The politics of games -- and why there are no virtual romcoms

Weasel News, templars in the supreme court and socialism in <em>Fable 3</em> -- more from Naomi Alde

Yesterday, I posted an interview with the game writers Naomi Alderman and David Varela, who are both tutors on an Arvon course in September (click here to read the piece, here for more info on the course). Here, I talk to Naomi about politics in games and David about their generic limitations.

Naomi, talking about binary choices in video games, how did you feel about Fable 3?

Naomi Alderman: Oh, my god, they were dreadful. It's weird because I think it wants to be a comedy game. They've got a lot of great comedic acting talent -- they've got John Cleese and Mark Heap. Mark Heap is a genius.

They've got John bloody Cleese voicing it and what he's voicing is just a menu. He's there to go: "If you want to change your outfit, go here," or, "If you want to look at how much money you've got, go here." John Cleese! You've got John Cleese, why would you do that?

I was playing it thinking: it would be better if they just accepted this is a comedy game and we're going to have a variety of comic challenges for the hero to face. All those tasks at the end . . . do you want to build a brothel or an orphange? Do you buy up all the houses and get all the rent?

I thought that: I've become a buy-to-let landlord . . . I've journeyed to this magical realm in order to become Foxtons.

NA: Clearly, it is a metaphor for the credit crunch . . . and the correct way to solve the problem is to do what you do in that game -- nationalise all the industries and all the property and use that money to pay off this enormous debt that you have. And the wrong way to handle it is to leave everything in private hands and then you don't have any money to deal with the huge problems facing the country.

H: Maybe it's [Lionhead Studios chief] Peter Molyneux's secret party political broadcast.

NA: Ha! Have you seen the hidden story in Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood?

Yes. It implies that the US supreme court has been infiltrated by an ultra-capitalist secret society.

NA: And Dick Cheney, too, is the implication . . . There's the whole thing with: "DC will take care of this."

Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts as well . . . I'm surprised their libel lawyers let it go through, really.

NA: I'd love to do an interview with the guys who wrote it and say: "Did you have to get this past anyone?" Also, there's an implication in one of those sections that the government is trying to control us via TV and video games.

Is that an example of a game with an explicitly political message -- or what about Grand Theft Auto 4 and its Fox News spoof, "Weasel News"?

NA: There's a sort of fear that games are quite right-wing . . . because they encourage [violence]. There was some really great research into how attitudes towards the government change, having played these games where mostly you are playing as the American government.

Unlike Jarhead or Generation Kill, they are not narratives, which problematise the whole idea of the wars that we are currently engaged in. But clearly that hidden story in Assassin's Creed and Weasel News, they do problematise the world we live in. That's art, surely -- that's what art does.

David, are games too limited in the genres they cover?

David Varela: I don't think that games generally have as wide a range of genres as you can get in other art forms and that's something that I think is expanding now. You don't get many romcom games but there are independent games at the moment that are exploring different genres and I'm sure they're going to get more mainstream. So something like Heavy Rain, it was mainly a thriller but there was that family drama element to it as well, which you don't tend to see very much.

There is Gravitation, which is all about work/life balance. You're playing this sweet game with this little blonde child and there's a little love heart developing as you play. But to carry on playing, you have to go away [from the computer] and do some work and then you come back. As the game goes on, you have to spend more time working in order to have this precious time playing with the girl.

It's a very beautiful metaphor about growing up and having to make certain sacrifices in life. It's just heartbreaking. To get that kind of emotion from a game is rare but it's certainly possible and I'd like to see more of that.

Why do you think it's hard for games to deal seriously with romance?

It's partly a legacy about where games have come from, developed by boys, for boys. From outside the industry, the audience for games is seen as being only teenage boys but the audience is broadening out a lot more, especially in the past few years and especially with online gaming. Facebook gaming is becoming more prominent and the much wider audience means there is room for all these different genres.

I worked a little bit on a game called Spirit of Adventure (written by Christian Wheeler), which is a Facebook game that is very deliberately targeted at definitely a more feminine audience, probably aged 40 plus -- which actually reflects quite well on the people who are on Facebook a lot of the time.

That was a love story about a woman who is a grown-up, her marriage has gone a bit stale and she discovers the diary of a Second World War airman. She gets swept up in his romance and ends up investigating his life; what happened to him.

It could have worked as a romance novel. It could work in another media. If you were going to try and label it with a genre it's probably a romance but it has gameplay in it; it has some puzzles, but it has a lot of very good writing in it as well.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

OLI SCARFF/GETTY IMAGES
Show Hide image

The West can never hope to understand Islamic State

Graeme Wood's The Way of the Strangers: Encounters with the Islamic State reminds us of something that ought to be obvious: Islamic State is very Islamic.

The venue for the declaration of the “Islamic State” had been carefully chosen. The Great Mosque of al-Nuri in Mosul was a fitting location for the restoration of a “caliphate” pledged to the destruction of its enemies. It was built in 1172 by Nur al-Din al-Zengi, a warrior famed for his victories over the Crusaders. When Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi ascended the pulpit in July 2014 and proclaimed his followers to be “the backbone of the camp of faith and the spearhead of its trench”, he was consciously following in Nur al-Din’s footsteps. The message could not have been clearer. The Crusaders were back and needed defeating.

Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future. In Islamic State’s propaganda, they certainly are. Sayings attributed to Muhammad that foretold how the armies of Islam would defeat the armies of the Cross serve their ideologues as a hall of mirrors. What happened in the Crusades is happening now; and what happens now foreshadows what is to come.

The Parisian concert-goers murdered at the Bataclan theatre in 2015 were as much Crusaders as those defeated by Nur al-Din in the 12th century – and those slaughters prefigure a final slaughter at the end of days. When the propagandists of Islamic State named their English-language magazine Dabiq, they were alluding to a small town in Syria that – so they proclaim – will at last bring the Crusades to an end. Every issue is headed with the same exultant vaunt. “The spark has been lit here in Iraq, and its heat will continue to intensify – by Allah’s permission – until it burns the Crusader armies in Dabiq.”

How much does Islamic State actually believe this stuff? The assumption that it is a proxy for other concerns – born of US foreign policy, or social deprivation, or Islamophobia – comes naturally to commentators in the West. Partly this is because their instincts are often secular and liberal; partly it reflects a proper concern not to tar mainstream Islam with the brush of terrorism.

Unsurprisingly, the first detailed attempt to take Islamic State at its word ruffled a lot of feathers. Graeme Wood’s article “What Isis really wants” ran in the Atlantic two years ago and turned on its head the reassuring notion that the organisation’s motivation was anything that Western policy­makers could readily comprehend.

“The reality is,” Wood wrote, “that the Islamic State is Islamic. Very Islamic.” The strain of the religion that it was channelling derived “from coherent and even learned interpretations of Islam” and was fixated on two distinct moments of time: the age of Muhammad and the end of days long promised in Muslim apocalyptic writings. Members of Islamic State, citing the Quran and sayings attributed to the Prophet in their support, believe themselves charged by God with expediting the end of days. It is their mandate utterly to annihilate kufr: disbelief. The world must be washed in blood, so that the divine purpose may be fulfilled. The options for negotiating this around a table at Geneva are, to put it mildly, limited.

In The Way of the Strangers, Wood continues his journey into the mindset of Islamic State’s enthusiasts. As he did in the Atlantic, he scorns “the belief that when a jihadist tells you he wants to kill you and billions of others to bring about the end of the world, he is just speaking for effect”. Although not a report from the “caliphate”, it still comes from front lines: the restaurants of Melbourne, the suburbs of Dallas, the cafés of Ilford. Wood’s concern is less with the circumstances in Syria and Iraq that gave birth to Islamic State than with those cocooned inside stable and prosperous societies who have travelled to join it. What persuades them to abandon the relative comforts of the West for a war zone? How can they possibly justify acts of grotesque violence? Is killing, for them, something
incidental, or a source of deep fulfilment?

These are questions that sociologists, psychologists and security experts have all sought to answer. Wood, by asking Islamic State’s sympathisers to explain their motivation, demonstrates how Western society has become woefully unqualified to recognise the ecstatic highs that can derive from apocalyptic certitude. “The notion that religious belief is a minor factor in the rise of the Islamic State,” he observes, “is belied by a crushing weight of evidence that religion matters deeply to the vast majority of those who have travelled to fight.”

Anyone who has studied the literature of the First Crusade will recognise the sentiment. The conviction, popular since at least the Enlightenment, that crusading was to be explained in terms of almost anything except religion has increasingly been put
to bed. Crusaders may indeed have travelled to Syria out of a lust for adventure, or loot, or prospects denied to them at home; but that even such worldly motivations were saturated in apocalyptic expectations is a perspective now widely accepted. “Men went on the First Crusade,” as Marcus Bull put it, “for reasons that were overwhelmingly ideological.”

The irony is glaring. The young men who travel from western Europe to fight in Syria for Islamic State – and thereby to gain paradise for themselves – are following in the footsteps less of Nur al-Din than of the foes they are pledged to destroy: the Crusaders.

Jonathan Riley-Smith, who revolutionised the study of the Crusades as a penitential movement, once wrote an essay titled “Crusading as an Act of Love”. Wood, in his attempt to understand the sanguinary idealism of Islamic State sympathisers, frequently echoes its phrasing. In Alexandria, taken under the wing of Islamists and pressed to convert, he recognises in their importunities an urgent longing to spare him hellfire, to win him paradise. “Their conversion efforts could still be described, for all their intolerance and hate, as a mission of love.”

Later, in Norway, he meets with a white-haired Islamist to whom the signs of the impending Day of Judgement are so palpable that he almost sobs with frustration at Wood’s failure to open his eyes to them. “To Abu Aisha, my stubbornness would have been funny if it were not tragic. He looked ready to grab me with both hands to try to shake me awake. Were these signs – to say nothing of the perfection of the Quran, and the example of the Prophet – not enough to rouse me from the hypnosis of kufr?”

Wood does not, as Shiraz Maher did in his recent study Salafi-Jihadism, attempt to provide a scholarly survey of the intellectual underpinnings of Islamic State; but as an articulation of the visceral quality of the movement’s appeal and the sheer colour and excitement with which, for true believers, it succeeds in endowing the world, his book is unrivalled. When he compares its utopianism to that of the kibbutzim movement, the analogy is drawn not to cause offence but to shed light on why so many people from across the world might choose to embrace such an austere form of communal living. When he listens to British enthusiasts of Islamic State, he recognises in their descriptions of it a projection of “their idealised roseate vision of Britain”. Most suggestively, by immersing himself in the feverish but spectacular visions bred of his interviewees’ apocalypticism, he cannot help but occasionally feel “the rip tide of belief”.

The Way of the Strangers, though, is no apologetic. The time that Wood spends with Islamic State sympathisers, no matter how smart or well mannered he may find some of them, does not lead him to extenuate the menace of their beliefs. One chapter in particular – a profile of an American convert to Islam whose intelligence, learning and charisma enabled him to emerge as the principal ideologue behind Dabiq – is worthy of Joseph Conrad.

Elsewhere, however, Wood deploys a lighter touch. In a field where there has admittedly been little competition, his book ranks as the funniest yet written on Islamic State. As in many a British sitcom, the comedy mostly emerges from the disequilibrium between the scale of his characters’ pretensions and ambitions and the banality of their day-to-day lives. “He can be – to use a term he’d surely hate – a ham.” So the British Islamist Anjem Choudary is summarised and dismissed.

Most entertaining is Wood’s portrait of Musa Cerantonio, whose status as Australia’s highest-profile Islamic State sympathiser is balanced by his enthusiasm for Monty Python and Stephen Fry. His longing to leave for the “caliphate” and his repeated failure to progress beyond the Melbourne suburb where he lives with his mother create an air of dark comedy. Visiting Cerantonio, Wood finds their conversation about Islamic State ideology constantly being intruded on by domestic demands. “His mother was about ten feet away during the first part of the conversation, but once she lost interest in the magazines she walked off to another part of the house. Musa, meanwhile, was discussing theoretically the Islamic views on immolation as a method of execution.”

The scene is as terrifying as it is comic. Were Cerantonio merely a solitary eccentric, he would hardly merit the attention but, as The Way of the Strangers makes amply clear, his views are shared by large numbers of Muslims across the world. Just as Protestant radicals, during the 16th-century Reformation, scorned the traditions of the Catholic Church and sought a return to the age of the Apostles, so today do admirers of Islamic State dread that the wellsprings of God’s final revelation to mankind have been poisoned. What, then, are they to do?

That their enthusiasm for, say, slavery or the discriminatory taxation of religious minorities causes such offence to contemporary morality only confirms to them that there is a desperately pressing task of purification to perform. As Wood observes, “These practices may be rejected by mainstream Muslim scholars today, but for most of Islamic history, it barely occurred to Muslims to doubt that their religion permitted them.” Verses in the Quran, sayings of the Prophet, the example of the early caliphate: all can be used to justify them. Why, then, should Islamic State not reintroduce them, in the cause of making Islam great again?

Perhaps the most dispiriting section of Wood’s book describes his attempt to find an answer to this question by consulting eminent Muslim intellectuals in the US. Scholars whose understanding of Islam derives from a long chain of teachers (and who have framed documents on their walls to prove it) angrily condemn Islamic State for ignoring centuries’ worth of legal rulings. It is a valid point – but only if one accepts, as Islamic State does not, that scholarship can legitimately be used to supplement the Quran and the sayings of Muhammad.

When Wood asks Hamza Yusuf, an eminent Berkeley Sufi, to demonstrate the group’s errors by relying only on the texts revealed to the Prophet, he struggles to do so: “Yusuf could not point to an instance where the Islamic State was flat-out, verifiably wrong.” This does not mean that it is right but it does suggest – despite what most Muslims desperately and understandably want to believe – that it is no less authentically Islamic than any other manifestation of Islam. The achievement of Wood’s gripping, sobering and revelatory book is to open our eyes to what the implications of that for all of us may be.

Tom Holland’s books include “In the Shadow of the Sword: the Battle for Global Empire and the End of the Ancient World” (Abacus)

The Way of the Strangers: Encounters with the Islamic State by Graeme Wood is published by Allen Lane (317pp, £20​)

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era