The games industry is booming like never before. It’s a multi-billion dollar market, which, according to the American Gaming Association, employed as many as 1.7 million individuals in 2019, and grows by an average of 62,000 jobs per year. It’s also an industry which has touched many of our lives, including my own. Almost every young person has played a video game of some form. Books and movies are now written based on video game franchises – and, come on, we all developed an Animal Crossing obsession during lockdown. If it wasn’t already obvious: video gaming is a cultural phenomenon.
That said, it’s often surprising – for such a huge, impactful industry – how little attention we really pay to it. Or, more specifically, how little attention we pay to the people behind our favourite worlds. A closer look shows an industry plagued by discrimination, controversy, and a dangerous culture of mandatory overtime, known as “crunch”.
So-called “crunch culture” is endemic in the games industry. In 2018, Rockstar Games’ co-founder Dan Houser boasted that the studio was “working 100-hour weeks” in the run-up to the release of Red Dead Redemption 2 – an eye-watering work week which should alarm even the most occasional gamers. But make no mistake – crunch culture is certainly not a new problem. As long ago as 2004, a letter authored by Erin Hoffman, game developer and infuriated partner of an EA employee (at the time, calling herself “EA Spouse”) brought to light alleged mandatory working hours of “9am to 10pm – seven days a week – with the occasional Saturday evening off for good behaviour”. From Silent Ops to Cyberpunk 2077, similar horror stories are ten a penny within the games industry.
To add insult to injury, it’s not uncommon for crunch to go unpaid. Every two years, the International Game Developers’ Association (IGDA) – the industry body for game developers – conducts its Developer Satisfaction Survey. According to the survey’s 2019 run, only 10% of game developers weren’t compensated during periods of crunch – however, compensation didn’t always come in the form of direct payment. Likewise, stories of unpaid crunch time aren’t uncommon in the games industry. Considering that, in the same survey, 41% of workers reported that their job involved crunch time, it’s no wonder only 24% of game developers, in 2018, would whole-heartedly recommend their career path.
Those who work within the games industry are passionate – and in the face of extensive exploitation, the industry won’t let them forget it. Ian Williams, writing for Jacobin, notes how industry bosses can weaponise developers’ passion against them, using it to excuse poor working conditions. This was laid bare in 2018, when studio NeoCoreGames offered to work “90+ hours per week” to complete their upcoming game, Warhammer 40,000: Inquisitor – Martyr. The offer was swiftly declined by their fanbase, upon which it was claimed by workers that it was all a joke about how “passionate” the team behind the game was. Joke or otherwise, the incident speaks to the way ‘passion’ is sometimes viewed within the games industry.
But why should we, the consumers, care? The obvious reason stems from the ethical implications of crunch culture – which make it really hard to defend. Its impact on developers is immense, with research having shown crunch to strain personal relationships, cause stress, and lead workers to burn out. As Erik Kain writes for Forbes: sure, “nobody likes a delay”, but is avoiding a delay really an excuse to sacrifice the health and wellbeing of your workers?
I’m sure there are a tiny minority of readers who would say that there is one thing that should take pride of place: getting a good game out to the audience within a reasonable timeframe. Through this perspective, we might instinctively concede that crunch can occasionally be a necessary evil. But I’m not buying it. In fact, it has been shown that crunch actually leads to worse games. Strange though it may seem, sleep-deprived, stressed, emotionally exhausted people are going to struggle, and tend not to work in the games industry for long, opting to take their talents elsewhere. So, crunch is bad for workers, bad for games, and bad for anyone who plays them.
However, another world, where game developers are not sacrificed for their craft, is possible. And while the route to this world will be long, the path appears to be paved by a surfacing trade unionism within the games industry. The IGDA is the industry body for game developers – but does not claim itself to be a trade union. In fact, the IGDA has a history of being somewhat sceptical towards trade unions. This lack of unionisation, combined with poor working conditions, has cultivated a desire to organise the games industry – a prominent example of this being the Independent Workers’ Union of Great Britain Game Workers (IWGB-GW).
The IWGB-GW was originally the UK branch of Game Workers Unite International (known as GWU-UK). Game Workers Unite, while not a union itself, is an international organisation with the aim of unionising the games industry. After its UK branch became a part of the IWGB, GWU-UK stood as one of the first trade unions for video game workers. However, after allegations of “exclusionary behaviour and bullying” were brought against the former chair of Games Workers Unite International’s communications committee, Marijam Didžgalvyte, and claims made that they said “they did not want to alienate game developers by condemning racism”, GWU-UK voted to separate entirely from Game Workers Unite International, adopting the name IWGB-GW to “clarify” this decision. The IWGB-GW has campaigned extensively against crunch culture, providing an example of how labour organisation can be an agent of change within the games industry. This is bolstered by an apparently high level of support for unionisation amongst game developers, with 47% saying in an IGDA survey that they “would support a union at their company”, and 26% answering “maybe”.
That being said, Sisi Jiang, writing for Kotaku, claims that just as racism was an issue in Game Workers Unite International, it was also an issue in branches, like GWU-UK. Reporting on a former member allegedly quitting GWU-UK after “expressing dissatisfaction with how the union addressed concerns about racism”, they unveil a key barrier to unionising the games industry. From recent sexual harassment allegations at controller manufacturer SCUF, right through to a well-documented lack of opportunities for women and people of colour, the games industry has a serious problem with discrimination. Therefore, Jiang notes, attempts to organise the industry could easily adopt the “toxic studio culture that [labour organisers] had sought to eliminate”. Lessons must be learned, and steps must be taken to ensure all unionisation efforts are truly progressive, and poised perfectly to tackle discrimination head-on, and without compromise.
This isn’t the only potential barrier to unionising the games industry, either. It’s possible that there could be some fear that unionisation might garner a negative reaction from within the games industry. In 2019, these concerns came close to home when Austin Kelmore, former chair of GWU-UK was “let go for performance reasons”, after internal emails showed executives complaining of him “spending too much time on diversity programmes”, and “always putting leadership figures on the spot”.
Unionising the games industry was never going to be a simple task. However, there is clearly a will to do it. And, if the time is taken to learn from previous failures, and put the correct steps in place, it strikes me as entirely possible that we can bring about significant improvements to the lives of games industry workers. But, for the time being, it might be worth bearing the people who make our games in mind, and remembering that, while this is a problem within the games industry, it is absolutely our business.
Images: Tim Gouw; Cyberpunk 2077; Warhammer 40,000: Inquisitor – Martyr