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The Atlantic’s June cover story is a dispatch from Ukraine, including an interview with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky. The Ukrainian leader met with our editor in chief Jeffrey Goldberg, staff writer Anne Applebaum, and Laurene Powell Jobs, chair of the magazine’s board of directors, and their conversations took place as Ukraine prepares to conduct what could be one of the most consequential military counteroffensives in modern history.

First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic:

When private equity firms bankrupt their own companies What home cooking does that restaurants can’t A lesson about living from a survivor of suicide Hotel booking is a post-truth nightmare.

A Fateful Spring

The democracies face a coming year of decision. In the next 12 to 18 months, we will know whether Americans have the collective will to resist yet another attempt to hand power to a would-be autocrat; as astonishing as it seems, one of the likely presidential candidates in the 2024 election is a man who incited a violent attack against the government and the Constitution of the United States. We will also know whether the free world (and yes, it’s long past time to start using that expression again) has the will to resist the onslaught of Russian butchery in Europe.

These two battles are inextricably linked. If America stumbles even deeper into authoritarian darkness than it already has, Ukraine is lost. If Ukraine is lost, Europe and the West face an existential threat not only to our physical security but also to our democratic civilization.

As Jeffrey Goldberg notes in his editor’s introduction to the June issue, The Atlantic went to Ukraine because the war there “is about much more than Ukraine; it is about the very subjects that animate this magazine: democracy, freedom, justice, humanism.” In Kherson, he and Anne were interviewing Ukrainian soldiers when the Russians bombed a nearby supermarket parking lot, the kind of indiscriminate attack that reinforces the stakes for Ukraine and the world. The Russian missile, Jeff writes, “was meant to murder and terrorize; mission accomplished.”

And this is what the Russian war on Ukraine has become: a campaign of revenge by an infuriated despot who is determined to show that democracy will bow to dictatorship, even if he has to bomb every home and kill every Ukrainian.

Russian President Vladimir Putin, of course, is trapped in a vortex of his own grandiose miscalculations and strategic ineptitude. He expected Ukraine to collapse within hours of his first attacks more than a year ago. As the Ukrainian defense minister told Anne and Jeff, so did the U.S. and NATO, who expected a war between “a big Soviet army fighting a small Soviet army” and thought that the “big” Soviet army would win.

I made the same miscalculation in my early analyses of the conflict. As we now know, however, the Russian military had for years managed to hide its shocking incompetence and poor logistics from the world—and especially from Putin, whose small circle of sycophants was too terrified to tell him the truth. Lost in a fantasy, he expected not only that Kyiv would fall but also that Russian soldiers would be greeted as liberators. The Russian campaign, as Anne and Jeff write, was “to annihilate both Ukraine and the idea of Ukraine,” but now, with tens of thousands of Russian casualties and the Russian nation in shock at constant defeats, Putin has apparently decided that he must destroy what he once hoped to possess whole. He will rule over whatever is left—and then continue his attempted march westward.

Although our cover story bears witness to these crushing tragedies on the ground in Ukraine, it is not a report of relentless pessimism. Indeed, Ukraine at war has forged an even stronger identity as a civic and democratic nation. Ukrainians are resolute that there is no alternative to victory. (Ukrainian citizens, as our writers saw, routinely use expressions when parting such as “See you after the victory.”) Anne and Jeff also note how much has changed since those first chaotic months of the war. When they went to speak with Zelensky in the spring of 2022, Kyiv was a city in darkness, its leadership in bunkers, its businesses mostly closed. When they returned last month, they found that “the lights were on, the restaurants were open, and the trains ran on predictable schedules. A coffee shop in the station was serving oat-milk lattes.” Even Bucha, where the Russians conducted a ghastly campaign of civilian executions, is rebuilding.

Good news, to be sure, but without a powerful counteroffensive and eventual victory, there can be no peace in Ukraine, and no stability in Europe or the world. What does “victory” mean? Obviously, the survival of an independent Ukraine is the immediate goal, but a lasting peace has to mean more than living through successive Russian conquests and partitions. The Ukrainians, who have lost so much already, are unlikely to accept such an unjust truce, even if the Russians had any interest in offering one. If the Ukrainians lose sovereign territory, if they are not safe from Russian attack, and if there is no reckoning with Russian war criminals, then any Ukrainian “victory” is just a temporary respite from another round of Russian aggression.

But even more important, any outcome short of a Ukrainian victory would endanger the rest of the world. There is a reason, as Anne and Jeff write, that so many nations, movements, and individuals are waiting to see what happens:

If a Ukraine that believes in the rule of law and human rights can achieve victory against a much larger, much more autocratic society, and if it can do so while preserving its own freedoms, then similarly open societies and movements around the world can hope for success too. After the Russian invasion, the Venezuelan opposition movement hung a Ukrainian flag on the front of its country’s embassy hall in Washington. The Taiwanese Parliament gave a rapturous welcome to Ukrainian activists last year. Not everyone in the world cares about this war, but for anyone trying to defeat a dictator, it has profound significance.

This is why the world is waiting for the Ukrainian counteroffensive. Read the whole story, which is accompanied by powerful images captured by the renowned photojournalist Paolo Pellegrin. (The cover art is by Bono. Yes, that Bono.) Americans can find it easy to forget the war raging across the sea, but Ukraine is approaching a battle for its ultimate fate—as are all of us living in the free world.

Related:

Cover story: The counteroffensive Editor’s note: War and consequences

Today’s News

A man suspected of killing five neighbors with an AR-15 rifle in Texas on Friday continues to evade law enforcement. France had a large May Day demonstration as people rallied against President Emmanuel Macron raising the retirement age. The bulk of First Republic Bank’s operations will be sold to JPMorgan Chase in an attempt to prevent a banking crisis that has been on the horizon for two months.

Dispatches

Unsettled Territory: A relationship of care exists between the browser and the bookseller, even if the two never meet, Imani Perry writes. Up for Debate: Readers write in with their thoughts and questions on gender.

Explore all of our newsletters here.

Evening Read

Illustration by Paul Spella / The Atlantic. Source: Dave Benett / Getty.

Paris Hilton Has a Lesson for Everybody

By Annie Lowrey

The Paris Hilton with whom I am familiar is not the real Paris Hilton, Paris Hilton tells me. The Paris Hilton she describes in her best-selling new memoir is. “I just put it all out there. It was like writing in a diary, speaking about things that I’ve never said out loud to anyone in my life, not my closest friends or family members. So I would say it was definitely me,” she tells me over Zoom. “Yeah, it’s me.”

I do not believe this claim for a minute, nor do I believe that she believes it either. Paris: The Memoir is a glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich and famous; a dishy gift for her devoted fans, the Little Hiltons; and a horrifying recounting of a life filled with exploitation and abuse. It is also a manual on how to construct a self for public consumption, a skill at which Hilton is an immortal genius and a practice she has helped mainstream into American culture, curving it into a ouroboros of ceaseless posting, commenting, buying, selling.

Read the full article.

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Culture Break

Philip Seymour Hoffman in 'Along Came Polly'

Watch. Along Came Polly (streaming on Peacock), which features a brilliant comedic performance from Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Listen. “Funny How Time Slips Away,” a song that captures the artistry of Willie Nelson.

Play our daily crossword.

Katherine Hu contributed to this newsletter.

Hundreds of thousands of people on Monday massed in France on Labour day to vent their anger against President Emmanuel Macron's pension reform, with unions vowing not to stop fighting even after the changes were signed into law.

Almost 300 people are arrested across France in clashes with demonstrators angry at pension reforms.

Europe has looked on in shock, confusion and admiration as France has taken to the streets over the country’s pension reform.

As a professional food writer, I have always found joy and enlightenment in trying new foods. For both work and pleasure, I have had the privilege of eating at hundreds of the best restaurants in the world: Michelin-starred spots in Florence, Italy; bouchons in Lyon, France; shawarma stands in Amman, Jordan. Yet the most memorable meals of my life have unquestionably been in other people’s homes.

These people were typically friends, not professional chefs. Their dishes were, for example, the fesenjoon and potato tahdig (chicken in a pomegranate walnut sauce, rice with a crispy potato bottom) prepared by my Persian Jewish friend Tali for my birthday, and the pu pad pong karee (crab meat stir-fried with eggs, celery, and spices) that my former professor’s wife, Nok, made when my family and I returned to Philadelphia after years away. All of these tasted better than anything I have enjoyed in a restaurant.

This opinion is not just mine. I asked several friends—some chefs, others food writers, and many that are neither—and found that, given the choice between a meal at a top-notch restaurant and one in the home of a regular person who is a good cook, they would almost all choose the latter. I then polled my 21,000 or so Instagram followers. Most of the hundreds who responded had the same response: Their all-time favorite meals had been eaten in someone’s house.

This might sound counterintuitive. Restaurants have access to premium ingredients and specialized equipment, and employ impeccably trained professionals. And my polling methods were hardly scientific. But I think the love for home food that I and many others have emphasizes a deeper truth: Our emotions about what goes in our mouth are intertwined with our feelings about the person preparing the food, the conversation at the table, the cultural rituals around a dish’s consumption. When dining, the social context matters perhaps even more than the quality of the food.

It makes sense that the home is the site of our most cherished eating rituals—it is, after all, the original restaurant. Although records of public eating establishments date back millennia, most of these places, such as medieval inns and ancient Rome’s thermopolia, were intended for travelers or poorer people who didn’t have their own kitchens. Hosting at home, a ritual since prehistoric times, was how people maintained connections with friends and large extended families. Restaurants as we know them today—convivial places to both eat and socialize—are thought to date back only to 18th-century France (restaurer in French means “to restore”). These restaurants were intended for the wealthier classes; not until after the Industrial Revolution, when people began traveling more and moving to urban centers for work, did dining establishments become more accessible. By the 19th century, restaurants in the United States had begun to gain even more popularity, and, as the country’s middle class grew in the 20th century, dining out became a status symbol and a form of entertainment.

In America today, restaurants are everywhere, takeout apps are convenient, and the art of hosting at home is typically reserved for Thanksgiving dinners or holiday barbecues. Granted, preparing a group meal might require hours of labor, and not every weekday lunch must be a meaningful social event. But the benefits of communal meal times to physical and emotional well-being—such as lower rates of depression and higher academic performance—are widely documented. Still, the average American eats just three dinners a week with loved ones and spends more than half of their money that goes to food outside the home. Plenty of people see hosting a large group as a stressor.

[Read: What you learn from eating alone]

Many of us are missing out on an experience that restaurants cannot provide. Dining out is transactional by nature: Bills are split, access depends on income, the time at your table is typically capped, and interaction with the people preparing the food tends to be nonexistent. In the home, the exchange happens in an entirely different way. You are not paying to consume a certain cuisine; you have invested in a relationship with someone and, as a result, are invited for a meal. You are not a customer; you are a guest—and that makes all the difference.

Case in point: Around Christmas one year, our Romanian friends, the Popescus, invited my family and me for dinner. One bite of the grandmother’s sarmale (brined cabbage leaves stuffed with a rice-and-meat mixture, then cooked with smoky bacon and tomatoes), and I felt privy to a world I had never before encountered. The flavors and textures were unexpected to my palate. For the first time in my life, cabbage was delicious. But most of all, my husband, my daughters, and I got to become part of the Popescus’ home life, sitting around a table eating a dish that, for as far back as the grandmother could remember, Romanians had been preparing for the holiday. We did not feel like mere cultural tourists. Rather, we were shown a level of generosity available only within the intimacy of friendship. We were the recipients of a gift, with no expectations of something in return.

The joy of cultural education, however, does not have to come from eating with someone from a different ethnic background. Foodways are so personal that even families in the same town can have their own imprint on dishes. I’d always hated okra: slimy, seedy, and, even when cooked in a traditional Arab tomato sauce, bland. But during my sophomore year in high school, I tried the okra stew of a friend’s mother. What a revelation to taste it spiked, with a fiery fermented-chili sauce and made with chicken instead of lamb. Two decades later, I continue to make okra stew the way I had it that day.

[Read: National cuisine is a useful illusion]

In Arabic, we have a term for the intangible element possessed by certain cooks that can turn a meal from great to exceptional: nafas. To have nafas is to have love for one’s guests and a desire to satisfy them with your best cooking—which is why the term is often used for home cooks, not chefs serving a restaurant of anonymous customers. We also have a saying in Arabic that translates to “Greet me, and you don’t need to feed me.” Because it’s almost unheard of to not feed your guests in our culture, what the adage really implies is that how you treat your visitors will affect how much they enjoy the food.

The host also gains something in all this. When I feed guests, I’m not only connecting them to my Palestinian culture; I’m reconnecting myself. For people like me who are living away from their home country, hosting can rekindle childhood memories and forge the kind of community that can be hard to find otherwise. Giving people around my table a place where they feel they belong leads me to find my own refuge. Not even the finest restaurant could compare to that.

The UN's Human Rights Council calls on France to reduce police violence and take steps to address racism.

Workers and labour unions protest against government policies in France, Italy and the Netherlands.

More than one million people could take to the streets in France for 'historic' May Day demonstrations against the country's pension reforms.