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In War and Cinema, Paul Virilio maintains that
communication technologies have had an undeniable
impact on the ideological precepts subtending
the manufacture of war in the popular imagination.
In language that immediately brings to
mind the events of September 11, Virilio writes,
"...from everyday terrorism to live-broadcast
assassinations, the living pan-cinema is spreading
before us that chaos which was once so well
concealed by the orderly creation of war." (67)
For Virilio, the increasingly sophisticated uses to
which communication technologies are put have
opened a new chapter in the story of how war is
represented in popular culture, a chapter that is
potentially antagonistic to the version of war traditionally
thought of as the product of a propagandistic
collusion between governments and media. Before satellites and cell
phones, before the Internet, before the speed and immediacy afforded to
media by such technologies, the representation of war was filtered and edited,
many times removed from the battlefield, ideologized, and, in Virilio's words,
"concealed." Virilio's thesis was, however, written before the 1991 Gulf War,
and seems almost naïve in retrospect. For if there was once a moment, maybe during the fall of Saigon or thereabouts,
when media seemed determined to move beyond the Clausewitzian "orderly creation of war," this impulse
was surely stifled by a government aware that visual representations of the inherent chaos of war were not in its best
interest. Douglas Kellner has shown quite clearly that the 1991 Gulf War was the most manufactured war in the
United States' relatively short history, a war in which media were literally drafted in the service of the Bush administration's
propaganda machine. Acknowledging this fact, we need to inject a dose of pessimism into Virilio's words:
technology has the potential to marry war with its rightful signified, but given the control over media product that characterizes
the industry at least in the United States, this marriage seems unlikely.
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in other words, this is a version of modern warfare in
which the United States never loses, that ignores the
complexities of post-Soviet geopolitical relations, and
which consequently becomes the expression of a
seeming disdain for actual historical realities.
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What I am about to embark on in the
following is a meditation on the ways
in which dominant media and government
navigate the tension between
chaos and order to create an acceptable
version of modern warfare. By
acceptable I mean warfare that successfully
promotes an array of ideological values, from U.S. economic and military supremacy to the pivotal role
played by the individual citizen in the support of U.S. foreign policy; in other words, this is a version of modern warfare
in which the United States never loses, that ignores the complexities of post-Soviet geopolitical relations, and
which consequently becomes the expression of a seeming disdain for actual historical realities. My point of reference
for this analysis will be the events surrounding efforts by the United States and the United Nations to quell famine
conditions in southern Somalia between 1991 and 1993. More specifically, I am concerned with the so-called "Battle
of the Black Sea" of October 3, 1993, in which over 500 Somali citizens died during a bungled raid to extract operatives of clan-leader Mohamed Farrah
Adid from a private residence in
Mogadishu. I believe that the range
of cultural texts that have been devoted
to these events attest to hegemony's
failure to incorporate Somalia
into the ideological structures that
form its understanding of warfare and
political conflict. There are many possible
reasons for this disconnect, not
the least of which is a near total ignorance
of Somali culture and the role
of the clan in everyday life.
Notwithstanding the importance of
Somalia's cultural history in the critical
analysis of texts such as Mark
Bowden's book Black Hawk Down
and Ridley Scott's film of the same
name, my goal in this short piece is to
show how Novalogic's first person
shooter (FPS), called Delta Force:
Black Hawk Down, demonstrates a
contradiction between a nostalgia for
a war on two fronts -- the good versus
the bad, us versus them -- and a postcolonial
context that is, in Samir
Amin's words, "a sort of military
framework to accompany the savage
order of neoliberal capitalism." (120)
Additionally, in reproducing a range of
narratives that underlie and legitimize
military aggression in the global
south, the Novalogic game inhabits a
representational space that articulates
racist ideologies endemic
to popular culture in the United
States.
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it would be a mistake to
suggest that a game such
as Medal of Honor is realistic
in any conventional
or theoretical sense of the
term. In the historical
FPS, realism is a mask, a
series of costumes and
set-pieces, arrayed to
resemble not a documentary
but rather something
like a Hollywood film.
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Delta Force: Black Hawk Down is
part of a relatively new trend in game
development that began around 1999
with the release of Counter-Strike, a
fan-created modification of the popular
FPS Half Life. Throughout the
'90s, the vast majority of FPS titles
employed the generic conventions of
horror, science fiction, and espionage
thrillers to create the semblance of a
narrative. However hackneyed, the
narrative of a game such as Unreal
or Half Life performed the critical
function of lending some interest to
gameplay that would otherwise be
simply the same violent scenario
repeated ad infinitum, much as in a
pornographic film. In almost all of its
aspects, from the narrative and setting
to smaller details such as
weapons, clothing, even interface
design, the FPS had only a very limited
connection to plausibility, much
less historical accuracy. Counter-
Strike is notable, therefore, because
of its contemporary setting and
weapons modeled after actual product,
like the AK-47 and Glock 18C. In
themselves, these minor aspects of
the game do little to make Counter-
Strike less fantastic than its predecessors.
Nevertheless, the game
seemed to have opened the door for
more sophisticated elements of realism
to be injected into the genre.
Subsequent games such as
Operation Flashpoint,Delta Force,
and Global Operations shifted the
thematic emphasis away from horror
and science-fiction to engage traditional
military themes, the mainstay
of turn-based war games. EA Games'
Medal of Honor: Allied Assault (2001)
became the first FPS to simulate a
real historical event. Set during the
Normandy invasion, the game is
played from the perspective of
Lieutenant Powell who is given a
series of increasingly difficult missions
to complete in the French countryside.
Place names, uniforms,
weaponry, even the French and
German spoken by non-player characters
point to an effort by game
developers to create a heightened
verisimilitude approaching something
like historical accuracy.
At the same time, it would be a mistake
to suggest that a game such as
Medal of Honor is realistic in any
conventional or theoretical sense of
the term. In the historical FPS, realism
is a mask, a series of costumes
and set-pieces, arrayed to resemble
not a documentary but rather something
like a Hollywood film. In this
sense, it is even further removed from
reality than its Hollywood cousin -- it
is a representation of a representation,
and as such, its ideologies are shrill
and unambiguous. For example,
Stephen Spielberg and Tom Hanks
collaborate to seduce the viewer into
thinking a character's heroism is all
the more real because it is suffused
with ambivalence. When Private
Ryan witnesses the death of Captain
Miller, the viewer understands the
'true' meaning of heroism. While far
from a subtle message, even this
cannot be conveyed in the first person
shooter, precisely (and maybe
ironically) because its limiting factor
is interactivity, which is structured
around an inherently Machiavellian
dynamic. When Lieutenant Powell is
sent off to rescue a bazooka team
behind enemy lines, he does not
question his orders; he cannot
swerve from the correct path; he cannot
lay down his two pistols, sniper
rifle, Thompson submachine gun, 5
grenades or 1200 rounds of ammunition.
He must only complete the mission
or die in the process -- left-click
to begin again.
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Just as it would be a mistake to affix
the label of realism to the historical
first person shooter, it would also be
wrong not to acknowledge that such
a critique utterly ignores the cultural
milieu within which such representations
are produced and consumed.
Of this milieu, Baudrillard writes,
[Americans] do not know that facts
are factitious, as their name suggests.
It is in this belief in facts, in the
total credibility of what is done or
seen, in this pragmatic evidence of
things and an accompanying contempt
for what may be called
appearances or the play of
appearances... that the Americans
are a true utopian society, in their religion
of the fait accompli, in the
naivety of their deductions, in their
ignorance of the evil genius of things.
(85)
Taken in the context of his work
America, one might think Baudrillard
is describing a genetic predisposition,
which, given the unhistorical nature
of this thought, may very well be the
case. His characterization, nevertheless,
rings with a kernel of truth. To
the extent that mass culture erases
the possibility of critique and interrogation,
it needs not work all that hard
to create pictures of reality. Adorno
writes, "The less the culture industry
has to promise, the less it can offer a
meaningful explanation of life, and
the emptier is the ideology it disseminates."
(147) Of course, Adorno didn't
play Unreal Tournament on a LAN,
else he might have gone on to notice
that, in fact, the culture industry
promises more while at the same
time offering less, that as I have
pointed out in a previous essay, interactive
media's promise of individual
agency is circumscribed by the limits
imposed upon it by both the hardware
and the code (Kurtz 115 - 118) --
in essence, agency is slavery, or in
Adorno's word, entertainment is mass
deception. Circumscribed interactivity
combined with representations without
factitiousness result in a system
stripped bare of modernist trappings.
The FPS becomes an icon to ideology,
a one-dimensional religious figure
imbued with the holy power to translate
individuals into subjects.
What, then, are the facts of October
3, 1993, as presented by the game
developers at Novalogic? Although it
would be possible to delve into the
games' representational minutia, I
rather think that larger swathes of
description will better convey the ideological
elements of the game. First,
there is the landscape. Mogadishu is
represented to the player through a
series of establishing shots, to borrow
cinema terminology. These
establishing shots are literally birdseye,
POV -- from the perspective of
the player. What stands out in the artwork
is that nothing really stands out.
Once again, borrowing from film,
there is no dominant contrast to the
frame, nothing that gives indication
that any place is more important to
the plot or gameplay than any other.
The landscape is a bleak mixture of
dusty browns and tans; the square,
flat-roofed buildings can be distinguished
only by their relative size.
The occasional palm tree -- green in a
sea of tan -- merely serves to punctuate
the barren monotony of the
cityscape. The lack of contrast and
variety to the color scheme is heightened
even more by the technology
used to create the scenes. Far from
being photorealistic, the models
seem more real than real -- the desert
tan is a color that exists only in one's
imaginary of the third-world landscape.
It is a color that does not contradict
-- it is perfect. Similarly, spoken
language functions to articulate with
the individual player's limited historical
understanding of military jargon,
and like the landscape, is indebted to
cinema. There is what we might call
"mission-specific language." These
are details of the current operation
being undertaken by the game character.
Written in a kind of 5th grade
military speak sprinkled with enigmatic
acronyms and bereft of articles, the
mission briefings are interesting
because of their ambivalence toward
historical specificity. For the missions
themselves are not, strictly speaking,
simulations or enactments of real historical
events, as might be the case
in a squad-level wargame. Rather,
the missions are more or less historical
probabilities -- they might not have
happened, but they surely could
have. In this context, facts display
their facticity but are cloaked by the
use of proper names, such as Habr
Gadir and other clan names,
arguably deployed for verisimilitude.
More interesting are the in-game
remarks of non-player characters.
Rendered in a stereotypical military
drawl, these are generally comments
upon the situation that, like the birdseye
shots of the landscape, establish
a context for the gameplay. In many
instances, non-player remarks relay
the theme of chaos. For example,
while flying into a U.N. compound to
extract hostage U.N. workers, one
character remarks "It looks like a riot
down there." The obvious implication,
the fact carried in this remark, is that
the player will create order out of
chaos by simply eliminating chaotic
elements.
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In spite of the fact that the mission to
Somalia occurred under the auspices
of the United Nations and was
framed within the discourse of
"peacekeeping," landscape and language
in Delta Force: Black Hawk
Down provide an overall context that
situates game play within a straightforward
ideological dynamic that we
may very simply call "us versus
them." The representation of people
in the game works to intensify this
impulse. Two distinct groups populate
Mogadishu, U.S. Special Forces and
the anonymous "black sea," most of
whom carry one of several types of
weaponry, including the infamous
rocket propelled grenades -- in-game
called "RPGs" -- that fell 2 Black Hawk
helicopters. Whereas it can be argued
that the landscape gives itself as the
imaginary third-world environment
appropriately cast as a kind of hidden,
yet all-encompassing enemy, a more
complex identification occurs in the
representation of people. Because the
first-person shooter assumes the
presence of a central point of identification
and a series of violent encounters
under the guise of that character,
it is reasonable to conclude that the
choices made by game designers
become limiting factors and can only
ever present a myopic version of the
historical narrative. People are facts
of history as presented by the game
to the player, as are the landscape
and the language. All of these foreground
"the other" as that which must
be contained and eliminated. But
because the weight of representation
falls to the first person interface, representations
of people become far
more important to the ideological
dynamic of the game. Told from the
perspective of a Delta Force commando,
otherness is represented as a
homogenous mass of skinny, gun-toting,
dark-skinned, goateed Africans,
historically differentiated from each
other only on the basis of Novalogic's
promotional claim that some of them
run with "oppressive Somali warlords."
As is the case in virtually all
first person shooters, the fact of otherness
comes with the assumption that
the other is an enemy who will die.
And thus, facts of people, facts of otherness,
are also facts of agency and
awareness, coded into the game by
its designers.
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Told from the perspective of a Delta
Force commando, otherness is
represented as a homogenous mass of
skinny, gun-toting, dark-skinned,
goateed Africans, historically
differentiated from each other only on
the basis of Novalogic's promotional
claim that some of them run with
"oppressive Somali warlords."
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In Delta Force: Black Hawk Down,
landscape, language, and people are
designed to create a set of binary elements
(here / there; us / them;
self / other) that are as much a function
of the technology making the representation
possible as they are elements
of hegemonic discourse.
Indeed, one should not separate the
two. For both the code and the historical
representations made possible by
the code are symptomatic of hegemonic
discourse. Acknowledging this
fact allows us to understand this particular
game as a special iteration of
the FPS, produced, distributed, and
consumed in a historical moment
overdetermined by racism and the
economic inequities created by globalization.
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I would like to expand on this point by
amplifying a fairly obvious aspect of
the representational scheme
described above. In Novalogic's
game, facts of otherness -- represented
mainly by the character models --
are also more accurately facts of
race. In the history of computer gaming,
this has never been more the
case. While the game developers
could easily ascribe this to historical
accuracy (it is another fact, after all),
Novalogic nevertheless is aware that
these representations contain the
seeds of a potentially market-busting
controversy. In September 2002,
Computer Games magazine ran a
cover story on Delta Force: Black
Hawk Down, which, through an interview
with Novalogic representative
Wes Eckhart, called attention to precisely
the problem of the representation
of race in the game: "Eckhart is
conscious of the sensitivity of this
issue. 'It's the nature of where you
are,' he says, admitting he's a bit worried
about how people will react to a
game where everyone you shoot is
dark-skinned." (Mayer 53) Novalogic
confronts this problem by incorporating
it into the game play itself.
Missions taking place in public areas
cannot be won if non-combatant
casualties are "excessive." This, says
Eckhart, because "we do [sic.] want
to communicate to the player that not
everybody in Somalia is a bad guy."
(Mayer 53) Eckhart's charming liberalism
is interesting because it
obscures the question of the game's
racism by shifting the issue to one of
national identity. Quite clearly,
though, the logic of his statement
resonates precisely at the level of
race -- invoking a syntax similar to
that of the racist who declares not
all blacks or not all Jews to be bad.
Novalogic's more overt promotion of
the game obscures the question of
race even further. Of the 50 official
screenshots of the game released
over the past 12 months, only one
contains a depiction of the enemy.
This is unusual, indeed unprecedented,
for a game in which the
main attraction, in fact its only
attraction, is the player's confrontation
with the enemy.
Novalogic's own awareness of what
it would undoubtedly label a misinterpretation
of the game's intention
is symptomatic of a historical disconnect.
While the game is attempting
an accurate representation of a
historical event, it is conceived, produced
and consumed on another
historical terrain altogether, one that
is characterized by bell hooks as
"white supremacist capitalist patriarchy."
Such a constellation of
oppression suggests the cynicism of
Novalogic's promotion of the game,
a strategy that can be described as
follows: make the people of color disappear from its commercials, magazine
articles, and web site, and the
problem will go away. Hide behind a
cloak of patriotism and historical
accuracy by inviting Rangers from
the battle itself to act as consultants
for the development team, and
donate a portion of the proceeds to
veterans groups. Wait until the outbreak
of another war, one heavily
promoted by media and government,
to emphasize ideologies of patriotism,
national security, and democracy,
to release your game. Then
dump it in the laps of white male
middle-class young adults. Unaware
of the game's racist logic, it simply
becomes woven into the fabric of
their political unconscious.
Delta Force: Black Hawk Down certainly
is not the only computer game
to find a connection to racist ideology.
Games such as Grand Theft
Auto, Gang Wars, not to mention
Resistance Records' own Ethnic
Cleansing, all partake of and reproduce
the racist discourse subtending
much of everyday life in the United
States. What makes Black Hawk
Down different, though, is its relationship
to history. Felix Guatarri
writes that, "There are periods when
everything seems to hang in the balance:
the signifying chains of structure
lose control, events are written
into 'reality itself' according to a
short-term, inconsistent, absurd
semiotic, until a new plane of reference
'structured like a language' can
be established." (180) It may be
that Black Hawk Down is a single,
relatively minor iteration in such a
restructuring. As the South is made
to deal with economic and cultural
exploitation from the North, the
chaos that erupts from such incursions
threatens capitalism's spread
to these regions, and must be countered
both militarily and ideologically.
Somalia and Iraq twice over are
clearly examples of how, at least in
the short term, military aggression
becomes a single powerful option
for the institutions of capitalism. But
as Guattari suggests, such conflicts
are also conflicts over representation
that must find ideological purchase
in the minds of people "back
home," as it were. Black Hawk
Down is an aspect of this reportage,
establishing an absurd semiotic;
absurd because the facts it posits
are at once meaningless and transparent;
yet they also clearly resonate
with dominant ideological
structures. Novalogic's PR man
articulates the logic of this absurdity,
saying, "We're committed to getting
this as right and fair as possible,
and setting the record straight."
(Mayer 55) If anyone is able to set
the record straight, to iron out contradiction,
and obscure the political
stakes of racism and globalization,
it's the codemasters at Novalogic.
Works Cited:
Baudrillard, Jean. America. Trans.
Chris Miller. London: Verso, 1988.
Guattari, Felix. Molecular Revolution:
Psychiatry and Politics. Trans.
Rosemary Sheed. New York:
Penguin, 1984.
Horkheimer, Max and Theodor
Adorno. Dialectic of Enlightenment.
New York: Continuum, 1988.
Kurtz, Andrew. "Ideology and
Interpellation in the First Person
Shooter" in Growing Up
Postmodern. Ed. Ronald Strickland.
Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002.
Mayer, Robert. "None Dare Call It
Defeat." Computer Games
September 2002: 50-55.
Virilio, Paul. War and Cinema: The
Logistics of Perception . Trans. Patrick
Camiller. London: Verso, 1989.
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