He deserved better.
If you ask anyone who watched the 2021 Netflix phenomenon what the hardest part was, they don't usually point to the giant robot doll or the glass bridge. They talk about Player 199. Specifically, they talk about that crushing, slow-motion betrayal in the marble village. Abdul Ali Squid Game fans know exactly what I’m talking about. It wasn't just a character death; it was a total indictment of how the world treats people who are actually, genuinely kind.
Ali, played by the incredibly talented Anupam Tripathi, wasn't supposed to be the "main" guy. He wasn't the cynical hero or the calculative villain. He was a migrant worker from Pakistan trying to provide for a wife and a baby. He was us. Or at least, the version of us we wish we were before the world gets its hands on us.
The Reality Behind the Character
Most people don't realize how much real-world struggle informed Ali's arc. In the show, Ali is a victim of "Gwahwang-nam," a term for the systemic exploitation of foreign workers in South Korea. He lost fingers at a factory. His boss withheld months of wages. When he enters the game, he isn't there out of greed. He is there because the legal and social systems designed to protect him completely failed.
Tripathi himself lived in Korea for years as a student before landing the role. He knew the feeling of being an outsider. That's why the performance feels so raw. It isn't just acting; it's a reflection of the precarity faced by thousands of workers who move for a better life and end up caught in gears they can't control.
Honestly, the way he calls Sang-woo "Sajang-nim" (boss) is one of the most painful details in the script. It shows his deep-seated desire to be respectful, even to people who are basically using him as a human shield.
Why the Marble Game Betrayal Is Still the Peak of the Series
Let’s get into the meat of it. Episode 6, "Gganbu."
It’s widely considered one of the best hours of television in the last decade. Why? Because it forced the one person with a pure heart to face the one person he trusted most. Ali and Cho Sang-woo. The underdog and the SNU graduate.
Ali wins. He actually wins the game of marbles. He has the physical and mental edge in that moment. But he loses because he cannot fathom that a "friend" would lie to his face while looking him in the eye. Sang-woo swaps Ali’s marbles for pebbles and sends him to his death. It’s brutal. It's sickening. And it’s exactly how the world often works for those who don't have a safety net.
The Psychology of Trust in High-Stakes Environments
Social psychologists often look at the "Prisoner's Dilemma" when analyzing Abdul Ali Squid Game scenarios. In a vacuum, cooperation is the best strategy for the group. But when the stakes are life or death, the "rational" actor (Sang-woo) chooses betrayal to ensure individual survival.
Ali represents the "pro-social" actor. He believes in the strength of the pair. When he realizes he’s been tricked—at the very last second before the gunshot—the look on his face isn't just fear. It's a profound, soul-crushing disappointment. He didn't just lose his life; he lost his faith in the one person who treated him like a human being in a country that largely ignored him.
Breaking Down the Fan Theories and Misconceptions
People love to speculate. I’ve seen some wild theories online claiming Ali survived or that he was a plant by the Front Man. Let's be real: he didn't. His death was necessary for the narrative weight of the show. If the "good guy" survives by some miracle, the stakes of the game vanish.
Another common misconception is that Ali was "too dumb" to survive. That’s a massive oversimplification. Ali wasn't stupid; he was culturally and linguistically disadvantaged. He was operating in a high-stress environment in his second or third language, relying on the guidance of someone he perceived as an intellectual superior. That's not a lack of intelligence; it's a vulnerability born from his social position.
Anupam Tripathi’s Impact on Global Representation
Before Squid Game, how many Indian actors had leading roles in major Korean dramas? Almost none. Tripathi broke a massive ceiling. His success opened doors for more diverse casting in K-content, which is historically quite homogenous.
He actually had to gain weight for the role to look like a "strong" manual laborer. He spent time talking to migrant workers in Korea to understand their specific speech patterns and body language. That level of dedication is why we felt so much for him. When he cried, we cried. When he smiled because he got a bag of corn, we felt that small joy too.
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What We Can Learn From Ali’s Journey
If you’re looking for a "win" in Ali’s story, it’s hard to find one within the confines of the show. But in the real world, his character served as a massive wake-up call regarding the treatment of migrant labor.
- Check Your Bias: Ali was often treated as a tool or a "strong guy" rather than a person with a family. We see this in workplaces everywhere.
- The Cost of Kindness: Being "the nice guy" isn't a weakness, but in a predatory system, it requires a different kind of armor.
- Institutional Failure: Ali didn't need the Squid Game; he needed a labor lawyer who actually gave a damn.
The legacy of the Abdul Ali Squid Game arc is that it forced a global audience to reckon with their own complicity. We watched him get cheated, and we hated it. But do we notice the Alis in our own cities? The delivery drivers, the warehouse workers, the people keeping the lights on for minimum wage?
Practical Takeaways for Fans and Creators
If you’re a writer or a fan of storytelling, Ali is the gold standard for a "tragic innocent" archetype. He isn't a caricature. He has a wife, a child, a specific history, and a clear motivation.
For those wanting to dive deeper:
- Watch Anupam Tripathi’s interviews about his time at the Korea National University of Arts. It gives great context to his journey.
- Research the real-world labor laws in East Asia that the show was critiquing. It makes the "fiction" much more haunting.
- Rewatch Episode 2, "Hell," and pay close attention to the factory scene. It sets up everything you need to know about why Ali felt he had no choice but to go back to the island.
Ali’s story is a reminder that the most dangerous thing in the world isn't a game; it's the feeling that you have absolutely nothing left to lose. He gave everything for a chance that was rigged from the start. That’s why we still talk about him. That’s why he’s the soul of the show.
To honor the character's legacy, the best thing a viewer can do is look a little closer at the "unseen" workers in their own lives. Kindness shouldn't be a death sentence, but in the world of Squid Game, and sometimes in our own, it’s the most expensive thing you can own.