivery order from an athletic field where a football team happens to be practicing, the team captain watches in awe as Yonggan sprints down the sideline, takeout bag in hand, faster than the football players. He gets recruited on the spot. Although Clash has the same basic framing as the American film treatments—an underdog team struggling against the odds—the details are original, and telling. Instead of focusing on the coach, the story centers on Yonggan and his teammates, each of whom is dealing with his own middle-class problems: Yonggan's father wants him to give up his football dreams and work at the tofu shop; the war veteran Rock struggles to connect with his daughter; the model office-worker Wang Peixun can't satisfy his wife. The coach, meanwhile, is not an American former college-football star, but rather a Mexican former water boy named Sanchez. He wanted to play in the NFL, he tells the players, but in the U.S., they let Mexicans have only subordinate jobs. The sole American character is, naturally, the captain of the evil Shanghai team. Notably, there's no mention of 'American football' at all; they simply call the sport 'football,' which in Mandarin is the same as the word for 'rugby.' As for the tone, it's hyperlocal in a way that feels authentic to the material. Characters trade quips in rat-a-tat Chongqing dialect. Jokes and references are not overexplained. The film has a catchy hip-hop soundtrack featuring local artists. It also embraces tropes of Chinese comedy that might feel cringey to American audiences: abrupt tonal shifts, fourth-wall breaks, and flashes of the surreal, including an impromptu musical number and a surprisingly moving moment of fantasy at the end. (There are also the predictable gay-panic jokes.) I had been dreading a lazy rip-off, but this felt like its own thing. To my surprise, the audience—which was primarily European, not Chinese—loved it. At both screenings I attended, it got big cheers. When festival attendees voted on their favorite films, Clash ranked 37th out of 188 titles. (The Brutalist came in 50th.) After watching the film, my griping about the IP rights felt petty. Sure, Wu had blatantly lifted the premise of my article. (I looked up the Chinese article that Wu claimed first inspired him and saw that it explicitly mentioned my New Republic article, and the Sony movie deal, in the first paragraph.) But he'd done something original with it. It occurred to me that even if Wu had taken the story and reframed it to please a domestic audience, I was arguably guilty of the same crime. Just like Wu, I had been writing for a market, namely the American magazine reader of 2014. American narratives about China tend to be simplistic and self-serving. During the Cold War, China was foreign and scary. In the 1980s, as it began to reform its economy, American reporters focused on the green shoots of capitalism and the budding pro-democracy movement. In the post-Olympics glow of the 2010s, American readers were interested in stories about how the Chinese aren't all that different from us: See, they play football too! Or go on cruises, or follow motivational speakers, or do stand-up comedy. I was writing at a cultural and political moment when American audiences—and I myself—felt a self-satisfied comfort in the idea that China might follow in our footsteps. What Hollywood didn't realize is that Chinese viewers weren't interested in that kind of story—not then, and certainly not now. Part of me still wishes that a filmmaker had managed to tell the Dockers story in a way that emphasized international cooperation, especially now that our countries feel further apart than ever. But the liberal-fantasy version was probably never going to work. I'm glad someone made a version that does.
Atlantic
35 minutes ago
- Atlantic
Paris Can Be Intimidating—But It Has Great Butter
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. The Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain's account of his international adventures, made him famous—and cemented the stereotype of the Ugly American. One hundred and fifty-eight years later, Caity Weaver followed him to Paris. Caity and I chatted about her hilarious recounting of her trip in The Atlantic, why Paris can feel so intimidating, and the only food she ate there that she actually liked. Isabel Fattal: If you could go back in time and travel to Paris with Mark Twain, would you? Caity Weaver: Could I be assured of a safe return? Isabel: Yes, for imagination's sake. Caity: Absolutely. I would go anywhere with him. One of the things I was struck by when I reread this book before my trip was how unbelievably funny it is. Of course I knew that Mark Twain was 'a humorist,' but there were sections where I was laughing out loud. I think a lot of times when people think of old books, they get an idea in their head of a book that's really stuffy or boring. But this was cracklingly interesting. As a reader, it's rewarding to come across prose like that. As a writer, it's extremely irritating and intimidating. This man was funnier than I'll ever be, and he did it in 1869. Isabel: Do you have a favorite line or passage from the book? Caity: There was a section where he wrote about what he calls 'the Old Travelers'—well-traveled know-it-alls you sometimes encounter abroad: 'They will not let you know anything. They sneer at your most inoffensive suggestions; they laugh unfeelingly at your treasured dreams of foreign lands; they brand the statements of your traveled aunts and uncles as the stupidest absurdities.' Isabel: If you could ask Twain one question about his trip, what would it be? Caity: I would say: 'Sam, Mr. Clemens, did you go to the Louvre? Did you set foot inside the Louvre, really?' I can't prove that he didn't, but I strongly suspect that he didn't. And I feel like he would tell me. Can't kid a kidder. Isabel: You write in your story about the possibility that Twain was ashamed about not understanding the art at the Louvre. Does visiting Paris make a person feel like they need to have a certain level of cultural knowledge? Did you feel intimidated at any point? Caity: I feel like a completely idiotic, disorganized, disheveled crumb bum anywhere, but especially in Paris. It's like walking into a very fancy hotel lobby. Some people are going to be really comfortable there, and some people are going to think, Am I gonna be arrested for walking into this hotel lobby? Paris is so just-so. I find it to be an intimidating place. The combination of not really speaking the language and the city being so beautiful … I felt a little bit on edge there. Isabel: I have one bone to pick with you. I think you were eating wrong in Paris. You didn't eat anything yummy! Caity: I sure didn't. (Well, I had great ramen.) Isabel: What went wrong? Caity: I didn't eat anything I absolutely loved except the butter. I had a crêpe suzette—delicious, and thrilling to have a small fire caused in a restaurant at your behest. I had some croissants. I really was hoping to be able to write, 'Oh my God, I found the best croissant in the world,' and I just don't think I did. But the butter: unbelievably good. I took so many notes for myself trying to describe the color and the taste of the butter. [ Reads through her notes.] I suppose I am an Ugly American, because this is my description of butter: 'creamy; has a scent; smells almost like movie theater butter.' The color was such a rich, deep yellow, almost like how an egg yolk can sometimes tip over into orange. My notes say, 'So fatty and rich.' Next bullet point: 'like if the whole room were made out of pillows.' And then: 'Yes, I realize I am describing a padded cell.' But it was an ultimate richness, softness, like, Just let me roll around in a padded cell. That was how I felt eating this butter. I took dozens of photos in my hotel room trying to capture its exact hue, and failed to. I encountered another group of Americans in my hotel lobby who were trying to figure out a way to transport butter home in their luggage. I involved myself in their conversation, as Americans do: What if the hotel was willing to store it in a freezer, in an insulated lunch bag? We devoted quite a bit of time to solving this problem. Caity: Oh, no, I think they're probably enjoying that butter right now. I wanted to bring a bunch of dried sausage back to the U.S. And then, after I purchased it, I realized that I could get in trouble for flying with it. I ate so much saucisson in my hotel room so fast. I worried such a dense concentration of salt might cause my heart to shut down. I Googled something like: How much dried sausage too much. Here are three Sunday reads from The Atlantic: The Week Ahead Essay A High IQ Makes You an Outsider, Not a Genius By Helen Lewis Who has the highest IQ in history? One answer would be: a 10-year-old girl from Missouri. In 1956, according to lore, she took a version of the Stanford-Binet IQ test and recorded a mental age of 22 years and 10 months, equivalent to an IQ north of 220. (The minimum score needed to get into Mensa is 132 or 148, depending on the test, and the average IQ in the general population is 100.) Her result lay unnoticed for decades, until it turned up in The Guinness Book of World Records, which lauded her as having the highest childhood score ever. Her name, appropriately enough, was Marilyn vos Savant. And she was, by the most common yardstick, a genius. I've been thinking about which people attract the genius label for the past few years, because it's so clearly a political judgment. You can tell what a culture values by who it labels a genius—and also what it is prepared to tolerate. The Renaissance had its great artists. The Romantics lionized androgynous, tubercular poets. Today we are in thrall to tech innovators and brilliant jerks in Silicon Valley. Vos Savant hasn't made any scientific breakthroughs or created a masterpiece. She graduated 178th in her high-school class of 613, according to a 1989 profile in New York magazine. She married at 16, had two children by 19, became a stay-at-home mother, and was divorced in her 20s. She tried to study philosophy at Washington University in St. Louis, but did not graduate. More in Culture Catch Up on The Atlantic When Pete Hegseth's Pentagon tenure started going sideways The travel ban shows that Americans have grown numb. The Trump administration is spending $2 million to figure out whether DEI causes plane crashes. Photo Album Spend time with our photos of the week, which include images of monsoon flooding in India, Dragon Boat Festival races in China, a huge tomato fight in Colombia, and more.
2 hours ago
Iranian rapper Tataloo once supported a hard-line presidential candidate. Now he faces execution
DUBAI, United Arab Emirates -- The tattoos covering Iranian rapper Tataloo's face stand out against the gray prison uniform the 37-year-old now wears as he awaits execution, his own rise and fall tracing the chaos of the last decade of Iranian politics. Tataloo, whose full name is Amir Hossein Maghsoudloo, faces a death sentence after being convicted on charges of 'insulting Islamic sanctities.' It's a far cry from when he once supported a hard-line Iranian presidential candidate. Tataloo's music became popular among the Islamic Republic's youth, as it challenged Iran's theocracy at a time when opposition to the country's government was splintered and largely leaderless. The rapper's lyrics became increasingly political after the 2022 death of Mahsa Amini and the subsequent wave of nationwide protests. He also appeared in music videos which criticized the authorities. 'When you show your face in a music video, you are saying, 'Hey, I'm here, and I don't care about your restrictions,'' said Ali Hamedani, a former BBC journalist who interviewed the rapper in 2005. 'That was brave.' The Iranian Supreme Court last month upheld his death sentence. 'This ruling has now been confirmed and is ready for execution,' judiciary spokesman Asghar Jahangir told reporters at a press conference last month. Activists have decried his looming execution and expressed concern for his safety after he reportedly tried to kill himself in prison. Tataloo began his music career in 2003 as part of an underground genre of Iranian music that combines Western styles of rap, rhythm-and-blues and rock with Farsi lyrics. His first album, released in 2011, polarized audiences, though he never played publicly in Iran, where its Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance controls all concerts. Tataloo appeared in a 2015 music video backing Iran's paramilitary Revolutionary Guard and Tehran's nuclear program, which long has been targeted by the West over fears it could allow the Islamic Republic to develop an atomic bomb. While he never discussed the motivation behind this, it appeared that the rapper had hoped to win favor with the theocracy or perhaps have a travel ban against him lifted. In the video for 'Energy Hasteei," or 'Nuclear Energy,' Tataloo sings a power ballad in front of rifle-wielding guardsmen and later aboard the Iranian frigate Damavand in the Caspian Sea. The ship later sank during a storm in 2018. 'This is our absolute right: To have an armed Persian Gulf,' Tataloo sang. Tataloo even issued an endorsement for hard-liner Ebrahim Raisi in 2017. That year, the two sat for a televised appearance as part of Raisi's failed presidential campaign against the relative moderate Hassan Rouhani. Raisi later won the presidency in 2021, but was killed in a helicopter crash in 2024. In 2018, Tataloo — who faced legal problems in Iran — was allowed to leave the country for Turkey, where many Persian singers and performers stage lucrative concerts. Tataloo hosted live video sessions as he rose to fame on social media, where he became well-known for his tattoos covering his face and body. Among them are an Iranian flag and an image of his mother next to a key and heart. Instagram deactivated his account in 2020 after he called for underage girls to join his 'team' for sex. He also acknowledged taking drugs. 'Despite being a controversial rapper, Tataloo has quite the fanbase in Iran, known as 'Tatalities,'' said Holly Dagres, a senior fellow at the Washington Institute for Near-East Policy. 'Over the years, they've flooded social media with messages of solidarity for him and even campaigned for the rapper's release in the past when he was detained on separate charges.' Tataloo's rebellious music struck a chord with disenfranchised young people in Iran as they struggled to find work, get married and start their adult lives. He also increasingly challenged Iran's theocracy in his lyrics, particularly after the death of Amini following her arrest over allegedly not wearing the hijab to the liking of authorities. His collaboration 'Enghelab Solh" — 'Peace Revolution' in Farsi — called out Iran's Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei by name. 'We don't want tear gas, because there are tears in everyone's eyes,' he rapped. But the music stopped for Tataloo in late 2023. He was deported from Turkey after his passport had expired, and was immediately taken into custody upon arrival to Iran. Tehran's Criminal Court initially handed Tataloo a five-year sentence for blasphemy. Iran's Supreme Court threw out the decision and sent his case to another court, which sentenced him to death in January. The rapper already faced ten years in prison for a string of separate convictions, including promoting prostitution and moral corruption. 'Tataloo is at serious risk of execution,' Mahmood Amiry-Moghaddam, the director of advocacy group Iran Human Rights, said in a statement. 'The international community, artists and the public must act to stop his execution.' Tataloo earlier expressed remorse at a trial. 'I have certainly made mistakes, and many of my actions were wrong,' he said, according to the state-owned Jam-e Jam daily newspaper. 'I apologize for the mistakes I made.' Tataloo married while on death row, his uncle said. Last month, Tataloo reportedly attempted to kill himself, but survived. His death sentence comes at a politically fraught moment for Iran as the country is at it's 'most isolated,' said Abbas Milani, an Iran expert at Stanford University. The Islamic Republic is 'desperately trying to see whether it can arrive at a deal with the U.S. on its nuclear program and have the sanctions lifted,' he said. Drawing the ire of Tataloo's fans is 'one headache they don't need,' he added. ___ EDITOR'S NOTE — This story includes discussion of suicide. If you or someone you know needs help, the national suicide and crisis lifeline in the U.S. is available by calling or texting 988. There is also an online chat at ___
