opinion
In my last column, I defended Grand Theft Auto IV from allegations of sexism, based on my opinion that it treats everyone distastefully. It provides a sandbox experience, I said, that allows players the opportunity to explore the underbelly of humanity and themselves, reflecting their own worst impulses back at them.
I was pleased that the article provoked thoughtful, in-depth discussion about the treatment of race, gender and other social issues in games, but in debunking a single individual's attack on Grand Theft Auto, my intention was not to provide a blanket pass to games that permit (and arguably, in this case, promote) antisocial behavior. So I was more pleased at the commenters who criticized the virulence of my GTA IV defense than I was at those who agreed with me (though, hey, who doesn’t like to be agreed with?).
One of the ways I rationalized what I’d written is by noting that games are scapegoated and crucified at every turn by people who’ve never even played them, and that this unfair public flogging threatens the medium’s potential for mainstream legitimacy.
Why those who make games don’t defend their own craft vigorously is a question for another time, but my position has been that the least we can do is to return these volleys when they’re aimed our way. If we want to see games truly thrive and grow away from stigma, it’s our responsibility, really.
And that’s why the most irresponsible thing we can ever do as gamers is to speak the phrase, “It’s only a game.”
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