In a move that has sent shockwaves through the pixelated underworld and caused a collective shudder in the damp corridors of Whitehall, the Philippines has outlawed a video game allegedly linked to a recent mass shooting. Because, you see, the problem isn't the guns, the poverty, the corruption, or the simmering cauldron of political resentment. No, the problem is definitely the first-person shooter with the naughty pixels. The UK counter-terror unit, ever alert to the latest threat to our precious island's security, has now launched an urgent study into whether John Bull might catch the 'copycat virus' from a piece of software. One imagines them peering at screens through bifocals, muttering about 'risk assessment matrices' and 'harmful content protocols' while a teenager in his bedroom is already modding the game to feature a Union Jack and a spiffing accent.
Let me be clear: I am not defending the game. I haven't played it. I wouldn't know its digital entrails from a toaster manual. But this frantic scapegoating of a pastime beloved by millions is the political equivalent of blaming the spoon for making you fat. The Philippines, a nation with more loose firearms than sensible gun laws, has decided that the culprit is a collection of polygons and code. Bravo. A masterclass in missing the point. It's like blaming the menu for the heart attack. Meanwhile, the UK's counter-terror unit, presumably staffed by graduates of the 'Never Let a Crisis Go to Waste' academy, is now furiously studying the 'copycat risk.' Because nothing says 'we're on top of things' like commissioning a report on something you could've predicted by looking at the last fifteen years of moral panic. They'll probably conclude that 'online radicalisation' is a thing, recommend more surveillance, and pat themselves on the back for a job well done.
But wait, there's more. The game in question, a gruesome little number called 'Active Shooter' (how delightfully on the nose), was apparently used by the perpetrator to 'practice.' Because, you know, before the days of video games, mass shooters used to practise by... what? Reading? Playing chess? The implication is that without this game, the tragedy wouldn't have happened. As if the impulses that drive a human being to such depths are birthed solely from a monitor. This is the same logic that argues that heavy metal music causes Satanism or that fidget spinners are a gateway drug to harder spinning. It's the intellectual equivalent of a goldfish with a concussion.
And so the UK, ever the sheep in a global flock, now must study the 'copycat risk.' Because we can't have anyone getting ideas, can we? We must protect the precious, fragile minds of the populace from the corrupting influence of... a video game. Never mind that the same minds are daily exposed to real violence in the news, on the streets, and in the hallowed halls of Parliament. No, the real danger is the one you can delete from Steam. The counter-terror unit, no doubt staffed by people who think 'RPG' stands for 'Rocket-Propelled Grenade' not 'Role-Playing Game,' will spend taxpayer money to conclude what any twelve-year-old knows: some games are violent, and kids who are already disturbed might be drawn to them. Breakthrough.
I propose a simpler solution: ban everything. Ban games, films, books, thoughts, and especially gin (perish the thought). That'll sort it. Or, here's a wild idea: address the actual causes of violence. But that would require nuance, effort, and a willingness to admit that the problem isn't a screen but something far more uncomfortable. Until then, let's have more hand-wringing and report-writing. It's the British way.
