As widespread allegations of abuse and discrimination permeate the entertainment industry, gaming remains one of the hardest corners to reach. Ultimately, gaming’s immutable morality must face final judgement. When and how that might happen is still unclear, but it usually starts with a tweet.
Long before the internet’s infinite permanence or reach was fully understood, Twitter users would recklessly pitch vacuous musings into the depths of the newly-hatched platform anytime they felt like sharing. Which, as it turns out, was far too often. Today, it’s clear that tweets are etched not typed—often with impressive consequences. Once-forgotten tweets are excavated for use in doxxing campaigns, eulogized authors dox themselves, and foreign policy is thoughtlessly broadcast by the president at three in the morning. Twitter is a platform for thoughts of almost any shape in a world where most should never see light. Twitter is the perfect place to ruin oneself, but the platform’s singular ability to amplify any voice also makes it the perfect place to start a movement.
Gaming’s Inevitable ‘Me Too’ Moment
The phrase “Me Too” has been around since the mid-aughts—coined by activist Tarana Burke to squash the perceived myth that sexual assault exists only on the fringes of society—but didn’t reach critical mass until 2017, when the phrase was shared on Twitter by actress Alyssa Milano. “If you’ve been sexually assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet,” the post reads. The tweet garnered close to 40,000 retweets and comments, and the hashtag was used 200,000 times by the end of the day. On Facebook, 12 million posts including #metoo were shared within the first 24 hours.
Approximately one in six women are victims of sexual assault at some point in their life. That figure is startling on its own, but rape culture’s hold on specific industries and the subsequent prevalence of sexual violence in those industries tells a story far more alarming. On college campuses, one in six climbs to one in four. In the workplace, nearly every other woman has experienced some form of sexual harassment. In gaming circles, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a single woman who hasn’t dealt with targeted abuse.
Statistics are stratified by context, but vocal responses from victims of harassment and brazen acts of violence are not. The film industry’s initial reckoning ignited a conversation that still blazes across industry lines. Harvey Weinstein is a worthy figurehead for corporate predation and sexually exploitative behavior. But Weinstein, as was quickly realized, is the very tip of the iceberg. Only days ago, for instance, independent record label Burger Records closed its doors for good amid allegations brought against some of the label’s high-level employees and big-name signees. Three years later, the dominoes continue to fall. Every few weeks, new allegations surface like bubbles in a pot just beginning to boil. It’s gaming’s turn once again.
On June 19th, Twitter user Hollowtide hinted that a popular Destiny streamer has been flying under the radar of accountability for years. “Everyone memes Lucky but there’s someone else at the top of the d2 directory who is a bigger scum lord and people don’t even know the awful things they’ve done.”
That streamer, we know now, is Lono—or “SayNoToRage.” Six other members of the Destiny community corroborated those claims. Lono replied with a gauche, 11-minute apology video on YouTube in which he admits to needing extensive therapy to deal with his “indefensible” behavior. “I am willing to give direct apologies to people if that is something they would like,” he says. “But, again, that is not my place.” He then followed his ‘apology’ with yet another video, clarifying that the aforementioned apology was by no means an admission of guilt and that the community is “conspiring against” him. An accused individual is well within their rights to deny allegations, but when public outcry is this loud, it becomes impossible to ignore.
Last month, a list of every allegation and survivor story brought against prominent figures of the gaming and live-streaming industry was shared on Medium by New-York-City-based content creator Jessica Richey. To date, 412 individual claims are listed. Each one deserves attention, but a few high-profile cases from last month include Ubisoft’s Toronto-based team ousting their own executives after years of abuse and the accusations leveled against Omeed Dariani, CEO of talent management company Online Performers Group, for propositioning signed talent for sex back in 2014. A full circle from last summer’s landmark “Me Too” moment in gaming has been drawn. Only this time the fresh tumult coincides with outcry over horrific crunch conditions and predatory publishing practices. The gaming industry is at a critical juncture, and claims of nascent-industry innocence will only hold for so long.
Before stepping down as CEO and shutting down OPG for good, Omeed Dariani released a statement partially owning up to his behavior: “I promised I would believe women. Even, and probably most especially, when I’m the person being called out. And I do believe her. So as far as I am concerned, this happened.” ‘SayNoToRage’ has also formally dealt with the fallout from his previous sexual misconduct. The streamer received an indefinite ban from Twitch as of last week. Meanwhile, Ubisoft saw a mass exodus of executives alongside—as reported by The Verge—an extensive restructuring of its administrative procedures, in hopes of upholding “an environment that its employees, partners and communities can be proud of.” It’s clear that the gaming industry is more receptive to change than it ever has been, but is public defamation enough to instill lasting change in an industry that has previously denied the existence of an issue?
Historically, gamers have collectively swept some of their most odious vices under the rug and—through decades of despotism—pressured women into silence. As Taylor Lorenz and Kellen Browning detailed for the New York Times, “In years past, women gamers who have spoken out against the industry using their legal names have been subjected to further harassment, hacking and doxxing.” During gamergate, gamers denied the existence of a problem. When women stood up for themselves, they received bomb threats. In light of allegations that have surfaced this summer, it’s undeniable: gaming still has a serious problem.
A Top-Down Solution
In the corporate world, collective bargaining, and employee-organized unions can deliver heavy blows against forced arbitration and sex-based discrimination in the workplace. However, even outside of gaming, glacial change seems to be the norm. Slow-moving policies like standardized reporting procedures, victim-centered support systems, and workplace training programs are nudging industries forward one inch at a time.
That change, albeit hard to see in real-time, is one you can chart—which is a far cry from the lawlessness that exists on the creative side of the entertainment industry. The accountability of celebrity entertainers, writers, artists, and performers, in contrast to that of the industry’s bureaucratic personnel, almost solely rests on the shoulders of the platforms responsible for distributing their content and the fans who view and pay for that content. In the past, industry executives have willingly turned a blind eye to sexual abuse as a way of keeping their biggest money earners in the spotlight—where they shine as a garish reminder that the stories of victims are not as worthy of a platform as the stories of their abusers.
In November of 2017, Louis CK’s practice of jerking off in front of his coworkers and peers became public knowledge. Before multiple women came forward, CK’s comedic acclaim was matched by few in comedy past or present. He wrote and produced an Emmy-winning series and sold out Madison Square Garden eight times, a feat typically reserved for pop stars and Wire Fox Terriers. But it only took a few hours for it all to come crashing down—an effective demonstration of cancel culture in action.
Less than two years later, CK was back playing sold out shows. This year, he announced the release of his first stand-up special since the accusations against him surfaced. The special, in which he refers to his sexual perversions as “quirks,” is available on his website for $7.99. Louis CK still has a job. If you’re not of celebrity status or a stand-out figure in a creative field, taking off your clothes and masturbating in front of your colleagues is rarely going to end as favorably.
This is an industry-agnostic trend of which gaming, too, is rife with examples. In 2017, Polygon parted ways with long-time contributer and YouTube content-creator Nick Robinson following accusations regarding his history of using DMs to make sexual advances toward and solicit nudes from women in gaming. His actions are less egregious than CK’s but still dismissed by many as harmless folly or a symptom of internet-age romance that should have remained private. Using twitter as judge, jury, and executioner does have issues in its own right, but the platform is often the only avenue available to victims of harassment and abuse, because—especially in gaming—no one else will listen. Regardless of any of the fallout surrounding the allegations made in 2017, Robinson’s YouTube channel is doing just fine—amassing millions of views each month. He, too, still has a job.
Gaming’s Final Reckoning
The impermanence of cancel culture demonstrates a glaring flaw in the system. Sure, Bill Cosby is in jail. But the onerous task of policing acts of sexual violence that are less extreme but equally unjust is left to public opinion. When platforms (which already act as self-interested puppets of popular opinion) pull the plug, self-published content is always an option. Even as we’ve seen Twitch crackdown on abusive content and permaban denounced creators, it’s become glaringly clear that corporate intervention has an insignificant impact on swaying public opinion. In fact, it often only serves to further polarize the conversation. Those who don’t take issue with the actions of their favorite content creators will follow them wherever they go. It’s the fans that have the final say.
And so it is in gaming, an industry afflicted by the lingering effects of a male-dominated past, that an emerging shift in cultural awareness will define future behavior. For the same reasons that the people of today can question yesterday’s moral code but not their own, it takes time for collective morality to catch up with historic injustice. Ultimately, accountability is divined from collective will rather than top-down procedural shifts or sanctimonious displays of corporate accountability. Real change is on its way, but it may not arrive tomorrow, this year, or even this decade. There are major obstacles that stand in the way of a permanent solution. As long as you can brashly crow rape-adjacent behavior, shout phrases like “grab ‘em by the pussy” on tape, and then—without the batting of a single eye—be elected 45th president of the United States, there will always be a problem.
