“Avatar: The Last Airbender” returns My siblings’ passionate kung fu punches and hysteric monologue recitations came to a disheartened halt as epic title-sequence percussion gave way to the opening scene of a dull filler episode. My memory of “City of Walls and Secrets”— a second-season “Avatar: The Last Airbender” episode that premiered on Nickelodeon when I was three years old — reflected the basic surface-level understanding kids shows typically require of their young audience: a smiley city tour guide named Joo Dee accompanies the main characters to a pet store, university, and affluent neighborhood throughout the various “rings” of Ba Sing Se, the Earth Kingdom capital, in search of Aang’s adorable sky bison. Sokka proposes dressing their pet lemur as a ghost in a plan to sneak into a bear’s classy birthday party. Aang crashes that party by bending a rainbow water display atop a scooter made of wind. A sketchy man in a long braid scolds them before a pretty, green fireplace. I slumped in my bean bag and prepared to wait the episode out, only to find my jaw dropped 24 minutes later, my brother frantically punching at the rewind button. I should’ve anticipated our wonderment; “Avatar: The Last Airbender” is not your typical children’s cartoon. graphic by Abigail Bao “Avatar: The Last Airbender” returns Twelve years after nearly six million families — including mine — tuned into its highly anticipated, four-part series finale, “Avatar: The Last Airbender” rocketed to Netflix’s number one spot within days of its May release and continues to boast a position in the streaming service’s top ten programs nearly a month later. The critically acclaimed show’s ability to retain the passionate and diverse fanbase that has fueled its remarkable success is a testament not only to its timeless appeal, but also to its masterful articulation of mature, complex themes in a raw, apolitical manner paradoxically afforded by its nature as a children’s program. Underscoring the sarcastic one-liners and goofy side adventures are discussions of prejudice, oppression, and gender discrimination that debut as early as the pilot’s opening scene. The prologue to the series-opener, “The Boy in the Iceberg,” introduces viewers to an enthralling fantasy universe profoundly influenced by Asian culture and history. The four nations — Air Nomads, Water Tribe, Earth Kingdom, and Fire Nation — were crafted primarily in the image of Tibetan monks, Inuit communities, dynastic China, and imperial Japan respectively, with Mesoamerican, Greek, and Korean cultural elements also emerging throughout the series. Contrasting the sensational violence of most high-budget action movies, the bending styles of different “Avatar: The Last Airbender” characters were tailored to reflect the philosophical and spiritual practices of their nation of origin, each borrowing forms from a distinct Asian martial art. Furthermore, the show draws heavily from Asian philosophies such as Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism, epitomized through the very concept of the Avatar — an incarnated spirit tasked with tempering the world’s evils and maintaining balance — originating in Hinduism. It’s this thoughtful consideration of real-world influences that makes this high fantasy’s thematic elements all the more relevant, and as a result, deeply thought-provoking. Reviewing “City of Walls and Secrets” 14 years later, it’s easy to recognize the various “rings” of Ba Sing Se as a concrete depiction of the economic segregation woven into the social fabric of most cities, with the lowest ring illuminating the complexities of a burgeoning refugee crisis. The main characters’ seemingly trivial trips to a sketchy pet store, university, and bureaucratic neighborhood each highlight different types of censorship employed by totalitarian regimes: the masking of criminal activity, the silencing of educated scholars, and the use of political incentives to discourage transparency. The sketchy man who confronts Aang is a corrupt grand secretariat whose regulation of the city’s resources, including a secret police Joo Dee endorses as the “guardians of all our traditions,” juxtaposes the King’s ignorance to the needs of his people — typified through his preoccupation with the birthday “Avatar: The Last Airbender” returns of his pet bear. It’s no surprise that “City of Walls and Secrets” earned the show an Emmy nomination shortly following its debut. Yet what’s truly astounding about “Avatar: The Last Airbender” is its ability to explicitly reference real-world issues and real-world cultures without promoting any stark political message. Rather, the show forfeits its overwhelming allegorical potential to place emphasis on its inspiring, multi-faceted characters: a protagonist who must reconcile his unyielding commitment to pacifism, despite the slaughtering of his people, with his destiny to commit murder; two foil characters whose friendship blossoms only after dismantling their prejudices against each other’s cultures; a small child whose physical disability makes her the most powerful fighter in the world; and a banished prince whose redemption arc is the most fulfilling of any story I’ve seen to date. The result is a story that allowed a generation of kids who grew up enthralled by mythical creatures and epic fight scenes to grapple with complex sociopolitical dynamics through the eyes of characters who also love playing games, exploring new places, and pulling pranks on their friends. The same fantastical characters who embody devastating legacies of imperialism, totalitarianism, and genocide appeared as toys in our Happy Meals. I’ve long aged out of the advertised target demographic of “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” yet I derive just as much excitement from the opening credits as I approach my senior year as I did when preparing for preschool. The same story that inspired me to paint sunscreen arrows on my forehead and test my waterbending abilities at the local pool continues to impress me with its promotion of forgiveness and empathy through a captivating universe like no other. .