The announcement that the next instalment of the Call of Duty video game franchise will be set in North Korea has ignited a fierce backlash from British game developers, who warn the choice risks sanitising war and pedalling political propaganda. The game, which is yet to receive an official title, is expected to depict an invasion of the hermit kingdom by American-led forces. Critics say the storyline mirrors real-world tensions and could normalise conflict on the Korean peninsula.
“It’s a dangerous step,” said Maria Chen, a senior developer at a Manchester-based studio who asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisal. “War is not entertainment. Turning a potential nuclear flashpoint into a game trivialises the suffering of millions.” Chen pointed to the game’s history of controversial settings, including modern Middle Eastern conflicts and a fictional war in Latin America, which have previously drawn accusations of jingoism and dark-skinned villain stereotypes.
The British game industry, which employs over 47,000 people and contributes £2.2 billion to the UK economy, is increasingly vocal about the ethics of its creations. Industry body UK Interactive Entertainment (UKIE) declined to comment officially, but several developers expressed concern over the timing. “North Korea is not a game,” said James O’Brien, a writer for a Bristol indie studio. “It’s a place where people starve and face extreme repression. Using it as a backdrop for ‘shooty bang bang’ is morally bankrupt.”
Activision, the game’s publisher, has not confirmed the setting but leaked concept art and a teaser trailer published on Friday show snowy Korean-style temples, soldiers in Chinese-made uniforms, and a caption reading “The next frontier: North Korea.” A source close to the studio told this newspaper the game’s plot revolves around a rogue general who seizes power and threatens the region. “It’s a standard good-versus-evil story,” the source said. “The fantasy, not the reality.”
But for the developers who must code and design the game, the line between fantasy and propaganda is thin. “Every asset, every mission, every line of dialogue carries a message,” said Rachel Harris, a concept artist from Leeds. “When you show the enemy as North Korean soldiers, you’re reinforcing stereotypes. You’re telling millions of players that these people are the ‘bad guys.’ It’s dehumanising.”
The backlash is not limited to the UK. South Korean gamers, who constitute a massive market for Call of Duty, have protested the setting. Meanwhile, human rights groups have condemned the decision as “dangerous misinformation” that could inflame tensions. “The game industry must take responsibility for its global impact,” said Dr. Liam Park, a lecturer in media ethics at the University of Sheffield. “Call of Duty’s influence is immense. It shapes how millions of people think about geopolitics.”
For O’Brien, the issue is personal. “My father was a refugee from the Korean War,” he said. “He never talked about it. Now I’m expected to make a game where his childhood home is a shooting gallery. I can’t do it.” O’Brien said he has refused to work on the project and is considering leaving the industry.
Activision has defended its record, pointing to its “Respect the Flag” campaign and charitable donations to veterans. “We tell stories about heroism and sacrifice,” a spokesperson said in an email. “Our games are not meant to be political.” But for the developers on the ground, the message is clear. “They’re hiding behind ‘it’s just a game’ while cashing in on real-world fear and hatred,” said Chen. “That’s not entertainment. That’s propaganda with a price tag.”
