Nintendo may have earned the spotlight in today’s headlines, but another landmark belongs to August 28th as well. Today marks the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.‘s speech on Capitol Hill in the year of 1963. This brings up the question: how far have video-games come in fostering equality? Or rather, is equality being approached the right way?
The current state of diversity in video-games can hardly be talked about without first describing the nature of art-forms. The greatest quality that art can display is that it often doesn’t care not for what its viewers want, but what it needs. In principle, it expresses it for the lone purpose of communicating an established idea, based solely on that idea’s own virtues and necessities. As a collective we treasure specific pieces of art and entertainment for successfully portraying something in a way that presents an admirable degree of intuition and ability. It’s that same thing that attracts us to video-games as a similar medium.
Great games aren’t created from nothing. The majority of developers that created stories and experiences worthy of our remembering them knew exactly what they were doing and did so it in amazing ways. Most of their mechanics and features worked because they planned them with a well-reasoned purpose. Regardless, many players advocate a change in games that adheres to their individual preferences. In short, minorities, whether they be racial, sexual, or gender-based, feel underrepresented in the art-form, and rightly so. However, many too often claim that games should consider their position regardless of it would benefiting from such consideration. Arguably, inclusion of such diversity is something that that needs to be both addressed and implemented, yet in a valued sense.
(This is actually a deep, psychoanalytical metaphor. . . seriously)
I can apply the same to the deviously good game I’ve been playing as of late: Double Fine’s Psychonauts. In it, players’ character of Razputin physically explores the consciousness of Lake Oblongata’s hulking lungfish, “Linda.” In this monster’s brain, you assume the role of a giant, menacing Raz, who unwittingly terrorizes the metropolitan city of Lungfishopolis, home to naive, law-abiding lungfish. It’s a genuine expression of the teribble insecurities that a fear-inspiring creature like Linda feels amidst a world of “normal” people. Such is the case with the rest of the game -- there’s a distinct, repressed flood of emotion reflected through the symbols of each character’s subconscious. The monstrous experience of Lungfishopolis exists as a symbolic correlation to the brilliance of Psychonauts’ entirety. It has a purpose all its own -- subtle, yet genius. Having this stage for no other point than “monster films are cool” does no real justice to such a great game. It just ends up being there, off to the side, and contributing nothing to the overall narrative. The same can be said of minorities that are better seen than heard, off to the side as nameless bank robbers or silent pedestrians.
We often project ourselves onto the games we play. Some individuals, however, now expect the medium to project onto them. The push for greater gender and racial equality of the gaming industry has moved from the very real world of game company employment to our very games themselves. The most popular point, and most accurate one, is that of around 80% of protagonists being white, male, buff, gruff, etc. The simplest solution to this dilemma is “We need more (insert minority name here ) in video-games because there aren’t enough of them,” but would that solve anything?
(I loved Mirror's Edge to death, but honestly, did anyone remember Faith outside of this?)
This is assuming that the placement of something in a place it’s otherwise not increases its importance by merely being included. This sentiment is also based on the conclusion that minority status is the sole thing that makes us who we are. As an Asian dude, it’s been clear to me that the only Asian characters I ever see in video-games are the ones slaying things with swords or jumping off roof-tops. Not the worst stereotype in my opinion (I wish that I could do that) but not exactly truthful or all-inclusive to most stories or real-life application. Persona 4 might’ve gotten a bit warmer in its characters’ “cram” study sessions and scrambling to get good grades in between killing demons, and Okami nailed its storytelling of ancient Asian mythology, but even as much as I jest, there certainly has been no “normal” Asians I play. Ultimately though, I don’t require the cultural idiosyncrasies of my heritage unless it compliments the overall story or gameplay experience I’m invested in. Still, it comes down to it being nice to hear that someone cared.
The push for minority groups being featured in video-games is a matter of personal representation. I understand this of other people 110% as one of the fastest growing minorities in the United States, but shouldn’t representation come with a sense of devotion to the source material and not obligation out of peer pressure? Capturing someone’s cultural, biological, and perhaps spiritual identities is a goal that seeks to invokes a human connection, not to fill some quota for fan-service or a checklist for diversity. The entire reason for its existence is to provide a form of escapism that actively distances us from the real-world crap we endure. A desire for video-games to adhere to your personal sensibilities and preferences is to actively meld reality with fantasy. In that regard, many would argue that you’re failing to suspend your disbelief.
(Customized for me?)
It’s deeply unsettling that many individuals regard games as nothing more than tools to satisfy their personal delights. Yes, the same developers who strive for the medium to be seen as an “art-form” don’t often bother to truly understand just what makes the most cherished art so relevant to us. Everything is negotiable: gender, race, culture, graphical style, themes, etiquette, language … just like toppings on a pizza. It seems that the consumer market has fooled gamers into thinking that these “works of art” are here to serve as store-bought snacks but never as homemade meals baked especially for us, as a personalized story than a corporate license. Fortunately, art is and has always been self-serving. Its true value lies in its personal identity -- sometimes derived from its creator’s mind. Of course, every developer’s aspiration is to successfully connect with a market, but a game’s creation process is often based solely on its own needs and, most importantly, the knowledge, skill, and experiences of those creating the piece.
Designers never think to themselves, “Hmm, I wonder if Tim Gruver: Korean descent, ex-Christian, Libertarian, objectivist, perfectionist, would enjoy or agree with this game.” They don’t care because I don’t matter in this particular process. Maybe that’s simply because the game is theirs to do with as they please. Those like Rockstar and Suda 51‘s team have sure cared little about the controversial stories they’ve told. Developers want their work to be good in its own right, but their might be an argument for a bit more fresh blood in the industry. Artists are everywhere, in all of us, and more thinking heads has always meant more, broader ideas. Stepping outside the norm is inherent to our species’ DNA it seems. Yet “New” does not necessarily equal quality.
It's true: implementing ideas is ultimately in the hands of artists. They’re the ones doing the work, enduring deadlines, and furthering the medium. There is must be a fundamental balance that must be maintained between the needs and wants of the producer and consumer, however. I’m deeply tired of the false assumptions from developers, directors, and designers alike that my age, gender, or racial demographic is only pleased by a specific experience. They don’t know that. It’s only the grip of a stagnant, tired market formula that tells them I don’t like playing girls, or cute smiling animals, or a thoughtful character bent on finding answers instead of blood. Playing art “by the book” is no art at all, but an assembly line strategy that’s grown tiresome in light of all that our game engines can portray in the beauty of their HD. A sincere and personal attempt at communicating a relevant experience would speak volumes. Why not play a minority character with a story that's relevant to their culture, their experience?
I'll honestly admit that it’s a fantastic experience having the opportunity to step into other people’s skins to have adventures in. It’s been a privilege to take on the role of a Native American Assassin, or a black man protecting a girl named Clementine, or even an Italian Plumber in a bee suit. The industry has grown by leaps and bounds and several diverse protagonists stand out, but not too many. My fondest gaming memories retained intuitive controls, sharp writing, fascinating puzzles, addictive gameplay, and great art direction … all of which had nothing to do with the identity of my character. Yet sometimes I’ve wanted a person to connect to, and those tailored to the players that experience them are all the better. We celebrate today as a day when one man told us about his dream of a world where all are created equal. We live in a world of all kinds, so why can’t we bring that diversity with us into the dreams of our video-games?