Carry the frustration of injustice in this game about racist police violence
Akira Thompson's striking work challenges one of the biggest misconceptions about police violence against black people in America, and offers privileged players the chance to experience the truth.
As designed systems, games can create spaces for people to grasp how infrastructures work, to test theories—and often to internalize how the systems of our world may not work, may promote inequality. They can be tools to create empathy and reveal injustice; they can illustrate the often-complicated answers to the "why can’t you just" and "but it’s probably not really" that pervade rhetorical discourse.
As human beings, it is often hard for us to accept that systems are unfair. It is also hard for many of us to want to change unfair systems when their unfairness favors us; we understand logically the disadvantages of others, but we can carry on shrouded comfortably in our denial for as long as we don’t have to be confronted with their emotions.
For example: Black Americans are disproportionately more likely to be killed by police than anyone else; it’s a fact we know statistically and empirically, brought into sharp relief in recent years by the volume and pace of social media and the work of activists online.
But even though black victims of police violence are likely to be unarmed, marginalized, or even already in custody, pernicious myths persist to poison the conversation about justice: the common illusion that if the latest victim "had only" done this, or not done that, or had been wearing something different or walking somewhere else or had spoken up or had not said a certain thing, they would not have died.
This pernicious myth inspired a series of tweets by Ijeoma Oluo highlighting the impossible rules: Don’t reach for your wallet, don’t play with a toy sword, shop at Wal Mart or wear a hoodie, Oluo wrote, "and maybe they won’t kill you."
Akira Thompson is a game designer and programmer studying for his Master’s in Games and Playable Media at the University of California Santa Cruz’s computer science school. He’s also an Iraq War veteran, former Disney Imagineer, and founder of social art creative firm RainBros. Alongside the conversation about police violence, Thompson felt frustrated at these pernicious if-onlys, the insidious idea that black behavior must somehow take the lead to save black lives.
"The day of the verdict of the Grand Jury that was choosing not to prosecute Darren Wilson, I had a couple of friends on Facebook that seemed to place more interest in the fact that there were protests that became riots and property was being damaged, rather than the fact that a young man was killed," Thompson reflects.
"That hurt and frustration that led to rioting didn't appear overnight. I didn't think these Facebook friends were bad people, as much as it hurt to see that they simply didn't get it, on a fundamental level," he says. "They didn't have the experiences to draw from to understand the many circumstances at play. So I wanted to make something that could help those with similar life experiences and common circumstances understand that there are two Americas. Especially when it comes to policing policies."
Inspired in part by Oluo, Thompson designed &maybetheywontkillyou, a live game experience where a player takes the role of a poor black American attempting to go to his corner store and return safely home. Along the way, they encounter microaggressions from strangers to the neighborhood, as well as from law enforcement. These can range from humiliating to lethal.
One player acts as the "Subject", the other as the "System". The Subject moves one theoretical space at a time, and in each space, the System draws for them a random event card—for example, a car you pass has locked its doors on sight of you. Or a police cruiser catches you in its spotlight. For each event, the player may choose to say nothing, or to speak.
Every time the Subject speaks, the System quite literally rolls a die. Whenever the result is higher than "1", the System silently consults the penal code. If the Subject chooses not to speak, their "Frustration" score increases, a number that always gets added to their result against the System. In other words, speaking up for yourself always risks a negative interaction with law enforcement; staying silent just defers that risk to later. The game can end with the Subject making it home safe despite indignities, physically carrying their own Frustration score counter. Or it can end with the Subject dead.
Your words are viewed as disrespectful, the game may decide. "I wonder how someone like you doesn't have any warrants out," an officer says, after searching you and spreading your things on the sidewalk for all to see. The officer believed their life was in danger. The officer's weapon was discharged in self-defense.
"The system is designed to do what I believe our current system does," Thompson explains. "Pushes the victim of discrimination into a place in which they are not allowed to even speak about their injustice. Speaking up may mean that what you are saying is seen as a threat or challenge. You can make it home fine swallowing your pride and frustration by simply meeting the way you are being treated with silence."
There is a digital version of the game here that acts as a basic demonstration of how &maybetheywontkillyou’s systems work. But Thompson’s game design for the live experience incorporates thoughtful elements that enhance its impact: The System always rolls the outcome dice; the player is not allowed to touch them. Neither is the player allowed to touch, hold or look at the "Resolution Penal Code" binder that the System player uses to determine the outcome of the roll. Although the focus of the game is on the experience of the black American, the person who plays as the System has no other choice but to bear power against them; the System player has no option to compromise or assist, only to sit with the discomfort of complicity while the other player suffers. The penal code binder even has the dispassionate, opaque look of a police document.
The Subject player must carry their own Frustration Counter—and the rules say the player must always wear a black hoodie, forcing them to actually inhabit the stereotype of white America’s fears.
"I've had tears, quiet contemplation, disbelief, and even frustration specifically from players that wanted to speak out about how they were being treated yet knew that they would need to remain silent in order to get back home safely," Thompson says. "The main thread that seemed to happen when showing the game publicly though was a conversation about the subject matter after. As well as players really considering what it may be like."
Thompson has been influenced by other game designs that create empathy through their mechanics; on the day of the Darren Wilson verdict, his professor Brenda Romero was talking to the class about Train, an iconic board game she made about the holocaust ("human-on-human violence has a system", she says). Thompson was also influenced by Mainichi, a game Mattie Brice made about her experiences of life as a mixed-race trans woman, particularly the elements of repetitive, harassing events. He also says Dys4ia, a playable diary by Anna Anthropy, helped him understand how powerful a game about experiences entirely other than your own can be.
Thompson continues to apply to show &maybetheywontkillyou at festivals, and says he hopes to teach others the particulars of how to show it. For now the digital version still acts as a basic intro to his game design: "I feel the live action roleplay version is more powerful and successful, as a healthy conversation can follow, but I'd like the ideas to get out there as far as possible," he says.
"My favorite response was from a play-tester that when asked if he wanted to say something said ‘I'd like to say something about this, but I have no idea what to say. I've never had to deal with anything like this,’" Thompson reflects. "So at least from the players that I've been able to run the game with, I feel like it has been very successful thus far in challenging players to see another side of these issues."
Illo: Beschizza. "Boy in hoodie" courtesy Shutterstock.
Portraits of unarmed people of color killed by police compiled by Rich Juzwiak and Aleksander Chan
“Coca-Cola: Blade Roller,” directed by David Fincher in 1993. (via ObscureMedia)
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