In a move that would make Torquemada blush with bureaucratic zeal, the Philippines has declared war on a video game. Not just any video game, but one allegedly played by a high school shooter. Because, of course, it was the joystick that did it, not the 47 warning signs, the chronic underfunding of mental health services, or the fetid culture of toxic masculinity.
The game, a pixelated playground of violence, has been banned with the kind of decisive action that usually accompanies a cabinet minister accidentally spilling their tea. Over in the UK, where we have a proud tradition of blaming everything from Jeremy Kyle to jazz music for societal ills, the Online Safety Bill is being polished like a rusty trophy. Look!"
they cry, waving the Bill like a crucifix. We shall regulate the digital demons!" Never mind that the algorithm that radicalises your teenager is the same one that sells them vegan cheese and vintage typewriters.
The ban is a beautiful, hollow gesture. A symphony of appeasement played on the world's smallest violin. It will make the headlines, comfort the anxious, and achieve precisely nothing.
The shooter, if we are to believe the reports, was a lonely, angry boy who found solace in a screen. Banning his game is like banning the spoon because a man ate too much jam. It is theatre.
Absurd, expensive, and utterly useless theatre. But it does give our dear leaders something to do, other than confront the grinding, unsexy reality of poverty, inequality, and a society that raises children like batteries for the economic machine. The UK, ever the diligent student of global idiocy, watches with keen interest.
Perhaps we shall ban ketchup next. Or the colour red. It is the only way to be safe.
