As videogames continue to rapidly emerge as a major entertainment medium, increasing year on year in their profitability and cultural scope, games are also becoming an increasingly powerful tool for the presentation and dissemination of ideas and messages. Detractors of the gaming experience have long claimed that games do not put forth any ideas at all, labelling the medium as one which thrives on cheap, meaningless thrills. To some, games are regarded as a sort of cultural pariah, a concept which whilst perhaps not explicitly damaging, could be filed alongside taboo media like pornography, which has long been derided for its lack of what is often called “propositional content”.

The truth, obvious to many, is that despite all the hyperbole of supposedly orgiastic murder simulators and so on, games depict a massive variety of situations through a wide range of diverse gameplay mechanics. Inescapably, any media communicates messages about the concepts it portrays, whether or not those messages are deliberate or consciously delivered. Videogames are no exception – but this article is not designed as a repeat of the endlessly ongoing videogame violence argument being conducted both in the mainstream and niche press. Here, we will look at the variety of perspectives games have given us on issues and situations relating to this millennium’s foremost hot topic so far: terrorism.

Whatever we may be led to believe by the so-called “War on Terror”, terrorism as a tactic is not new. The attacks on New York City and elsewhere in September 2001 might be said to have kick-started a new era of political/religious violence, but the idea of using non-military assassinations, bombings, kidnappings, and so on to try to effect political change dates back hundreds of years at the least. Similarly, the depiction of terror in videogames is not a post-9/11 phenomenon, even if it can be said to have grown in popularity since that time. From Counter-Strike to Soldier of Fortune, terrorists have long been among the lesser pantheon of classic videogame antagonists, even if their unconventional real-life habits made them less fashionable in games than Nazis, Soviets, zombies, aliens, or oppressive space-regimes. With that in mind, it might seem easy to come to a conclusion about terrorism in games – it’s just bad, you might argue, a convenient exponent of violence to be used as the bad guy in games which try to create a modern-day, grim atmosphere. There’s no way a games developer would create a game in which the player could commit acts of terrorist atrocity, is there? They just wouldn’t sell, up against all those depictions of good old-fashioned heroism!

But how many among those of us who played Grand Theft Auto 2 rigged remote explosives to stolen cars and detonated them next to commuter trains as they pulled up at stations? I certainly did, and you could argue that it’s entirely natural of us to push the game’s constraints in this way, especially when the GTA series has always thrived on urban mayhem – the chief currency of terror. Alternatively, you might disregard that example as a piece of unscripted player action discouraged by the game itself. But if we think more deeply about definitions of terrorism, we can find other, more thought-provoking examples. What about Counter-Strike? A seasoned player of that game, like myself, has planted hundreds if not thousands of bombs in (admittedly curiously deserted) civilian locations without a second thought – should we be worried about this disconnection between such acts and their effects? I would confidently say the answer is no, but it is an interesting thought nonetheless. Before long, the terrorists in CS cease to be terrorists; they are just another faceless team, given life only by the players who inhabit their polygons. Ever played a Star Wars game? You will have fought for the rebel alliance, clearly a terrorist organisation to some ways of thinking:

We ought to remind ourselves that Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Princess Leia and even those fuzzy little Ewoks were undoubtedly terrorists, although of course the story is not told in that way. Skywalker and his alliance friends called themselves ‘freedom fighters’ and characterize the Empire as the ‘dark side’ but really the Imperial forces were simply the powerful (and corrupt) trying to impose their system of government. [...] Star Wars’ feel good factor’ is much diminished if we tell a different story and instead characterize the Empire’s stormtroopers as counter-insurgency forces engaged in their own war on terror.
Terrorism: The New World War
Lloyd Pettiford and David Harding, 2003

By realising that the way a story is told in any medium – whether it be a Star Wars film or a Star Wars game or any other game – fundamentally changes the way we define the concepts at work inside it, we begin to realise the enormous amount of “propositional content” which games actually display to us each time we fire one up. The messages are magnified when they deal directly with current events – most famous for this is the controversial  Kuma\War series. Developed by Kuma Reality Games, these tactical shooters have released dozens of free missions directly based on anti-terror operations in the Middle East, especially Iraq. The games have been episodically, independently, and freely released by Kuma themselves – possibly reflecting the non-commercial nature of the titles, which are both fairly crude in construction and controversial for their perceived insensitivity and tastelessness. But like all games, they contain propositional content, they convey something, betray a position about the places, peoples, forces and events they depict. Arguably, the games depict a strongly pro-western, pro-democratic bias, which in some respects could be said to prop up the legitimacy and necessity of the 2003 Iraq invasion. Coalition troops are the good guys, comprising tight squads of named soldiers, whilst Iraqi troops and insurgents are nameless hordes, just as enemies almost always are in any game.

But just as Star Wars can conceivably be turned on its head and turned into a commentary on terrorism, the portrayal of events in the Middle East as a conflict between the forces of “good” and unquestionable “evil” in the form of terrorism can also be challenged. Occasionally the gaming media has drawn the attention of its readers to obscure, low-budget games developed in the Middle East which allows the player to struggle against Israeli occupation in Gaza, for example.

Terrorism is a complex term which has all too often been used as a weapon of the powerful against the weak. More often than not, games reinforce the idea that terrorism is evil and its opponents are good, but this definition isn’t wholly satisfactory because in the real world, we know (or ought to know) it’s not always so clear-cut. The definitions and uses of the term are far too complex and politically loaded to go into here, but it is not as simple a term as we are sometimes led to believe. Arguably, gaming has thrived on a simplistic, good and evil view of the world, because it is more conducive to entertainment; but as time goes on, perhaps we should hope that lines will be blurred and games will be able to explore rather more grey areas than they have up to now, without sacrificing their entertainment value. But even though games are currently rather shallow in their approach to complex concepts like terror, it would be foolish to deny their potential to change the way we think about such things. Videogames are on the ascendance as a form of human expression. As they continue to grow, they will increasingly look to the world around us for inspiration. Hopefully they can make a challenging, thoughtful contribution, as the “war on terror” makes us look inward and examine the most central tenets of our society.

This is the first in a series of articles about security and related politics within videogames. Keep your eyes peeled for future instalments.

I could probably be convinced by an argument as to why Empire is either the best or the worst Total War game yet. It’s easily the most epic, the most ambitious and grandiose of The Creative Assembly’s efforts thus far, with a vast campaign mode and tonnes of incidental details thrown into the mix. But with the ambition comes a slight lack of polish, and a collection of annoyances and let-downs.

These problems are frequent but minor, mainly amounting to odd bugs, stability issues on certain machines, and a slight lack of logic to certain proceedings. They’re small things that seem inconsequential to begin with, but as time goes on they start to grate. The result is a game that was initially heading for a score well into the 90s falling down the ranks a little – still a phenomenally brilliant piece of turn-based/real-time strategy, but one with a tendency to snap you out of its incredible world a little too regularly for comfort.

Often, you don’t care. If you do, it’s because you’re constantly willing Empire to go that tiny step further, to polish itself sufficiently to support its monumental scope. The first thing you’re likely to take in when attempting the Grand Campaign is how thrillingly, overwhelmingly, ludicrously enormous this game actually is. There’s practically the entire globe awaiting you, and your methods of progress are widespread. Playing as Great Britain, I was advised first to take control of The Thirteen Colonies, by helping them eradicate French and Native American threats nearby. But this was only one approach. I also tried focusing my efforts on getting a stronghold in India, then moving back West across the campaign map. On another go, I waited patiently, promoted free trade, built up a staggeringly powerful economy and army, and went straight for the throat of mainland Europe.

These are just three of the wealth of opportunities available when playing as Britain. Play as any other country, and you’ll have equally startling scope to manipulate the other regions on the map, making your way slowly towards your nation’s exclusive victory conditions. A single completion of the Grand Campaign, assuming you play a full one and not a half-length one, takes a hundred years of game time. That’s 200 turns, each lasting anywhere between ten minutes and an hour, depending on how thoughtful you’re being, and how frequently you’re engaging in battles. There’s also a completely separate campaign centred around Europe’s move into North America, and the nation’s eventual independence. Empire: Total War is huge.

This smaller campaign in America masquerades as an introduction to the Total War schemata for less experienced players. Embarking on the Grand Campaign without first tackling Road to Independence is something of a death wish, particularly for those who aren’t too canny with their Total Warring. Far from being a mere tutorial, though, Road to Independence could succeed as a full game in itself. It’s tighter and more guided than the Grand Campaign, but at times that’s more than welcome, and the historical narrative running through it keeps everything captivating and contextual. Though it starts in a particularly straightforward manner, the challenge ramps up to delicious levels later on. I honestly think, on occasion, I might have found myself enjoying it more than the full campaign.

Once again, the balance between the real-time and turn-based elements is sublime. You’ll spend much of your time on the campaign map, playing Empire like a digital game of Risk, calculating your movements and strategically planning years ahead of execution. In addition to the warfare, there’s a fair amount of logistical, economic and diplomatic strategy incorporated, though those wanting to stick purely on the military side will be pleased to discover you can ask the computer to take care of the rest for you. It’s quite possible to play the entire thing as a board game, ensuring your armies are strong enough to auto-resolve any combat situations without ever entering the battlefield. Some armchair generals may prefer the game this way, hands-free of the bloody, visceral reality of the actual fighting. To play like this would be a shame, however. Empire presents the grittiest, most brutal and honest portrayal of war in the whole series.

At times, it’s not quite there. The new naval battles can be breathtaking to behold, but the very nature of them means they’re particularly sluggish, the ships difficult to manoeuvre. It’s difficult to think of ways The Creative Assembly could have improved these encounters, though – I don’t imagine their real life counterparts to have been high-octane experiences. Perhaps more frustrating is the difficulty of controlling large amounts of troops on the battlefield. When you have a vast number of different units in your command, it can be fiddly to select and manipulate the particular ones you want, particularly in the heat of the action; and the AI is very occasionally suspect, getting tangled up with itself a little too often, or failing to properly engage the opposition.

More frequently, the 3D engine is a joy to behold. It doesn’t look particularly cutting-edge, but it realises the gritty nature of this warfare sublimely. Attacking a fort, with an unfeasible mass of troops all charging at the structures, cannonballs flying wildly through the air, men climbing up rope ladders only to be immediately shot back down, is one of the most epically engaging and exhilarating things I’ve ever seen in any videogame, let alone a strategy one. Witnessing the mass of bodies lying face down in the dirt in the aftermath takes some of the joy away from any victories, and encourages you to think carefully about the lives that were lost during these terrible conflicts.

It’s real, visceral and upsetting. It’s crushingly addictive and inspiringly enormous. And it’s a game that, despite its faults, has quickly become one of my all-time genre favourites. Empire: Total War entirely lives up to its name. It’s a grand, complete and palpable battlefield of careful, tactical carnage.

8/10