I haven’t given up on Borderlands 2, but being as much of a fangirl as I am of BioWare, I had to put it on hold to pick up Dragon Age: Inquisition. Here’s the first As-I-Play post on Inquisition over on TLF.
I haven’t given up on Borderlands 2, but being as much of a fangirl as I am of BioWare, I had to put it on hold to pick up Dragon Age: Inquisition. Here’s the first As-I-Play post on Inquisition over on TLF.
So a few weeks back, the University’s PR firm inquired about taking a post from this blog and pushing it out – with minor modifications – to the world at large. This was, first and foremost, a minor source of terror.
It went out on Friday, with additional news outlets continuing to pick it up this week.
Here’s a link to one of the outlets – Seattle Times - chosen because a student came up and mentioned seeing it to me. It’s more or less the same as an earlier post, but I like to document publications here.
No, I’m not reading the comments.
So I recently returned from the National Women’s Studies Association conference where I moderated a fantastic panel on gender in games – looking at perceptions of players, perceptions of developers, journalism media, and pedagogy through a feminist lens. It was warm and comforting. Really warm. Like, tropical island, sunning by the pool with a pina colada warm. Really. It was awesome.
The panelists were fantastic, the audience was supportive and interested, and no one left the panel feeling overtly threatened or attacked. It was a space where it was safe to talk about the threats faced by women in the gaming and tech industries in a real, honest way. It was a genuine discussion of ideas and innovations, and it reminded me that in spite of all the hatred and vitriol out there, there are a lot of people quietly doing good work.
What I’m afraid of is that those people will be driven away from the industry, whether they’re journalists, gamers, or academics, because of the kind of attitude of privilege and hostility that gave birth to GamerGate. Because, let’s be honest, it isn’t just about GG. Anita Sarkeesian was harassed before GG was a thing. Women were feeling marginalized, harassed, and ostracized by the heteronormative masculine practices of their companies and of cons long before GG. The “fake geek girl” produced a backlash against women in “geek culture” (including gaming) before GG.
GG isn’t some insidious new movement or suddenly-sprung-up cohort. It’s yet another symptom of a disease that has plagued the tech industry and geek culture more generally for decades. It’s part of a system designed by those in privileged positions who were not the ultra-privileged but were smart enough to create their own escapism. And now that the worlds they created (sci fi, fantasy, videogames) are no longer the realm of straight white male nerds, that space – that “safe” space – is being threatened.
This has been true since sci fi started becoming mainstream, since videogame consoles began to appear in the average household, and since it became worthwhile to reboot as major films comic book characters like Batman, Superman, and the Avengers. In other words, since the 1990s. It’s taken a long time for the facade overlaying this culture to rupture, but it has, and as more and more people partake in geek culture, the more the culture itself will shift, embracing the variance and diversity of its changing identity.
GG is, as more than one person has suggested, the alligator death-roll of “old” geek and videogame culture. It’s a last desperate attempt to keep the elements of a culture that used to represent “safety” to a select and homogenized group of people who no longer make up the majority of its members. The problem is not that those members feel safe, but that so many others do not feel safe, that the price of the “old” safety is the discomfort and harassment of everyone else.
The thing is, there can be many safe spaces within geek culture. There can be spaces that hold to the old “traditional” stories of gaming. There can be spaces that reject those traditions in favor of other, new stories. There can be spaces that allow for crossover between them. There can be space for all, if we are willing to shrink our own personal bubbles and share the couch.
In the midst of all the craziness this year so far, I did manage to play Monument Valley (on a plane coming back from San Diego), and I loved it, so I wrote up a review for TLF.
So this is the week in which academic organizations are making their official statements about GamerGate. First, there was the ICA (International Communication Association), declaring its position on harassment and doxxing, along with some helpful tips on how to minimize one’s chances of being doxxed. It’s a little disturbing, quite frankly, that being an academic now carries with it the possibility of online harassment, death threats, and doxxing – if you aren’t Salman Rushdie. DiGRA (the Digital Games Research Association and target of OperationDiggingDiGRA) also released their public statement condemning “bullying.”
As a member of the DiGRA listserv, I got to see this when it was sent out, and also was able to see the responses to it. Some people applauded DiGRA’s willingness to make a statement, some warned about the impending GG-related fiasco now that DiGRA has engaged with the discussion openly, some questioned the intent of the statement coming so late in the game, some remarked that making such a statement would hurt DiGRA’s standing with the industry (how?), and still more expressed their concerns that DiGRA hasn’t been critical enough of the movement, citing the ICA’s more condemnatory stance.
While I do see the point of view that wants desperately to stay out of the line of fire, I (obviously) think there is more harm to be done by remaining silent out of a sense of self-preservation, particularly since DiGRA itself was dragged unwillingly into OperationDiggingDiGRA. In large part, I think the biggest threat of remaining silent is a loss of the very thing which so many of us in academia value above all else – academic freedom.
For many of us, academia represents a locus of intelligent and open conversation about the major issues and concerns of our day – filtered through the media of our disciplines, but relevant nevertheless. To have our voices functionally silenced is to threaten the very core of what it means to be an academic – something that is already happening elsewhere with the University of Kansas Board of Regents‘ policy on social media.
Proponents of ODD will argue that academics ought to celebrate the opportunity for wider discussion and embrace the “peer review” and “fact checking” coming out of ODD. As I’ve said before, “fact checking” is always welcome, but “peer review” comes out of academia itself. The purpose is not to silence a viewpoint or theoretical approach, but to make sure that the discussion itself has merit. Some of the best pieces in academia are controversial, and spur arguments and counter-articles; discussion, not finality, is the aim.
What ODD threatens to do is to functionally harass academics out of the discipline of game studies – or at least to harass feminist and queer theorists out of game studies. It aims to silence academic freedom when that freedom doesn’t agree with gamergaters’ conception of the status quo. And that is the key here – academia has long been a source of challenge to the status quo, whether socially, politically, religiously, or otherwise. Progress – scientific, social, political – comes out of challenging the status quo by demanding answers to unanswered questions, by asking questions that others are afraid to ask, and by innovating in the lab and in the classroom.
ODD threatens to stop that conversation by making the emotional and mental cost of producing academic work in game studies too high. It is vital that academics in all fields have the freedom and the ability to continue to challenge the status quo, irrespective of whether they are feminist, conservative, games scholars, queer theorists, historians, literary critics, political scientists, hard scientists, communications scholars, or anyone else laboring in academe. ODD – and the Kansas Board of Regents, although entirely unrelated – is employing coercion in order to maintain the status quo through silence, and that is anathema to everything academia represents.
So one of the other reactions on the internet to movements like Men’s Rights Advocates and GamerGate is a push for the end of Feminism. On the one hand, this makes me throw up my hands and want to bash my head into a desk, because the MRA and GG are the reason we need feminism more than ever. On the other, if I take a minute to actually pay attention to what people calling for the end of feminism are saying – and by “people” I do not mean MRAs or GGers – they have some valid points.
First and foremost is what “feminism” has come to mean for many people. A common understanding is that of the “feminazi,” or “man-hating woman,” who supposedly advocates for a gynocracy and/or the extermination of all men. This image is the one that gave birth to the “Why I don’t need feminism” Tumblr and @WomenAgainstFeminism, which largely seem to display a vast misunderstanding of the definition of “feminism” (technically defined by the dictionary as “the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men”).
More recently, XOJane published an anonymous piece entitled “I am A Feminist And I Don’t Think We Need The Feminist Movement Anymore” which contains the following description:
American feminism has become a media-obsessed vortex of mostly coastal white women trying to make careers of giddily telling us about the hard reality of everybody’s life to prove they deserve a spot on TV.
This type of “sorority-style” feminism is, I would suggest, even more problematic than the “feminazi” version. On the one hand, it’s avowal of a kind of sisterhood makes it seem attractive, like the “Girl Power” movement of the 1990s and early 2000s. On the other, it serves – also like the Girl Power movement – to reinforce gender stereotypes and further institutionalize other forms of oppression like racism and homophobia by eliminating them under the umbrella of a “sisterhood” that features predominantly middle- and upper-class white women.
It pretends to advocate for women’s rights, when what it really does is advocate for the rights of a very specific, socially acceptable version of what women are or should be. It doesn’t advocate for the rights of butch lesbians, transwomen, women of color, poor or homeless women, or women who seek to defy gender and social normativity in any way. It states that women who are already granted a certain level of privilege within American society ought to be granted more privilege, and leaves behind the women who don’t fit into that narrow mold.* (*These women should be given more privilege, but so should all the women that aren’t included under the umbrella.)
And I would agree that this kind of so-called “feminism” isn’t helpful. It widens rather than narrows the gap between the privileged and the oppressed, and that isn’t good for anybody.
But where I disagree is with a recent trend of “giving up” on movements and terms that have been partially co-opted by the privileged. I’m not ready to stop being a gamer, and I’m really not ready to stop being a feminist (which makes me a feminist gamer, which is a dangerous thing to be these days).
The anonymous poster at XOJane is right about one thing:
We DON’T NEED feminism like this. We need some thing better; we need something that’s not just ready for Hilary but actually ready for a life that has been hard for a while and is getting harder — though for all their news hawking, they don’t seem to notice.
I hope feminism keeps failing. I hope they laugh these girls right into the implosion the rest of us are living through.
Maybe — just maybe — if it actually goes straight to hell they’ll actually remember what feminism is about.
I don’t hope feminism fails. I hope that enough women and men are able to see through this recent whitewashing (in multiple senses) of feminism as a movement and go back to its roots – fighting the hard fight in the mud and dirt because all women and men deserve social equality, not just the ones with good PR campaigns and disposable income.
So this is not going to be a post about Anita Sarkeesian’s appearance on The Colbert Report last night, although I will say that it was not one of the best interviews I’ve seen. I think Colbert had a hard time trying to make sure that he wasn’t “attacking” her (since that’s his persona), given what she’s been through and the kind of message that would send, and balancing his perodic style. It’s hard to quip about horrible harassment and sexism when your subject is both nervous and not trying to be funny (I’m not saying she should have been funny, just that she wasn’t and that made the interview a little more awkward than some).
This is a post on Chris Plante’s piece from The Verge stating that GamerGate is dead. While his opening premise – “As an activist movement with the ability to inspire positive change, Gamergate is dead” – is not wrong, it is a tiny bit misleading, since I’m not convinced that GamerGate ever had the capacity to “inspire positive change,” given where it began. That’s not to say that the now-infamous byline of “ethics in games journalism” doesn’t need some “positive change,” just that I’m skeptical that GamerGate was ever really about that (also, that the kind of change that would benefit games journalism is what they were talking about in the first place).
His point that “GamerGate died ironically from what it most wanted: mainstream exposure,” is also accurate (and ties in to a post I made the other day), insofar as it suggests that GamerGate is not benefiting from mainstream news coverage or the list of celebrities who have now spoken up against it or in favor of feminism (now including Stephen Colbert). And Plante’s quip that “When a fictional ideal of repressive rhetoric thinks your movement is too much, then it’s time to reconsider,” is amusing – although I would suggest that Colbert’s “response” was more in line with his actual politics than his persona’s.
The problem, as I see it, is that Plante’s piece is more hopeful than it is reflective of what’s going to happen within the GamerGate movement. As of this morning, for example, OperationDiggingDiGRA (more on that here) was still examining the work of games academics for signs of feminist conspiracies. GamerGate isn’t about journalism ethics, and that is a conversation that Plante rightfully suggests can take place elsewhere and in a healthier way.
GamerGate is about couching privilege as a “right” and defending that privilege as though it were the most basic tenet of human dignity. And it just isn’t. It’s about mostly straight white men desperately attempting to cling to the (oppressive) power they possess in a “culture” (is gaming really a “culture”? But that’s another post for another day) that they feel has always belonged to them. It’s about the deliberate exclusion of diverse voices in a medium that is rapidly expanding and already includes those voices – which is where the whole backlash came from to begin with. GamerGate, specifically, is about a retrogressive desire to maintain a fictional status quo that never really existed as compensation for perceived loss.
And I’m just not seeing that as “dead.” Women have been able to vote in this country since 1919, and we still don’t make the same amount as equally-qualified men. Jim Crow laws were abolished in 1964, and racism against African Americans continues to be pervasive and institutionalized. GamerGate isn’t on the same scale as these, certainly (although it is the product of a similar social problem), but it isn’t going to just go away in three months.
I hope Plante is right, and this is the beginning of the end for GamerGate. I’m just not going to hold my breath… or my tongue.
One of the big developments this week in GamerGate is that the world – as opposed to the internet – has taken notice. The “movement,” such as it is, has come into the public eye. Pieces have appeared in Rolling Stone, Newsweek, The New York Times, twice in The New Yorker, and five times on CNN.com (to say nothing of on tv), at least at my last count (which might be off). This is in addition to pieces on Gamasutra, Kotaku, IGN, GameSpot, and Polygon, which are too numerous for me to even think about linking. Celebrities like Felicia Day, Chris Kluwe, and even the Hulk* have weighed in, and others – like Joss Wheedon – have tweeted their support for those being harassed. (*Not the ‘real’ Hulk.)
GamerGate, just in case you’ve lived somewhere off-grid, started as a hashtag from Adam Baldwin, ostensibly over corrupt gaming journalism ethics, and derailed so quickly that it never actually made it to any sort of legitimate discussion thereof. That’s not to say that there aren’t things to discuss concerning “ethics” and “games journalism,” just that the hashtag went off the rails so quickly that this particular discussion never went anywhere useful, actionable, or productive. Even the initial “scandal” which spawned the tag – that developer Zoe Quinn had exchanged sexual favors for a positive review from a journalist working at Kotaku - is blatantly factually erroneous (neither the journalist in question nor any journalist at Kotaku never reviewed her game, Depression Quest).
Since then, the internet – and Twitter especially – has exploded with pro- and anti-GGaters howling insults, sending threats, and generally behaving like infants, with a few staunch adults thrown in here and there. (For a sense of what the conversation on Twitter looks like, check out Andy Baio’s research project.) Many gaming, feminist, and pop culture outlets – like Feministing and Geek Feminism - have been cautious about engaging the discussion out of fear that they will become subject to the rage of GGaters – like Quinn, Day, and Anita Sarkeesian. Others – like Mangotron - were covering GGate and withdrew that coverage because of harassment.
This isn’t a post attacking GGate or defending feminism or bemoaning the state of women in the games industry (although I have done all of the above before). This is a post reminding all of us that when we write on the internet, whether on Twitter or Facebook or a blog or in the comments section, we are writing in a public space. Whether or not we are read or retweeted or shared, we are nevertheless in public.
Many members of the gaming community – whether GGaters or not – have long been accustomed to the sense that they are screaming into the void. Recent news attention shows us now that the void has both eyes and ears – it has been watching and listening all along. (I’m also not going to digress into a post about how everything we do, say, and post online is being recorded by Google, the NSA, and various nefarious spybots, either, but it is.)
What remains to be seen is whether the creatures of the void are going to prove to be monsters or angels or something in between; whether the airing of GGate’s extremely dirty and smelly laundry will galvanize an army of detergent-wielding knights or coalesce into a stained-sock-golem that will wreak havoc on the gaming community.
I hope that we’ll find out that there are a lot more people who recognize that with the maturation of the games industry comes the responsibility to act like adults and do the damn wash.
I have learned a lot about privilege since the beginning of the Gate-that-shall-not-be-named. I have learned how privileged I am. I have also learned how privileged I am not. It is the second of these that was most surprising, and more than a little terrifying.
I am privileged because I grew up in an upper-middle-class family, went to a private school, and never really wanted for anything in terms of finances or material goods. I am privileged because I had an excellent education. I am privileged because of the color of my skin and the nation into which I was born. I am privileged because every day I have enough to eat. I am healthy and insured. I have a husband and two cats. I can pay my rent on time. I have enough income to do things “for fun.” I love my job.
I was raised by loving parents who taught me that I could do anything I wanted and be anyone I wanted. They told me I could speak my mind without fear of repercussion. That my choices were mine and mine alone to make. These are the things we tell privileged children.
They are not true.
Fortunately, my parents also taught me that the world was unfair, and that sometimes people who don’t deserve things (good or bad) get them anyway. They taught me that sometimes people would hate me for no apparent reason, that other kids could be unreasonably cruel, and they gave me tools to deal with that reality that mostly worked.
They taught me to stand up for people who were being mistreated, to speak for those who could not speak for themselves, and to be kind to those in need. To give back. To give forward. To not judge someone because they look or speak or think differently from the way I do.
They taught me that some people were racist, and that racism was wrong. They taught me that I could love whomever I wanted, and that love was good. They taught me that my body was beautiful, no matter what it looked like.
My parents did not teach me that my gender would limit the things I could do. They taught me that girls could play as hard and well as boys, that girls could learn to build and play with trucks and do hard manual labor.
They did not teach me that when I grew older, men would try to take away my power tools, call me “little lady,” and assume that I was weak. They did not teach me that men would catcall me on the street or presume that they had the right to look at or touch my body without my permission. They did not teach me that I was not privileged, that I was oppressed, that there was a one in five chance that I would be sexually assaulted.
They did not teach me that one day, when I was an adult with a career and a good job, married with a place to live and cats, that I would be afraid to speak up, to post on a public forum, because of men on the internet. They taught me that it is okay to be afraid, and that, if it’s important, I should do whatever it is that frightens me anyway.
I do not say this to condemn anyone who has chosen not to speak up – there are many reasons why someone might not. I do not have a history of trauma or depression or mental illness. I do not have a “checkered past.” I don’t have children to worry about. I am not a celebrity, a journalist, or a developer. For all intents and purposes, I am irrelevant to the vast majority of people on the planet or even in my state, country, or city.
But I am an academic, and academics are public people. We are expected to speak, and to speak from a position of authority and certainty. We are expected to assume a public identity – minor though it may be – as a part of our job. We can earn or lose a career or tenure based on whether or not we have engaged with the public in our chosen field.
In other words, because I chose, some years ago, to write about videogames and to write about gender, it is part of my job to say something about what is happening in the gaming community right now. This is also true of other journalists, critics, and developers. This is our job.
And it’s terrifying.
There are people who are speaking up for whom this is not their job. People who simply love games and want them to be better. They have chosen to engage in an ugly, bitter mud-slinging disaster of their own free will because they believe it is the right thing to do. They are risking themselves, their reputations, and their sanity simply because they want games and the gaming community to be better. And today, this week, this month, this year, and possibly forever, those people are my heroes.