The announcement that the next Call of Duty game will feature a fictional invasion of North Korea has sparked fierce debate among gamers, critics, and those who remember the real human cost of conflict. For many, this is more than a virtual battlefield. It is a reminder that the video game industry, which rakes in billions, often trades on real-world suffering for entertainment.
Let us be clear: the North Korean regime is one of the most brutal on earth. Its people endure poverty, surveillance, and starvation while its leaders spend on weapons and propaganda. A game that trivialises this reality risks numbing its audience to the tragedy of those who live under such a system.
But the controversy also goes to the heart of issues this column has long covered: who benefits from these blockbuster games? The developers, shareholders, and technology giants sit in glass offices. The workers who assemble the consoles and pack the boxes often struggle on minimum wage. Meanwhile, the soldiers who fought in real wars, many from working class backgrounds, see their sacrifice repackaged as a product to be consumed.
Unions representing game developers have also raised concerns. They point to relentless 'crunch' schedules, low pay for junior staff, and the pressure to put profit before people. Is this the industry that should be making moral calls about sensitive geopolitical conflicts?
There is a legitimate place for art that explores war. Films like 'Grave of the Fireflies' or 'Come and See' are harrowing because they show war's horror, not its glamour. Call of Duty, by contrast, is designed to be fun. It is a dopamine hit built on machine guns and explosions. Pairing that with a real, ongoing crisis feels exploitative.
Gamers themselves are divided. Some argue it is just fiction, a chance to 'switch off'. Others worry about the propaganda effect: if young players are trained to see a country as a villain, it could shape attitudes in a dangerous way. Given the real tensions on the Korean peninsula, this is not an abstract worry.
So what can be done? First, publishers should listen to the backlash. They could donate a portion of sales to humanitarian aid for North Korean refugees. They could include historical context, rather than a simple good versus evil narrative. And they should treat their own workers fairly, proving they care about social responsibility.
But we must also ask: in a time of soaring living costs, austerity, and global instability, do we need another product that profits from imagining war? Many families are just trying to keep the lights on. They do not need a reminder that their tax money funds a military-industrial complex while their wages stagnate.
This is not about censorship. It is about conscience. It is about asking whether the people who make these decisions understand the real economy: the one where a mother in Leeds worries about her heating bill, not about a virtual fight over Pyongyang.
Call of Duty will likely be a commercial success. Controversy often boosts sales. But the real cost is harder to quantify: the desensitisation, the trivialisation, the workers' burnout, and the message that someone else's suffering can be our entertainment. That is a price we should not be willing to pay.
