There is a war going on in video games right now. Not on the screen for once, but on forums and in the comments sections of specialist games news sites like Kotaku and Polygon. It is a war between self-identifying “gamers” and video game critics. And like most wars it is chaotic, damaging and depressing.

It has been brewing for years, and for a number of reasons. The key is that over the last decade, games have progressed from being seen as a geeky pastime for adolescent boys, to being understood and appreciated as a complex and significant artform. When I started writing about these things in 1995, video game journalism was still in its infancy – most magazines were like a cross between fanzines and catalogues; they guided fans toward the games they should purchase. They often did this with style and humour, but they knew their audience – predominantly young males. Everyone knew where they stood.

But then two things happened. The rise of the internet brought digital distribution and brand new communication channels. Suddenly, lone game designers with subjective and offbeat ideas were able to reach a global audience by making their titles available online. And the rise of blogging culture meant that new and idiosyncratic voices could be heard. Games magazines no longer had a stranglehold on the dissemination of games criticism. Add in the arrival of online forums and discussion sites, and the birth of social media, and we had a new age in which critics, communities and developers were engaging with each other much more closely. Looking back, that was a powder keg waiting for a match.

The other thing was the rise of smartphones. These convenient devices made games accessible to a whole group of people who had never really thought about them before. Suddenly, we had Angry Birds selling millions of downloads, and the wider media industry began to notice the phenomenon. In the past, games could be marginalised – they didn’t matter because they were for teenage boys, and teenage boys didn’t read newspapers, watch that much TV or participate in academic discussion. But in the 2000s we were reaching a stage when everyone was getting interested in interactive entertainment and its ramifications.



Then Nintendo released Wii, we had the fascinating and violent Grand Theft Auto series, and games were the big subject, rich with interest and possibilities. The indie games scene grew; fostered by the inclusion of titles like Braid and World of Goo on mainstream consoles. Interesting, often challenging voices like Jonathan Blow and Phil Fish entered the industry. They didn’t talk like the media-trained producers from the big game publishers. They shouted at and insulted people online. They provided excellent headlines for the growing number of 24hr non-stop internet video game news sites like IGN, Gamespot and Games Radar.



Enter the critics



With mainstream interest and contrasting voices, with idiosyncratic, challenging games on one side and massively successful brands like GTA and Call of Duty on the other, cultural critics began to take an interest in games and game-makers. The people who used to study movies and music for their sociopolitical significance turned their attention to games. Suddenly, there were cultural critics like Anita Sarkeesian applying an analytical lens to game tropes and conventions – and their ideas chimed with a new generation of games critics who wanted to investigate games in new ways.

But somewhere along the line, this excitement with the meaning and potential of games as an artform started to define itself against the gamer community – or at least that’s what gamers felt. Mainstream video game titles were derided for their sexism and thuggery, players were criticised for endorsing the twisted world views of conventional shooters and hack-’em-ups. Gamers were thinking: hang on, how did we become the enemy here?

The last fortnight has seen that powder keg explode. A spiteful blogpost by the ex-lover of indie games developer Zoe Quinn, and the launch of the latest Tropes vs Women video by Sarkeesian, which analyses the sexist depiction of women in some games, have led to reams of appalling threats and abuse online. Both women have feared for their safety. Games writers have been seen to close ranks and defend the developers, criticising the gamer community, which has responded by huddling around the #gamergate hashtag on Twitter. Questions have been asked about the close relationship between development studios and games critics – sometimes to a ludicrous extent, with charts and diagrams posted online showing the connections between key figures.



The upshot: a significant minority of game players do not trust a significant number of games writers. And some games writers have suggested that the term ‘gamer’ is a dated anachronism, no longer applicable to the industry. Games are bigger than this community now. And naturally, the community is angry. They see conflicts of interest and corruption in every tweet and conversation between journalists and developers; in every positive preview. They want transparency in the games press. They are tired of being dictated to by writers they refer to as social justice warriors, interested more in the issues of representation and sociocultural meaning in games and game development, then the content itself. Now we have a schism and it has become destructive. Game journalists vs gamers.

The mistakes behind the hate



The problem at the centre of it all is a lack of understanding. These groups used to be together, united against the aggressive ignorance of mainstream culture. When US lawyer Jack Thompson tried to get violent games banned, when British tabloids ran scare stories on the effects of titles like Doom and GTA, games communities and journalists were united in their anger and dismay. But now there is no common enemy. Culture has largely opened to games, and that sense of outsider conflict has turned in on itself.

The self-identifying gamers are largely wrong about the games press. Although ethical breaches no doubt happen, it isn’t a hive of corruption. Games writers aren’t getting rich on backhanders from games publishers; they’re poorly paid, work long hours and largely are in this for passion, not to make a quick buck through sinister channels.

There are issues with the way journalists and game publishers interact; garnering exclusive or early access to forthcoming titles tacitly creates a bond between critic and provider that can make fair appraisal more difficult. Not impossible, just difficult. As a games writer, you have relationships with game publishers and developers – that’s how entertainment journalism works. But you need to be strong enough to put those aside when you are assessing a new game for your readers. That is the skill of it. That is where the job really lies. But it also has to be OK to be passionate and excited about games. There is no objectivity in art.



And it’s not like these issues are exclusive to games. In the movie and music press, there are the same potential conflicts – the news sources are funded via advertising placed by the very companies that the journalists are reporting on. Music and movie journalists go on sponsored press trips; they forge relationships with bands, labels, actors, directors, and studios. They have to. This is how human beings function – through personal contact. In a well-run media organisation, advertising and editorial are separated, everyone understands the boundaries. But often, from the outside, these interconnections can be read as subjectivity, as taint, and in the cauldron of the online forum, theories and accusations quickly gather momentum. If one person says it online it’s a rumour, if 100 say it, it must be true. This is a dangerous fallacy.

In return, games journalists have grown distrustful of self-identifying gamers. The wretched miscreants that swamp Quinn, Sarkeesian and others with vile threats every time they post a video, a story or a tweet, have come to symbolise community. But this isn’t strictly fair. There are lots of gamers who are angered and bewildered by how some game sites cover the industry and its superstars; they feel they have legitimate questions about how games journalism functions. They are invested in this business and they have a right to their scepticism. It turns out, lumping them in with the rabble who harass women developers and critics has added to the opprobrium.



The perceived power of social justice



For me, the problem with the gamer community that has aligned around the #gamergate hash tag is that it doesn’t seem to know what it wants or what it fears – or at least, the problem is that what it fears isn’t going to happen. There’s a sense that social justice warriors are going to “ruin games”. But how? This is a tiny subset of writers and developers sharing a left-leaning ideology – they are big on Twitter, but they are not going to convince Activision, EA, Capcom or any other multinational games corporations to stop making games that conflict with their beliefs.

The games industry is a global, multi-billion dollar giant, fuelled by money, not dogma. There will be no social justice revolution – just as the rise of feminist film criticism in the 70s and the explosion of indie cinema in the 80s did not stop Hollywood from making blockbuster sexist action flicks.



And ultimately, those members of the gaming community who distrust the games press, have a really wonderful option: make the alternative. Instead of constructing strange conspiracy theories and flooding games sites with vitriolic comments, withdraw entirely. Make your own game sites. It has never been easier – or more viable. Because however much you mistrust them, the big gaming sites serve the needs of millions of gamers who don’t worry about the relationships between the press and the publishers – who just want approachable reviews, cool videos and funny list features; that’s their choice. They can’t be denied or derided either. So the best, most positive option, is to create something else.

I have found a lot of the actions of self-confessed hardcore gamers horrendous, upsetting and unjustifiable over the past two weeks. I have mocked and criticised the excesses – and I was happy to commission Jenn Frank’s piece on the disgusting excesses of anti-social behaviour in some quarters of the games community. But I have come to understand that the gamers suspicious of the games press cannot be classed together in one homogenous group – just as games journalists cannot. Objectification is never the answer. Which is why #gamergate has become so problematic.



I just wish things could go back to normal. I don’t have a problem with the term “gamer” – to me it signifies what “film buff” or “bookworm” does – someone who is heavily invested in the medium. I have a problem with those gamers who want to shut out different voices and new forms of design; I have a problem with gamers who deny that this industry needs to improve its representation - in terms of race, gender and sexuality. I don’t have a problem with gamers who feel marginalised and frustrated because, really, that’s how I grew up – alone and geeky at senior school, unable to fit in with the fads and fashions and pervading cultures of the day. It is crappy not to be heard.



Every writer and critic must have the freedom of press; everyone must have the freedom of expression – as long as no one is targeted and harassed in the process. It is possible to disagree without abuse. These are simple ground rules. They are achievable. I entered games writing at a time when journalists and readers were a club, with in-jokes and trust and kinship. Everybody still loves games, right? Let’s concentrate on that.



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