Posts Tagged ‘wankery’

Make Good Games for Social Change

January 28, 2012 Leave a comment

Let’s start with this.  Read that first (feel free to ignore the comments section), and then come back here.

Where to even begin?

Like anyone else, people of color, transgender people, and the whole LGBTQ+ spectrum of sexual orientation deserve to see themselves fairly and properly represented in the media they take in, including games – and they’re not.

The people discussed in the linked post, however, are not the people to address that issue.

To get this out of the way: their anger at being told they couldn’t say they were only going to employ queer, non-white, non-cisgendered people to make their project is misplaced.  It’s every bit as illegal and wrong to say that as it is to say “whites only” or “no gays”.  You’re perfectly allowed to privately organize a group of people matching whatever criteria you like and then form a company, but you cannot make gender, ethnicity, and sexual orientation discrimination a criteria for employment.1  It’s not “you can’t involve the people you want,” it’s “you can’t say ‘we are going to pay as yet unspecified people to do work but will discriminate in protected categories to determine how we do so.”  But let’s set aside that they don’t understand the importance of that particular order of operations when deciding to engage in business – and make no mistake, what they’re proposing is a business, even if the ultimate product is released for free.

No, what’s really the problem here is that the people involved clearly don’t know the first goddamn thing about game design.  They have no plan.  That breakdown of costs (which varies wildly and seems to be pulled out of thin air) isn’t a plan to build a game – it’s a plan to itemize expenditures.  Those expenditures don’t have any relation to the design of the game, because there is no game design.

Your project is not valid or valuable or deserving of financial support simply because it addresses an inequality of representation.  That is a noble and worthy goal, but in and of itself it is meaningless without a good design, without a plan.  Worse than meaningless, because your completely aimless project then appears AT BEST as a black hole into which well-meaning supporters’ money will disappear, and at worst as a deliberate scam.

Forget your good intentions.  Come back when you have a detailed design document and a working proof of concept.

Come back when it’s FUN.  Then we’ll talk money.

See, this is a point that gets missed, and I really, really want to focus on it, because I think games are actually a terrific vehicle for changing social attitudes.  Video games are one of if not the largest media form today in terms of the money they bring in, and they are consumed by a wide strata of the public from young to old.  As such, games have an amazing potential to mainstream the acceptance of members of society who are underrepresented and unfairly discriminated against.  The Call of Dudebro frat boys bonding over shooting each other might not be the target here, but RPG and adventure games have a huge audience and are a perfect opportunity to introduce strong, well-portrayed characters of every ethnicity, gender, and orientation.  Their appearance in games isn’t a solution to decades or centuries of oppression, but if they appear more and more commonly as normal, accepted cast members in these games, that acceptance starts to pass on to the players.  It’s not an overnight thing, but it’s a start.

They’ve got to be GOOD games, though!

Those characters have to be well-written.  The player has to care about them, and the character has to be more than just “I am here to represent category X” – they especially have to be more than a stereotype.  I don’t think there are many black people clamoring for more “thug drug dealers” or Sambo caricatures on TV – they want well-written characters and accurate portrayals.  Increased representation doesn’t help anyone if the only representation you get is a negative stereotype.2

They also have to be fun!  Exhibit A: Bible Adventures.  Typical of the limited selection of “Christian” video games, it was a steaming pile of shit.  Nobody came around and accepted Jesus Christ as their lord and savior after encountering Bible Adventures.  Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if some folks lost their faith as a result of that game.  The point being that a bad game drives people away – intentions, social message, positive portrayals of the characters…none of that matters if nobody is willing to play it because it’s crap.

Now, you can make the argument that the point of a project like this is not to change minds and broaden acceptance of an underrepresented group or groups, and instead is aimed solely AT an audience consisting of just those groups (or the already accepting) – that the point is to give those gamers a game where they can identify with the characters, never mind whether anyone else gives a shit.  This is, do not misunderstand me, a completely fair goal.  One more than worthy of being pursued on its own merits – not every piece of media needs to be an agent of change; sometimes all you want is something that is welcoming and safe.

Guess what?


I summon EXHIBIT A again.  Bible Fucking Adventures.  You know what happened when some poor Christian kid unwrapped his or her presents on Christmas morning and discovered they’d gotten Bible Adventures?

That kid cried.  Because Bible Adventures was a shitty game.  Nobody wants to play shitty games.  I’m a socialist, atheist, secular humanist.  I do not want to play a game that purports to represent people like me just because it purports to represent people like me – not if it’s a shitty game.  No nerdy black kid is going to devote hours to Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Big Space Adventure if that game is no fun.3  And though I have no personal experience to base it on, I’d imagine I’d be pretty sad as a non-cisgendered person if I’d given money to the people behind the Arkh Project and in return they’d made a crappy game and expected me to like it just because it featured non-cis characters.

Games are in a unique position to build social change – gamers really do develop an emotional response to them, and that connection and identification can be used to broaden horizons and break down social prejudice.  But doing so takes more than simply making games about the subjects involved, those games have to be good.  They must be well-written and fun to play.  The former because it is on the strength of the writing that players come to identify and feel empathy for the characters, and the latter because if it’s not fun, nobody will play the damn thing.  It will just be another Bible Adventures, destined to be forgotten until somebody writes a humorous internet article about how shit it is.

1: Strictly speaking, the degree to which you can get away with is going to vary by location, but for the purpose of this we’re going to generalize.

2: I realize my privilege in saying this, so let me clarify: I am not suggesting, “hey, settle for nothing unless it’s excellent!”  I’m suggesting, “demand better,” and don’t trust white, straight, cis folks in power to be on the ball.  Demand better from yourself and others like you – whether you are cis or trans, a person of color or not, gay or straight – demand better and produce better.  Everybody’s got their own levels of what’s acceptable and it’s not up to me to tell anybody what they should be, but what I am saying is if your level isn’t being met, don’t ever think you should just take what you can get.

3. This game does not exist, but HOLY SHIT IT SHOULD SOMEBODY GET ON THIS.  I would play the shit out of that game…IF IT WERE GOOD.

UPDATE: Removed a couple of slightly inflammatory “fucks” in there that weren’t really necessary and were positioned such that the target may have not been clear.  Mea culpa.

UPDATE TWO: This post on Rock, Paper, Shotgun addresses some similar issues, discussing a fan-made visual novel game about people with disabilities.  From the review, it’s clear the creators were trying to treat the subject with respect (as best they knew how), but may have ultimately failed not because of a lack of respect, but because they mired an already slow, inactive style of game in a combination of bad writing and limited options.

Categories: General Tags: , , ,


July 11, 2011 Leave a comment

You’re doing it wrong.

That’s not actually true (necessarily), but inflammatory hyperbole supposedly motivates a reader to keep going, and this is kind of long.  I’ve had villains on my mind lately, so villains are the topic of the day.  This may get a little disjointed, please bear with me.

There’s two main schools of thought in gaming: one says that the PCs drive the story, and the other that the villain drives the story.  The latter is a more traditionalist view, while the former is advanced more typically by modern indie gaming.  Both require that antagonistic presence, but in the former case it’s an obstacle on the road to a goal, and in the latter it is the thing to be defeated – the villain is the goal, in a sense.  Let’s leave aside the merits of these competing viewpoints (and how they may overlap) for a moment and focus on that antagonism.

A Villain (note capital), for the purposes of this post, is not just the Bad Guy, not merely the antagonist in the story.  In the class Underdog Sports Team Wins the Championship story, the team they have to beat aren’t necessarily Villains.  They may just be a faceless (trait-wise) obstacle, a “them”.  A cop in a criminal story isn’t necessarily a Villain – they’re just opposition.   A Villain, instead, is a malevolence – a force inimical to the protagonists, and who must exhibit a character of their own.  Bad guys, antagonists, are a dime a dozen.  Villains are memorable.  Villains are legendary.  Villains are what the player fears.

Fear is the key.  An antagonist that the player does not fear cannot be a Villain – they’re just an obstacle, an annoyance to be swatted down.  When a player fears the antagonist, however, you’ve got an emotional connection.  A feared opponent is always a challenge, because the players are fighting themselves inside their own heads before ever facing the Villain.  The question then is: what makes the player afraid of the Villain?

The cheap way out is power.  Make the Villain nightmarish in power, wealth, etc.  The “going up against a god” kind of thing.  This, by itself, is yawnsville – it’s the blockbuster sequel mistake: “GO BIGGER!”  Generic Evil Wizard #7 isn’t a memorable villain just because he likes to cast Meteor Swarm or whatever.   Similarly, unbridled violence isn’t terribly effective, either.  Every shitty B-movie where the bad guy pointlessly kills someone to show how “bad” he is kind of proves that – there’s a reason why that sort of thing makes the Evil Overlord list (#32, for example).

A fearsome Villain is born out of motivation.  Just as with the protagonist, motivation defines a Villain in a way that doesn’t apply to lesser characters.  You can’t skimp here.  You cannot half-ass it and have a memorable Villain – you’ll just end up with a bad guy.1  “I WANT TO BE ALL-POWERFUL” is a shit motivation, and the reason why the Generic Fantasy Bad Guy is so damn generic.  That’s not a Villain – it’s barely even a character.

To my mind, there’s two ways to go with this.  For purposes of illustration, let’s use two of the finest examples from competing powerhouses – Marvel and DC.  Marvel gives us Magneto, while DC gives us the Joker.

Magneto is all about motivation, and is a perfect example of the first route: make your Villain right.  For the purpose of this discussion, let’s put aside his “heroic” stints and focus on Magneto the villain.  A concentration camp survivor, he understands better than any other character in his universe the darkness and depth of human intolerance.  He knows firsthand the ultimate endpoint of racism and nationalism.  Magneto is terrifying as a villain not simply because his mutant power is of earth-shattering potency, but because in our heart of hearts we agree with him.  Look at his counterpoint, Charles Xavier, who argues peaceful coexistence and acceptance but is shown to be wrong (to greater and lesser degrees), time and again.  Even the recent X-Men: First Class film hit on this.  For all his idealism, Charles is both wrong about humanity’s reaction to mutants and every bit as condescending.  We may not be able to agree with Magneto’s goals at times (particularly his more genocidal moods), but we intrinsically recognize that his motivation is righteous.  And an opponent who is not merely righteous in their own mind, but in ours, is truly terrifying.  They frighten us because we know the lengths to which we ourselves would go if we thought ourselves truly justified, the acts we would excuse for the hero if it was for the greater good.  The brakes are off, and we fear not only what they are capable of, but that we might be wrong.

Conversely, the Joker is about motivation as the absence of motivation in a conventional sense.  The Joker is not merely a homicidal maniac – he is not some interchangeable movie slasher.  Nor does he have a “motivation”, the way Magneto does.  The Joker does not do what he does because of Traumatic Event A or Lofty Goal B or even Lust for Power or Wealth C.  He is not even “crazy” in a sense that has meaning – insanity has causes and structures, even comprehensible wants and reactions.  None of this drives the Joker.  The Joker is, in a very important and meaningful sense, an alien.  He terrifies not because of his powers (he has none) or his specific actions, but because he does not operate in the same universe we do.  He is freed from all expectations and constraint.  He is an elemental force, entropy in human guise, desirous only of the joy of chaos.  As Alfred puts it in The Dark Knight Returns, “some men just want to watch the world burn.”  He is a seething torrent of human emotion simultaneously divorced from anything we can understand as human reasons.  We can understand a serial killer, we can understand the mass murderer, but the Joker remains an enigma.  No explanation of his true origin could ever satisfy, and no rationalization for his actions beyond “because” will ever ring true.  But he is more than a boogeyman.  We recognize his emotions, though not his reasons: we see that despite it all, somehow, we share the same species, and fear what lies inside us.

Both are fantastically effective villains, but from opposite ends of the spectrum.  Magneto is feared because he is, in a significant way, heroic, and heroes are terrifying if you’re on the other side.  The Joker is feared because he is the unknowable – the permanently alien, anathema to all we understand.  The best Villains draw effectively from one or the other of these methods.  Bringing either to the table is, frankly, a bitch and a half.  Players are notoriously resistant to fear.  However, going back to the beginning of the post, we have some aid available.

First, in a game where the players are the motive narrative force, it is easier to pull off the Magneto.  The player characters believe in something strongly enough to be pushing towards their goal independent of opposition, so now you can bring in opposition that believes something conflicting just as strongly.  The trick here is to make it a valid argument.  This has to be stronger than just “I’m the rightful king because dad was the king and I’m the firstborn” kind of stuff.  Make it count.  Pull on the the other beliefs of the player characters and show them a compelling alternative.  Doubt creates fear.  This can be even more effective if you can lead the players into going too far.  Get them to make hard, hard choices, where they have to decide for themselves how much they can justify in the name of their beliefs, and then hit them with the Villain’s motivation.  Show them someone willing to go as far as they will.  You can’t guarantee that you’ll get true fear out of them, but you can the odds are good that your Villain just got upgraded from opposition to nemesis in the players’ minds.

Second, in a Villain-driven game, it’s harder (though not impossible) to effectively do the Magneto version – you have to sort of push the players into defining their characters in opposition to the Villain, rather than designing the Villain for their characters.  Conversely, it’s easier to fit in a Joker.  Plots and disasters that drive the players into action can create expectations in the players which you can, at the right time, shatter utterly.  This kind of thing is still quite difficult – it’s a tricky balancing act between “agent of chaos” and “why the fuck did that just happen?”  The goal here is to get the players not to be asking confusedly, “what’s the Villain trying to do?” but to be instead worrying the same thing.  You want the players to fear the unknown plots of the Villain the same way they fear an unidentified but obviously-trapped door: even if they can disable the trap, they’re still panicked about what’s behind it.


1: Darth Vader is kind of the exception to the rule here.  Nobody would argue that he’s not an iconic and memorable Villain, but I would argue that this is a case that can only happen in film: one where the visual design of the character carries sufficient resonance as to overcome deficiency in development.  Paired with a reasonable backstory (developed more in the sequels), this elevates him to a status he never could have achieved with weaker design.  Sadly, visual design is not something we can utilize effectively in a tabletop RPG, though it plays a distinct role in video games.

Categories: General, RPGs Tags: , , ,

Finally, talking about that game…and gun control (contains scenario spoilers, semantics, politics)

May 22, 2010 1 comment

Quite some friggin’ time ago, I promised a post about the game of Unknown Armies I ran.

Yeah, that post didn’t quite happen.  It turns out, finishing grad school can be kind of hectic!  Amazing.  But here we are, for unexpected reasons.  I want to talk about that game briefly, and the game of Scion that followed, and tie it into our national discussion about gun control.


Unknown Armies has been described as Pulp Fiction as filtered through Clive Barker.  Jim, of Struggle, Fast Talk, and Bluff, has called it “the Secular Humanist Call of Cthulhu“.  Both of these are pretty apt.  It is modern occult horror with a heavy tilt to the weird, and a good dollop of, as the game says, “furious action”.  Now, when I ran the game some weeks back, I took a group of mostly-novice gamers through the “Three Bill Toges” scenario included with the core book.  For those unfamiliar, this scenario is pretty much just straight up high weirdness by mail: the PCs encounter a 3-way accident on a country crossroad.  All three cars are identical, and all three have the same driver.  The cars explode, and the PCs come to to find themselves, 12 hours earlier, crouched in the middle of a supermarket in the midst of a robbery.  Resolution of this scene leads back to the crossroads, another explosion.  Now they’re in an apartment, where one man brutally beats another.  Scene, crossroads, explosion, and now they’re in a trailer park full of cultists in the middle of a desert as the federales are moving in.  The common thread is one Bill Toge, mystically (and unknowingly) split into three years ago, reaching crisis points in their separate lives, and then colliding as they fled, ripping reality apart.  With no direct info, players have to sort out that Bill is the problem here, and that he has to be in some way stopped in each other life, to prevent this accident from having occurred.  Weird and unsettling things happen when they fail to stop a Bill from meeting his destiny.

Now, this scenario has a lot that is quintessential UA: it is big on the mystical weirdness, chock full of uncomfortable topics (child molestation, cannibalism, and more), and never gives the players any answers.  At no point are the players “rewarded”.  They make it through the scenario or don’t; they stop Bill or don’t.  “Success” doesn’t come with answers, and failure doesn’t come with known or understood consequences.

Some players like this.  Some don’t.  It’s UA, though, very much in the spirit of the thing: you don’t necessarily get to understand the what, the why, or the how.

But here’s where the gun control comes in:

My players were a mixed bunch, as were their characters.  Only two, perhaps 3 of the 6 were at all combat-competent, and of those only one really used guns.  What is interesting is how that affected play.  All the characters were members of The New Inquisition; effectively occult mafiosos with the implicit understanding that killing may be necessary.  But when combat broke out, most players opted to try to talk their way out of things, hide, or surrender (particularly to police).  The characters most capable of combat, notably the gentleman with the gun, on the other hand, always opted to fight, and usually chose to do so as a first resort, not last.  Indeed, the gun-toting character cold-bloodedly murdered people, killing even defenseless NPCs in the name of expediency.

Cut to our Scion game.  This is a game of modern day children of gods, literal half-divine, half-mortal sons and daughters of the gods of various pantheons.  Our scenario took the band of godlings to New York City.  A variety of clue paths had led the players to the swanky, high security apartment building of a well-known philanthropist.  Some of the players had talked to him earlier; others had followed his trail from the scene of a crime.  The group, gathered in the secure lobby, wanted to go back up to the gentleman’s penthouse.  A couple not-so-thought-out social gambits were tried, but without much success (the security guards were not fools).  While the party debated their next move, the son of Susano-o (one of the Japanese pantheon) drew his katana from beneath his coat and threatened the security guard (who was behind his desk).

Let’s cover this one clearly:

1) High security building, with

2) Very, very wealthy residents,

3) In NYC,

4) Under plenty of surveillance cameras,

5) And the guard is behind one of those big security desks you see in the fancier buildings, complete with monitors, radios, etc…  and a panic button to the local precinct.

And this cat draws a sword on them.  For no fucking reason.

Needless to say, the guard punches the panic button, jumps back, and all hell breaks loose.

Now, I hear you out there:  “Josh,” you say, “what the hell does this have to do with gun control?”

Please allow me to explain.

An argument often parroted when the subject of gun control comes up in this country is the old saw, “when guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.”  Or, as someone I know elsewhere recently put it: “Criminals don’t care [about gun control laws]”.  Regardless of your thoughts on guns themselves, this, at first glance, appears to be a point that must be conceded.  Obviously, criminals (gangs, organized crime, drug cartels, terrorists) are not going to be prevented by gun control laws from arming themselves.  Thus, the laws only really serve to keep guns out of the hands of decent, law-abiding citizens.

“Hey!” you shout.  “I cannot really argue that point, and that upsets my liberal ideals/coheres to my conservative worldview/fits nicely with my pro-gun but otherwise non-partisan opinions!”  Gun control serves mainly to keep guns out of the hands of ordinary, law-abiding people.  It’s true.  What people don’t seem to understand is that this is entirely by design, and the debate is not over whether or not gun control does this, but whether it should.

The real question is: why might it be a good thing to keep guns out of ordinary, law-abiding hands?  To answer that, we go back to the “only criminals will have guns” motto.  See, the people who make this argument are implicitly suggesting that crimes are committed by a category of people called criminals.  By extension, law-abiding types (who, they argue, should be allowed to have whatever guns they want: they’re good people, see?), do not commit crimes.  Criminals don’t care about laws, and cannot be stopped by them.  Law-abiding citizens obey laws.

Do you smell the bullshit yet?  For this argument to be true, all gun crime must be committed by criminals, a category clearly implied to be synonymous with gangsters, thieves, and terrorists.  Hardened criminal sorts.  But what they forget is that the act of, say, shooting someone for rear-ending your car, or for sleeping with your spouse, or whatever…that act is transformative.  It turns a formerly law-abiding person instantly into a criminal.  We can’t stop criminals from shooting people if they really want to, but we can make it less likely that an ordinary, law-abiding citizen is transformed into a criminal, and we do so by making it more difficult to possess a gun.  Yes, violence will still occur, but as violent crime involving firearms rose through the 80s and 90s, other violent crime went down.  Leaving aside the fact that non-gun-related violent crime is drastically less likely to result in death or crippling injury, guns make violent crime easy.

People, decent, law-abiding people (even not-so-decent ones) have a certain aversion to violence.  They may love it on TV and in movies and games, but ask them to take a bat to someone in real life, or just to punch someone, and they tend to balk.  We’re conditioned to be (comparatively) nonviolent.  But guns provide distance.  They have a seductive power.  Pointing a gun at something and squeezing the trigger is not at all like pummeling that same thing (be it person or target) with your bare hands, or with a melee weapon.  It removes questions of size and weight and reach and all the other things that incline even the aggressive away from open violence.  The gun is an opportunity.  And people are insecure, often powerless sorts in a world much bigger and more powerful than them.  A gun can make them feel like they can even things out, even if it’s just in this one situation.  He stole my girl.  He fired me.  Fighting them would be hard.

But a gun?

Bang.  Solved.  Bang.  Vengeance.  Bang.  I win.

I’m not saying guns cause violence.  They don’t.  It is true that people are what kill people.  But guns change the psychology of the situation, and to pretend otherwise is to play the fool.  But I’m not here to advocate for gun control (in truth, my stance on the matter is…complicated).  I’m here to talk about how this is relevant to gaming (my apologies for such a long route to get here):

Guns, or any weapon, really, change the psychology of the person who carries them.  This applies in gaming as much as it does in real life.  Think about your games: violence has probably figured strongly in most of them if you’re anything like most groups.  Sure, part of the reason is that RPGs are the descendants of wargaming; they were explicitly combat simulators before they were anything else.  And it’s true that part of it is almost certainly due to the fact that combat is one of the easiest forms of conflict – to set up, to make rules for, and to resolve.  You can try to lay the blame on our cultural referents, as well: action films and pulp thrillers are full of fights.

But none of these are really the main reason.  Plenty of games have moved beyond the wargaming roots.  Plenty of games are drawing on cultural references that are as much, if not more, about nonviolent conflict as they are about violence.  And most games make at least a cursory nod towards rules for resolving non-combat conflicts.  The real reason gaming tends to keep being about combat is, I think, because it’s almost always about weapons.

Pick up an RPG at random.  Odds are better than chance that, even if the game is not supposed to be all about combat (say, I pick up Vampire, which is ostensibly a “storytelling game of personal horror”), if you turn to whatever passes for a section on equipment, most of said “equipment” will be weapons (or combat-related, such as armor).  Players especially have a tendency to only think about their character’s possessions in terms of what they put on their sheet; what goes on the sheet is usually what they find in the book.  What they find in the book, is, of course, weaponry.  I would argue there’s a not-so-subtle reinforcing effect: the player thinks of their possessions as being, in essence, a collection of weapons.  When they face a problem in-game, their toolbox is, basically, full of hammers.   So everything looks like a nail.

In our Unknown Armies game, the players without weapons tried honesty, they tried deceit, and they tried persuasion.  They tried cowardice; they tried surrender.  They tried cunning and running and thinking.

The players with weapons attacked.

Every time.

I can’t say whether or not that’s a bad thing.  It may not be, for a given game or for a given group.  But I think it’s interesting.  And it makes me think about the applications of the realities of gun control to gaming: not to to prevent criminals (bad guys) from committing crimes, but to prevent good people from becoming criminals.  It’s often been remarked upon that RPG “heroes” are really violent sociopaths.  But maybe, just maybe, that’s because a character isn’t “done” until they’ve chosen from a list of weapons.