An Argentine television presenter has resigned after falsely reporting that the father of Lionel Messi had died during Argentina’s first World Cup game.
Florencia Pena made the claim during a live broadcast on Argentine streaming channel Luzu TV following Argentina’s opening group game win over Algeria.
“I don’t want to bring bad news, but Messi’s father has just passed away. It was sudden. In the middle of the World Cup,” Pena said while hosting the show.
The report quickly spread on social media before Pena clarified that the information had not been confirmed.
The Messi family later issued a statement confirming that the player’s father, Jorge Messi, is receiving medical treatment for an undisclosed health condition.
The statement said the 68-year-old is under medical supervision and recovering, while criticising speculation surrounding his health and calling for privacy during a difficult period.
Pena apologised publicly and said the information had been passed to her during the programme as if it was verified news.
“I apologise to the Messi family,” she said in a statement. “I am deeply ashamed to have been involved in this mistake.”
The 51-year-old television personality and actress now says she was given unverified information.
“I have to clarify that this false information was given to me live on air as if it had been checked by the show’s production team, and I trusted it,” Pena wrote on social media on Thursday.
“Even so, I take responsibility for being part of the mistake and that is why I decided to step aside and end my participation in Luzu.
“I apologise again from the heart; I was wrong.”
Luzu TV also apologised and announced disciplinary action following the incident, saying the dissemination of sensitive information without proper verification was unacceptable.
Nicolas Occhiato, the show’s host and producer, said: “We at Luzu TV deeply regret what happened on the air during the program El Show de Verano. For our channel, the broadcast of sensitive information without proper prior verification is unacceptable.
“For this reason, Luzu TV management has decided to terminate the employment of all those responsible, and Florencia Pena has decided to step down.
“We reaffirm our commitment to responsible, respectful, and rigorous journalism.”
The controversy came after Messi scored a hat-trick in Argentina’s 3-0 win over Algeria. The 38-year-old appeared emotional during the match and later said he had experienced “difficult days” for personal reasons unrelated to football.
The false report triggered widespread criticism across Argentina, with many supporters condemning the failure to verify the information before it was broadcast.
Argentina’s President Javier Milei called it “Trash talk” on X, saying that Pena’s “outrageous and unscrupulous, unverified statements on a streaming channel, which would still be outrageous even if the information had been true, since they concern a citizen’s private life, remind us of the impunity with which some individuals believe they can operate simply because they have a microphone or a pen in their hand”.
Argentina continue their World Cup campaign against Austria on Monday (18:00 BST).
Unprecedented sports feats and historical firsts are usually joyous affairs. Something to celebrate, fun trivia to tuck away for later.
On Monday in Inglewood, the history was much more fraught, and not at all trivial.
Iran’s national soccer team played on American soil — this time on SoFi Stadium’s natural turf — for the first time in 26 years. And for the first time, a country hosted a World Cup participant with which it is mired in an on-again, off-again war.
There was, in the days and hours leading up to the match, protest and pushback from portions of the large, local Iranian diaspora who didn’t think it was possible to support the country’s football team without supporting the oppressive regime.
But inside SoFi Stadium, thousands of L.A.’s Iranian supporters gave the team its full-throated support. So did many new Mexican fans who’ve adopted Team Melli, which has been staying and training in Tijuana between matches as it was barred from the United States except for game days.
Most of the near-sellout crowd of 70,108 were there cheering Iran, helping propel this team under so much pressure to an entertaining 2-2 tie with New Zealand.
And there, among the thousands of enthusiastic Iran supporters swept up in the match, was my son’s favorite soccer coach, Narbé Mansourian, with his son, 13-year-old Daniel.
Narbé’s brother got his hands on a pair of nosebleed tickets and immediately handed them over to his soccer-loving relatives.
And Narbé — a fifth- and sixth-grade social studies teacher in Hollywood — had no qualms about backing these Iranian men. There were no second thoughts about separating the players from the politics in the country with the complicated geopolitical — and personal — history.
Now, know this: Mansourian is no fan of Iran’s Islamic regime. He was 7 in 1983 when his father, a political dissident, was executed in Evin Prison, nine months after he’d been apprehended.
Narbé remembers visiting his dad, Vazgen, at the notorious prison. He remembers the long drive to get there, the long wait to see him and the game he and his mom used to play: “Today you are 4 years old.”
Narbé Mansourian, right, and his son Daniel before Monday’s World Cup match between Iran and New Zealand at SoFi Stadium.
(Mirjam Swanson / Los Angeles Times)
What started as a way to avoid paying bus fares for 6-year-old Narbé became the way to fool guards at prison, where only the small children were allowed to physically touch their imprisoned loved ones.
He remembers being allowed behind the glass, where he’d wait for his dad to emerge, blind-folded.
When his dad was killed at 37, Narbé said his mother didn’t immediately find out. And when she did, she initially told Narbé that he’d been sick. There was no funeral and when they went to visit his father’s grave, they found a dirt field. There were no markers, Narbé recalls.
He has kept Vazgen’s Coke-bottle glasses, his watch and the still-intact little LEGO house they built together before his dad was taken to prison.
Narbé has held onto so many difficult memories, including the nighttime terrors associated with bombings during the Iran-Iraq war. But there are also happier recollections. Like the stories he would make up about good guys going against the greedy. And, yes, memories of going to soccer games with his dad.
So, “absolutely, I’m going to root for the Iranian national team,” Narbé said before Monday’s match, saying that, to him, equating the Iranian national team with the country’s regime is like rooting against the Knicks because you don’t like President Donald Trump, a native New Yorker.
“It’s not like a cartoon good guy, bad guy,” Narbé said. “There’s so much gray. Because they live there. My heart goes out to them. It can’t be easy, to kind of teeter-totter like that.”
A pre-revolutionary Iranian flag is displayed before the World Cup group stage match between Iran and New Zealand at SoFi Stadium.
(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
I should’ve expected this outstanding youth soccer coach would be most concerned with the players on the pitch.
Some fans got into SoFi on Monday with the Iranian Lion and Sun flag, a historic Iranian national and opposition flag that was banned from the stadium because FIFA desires to steer free of politics (unless it’s steering straight into them). It was a strange sight in Los Angeles, seeing stadium workers asking attendees to discard flags in an effort to censor the expression of people here.
Some of those fans turned their backs during the national anthem, which many in the stands jeered at its start. But then, once the game took hold, so did the support.
“There were many Iranians here,” Iran coach Amir Ghalenoei said through an interpreter. “They believe in different political affiliations, different beliefs, but they all wholeheartedly encouraged us, and I think that’s a victory for all of us.”
It’s Friday afternoon in North Hollywood and Ziggy Marley is perched on a stool inside his newly built Rebel Lion Studio, tucked in one of the neighborhood’s creative enclaves.
The nine-time Grammy winner is surrounded by a collection of lion figurines, guitars, traditional hand drums and a piano. Along the walls hang two replicas of backdrops his legendary father, Bob Marley, used on tour in the 1970s. The murals, depicting Rastafari icons and Haile Selassie I and Marcus Garvey, were featured in the 2024 biopic “Bob Marley: One Love.”
“These are what we used as the backdrop for the concert scenes. Them spiritual to me,” Marley says in patois as the smell of palo santo dances around the rehearsal space.
Music has been both an inheritance and lifelong pursuit for Marley. From sitting in studio sessions with his father as a child to building a five-decade career of his own, he has remained a curious student of the craft, one willing to challenge convention in search of a deeper meaning. That spirit is evident on “Brightside,” his ninth solo album, which was released on vinyl on April 18 (Record Store Day) and May 1 on streaming.
Rather than recording the eight-track project in 440 Hz, the standard tuning frequency for most modern music, he opted for 432 Hz, a tuning some musicians and theorists believe creates a warmer, more meditative listening experience. He also slowed down his songwriting process, giving each lyric room to carry its message of hope through turbulent times. The album, which may be his most personal yet, also features “Many Mourn for Bob,” the first song he has written directly about his late father.
“I think it shows the next stage that I probably am in,” says Marley, adding that he felt connected to his father on a spiritual level. “We took another step in the relationship, to another place that it’s never been before.”
Ziggy Marley is bringing his “Brightside” tour to the Hollywood Bowl on June 21 alongside reggae star Burning Spear.
(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)
He adds, “When I was doing the song, it kind of came to me like this song could’ve been my father’s song. It could’ve been a song that he wrote.”
The reflective nature of “Brightside” arrives at another pivotal time in Marley’s career. This year marks the 20th anniversary of “Love Is My Religion,” the Grammy-winning album that launched his solo career and crystallized a personal philosophy he still carries today. He is also set to release his sixth children’s book, “True to Myself,” in September.
As we wrap up our conversation, Marley has only a few minutes before Rebel Lion Studio shifts back into work mode. Within minutes, bandmates, background singers and production crew members begin funneling into the space, hauling in stacks of equipment as promotion and preparations continue the “Brightside” tour, which stops at the Hollywood Bowl on June 21.
This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.
You recorded your latest album, “Brightside,” here at Rebel Lion Studio, which you designed and built from the ground up. Can you take me back to the beginning of that process and why you wanted to do it?
I grew up around my father and my mother as growing musicians trying to succeed and there was one thing I kept hearing over and over throughout my life: independence. Their whole mission was to be independent. I saw them work and I saw my father build a studio. I saw him have a space where he can do more music and control his own time. That was a dream of mine for a long time, ever since I started doing music because usually we use other people’s studios. I couldn’t have this in my house. It’s too much. It’s a dream come true.
We’re surrounded by two beautiful murals. Is there a particular item that is personal to you?
The murals are replicas of my father’s backdrops that they used. The original artwork is by Neville Garrick, but he helped us re-create them for the Bob Marley movie. These are the murals we used as the backdrop for the concert scenes. They are spiritual to me cause that’s Haile Selassie and Marcus Garvey, two very important beings for us. Inspirational.
On “Brightside,” Ziggy Marley dedicated a song to his father, Bob Marley, for the first time in his career.
(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)
“Brightside” is your ninth solo album. What mindset were you in emotionally and spiritually when you started working on it?
I never thought about making an album, I was just writing songs. You just tap into things in your subconscious that are waiting to become music, I feel like. Then when the time comes for writing songs, the time comes. It’s like a season. Like you have blueberry or orange season. So there’s a season for me when I write songs. Then you say, “All right, let’s make an album then.” But you don’t think about an album before. It’s just an expression or a feeling just to make music, not for any reason but to make it. It happened over a period of years. Ideas and experiences that eventually come out. But closer to the time I [made] the album, I remember writing some of the later songs like “Why Let the World.” It was a song that I wrote because I was feeling down and everything that was happening in the world and the country. Just so much negativity and I just felt like I needed to take a break from it. To recharge yourself. We cannot fight every day. We need to take a break and then get back to it. I needed to teach myself to take some time. It was more of a mental thing than an emotional thing. Stuff I deal with my father, personal life and stuff with my spirituality and my faith. So there’s a lot of me in this record.
“Many Mourn for Bob” is the first song you’ve explicitly written about your father. Your brother, Stephen, is also on the vocals. What surprised you emotionally once that song was finished?
I’m not sure I thought about it like that. The experience of expressing that emotion, it’s a spiritual experience. I think it shows the next stage that I probably am in and even my relationship with my father on that spiritual level. It’s a different place. We took another step in the relationship, to another place that it’s never been before. When I was doing the song, it kind of came to me like this song could’ve been my father’s song. It could’ve been a song that he wrote. That’s how I felt about it. This is partly his song. It’s me and him making this song. This song is his song too.
How has your relationship with grief changed over the years?
It’s more of a comrade, understanding, empathy and having the maturity and the experience to understand what he went through as a man, as a human being. I think that’s what it is, really. A better understanding of what he went through, not the glory. The pain, the mental and emotional state. You’re more than just an idol. You’re more than just a legend. You’re more than just a father. To go deeper than that, so that’s the next level.
Yeah, the skit you used of him saying “I’m just a man from the ghetto” on the song really summarizes that.
That’s the real him. That’s him right there. Even in the tone of his voice, you can hear the real Robert coming out.
Another standout song from the album is “Racism Is a Killa.” One thing that you do well is having a heavy topic, but finding a way to still make it feel hopeful and joyful. Why was it important for you to approach the track this way rather than from a place of anger, heaviness or sounding preachy?
I think it started out preachy and angry, but over time, it kind of evolved and I kind of evolved too ‘cause my own evolution is represented in the music. And you know something, doing that song helped me evolve because I had to think about it differently without the anger. The song made me do that. Like how else can I approach this? It’s inspiration that causes these things. It’s not an intellectual thing. I didn’t do that intellectually. Like over time, something just started coming out of me. I never really thought about it before, but I can see it now.
In the video, which features your daughter, Zuri, you referred to the condition as “Racismosis” in the video and sang about how it can be cured.
It’s kind of like a sickness, a disease. It’s a virus. We can minimize the virus and stop the disease. It’s true. Racism is a killa. This virus can kill ya. Literally kill ya. Spirtually kill ya. Emotionally kill ya. Mentally kill ya. It kill ya in different ways. It kills the victim and it kills the person perpetrating it. It’s killing everyone, but we can cure it though. It starts with the children. I have a friend of mine who said, “Yo, my little son loves this song. He doesn’t want to stop. He says ‘Put on “Racism is a Killa.”’ So that’s where the antidote is starting. The minds of the children. The music with a conscious message gives them the right consciousness that they grow up with. That is how we take our time and lower the spread of the virus.
You recently released an alternate version for “Racism Is a Killa” with Big Boi. How did that collaboration come together and what excited you about working with him?
I’ve loved Big Boi and Outkast from a long time ago. He’s a legend and a strong voice. There’s different layers to it and I feel like Big Boi took it to that other layer. So yeah, we just love Big Boi and I’m going to jump on something he does. [Laughs]
I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask your approach for your album and how you swapped the typical 440 Hz for 432 Hz. Do you remember the first time you heard the music played back that way?
It’s a long journey because for most of my life in music, I’ve tried to be a student. I’ve tried to keep an open mind and learn more and more. With this album, there’s an inspirational side of music and that’s where I lean into most of the time, but as I grew up, I started to understand there’s also a science too. It’s also mathematics. The universe, it’s all mathematics and science, and I shouldn’t shun the science of music just because I think the inspiration is all it should be. I think a part of that was learning that for myself and opening up and saying, “Yo, let me put some science into this.” Frequency. What does frequency do to people? Frequency affects people. Frequency is a weapon. It’s a tool. I’m sure the army has some kind of frequency thing. So frequency is powerful. I wanted to try something different anyway. I want to be different. I want my frequency to be different from the majority of frequencies that’s being played out there, because it’s fun for me to be different.
When I was working on the demos, I was like “Let me try this 432 Hz thing” and I like how it feels for me personally, how I sing on the frequencies. It resonates differently and makes me feel different. We did it and it felt good, and we did it live, and from my point of view, I felt a different energy with the audience too. So all of those experiments led me to the final conclusion to say, “Yeah, let me do the record in 432.” It’s really nice vibes, which the world needs a different frequency. We can use it.
This year marks the 20th anniversary of “Love Is My Religion,” your first solo Grammy-winning album. When you think back to that era of your life, who was Ziggy back then?
A lot was changing because I moved to L.A. during that time.
You got married around that time too, right?
Yeah. I don’t really fight change. I just try to navigate them and figure them out cause sometimes change is hard. There was a lot of change living here, moving around, trying to find a place, music, but then it’s like we are continuously updating ourselves. I’m continually updating. You know how you update your OS. I’m updating my OS. My operating system is being updated throughout my experience in life. There’s always something else out there for me to evolve to. So during that period of my life, “Love Is My Religion” came to me when someone asked me, “What religion are you?” And I just said “Love is my religion.” I never thought about it before, never contemplated it, never even thought of those words together before in my life, and they just came out to me that day. So the album represents a time in my life when I realized there’s a spiritual awakening that I had. “Love Is My Religion” is a spiritual awakening. That’s my thing. That’s who I am. That’s why it’s a milestone.
“If you think you’re going to change this world with music and you’re trying to send a message out there, you have to speak to children,” Ziggy Marley says.
(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)
You’re kicking off the “Brightside” tour this month, which includes a stop at the Hollywood Bowl. What are you most excited about when it comes to bringing this album to people for the first time live?
I’m excited about playing the music. I think it’s about the music. These new songs, they vibrate very highly for me and I’m excited about experiencing and expressing that. And also kind of not doing it for the audience. I don’t want to do it for the audience. I want the audience to experience what I’m experiencing, what I’m expressing. I want them to feel me. I don’t want them to be like “Hey look at me.” [Laughs] There’s still connectivity going on, but I want them to feel the songs the real way. That’s what I’m excited about for people to feel it the way that I feel it.
You even posted the lyrics and told fans to get to practicing, so they can really understand the message.
Yeah. Just reading them for me, I really like the writing I did on this. I also took some time with this too. I was saying to someone that I developed a deeper relationship with the lyrics and the words than I did before. My relationship with the words here are very mature. I feel good about it. That’s why I want people to know the words because words are very important. Words are very important. If you know the words you get a deeper understanding of what I’m talking about and what I’m feeling.
After nearly 50 years of making music, Ziggy Marley built his own studio in North Hollywood called Rebel Lion Studio. He plans to turn it into a multipurpose creative space.
(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)
Look on the bright side is a phrase that people say often, but what do those words mean to you right now?
Sometimes we can get in a place [where] we can’t see the other side of things because we’re so caught up in that one place. Like the cliché, there’s two sides to a story, ya know? The universe is always yin and yang, but there’s always another side of things. But I feel like the way we are being programmed in a way through media and everything, it’s like there’s only one side. Everything is like this, there’s nothing else going on over there that we need to see, we only need to see this. This is all that’s going on in the world. There’s nothing good, there’s nothing nice, there’s no good people, there’s no love. So it’s a realization too. A realization that there’s the other side. Never get to that place where we think it’s just that side alone because we get so much of it. It’s a reminder, I think, for us like “Come on guys.” The thing about it too, sometimes you can feel like — even for me — some people say, “Hey look on the bright side,” some people find that like “Why are you happy? Why you so chirpy?” [Laughs]
That’s true.
I’m proud that I’m on the bright side. I’m living on the bright side, I don’t care. You don’t like me because I’m living on the bright side? You want me to be like you, you want me just live on the dark side with you, right? So it’s like a proudness of being positive and having that outlook in life, and not feeling like you have to [fall to] peer pressure. More positivity in life, not just the negativity. I’m confident in that too. So it’s kind of like that too, you know, like being proud, lifting up that side of me. Yeah, I’m happy to be living on the bright side.
To understand the gravitational pull toward golf, consider the sport as a sequence of problems. Aaron Singleton, a skilled player in the Dads Link Golf Club, is playing particularly well today at Palos Verdes Golf Course, having just hit two back-to-back birdies. But even on the shots that fly into a grassy oblivion, he smiles.
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“Golf is 18 different holes. 18 different chances to solve a problem,” he says. “Each hole presents a different problem. Each shot is a different problem.” According to Singleton, this wisdom that players inherit on the golf course — especially resilience and patience — translates to fatherhood.
Singleton, who has a 3-year-old son, is part of a growing group of fathers who participate in the Dads Link Golf Club. The club is part of the region’s golf boom; Southern California Golf Assn. is estimated to have one of the largest memberships in the country, with over 200,000 golfers.
Ian Davis, the founder of Dads Link and Golf Club, watches his drive.
Ian Davis is the founder of Los Angeles’ Dads Link Golf Club. Each month, he invites fathers to enjoy golf together to focus on fellowship, fatherhood and their well-being.
“This has grown in a way that I couldn’t have imagined,” says Davis, who works as a wellness coach with an emphasis in mindfulness and meditation. He started the club in 2023 on the East Coast before relocating it to Los Angeles in January 2024, where the club hosts an annual Father’s Day tournament and various golf clinics.
At the driving range, Davis leads the group through “a grounding practice” that involves stretching and deep breathing. Member Ose Akhile, a personal trainer, follows up with stretching and other warm-up exercises. For many of the men, golf has become a rediscovered hobby. Singleton returned to the sport after playing it as a teenager. “I’m looking forward to getting better,” he says.
Club member Darius Ingram, father of 3-year-old daughter, says that reconnecting with the game has allowed him to prioritize his own well-being.
“I used to play golf recreationally. Now, I do it for mental stability,” he says.
Ian Davis greets Ose Akhile as Darius Ingram stands nearby.
Ian Monteilh, who is new to the group and has two daughters ages 11 and 15, says the outing provides camaraderie that was missing from his life.
“It’s a community that I didn’t have. I’m blessed to be around like-minded men with no pressure,” he says. “Even if we’re having a rough day on a golf course, there’s camaraderie.”
Once considered a predominantly white sport, golf is now being reshaped by a new generation of Black players and other players of color, including many of the fathers in Dads Link Golf Club. In 2024, 25% of golfers across courses nationally were Black, Asian and Latino, marking the most diverse era in the sport’s history, according to the National Golf Foundation.
Darius Ingram reacts to barely missing a putt on the 18th green as Ian Davis watches.
Ingram partly attributes Black men’s interest in golf to renewed interest from other professional athletes. Star athletes like Michael Jordan and Steph Curry — who also happen to be dads — are skilled golfers.
“There are a lot of people who play their main sport, and they play golf when they retire,” says Ingram.
Ose Akhile smiles before teeing off.
Rappers like Schoolboy Q and DJ Khalid have also become interested in the sport, adding to its cachet.
The benefits of the groups are apparent, explains Akhile, who has three daughters, ages 6, 7 and 9.
“I’m outside — fresh air, sunshine, a break for my family. I get to decompress,” he says. Describing himself as a “Caribbean baby,” he explains that the ocean waves have a hypnotic effect on him. As the golfers move along the Palos Verdes course, the ocean stretches beyond them.
“Nature helps a lot with stress relief. There’s a lot of green grass and quiet out here. I love my child, but it’s hard to hear her yell, ‘Dad!’ every three seconds,” says Singleton. During the game, he stays calm while a squirrel approaches him. “Me and nature are one with each other,” he says. Behind him, a baby coyote prances into the fog.
Singleton adds that in the chaos of fatherhood, friendships occasionally fall to the wayside.
“There’s so much to do. Everyone separated. It’s beneficial to have a group text, a fellowship like this, where you can hear someone going through the same thing as you,” Singleton says.
Akhile agrees. “These are probably the only guys that understand the day-to-day stressors and pressures of my life,” he says.
Ose Akhile, Darius Ingram, Ian Monteilh, Ian Davis, Aaron Singleton and other Dads Link and Golf members have breakfast together.
After finishing nine holes, the men enjoy breakfast burritos. They joke that they will begin ranking the golf courses in the L.A. area by the quality of their breakfast burritos. Meanwhile, Davis leads the group through a conversation about fatherhood. Each month he chooses one dad to be the focus. This morning that’s Ingram. He speaks on being a father and how it relates to golf.
“I’m not as good as I want to be, so there’s frustration there,” Ingram says, referring to the challenges of parenting. He adds that to “right things” he doesn’t like about himself, he focuses on how his efforts could result in his daughter becoming a better version of him. The men offer encouragement as birds circle above. The sun pierces through the fog.
Monteilh looks up and jokes: “The only birdies I saw today were in the sky.”
A federal immigration judge has granted asylum to a woman orphaned in Iran in the 1970s and adopted by an American war veteran, whom immigration officials threatened this year with deportation to the country with which the U.S. is now at war.
Judge Andrew Fishkin’s ruling probably ends a months-long ordeal for the California woman, one of thousands adopted from abroad who were never granted citizenship because of bureaucratic loopholes between adoption and immigration law.
The woman has lived in the United States since she was adopted by American parents as a toddler and has no criminal record. The Associated Press is not naming her because she worries her legal situation remains tenuous as the administration has time to appeal. A federal judge has allowed her to use a pseudonym, “Ms. S,” in her challenge to the government’s determination of her immigration status.
The woman received a letter from the Department of Homeland Security in February that ordered her to appear for removal proceedings, saying she is subject to deportation because she overstayed her visa in March 1974 at 4 years old.
The woman, 56, described what came next as a terrifying and humiliating few months.
She grew up in a Christian, military family on a farm in Wisconsin and was taught to be patriotic. But the documents she received from the government described her as an “alien;” some said she did not understand English, which is the only language she speaks.
Immigration officials told her she was being arrested, but was released and tracked with an ankle monitor. She bought new pants to try to hide it and taught herself not to cross her legs in work meetings, terrified it would threaten the corporate job in healthcare she’s held for almost two decades.
They fingerprinted her and took her DNA. She said she was obviously weeping in the mug shot they snapped of her.
She prepared herself to be detained: She put her bills on autopay and gave her friends a key to her home.
Her lawyer, Emily Howe, said the government had the power to agree she is an American citizen.
“Instead they treated her like a terrorist, like she was the worst of the worst criminals,” Howe said. “It felt very Big Brother, very Orwellian.”
The Department of Homeland Security declined to comment on the record on an individual case.
The Associated Press profiled the woman in 2024 as part of a story about how many international adoptees were left without citizenship because their American adoptive parents failed to naturalize them.
The woman’s parents were living in Iran, where her father was working for a U.S. government contractor, in the 1970s. He was retired from the Air Force as a lieutenant colonel. He’d been held for years a prisoner of war in Germany during World War II.
The couple found the toddler at an orphanage and returned to the U.S. with her in 1973 and soon completed the adoption. At that time, parents had to separately naturalize adopted children. The woman’s parents have since died.
She didn’t learn she hadn’t been naturalized until she applied for a passport at 38 years old. She still doesn’t know how the oversight happened. She searched her father’s papers and found a letter from a lawyer, dated 1975, that said he was working with immigration officials, “it appears this matter is concluded,” and billed her father for his services.
She filed a federal lawsuit this month trying to prohibit the government from removing her and forcing it to grant her citizenship.
She has long believed she should be considered a U.S. citizen: She has a Social Security card, and a driver’s license and has been legally allowed to work and pay taxes for decades. It’s only the immigration agency that denies she is a citizen. She suspects her paperwork was lost, probably when militants seized the U.S. Embassy in Tehran in 1979.
Fishkin seemed to agree: He wrote in his ruling that documents from that embassy are not available to her or to the U.S. government. He declared her a refugee, entitled to work in the U.S. His ruling puts the woman on a pathway to being recognized as a citizen.
She’d felt hopeful, she said, when she learned her court date before Fishkin was scheduled for her late father’s birthday. She always felt like she needed to protect not only herself but also her father’s legacy. He was a conscientious military official, she said, who would not have knowingly allowed such a glaring oversight that left his daughter in legal limbo.
A Palestinian father in Hebron has buried his seven-month-old son after the baby was killed by Israeli gunfire directed at the family’s car. The shooting, which also wounded the child’s parents, is the latest deadly incident amid escalating Israeli violence in the occupied West Bank.
Japanese filmmaker Chie Hayakawa isn’t afraid to look death in the eye. The writer-director’s 2022 feature debut, “Plan 75,” imagined an unsettling future in which the elderly are offered a subsidy by the government to be euthanized. For her follow-up, she travels into her own past, drawing from memories of her father’s battle with cancer.
But while “Renoir” features no sci-fi elements, the nearness of oblivion remains just as prominent. Shorn of sentimentality, this gentle drama follows a quietly observant fifth-grader who feels the grim shadow of mortality all around her. How the character will absorb that realization is anyone’s guess — including Hayakawa’s.
Newcomer Yui Suzuki stars as Fuki, who lives in a nondescript Tokyo suburb in 1987. Her soft-spoken dad, Keiji (Lily Franky), is suffering with terminal cancer in its final stages, the emaciated man spending as much time in the hospital as he does at home. Fuki’s mother, Utako (Hikari Ishida), doesn’t seem very despondent, though: One senses an emotional exhaustion that comes from preparing so long for the inevitable that she’s now mostly numb, her anticipatory grief having given way to frayed nerves.
Fuki’s pre-mourning process is equally complicated. Outwardly, she shows no signs of being devastated by her dad’s imminent passing, happily playing with him, almost in denial of his fate. But “Renoir” subtly suggests the impressionable girl is more aware than she lets on, surrounding her with random reminders of death. Local news breathlessly reports on random domestic murders. Even when Fuki gets away from the city, the camera lingers on her watching a campfire’s dying embers. The film derives its title from the girl’s interest in “Little Irène,” a painting by influential French impressionist Pierre-Auguste Renoir. She asks if Renoir is still alive. No, he’s dead too.
Hayakawa pulls from her childhood in multiple ways for her sophomore feature, which premiered in competition at Cannes last year. “Renoir” takes place in 1987 specifically because that’s the year she turned 11, and, like her protagonist, she was infatuated with “Little Irène.” But there’s a refreshing absence of nostalgia in Hayakawa’s conception of Fuki and her quizzical processing of her father’s fatal illness.
For school, Fuki writes an essay about her wish to be an orphan. She becomes obsessed with hypnotism and mind-reading, an unorthodox strategy to create a sense of control. And, occasionally, she wanders into daydreams that Hayakawa presents so matter-of-factly that viewers may sometimes be unsure if what they’re seeing is actually happening. In “Renoir,” Fuki’s flights of fancy are as naturalistic as her everyday life — a sharp reminder that, for children, imagination and reality are often indistinguishable.
If death has been integral to Hayakawa’s two features, it’s society’s callous reaction to aging that is her primary focus. “Plan 75” eschewed dystopian-thriller conventions to ponder how Japan might one day treat its senior citizens, viewing them as little more than a drain on resources. “Renoir” makes a similar point within a memory piece. Keiji is the one dying, but it’s telling that Hayakawa centers the story on Fuki and Utako, who each, in their own way, seem more concerned about their own personal dramas.
As Keiji’s situation grows more dire, Utako enters the orbit of Toru (Ayumu Nakajima), a workplace advisor with whom she’s instantly smitten, pondering pursuing him romantically. Ironically, Toru preaches the importance of good communication skills in the office, a lesson the film’s guarded family would be wise to heed. While Utako hides her feelings for Toru, Fuki begins a secret odyssey in which she impulsively joins a phone dating service, engaging in conversations with a creepy college student (Ryota Bando) who pushes her to meet in person. This potentially traumatic subplot is the closest “Renoir” gets to traditional suspense, but even here Hayakawa adopts a muted approach, sidestepping shock value for bittersweet commentary about young people’s confusion around love. Both Utako and Fuki chase after human connections fraught with danger, each trying to insulate themselves from the tragedy waiting at home.
“Renoir” may be a delicate wisp of a film, but it’s flecked with thoughtful questioning about whether childhood’s sorrows leave permanent scars on us as adults. Suzuki exudes the fragility and buoyancy of adolescence, playing Fuki as someone constantly imbibing the world, rarely revealing what she’s doing with that stimulus. The simplest moments resonate the strongest, such as when the moody 11-year-old holds a balloon over the balcony of her family’s high-rise apartment, casually releasing her grip so that it tumbles to the ground far below. Does it speak to a desire to jump herself? “Renoir” won’t say, but the character is so poised you feel confident she’ll survive her father’s death. Who knows: Maybe years from now, she’ll even make a touching, emotionally astute movie about it.
‘Renoir’
In Japanese, with subtitles
Not rated
Running time: 1 hour, 56 minutes
Playing: Opens Friday, June 5 at Landmark’s Nuart Theatre
