Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 528 "Cognitive Warfare" from the Mainland!
In late July, London was damp and humid. A thin mist hung over the Thames, mixed with soot from the chimneys, turning the sky a dirty grayish-yellow.

In the editorial office of The Times, editor-in-chief John Walter III sat behind his desk.

In front of him lay the latest issue of "Good Words" magazine and the colorful "series picture book" "Pirates of the Caribbean 1".

He looked at it for a long time, then he picked up his pen and began to write an editorial.

The following day, July 26, 1882, the editorial headline on the lower right corner of the front page of The Times was very prominent:
A cognitive warfare operation from across the strait!

The article begins with restraint, even a touch of academic rigor:

Recently, a publication from across the Channel has become popular in bookstores and newsstands in London.

It is called a 'series picture book' and its content is based on an adventure novel of the same name.

This work tells the story of a pirate who outwits the Royal Navy in the Caribbean Sea.

Then, the tone shifts:
If this were merely a humorous story for adults' amusement, perhaps no further comment would be necessary.

But the fact is that these kinds of books, which mainly consist of continuous images, are being bought and circulated by a large number of children and teenagers.

Its presentation—breaking down actions into a series of easily understood panels, accompanied by brief dialogues—makes it extremely easy to understand.

Even a child with limited literacy skills can easily 'read' the entire story by following the illustrations.

The problem is not that the story itself is fictional, but that it conveys values.

In the story, the Royal Navy soldiers appear stiff, dull, and easily manipulated; while the pirate protagonist is clever, cunning, and charismatic despite his unruly nature.

When children look at those illustrations, depicting how pirates easily evade neatly lined-up soldiers and how they wittily mock officers, the message they receive is:
Discipline is laughable, rules are foolish, and cunning is more admirable than responsibility.

The editorial then defined the nature of *Pirates of the Caribbean*.

This is not just simple entertainment! It's a form of value indoctrination through images and stories, subtly shaping the minds of British children!
This is a "cognitive war" waged by the French cultural sphere against the British Empire!
French children would simply laugh off the picture book—because it had nothing to do with their country's army.

But what British children are seeing is the Royal Navy, where they may one day serve, being treated with such disdain.

The last paragraph of the article was particularly somber:
The strength of an empire depends not only on its ships and cannons, but also on its people's identification with order, responsibility, and honor.

We must be vigilant when a foreign cultural product, in such a vivid and alluring form, begins to erode this sense of identity.

This is no longer just a difference in literary tastes, but a matter of how the next generation will view the cornerstones of the empire!
We urge parents, teachers, and all sectors of society to carefully consider the impact of such publications.

Help children understand that true heroes are not opportunists who win by playing with the rules, but those who uphold discipline and responsibility.

Like the thousands of unsung heroes in the Royal Navy.

The Times editorial acted as a leading force, quickly setting the tone for public opinion across Britain.

London newspapers have never been so united, offering almost unanimous criticism of Pirates of the Caribbean.

The Daily Telegraph's headline was more direct: "An Asymmetrical Cultural Battle."

The article states:
The French always love to joke about authority, but this time it's different—they're joking about our navy, and in a way that's very easy for children to understand.

When our boys imitated the pirate's walk during recess, they were not only mimicking a fictional character, but also a disregard for discipline.

Discipline is not something laughable; it is order, efficiency, and the guarantee that an empire can function! We shouldn't naively think this is just a 'funny story'.

The Morning Post takes a more political approach; its commentary is titled: "Empire Collapses on the Imaginary Battlefield!"

France cannot compete with us in real naval competition; their fleet is far smaller than that of the Royal Navy.

So they turned to another battlefield: the battlefield of imagination. In the world of Pirates of the Caribbean, the Royal Navy is toyed with by agile pirates.

This is certainly not true, but who cares? Children don't care, and neither do ordinary readers. They only remember the dashing pirates and the clumsy soldiers.

This is a war that doesn't need fleets, a war that doesn't need artillery fire. Its weapons are visuals, stories, and laughter.

Its target is our image in the minds of the next generation. And our magazines and publishers, completely oblivious, published such stories!

The conservative newspaper, The Standard, was even more blunt, with its column title being short and powerful: "Corrosion."

The article sets the tone right from the start:

The French color picture books that are popular recently teach children not courage, loyalty, and sacrifice, but deceit, escapism, and cynicism.

The pirate character was portrayed as so charming—wearing his hat askew, walking with a sway, and always grinning.

And our sailors? Stiff, slow, all they do is line up. Who would children like? Pirates, of course!

This was an attack by continental culture on the English spirit; they knew they couldn't win in a direct confrontation, so they chose a different approach:
Start with the children. Let our next generation slowly lose their reverence for discipline, authority, and the Navy amidst laughter.

Parents should wake up! Stop buying those brightly colored pamphlets!

In London clubs, the gentlemen's discussions became even more heated.

"The Times is right, this is no longer just entertainment."

"My grandson asked me yesterday why the Royal Navy is so stupid that it can't catch a pirate."

"How am I supposed to answer that?" I said it was fake, and he said that's how it's painted." "The French just love this kind of thing. Frivolous, unserious."

"But you can't deny that the story is really captivating. I stayed up until midnight last night."

"That's the problem! The better it's written, the more harmful it is!"

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The voices of the British media quickly drifted across the Channel, and in Paris, the initial reaction was confusion, followed by amusement.

At the editorial office of Le Figaro, editor-in-chief Antonin Pellivier couldn't help but laugh: "Just for a pirate story? Aren't the British being a bit too sensitive?"

He puffed on his cigar, paced around the office a few times, then sat down and began to write…

A day later, the front-page column in Le Figaro was titled: "When Empires Fear Being Painted!"

The article gets to the heart of the matter right from the start:
Recently, our British friends have shown unusual anxiety about an adventure story by a French author.

According to them, Pirates of the Caribbean is corrupting the minds of British youth, diminishing their respect for the Royal Navy, and thus jeopardizing the future of the British Empire.

Let's be clear from the start: this work is fictional, the protagonist is a pirate, the setting is the Caribbean Sea two hundred years ago, and it is pure adventure fantasy.

It has never claimed to be a historical record, nor has it ever intended to make any assessment of the contemporary British Navy.

However, the British media interpreted this as 'cognitive warfare,' 'value erosion,' and 'war in the realm of imagination.'

If a fictional pirate figure is enough to shake the symbolism of an empire, then the problem may not lie in the work itself, but in the symbolism.

The article's final summary is also quite insightful:
A truly confident empire is not afraid of being written into stories, nor is it afraid that in those stories someone might outrun the soldiers.

The article in Le Figaro was like a starting gun, and other French newspapers quickly followed suit.

The tabloid's commentary headline carried a typical Parisian irony: "Did a Picture Book Sink a Fleet?"

If a few pages of illustrations can weaken the Royal Navy, does that mean that the Royal Navy's prestige is based on the premise of 'not being depicted'?
If children lose respect for the navy after reading pirate stories, does that mean the image of the navy in children's minds is inherently fragile?
This reminds us of a proverb: those who protest loudly are often the most insecure.

The Times' culture column focuses more on art analysis:

The “series of picture books” format condenses action, plot, and dialogue into a series of panels, allowing the story to spread faster than ever before.

The reason the British were uneasy was precisely this – they were facing something new that they had not yet mastered.

French artists have once again stood at the forefront of the times!

The more left-wing newspaper, Aurora Daily, put it even more directly:

In France, we believe laughter is freedom. Laughter over power, laughter over authority, laughter over everything that seems inviolable.

This is the legacy of our great revolution: nothing is so sacred that it cannot be criticized, and nothing is so solemn that it cannot be ridiculed.

That pirate was neither a hero nor a villain; he was a free spirit—free to adventure, free to escape, free to make witty remarks.

The British Navy plays the role of a symbol of an order that attempts to imprison freedom but always fails!
Britain fears that their children will see that some people can live like this—disobedient, unrespecting, simply living freely.

They're afraid this kind of imagination is contagious. Then we have to tell them: imagination is contagious, and so is freedom.

In Parisian cafes, people read these articles and laughed uproariously.

"The British are really something, they're even afraid of paintings!"

"Do they think that their warships will sink with a single stroke of our painter's brush?"

"That Times article made it sound like we were going to invade Britain, all for a pirate picture book!"

"But to be honest, Pirates of the Caribbean is really good. My son has watched it three times already."

"The more the British criticize it, the more I want to buy it. I'll go to the bookstore tomorrow and buy two more copies to give as gifts!"

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A few days later, the latest issue of "Good Words" magazine was also released.

Editor Norman MacLeod rarely wrote an editor's note for Pirates of the Caribbean:

The duty of literary magazines is to provide diverse choices, not to act as moral censors.

We trust that our readers, young and old, are capable of distinguishing between fiction and reality, entertainment and dogma.

As for those who believe a magazine should be responsible for the future of the entire empire, we suggest they focus their energy on more practical matters—

For example, improving education, enhancing understanding, and learning tolerance.

After all, an empire that can't even tolerate a single pirate story is probably not the kind of empire we want.

The statement angered many people, but unexpected support for the work came from within the British themselves.

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(End of this chapter)