The next instalment in the Call of Duty franchise will feature a fictional North Korean invasion, according to leaked development documents. The setting has ignited a fierce debate in British media circles over the ethics of gamifying real-world geopolitical tensions. Activision, the game’s publisher, has defended the choice as ‘entertainment’ but critics argue it trivialises the suffering of millions under the Kim regime.
The game, reportedly titled ‘Call of Duty: Crimson Dawn’, places players in the boots of a US special forces team repelling a surprise North Korean assault on Seoul. The storyline incorporates elements of cyber warfare and weaponised AI, drawing from speculative trends in modern conflict. While the series has previously tackled historical wars and near-future scenarios, this marks its first explicit use of a living dictator as a primary antagonist.
UK media ethicists have raised concerns. Dr. Helen Marr, a media ethics scholar at the London School of Economics, said: ‘We are seeing a dangerous normalisation of state violence. By framing a brutal regime as a video game villain, we risk desensitising young audiences to the real horrors of authoritarianism.’ The UK’s Digital, Culture, Media and Sport Committee has yet to comment, but sources suggest an inquiry into the game’s impact on public perception of North Korea may be forthcoming.
Activision’s statement emphasised the fictional nature of the narrative: ‘Call of Duty has always been a work of fiction. Our goal is to tell compelling stories, not to make political statements.’ However, the timing is awkward. North Korea has recently escalated missile tests and rhetoric, making the game’s release potentially inflammatory. The British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) will review the game for age rating, but cannot block content that does not breach UK law.
Tech commentators like Julian Vane, former Silicon Valley product lead and now technology ethics columnist, see a deeper problem: ‘This is about feedback loops. When you algorithmically optimise for engagement, you inevitably push towards controversial real-world scenarios. The game itself might be fine, but the amplification of these narratives across social media creates a risk of real-world panic or misunderstanding.’ Vane notes that the game’s AI-driven NPCs could be programmed to mimic propaganda, blurring lines between satire and reinforcement.
The controversy also highlights a broader cultural shift. UK broadcasters and newspapers have historically maintained strict guidelines on depicting living political figures. Yet video games, with their interactive nature, operate in a regulatory grey zone. The Independent Press Standards Organisation (IPSO) does not cover interactive media. As a result, consumers are left to navigate a landscape where the line between entertainment and propaganda is increasingly fuzzy.
Public reaction has been split. Online forums show large numbers of gamers excited by the prospect of a high-stakes modern setting, while others express unease. A Change.org petition calling for the game’s cancellation has garnered over 10,000 signatures. Meanwhile, North Korea’s state media has not commented, though experts believe the regime will use the game for propaganda purposes, painting the West as warmongering.
What happens next? The BBFC’s rating decision will set a precedent. If they require an 18 certificate, the game will still reach its target audience. If they demand cuts, it could trigger a First Amendment debate in the US and a free speech row in the UK. Either way, ‘Crimson Dawn’ has already achieved something rare: it has made us question the ethics of our own entertainment. That might be its most valuable contribution.
