Making a game out of Katrina

I have the very good fortune to be working with Tracy Fullerton, teaching a class at USC, in the Interactive Division of the School of Cinema Television. Last Thursday, we were exploring the game of Pachisi and its many manifestations (see my article). I mentioned that we could use the same basic dynamics to build a game that expressed some of the issues surrounding hurricane Katrina. Reflecting on all this, one of our students, Jess Rosenblatt, wrote a blog entry that was moving and provocative, and touches on the life of anyone who has ever designed or played a game that has anything to do with reality.

She begins:

"So the question came up in class last night as to whether it was appropriate to design a game based on New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, since this had been an example given by Bernie of a possible life lesson around which to mod Pachisi.

"My answer is not now, not for a long time.

"Certainly games can deal with serious subjects, and certainly there are games that deal with traumatic events. However, I believe that it is only after a respectful mourning and acceptance period following such an event that such a game is appropriate. It is certainly not appropriate while the event is still going on, when effort should be spent on helping those who are there rather than imagining "what would I do if I were there?" Because we're not there, and it is disrespectful to pretend we are.

"How long a wait is long enough? When does something stop being a recent event and become history? How many people have to have come to grips with a tragedy before it is appropriate to subject it to cold objectivity? I don't know."

Her thoughts, and those of fellow students responding to her, are sensitive, profound, illuminating, and most worth your careful consideration. To these, I added the following:

During recess at a pre-school, there was some kind of accident that took place in plain view of the kids. It was between a car and a motorcycle. The cyclist fell off his bike and was lying on the street, unconscious and bleeding. Soon after, an ambulance came. By this time, everyone in the playground was watching. The paramedics lifted the motorcyclist onto the stretcher, wheeled him into the ambulance and drove away. The kids were abnormally quiet. Finally, the caregivers escorted the kids back into school.

The next day, a few kids started playing "motorcycle." One kid would drive around on a pretend motorcycle while another would drive a pretend car. They'd crash. The "motorcyclist" would lie still on the ground. Other kids would then try to lift (or drag) the motorcyclist around the playground, while sounding their pretend sirens.

This "game" continued for a couple weeks, and slowly dissolved into a game of tag.

This is a true story, captured by an anthropologist and recorded in the annals of The Association for the Study of Play.

For the kids, the game served an important purpose. It was an invitation to integrate, through play, the various factors that led to an overwhelmingly powerful event. It turned out to be a "good game" - good enough to be repeated for a couple of weeks. Because it was fun and built from a truth.

I think the same thing holds true here, even for something as disproportionately painful as the events surrounding Katrina. I also think that the people in our class are in a uniquely qualified position to capture whatever they understand about the dynamics of the event, and express it in game form - and yes, a game that is fun to play.

I brought up the Katrina event because we were at the time studying a game of chance and strategy. All right, not very much strategy, even with Backgammon as the archetype. To illustrate how powerful a role chance can play in games and life, how the source of dice and spinners comes from the same source that confronts the gods. They call it "divination," don't they?

All of which is to say, I am delighted by the sensitivity and concern that is being expressed in this dialogue, and honored to have played some role in its genesis.