People of colour in South Africa have faced a long history of ostracism on multiple levels. Though I missed the worst of it, apartheid laws mandated racist exclusion: careers, political roles, even door entrances and homes, all were determined by race. These attitudes remain, even without laws to back them up.

I was a child, the first time I was subjected to a racial slur. Decades later it continues in South Africa, but also online, particularly in an internet environment dominated by status quo warriors who love Trump, hate women and believe progress is poison.

It was fascinating to me, then, to encounter a racial slur in the recent video game Mafia III. It was intentionally made at the game’s main character, who’s black.

Mafia III is an open-world sandbox game, similar in design to the recent Grand Theft Auto titles. The creators, Hangar 13, make no apologies for the inclusion of racism as it’s central to their story of a black man in the middle of the 20th century. These were the attitudes at the time, they remind us. In a version of 1960s America, players take on the role of Lincoln Clay, a biracial Vietnam war veteran. Lincoln returns home to the fictional city of New Bordeaux and his adopted family, members of the Black Mob.

In an early part of the game, Lincoln pretends to be a security guard. A white character snarls that his white friend is unable to find a job, but “some nigger” can. Lincoln says nothing, staying in disguise. A few moments later, the game instructs you to throw that same racist character into a furnace.

The game continues to display similar views, while Lincoln is provided with opportunities to respond. There are complaints about affirmative action, how everyone “wants equality” (as if that’s bad), suggestions that black protesters are inherently violent or too loud or too demanding; there’s disbelief that anyone who isn’t white could be better than a white person.

But these views are not caged in the past; they linger today, and they’re still dangerous. While playing, Lincoln is frequently warned to leave certain establishments by signs saying “whites only” – a sign I’ve seen in my own country. The game has markers indicating when police are watching Lincoln – and this is more frequent in white areas in the game world, where there is a larger police presence.

Officers walking by Lincoln question what he’s doing there. A white woman clutches a bag to her chest when Lincoln passes by. As you progress through the game, the Italian mob becomes flustered, wavering between disbelief and anger at how “some nigger” could be tearing apart their empire.

This is a game about how a person of colour destroys white supremacy.

As someone who’s frequently the target of racist hate, it’s somewhat cathartic to be able to play a game that not only features racism but doesn’t let racism stand – Lincoln tackles it head on, dismantles “supremacy”, says: no more.

Of course, most of that response is incredibly violent, and there are questions about whether replacing one criminal empire with another is really progress. But that’s another topic. Whatever the rights or wrongs of this traditional gaming narrative, Mafia III tackles the issue of race within those confines.

The racism on display isn’t some caricature. White men can be nice and also racist; they can be caring fathers and horrific bigots at the same time. This is reality.

Racism didn’t disappear because laws said “no”. People with racist beliefs didn’t disappear. They had kids and perpetuated their views. Kids who then felt it was OK to exclude a brown kid with an Arabic name because they believed “those people” weren’t smart or capable. This is the disbelief that flows through the horror of white supremacists in Mafia III, as a man of colour destroys everything white people stole from the labour of black people.

In a time when racism seems to be becoming more acceptable, when confronting and talking about it brings more wrath from self-proclaimed “not racists” than the existence of racism, I’m glad we have fiction reminding people that racism existed and still exists. I’m glad its effects are used as part of the game’s design, not merely relegated to cutscenes (animated, non-playable interludes) or dialogue. I’m glad its racism isn’t caricatured as so unbelievably evil that only cartoon villains could ever hold such views.

I want people to know what racism feels like. Too many would rather we never have conversations about issues of race or politics in fictional media. Status quo warriors have long ignored criticisms they have no interest in – instead demanding silence from the marginalised voices offering the criticism and perspective severely lacking from wider debate.

This need to see things remain “the same” isn’t neutral, because appealing to “the same” group means appealing to those who have privileges that the rest of us do not. The yearning for some golden age is so often code for returning to a time when white supremacy was unquestioned, unchallenged. The very world Lincoln finds himself in when the game begins.

Mafia III isn’t a perfect game, but it’s one of the few that looks at white supremacy as the established norm and rejects it. Art confronts us with the world from new perspectives. It’s both mirror and window, showing us how the world is and what it could be. At a time when those with the most privilege do the most whining, Mafia III feels important to those of us who have been told our entire lives to either be silent or know our place because of our skin colour.

Mafia III may be unremarkable or mediocre in many ways, but it is necessary in a world that for too long has catered to a core demographic – one that would rather spend time complaining that people of colour are talking about racism than tackling racism itself.

If Mafia III has one message it is: “Things don’t have to be this way.” Indeed, many point to the game’s depictions of history to say “look how far we’ve come” in terms of race relations; but there are those of us who then point out: “We’re not there yet.”