(Originally a comment on Jim Sterling's blog entry Child murder suddenly a bad thing, claims Bethesda.)

I find I can only approach this in relation to sexism, because it's [not] funny that killing a prostitute is a *feature* of GTA -- GameTrailers once ended one of their trailers to GTA IV with a shot to the head.

Generally, the real-world idea of excessive cruelty in a wartime scenario is the killing/abuse of women* and children. The reason why children aren't even given their realistic proportion as participants of violent conflicts is because ideally we want to eliminate that aspect of reality, period, and removing it from a virtual form is just a natural step.

Obviously, the inclusion of women in the aforementioned notion is essentially chivalric, and chivalry is arguably rooted in sexism, but the double-standard remains. Women are abused and murdered often because they are women, and children because they are children. But it is because of this extra potential for cruelty (and for their traditional position as innocent bystanders) that an extra level of respect is reserved for them in these situations.

What I'm arguing here is probably unclear, probably because my feelings are ambiguous even to myself. Even as a feminist, I don't think that sexism will ever be completely eradicated; I think it's too fundamental of a psychological and philosophical tension. The issue, though, is the degree to which we can reduce sexism's influence on the social existence of women in a civilized culture, that is, so it doesn't affect their lives and well-being. The problem is that, in reality, it does. The conundrum for an 'artist', though, is to what extent they will balance their portrayal of reality with their responsibility to their society (or, if you please, to themselves) to eliminate its woes. It may be that women are abused much more terribly in war, but is it necessary for artistic recreation to fully portray this? And if exposure is in fact a subtle form of psychological reinforcement (aka, 'This is how reality is, so I should accept it.') does a reduction actually have an alternatively positive effect on its society by lessening that reinforcement.

What it comes down to is: I'd be appalled if rape was an option in a video game, as I am just as outraged with its inclusion (and particularly the manner of its inclusion) in film and literature -- regardless of the fact that these are mere depictions of already real perceptions and occurrences. It's a phenomena that should be wiped off the face of the universe, including any glorification of it in art, and any positive mention of it in speech. You may have the right to portray it, or the freedom of how to say it, because of an inalienable civil liberty. But it doesn't stop the existential liberty that makes possible the ability of another to justly tear off your limbs.

I would have to suppose that others feel the same way about the murder/abuse of children.

(Another note, briefly: I didn't bring into my comment any mention of childhood as a modern invention -- which it very much is. But even if we reduce its defense as a defense of a mere social convention, I don't think this would threaten very much the direction I took. I guess I'd reply that the reason childhood was invented and is acknowledged as essential today is because of an expectation that it become reality, and that it is. Childhood is no less legitimate because it may have existed vaguely 200 years ago.)

(Note: this post should really be posted under a 'General' or 'Culture' topic.)

UNLV fight song composer sues EA for $1.5 million (Destructoid)

It's not hard to understand that if somebody creates something, and goes to the trouble of securing the rights to it, then they should have every opportunity to profit from it. That's the point of intellectual property, and it's perfectly consistent with the very economic system that produces the caliber of entertainment we're fortunate to enjoy.

But when a company is sued for copyright infringement while simultaneously coming under fire for their own controversial measures to prevent intellectual piracy, the ironic position of the video game industry is cast into perspective.

The issue for EA isn't in the potential loss of profits. In the case of the UNLV composer (to give him the benefit of the doubt), it isn't about the money at all. When a creator explicitly states that it was made 'For the band, and not for commercial use,' then compensation isn't for unpaid debt, but rather an infringement of principle. This sort of infringement is the very heart of a copyright violation, but also, the heart of a greater predicament that the video game industry could one day find itself in.

Namely, that the production of virtual content for commercial use will unavoidably come into conflict with those laying claim to its basis in the real world—the ones who don't want their reality sold.

Presumably, had EA asked to use the song in the first place—and offered to pay for it—they would have been told no, arguably depriving most people of the ability to even hear it outside of a UNLV sporting event, including a healthy portion of proud UNLV fans who themselves picked up copies of the EA Sports games. This is perhaps the central frustration for a consumer when it comes to copyright law. While it's okay to experience something by the age-old method of hearsay—any member of the band might have permission to have a recording of their performance, and would have the right to play it for you, personally—so long as that information itself is owned, it literally can't be passed on any further by any other method, rightfully.

To put it a bit more dramatically, claiming that something 'isn't available' for public experience ends up resembling the abuses of copyright law on the opposite end of the spectrum, where major conglomerates buy up intellectual assets and lock them away simply to prevent any competition. A principle designed to respect human ingenuity absolutely, now prevents it, and the very foundation of intellectual property is betrayed.

To be fair, the obstacle posed by the composer is significantly different. While the former example borders on a violation of antitrust laws that are internationally recognized, the rights that an individual artist reserves are based firmly on moral grounds—but all the more problematic because of it.

On an ethical level, it is problematic to say that anybody is entitled to the work of someone else. The copyright system, however counterintuitive it may be to everyday experience, was built around this principle that, by protecting a person's œuvre, we are protecting their very life—since it is often recognized that one's body of work is their life's substance. And as mentioned earlier, the very economic system that makes mass entertainment possible is morally rooted in this principle.

Now, I myself am not post-IP. I still believe that an idea that is profitable because of social benefit, be it entertainment or otherwise, should be the property of its creator. I also believe that going against the wishes of an individual and using their work in a manner which they explicitly prohibited is a form of infringement. Perhaps the use of the term 'property' is out of place, and perhaps our approach to copyright infringement as a form of theft is flawed, but, at the very least, there is a danger that human creation can be exploited.

When the use of a work is virtual recreation (literally, a re-creation), though, the intellectual aspects that gave substance to its basis in reality are irremovable. Just as reality is the sum of its particular properties, a proper virtualization of it requires an equivalent compilation.

To recreate, for example, an NCAA College Basketball game, what is required? The infrastructure of the game: the court, the hoops, the players. The NCAA, while offering its official endorsement, thus permitting the substantial aspects of the environment to be applied (such as jerseys and school mascots), nevertheless requests that the identities of the athletes themselves be left out. Always their names, but often, too, their likenesses.

How does the video game player respond to this—including, of course, those who are being represented? By immediately contributing their names and adjusting their appearances manually, attempting to complete the incomplete creation.

Without the NCAA's endorsement, the game would be completely different. Just look at the fate of the baseball franchise MVP Baseball when a competitor signed a deal that gave them the exclusive rights to the Major League Baseball license. Even with a better software engine (arguably), EA couldn't simply release a title stripped of its official context. So, they tried wrapping it in another package—the NCAA Baseball one they had access to, actually. When that failed to catch on, they ceased producing sequels altogether. Not because it would have failed to simulate whatever sport it happened to portray, but because it would no longer be able to simulate the situation in reality in which that particular sport actually takes place. Video games that aim to simulate reality aspire towards an entirely different meaning of the word recreation.



The situation with the UNLV fight song poses another problem altogether, though, because the right to use it simply wasn't for sale. It's also not as simple as saying, 'We don't own the song, so we'll have to let the player put it in themselves.' That level of open-source collaboration (which is what the industry will ultimately require to even hope for thorough details) hasn't yet been possible. Not since the aforementioned MVP series was forced to adopt it. But if an aspect of a real-world situation is a fundamental element of one's experience of it, is it right for someone to say, 'Oh, well, you'll just have to come to the game to get that part'?

Really, at this point, there are so many other omissions from what I've proposed as a sport's 'real situation', that this sort of argument is hardly valid, and merely a preliminary consideration. Surely, the hundreds of schools included in a given 2009 NCAA title didn't all include their respective anthems and distinctive rally cries. Still, the idea is—especially with sports games—that with every year should come more and more steps towards a true simulation. As of now, we're decades away from even having the technology to put ourselves in at all believable illusions of what we experience in reality, let alone the software or understanding to design such simulations. Ideally, though, there'll come a day when virtual situations demand those final aspects of reality that make it real.

“EA Sports: It's in the game.” Because, if it's not, there is no game.