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When We Grow Up
Content Warning: Discussion of racism, bigotry, and sexual violence. |
I was sitting on my couch, typing up a new essay, when my son, who was playing a game on the Switch, walked over and proudly proclaimed that when he grows up, he’s going to make video games so I can play and write about them.
I am blessed to have a child who shares a hobby with me, and even more delighted that he values my happiness, but I do worry. While this is, on its face, a very sweet sentiment, my initial reaction was one of dread. Am I leading him down the wrong path? Have I already failed as a father?
I love video games, and I love to write about them just as much as, or perhaps more than, playing them. Even when a game is bad or when the words don't come easily, dissecting it and wringing out my experience onto the page brings me joy every time I sit down at the keyboard. But doing what I do, sequestered in the woods of northern Minnesota, is not the same as being embedded within the broader games industry. For this I count myself lucky.
I have worked in many different fields in my life, and while every job has had obvious downsides, only the military was as fraught with predators and bigots as the gaming space is.
The “perks” of being in the military are plainly obvious: you sell some or all of your soul in exchange for cash and the possibility of healthcare, education, and stability. Less obvious is the culture within the ranks — a pervasive environment of racism, religious intolerance, and widespread sexual violence.
Similarly, no path in a gaming-related profession will insulate you from such acts. Playing the games themselves comes with widely known risks, and even if you become a game developer for a AAA studio, there is no illusion of job stability. Developers work long hours for little pay as the Sword of Damocles hangs over their heads at all times — the quality or financial success of any title one might make is rendered irrelevant in the face of the capricious whims of CEOs.
If you manage to stick around, things don't get much better from where I’m standing. The news surrounding game dev is a constant barrage of racism, sexual harassment, sexual assault, and rape allegations. Whether you work at one of the largest studios in the industry or even more modestly sized ventures, seeing one or more of these aforementioned indignities is damn near expected, specifically for women and people of color.
When a game finally ships, its developers are also subject to the roulette wheel of the right-wing harassment grift, wherein predatory influencers drum up controversy surrounding new, popular game releases to whip their followers into a frenzy for monetary gain. Those drones, who view themselves as the arbiters of what games should and should not be to the detriment and exclusion of all others, then take the fight to social media, sending death threats, AI-generated revenge porn, and more to the developers and companies employing them.
Peer-oriented spaces are no better. GDC has become notorious for drink-spiking incidents, and you never know if the person coming up to speak to you at an event or convention is part of that same white-nationalist movement that is responsible for the threats and harassment writers, developers, and content creators all face on a daily basis.
So when prominent YouTubers or podcasters are outed as having committed sexual violence in their past, hiding it from their peers, and benefiting from that obfuscation, it is certainly horrific, but can hardly be seen as surprising.
...it must be known that “support” doesn’t end with mentorships or networking opportunities.
It doesn't have to be this way. The gaming industry and the surrounding media apparatus do not have to be this exclusionary and destructive. First and foremost, the burden falls on those with institutional power to step up. Despite accounting for half of all game players and huge portions of the development and content creation scene, women hold only about 5 percent of the leadership roles in development studios, and GDC’s own 2026 state of the industry report notes that 67 percent of the respondents are white. Given that white men occupy the vast majority of leadership roles across development studios and media outlets, the burden of driving structural change falls primarily on them.
So, what does that look like in practice? On a leadership level, that means creating a supportive environment for your staff, but it must be known that “support” doesn’t end with mentorships or networking opportunities. Support also means standing up for your team against abuses, publicly and privately. It means providing safeguards and resources for your more vulnerable team members to weather the onslaught of terror thrown their way.
Other men can make an impact, even without holding leadership positions within a company. By shutting down inappropriate behavior in the moment, checking in on (and actually listening to) colleagues, and actively refusing to participate in poisonous workplace or social norms, change can be implemented at a more individual scale.
There is a risk to doing this, of course — a cost to sticking your neck out for the people around you. Sometimes that cost is a friendship, or even your job, but there must come a day when those with the means to do so take a stand for what is right. We must fight for a more equitable and safe future in the games space. Can you put your own privilege on the line in the service of others? It’s worth examining how we can play a role in shaping this space for the better, but we must first start by recognizing the ways we each contribute to the abusive structures in place, and how we can collectively smash them.
My son is currently unburdened by these concerns; instead, he’s still working out the best ways up a hill in Hyrule and testing out which gifts give his neighbors the most affection points in his little cat game. What he sees in games are spaces of wonder and playgrounds for him and me to spend time together in. Games can be many things, but it is our failure as adults that, for many, they are bastions of fear.
We owe it to the kids watching us right now, and to one another, to do better. If we refuse to put our own comfort and privilege on the line to clean things up in our own houses, then we are actively complicit in passing this toxicity to our children. My son promised to make games for me when he grows up. My job is to help ensure the industry he inherits is one worth joining.
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