Meanwhile, harassment of women in games continued; Anita Sarkeesian was forced to cancel a speech in Utah State after someone threatened to commit mass murder at the venue; game developer Brianna Wu was also forced to leave her home after death threats. Some #gamergate supporters have also been harassed, doxxed, and threatened. (There are many more extensive accounts online: for example, here and here.)

So what does this all have to do with comics? The answer, surprisingly, is neither misogyny, nor journalistic ethics. One important component of the gamergate controversy is the question of whether games can be, or should be, viewed as art.

The controversy began not with attacks on a journalist but with the trolling of an indie developer. Quinn was a target in part because her creation, Depression Quest, a text game about experiencing depression, has been roundly criticized by gamers for being boring; people were resentful that something that was not a "real game" received attention in the press, or even existed. The Anita Sarkeesian video that caused so much controversy in August has been condemned for its criticism of mainstream games—but in a lot of ways the main point comes at the end of the video, when Sarkeesian praises Papo & Yo, a game about domestic abuse and violence. Sarkeesian's argument is not "games are bad" but rather, that games, as art, can deal with serious issues in a meaningful way. Christopher Grant, the editor of games website Polygon, stated this point explicitly in a recent post against gamergate: "if you believe video games are an art form, that video games are important, that video games actually mean something, then demands for silence couldn't be a less effective tactic for promoting those beliefs."

The gamergate debate, then, is in part a battle between art and pulp. That's an argument that has been going on for some years in games before it reached this particular crescendo. But it's been going on even longer in comics. Back in the 1970s, comics, like games, were viewed overwhelmingly as a pulp medium, with a fandom focused mainly on adventure and action material. And, as with games, a small but determined group of journalists and artists set about criticizing the mainstream in an effort to make space for a different kind of comic—one that focused less on muscled guys in their underwear hitting each other, and more on serious issues, like mental illness, trauma, sexuality, and personal expression.

There were many creators involved in comics efforts to turn itself into art—including most notably Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly through their seminal anthology RAW. But the most important journalist and critic was undoubtedly Gary Groth, editor of The Comics Journal and founder of the independent publisher Fantagraphics.

Groth, as writer and publisher, was a tireless promoter of inventive, independent work—and an acerbic critic of cape comics and what he saw as their callow, troglodyte audience. Groth talked about superhero comics readers in much the same way as Leigh Alexander and others have talked about gamers: "super heroes are, in my view, an intrinsically adolescent genre—perfectly OK if you're an adolescent," but not so much if you're an adult, he said in 2000. More pugnaciously, in 1991, he wrote: