Mass[achusetts] Effect - PAX East 2015

My first ever gaming conference!

Just before the Penny Arcade Expo in Boston, I had hunkered down for an all-night binge of The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, desperate for even a tiny scrap of true gamer cred. Sure, I have tangled with some indie faves like Papers Please and Braid, watched completely spellbound as my girlfriend blasted her way through the complex universe of Mass Effect, cut my teeth on the brilliant and hilarious Katamari and Portal games, and spent many hours honing my Mario Kart skills to a level proudly approaching adequate, but I still hardly consider myself gaming literate. In contrast to true gamers, I am a dabbling neophyte studiously parsing insider jargon and laboriously piecing together canonical references, all the while awkwardly fumbling along with an octogenarian's dexterity and a toddler's depth of experience. Nevertheless, I jumped at the opportunity to travel for the first time to a major U.S. city -- during the annual reenactment of the Boston Massacre no less -- for this renowned gaming conference that boasts more than 50,000 attendees, many of whom indulged in painstakingly hand-crafted cosplay that included everything from terrifying armored robots to a fascinating array of multi-ethnic and gender-inclusive Links, a character freshly near and dear to my heart. 

Expo floor (Photo by Janice Hsu)

In fact, one thing I loved about the conference in general was its spirit of unabashed fun and non-ironic geekdom, which extended far from the endless glow of LCD screens and the sea of tabletop gamers on the expo floor... flooding the streets, restaurants, and public transit systems of Boston with a startling array of action heroes, psychos, and cyborgs. The conference also included a classic arcade, about 20 NASA control centers worth of PC gaming stations, a console gaming area, a diversity lounge, and high-quality musical acts specializing in interpretations of beloved game soundtracks. The latter included a classical guitar duo (Super Guitar Bros) and the Triforce Quartet, who as you may have guessed, are a traditional string ensemble. What you may not have guessed, though, is how virtuosic and beautiful the arrangements were. Who knew I would one day get chills from a rousing medley of Metroid scores?

L to R: Nathan, Lori, Jeff, me, Janice, Ben G.

What perhaps impressed me most, though, were the many panel discussions featuring game developers, academics, critics, voice actors, and other industry professionals. It was here that – despite already understanding video games as art forms with narrative complexity, didactic capacity, and social relevance – I started to get a much better sense of how game mechanics, character-building, and design aesthetics are used to thoughtful engage with a wide range of issues.

Tempers flare on the expo floor.

The first thought-provoking panel I attended was actually about artificial intelligence and robotics. At one point, philosopher John Searle's notion of biological naturalism was addressed, suggesting that the brain's “wetware” was necessary for true sentience. This then led to questions about the nature of human consciousness and whether the mind is basically just an information-processing mechanism that can be replicated by AI. To me, Searle's assertions refuting the latter seem to unnecessarily mystify the brain by claiming it alone is uniquely capable of eliciting the experience of cognizance... by unknown means, of course. But then again, I am judging his arguments from a half a panel discussion that I attended at a video game conference.

Janice & Oculus Rift (virtual reality). Incredible!

Another issue that came up in the Q&A dealt with the ethical treatment of transhuman intelligence and how that might also make us re-think our ethics regarding other forms of nonhuman sentience (i.e. animals). Could the shifting relationship between humans and AI lead us to reconsider how we relate to other species? Also, could robots suffer like other animals can suffer?

So many kinds of great.

Or perhaps a better question is: will they make us suffer? Naturally, recent dire warnings by Stephen Hawking about the future of self-replicating AI were brought up, but the panel – which included actual researchers in the field of robotics – respectfully dismissed these concerns on the basis that the current state of robotics is quite far from achieving the singularity... even given Moore's Law. However, I think that essentially saying “don't worry, we aren't there yet” sidesteps the question, leaving us blindly pursuing technology without considering its ramifications and trying to mitigate ill consequences. If you argue that Hawking is being prematurely alarmist, that doesn't actually refute his claims. It simply implies that we should hold off a bit longer before totally shitting our pants.

Me and my video gaming mentor

The panel on atheism (and conversely, the representation of real and concocted religions) in games was equally compelling, featuring developers from such notorious game franchises as Bioshock and Fallout. Interestingly, although they approach game design as empiricists, creating fantastical game worlds often necessitates supernatural problem-solving options, which in turns requires a thoughtful and non-judgmental treatment of religion and religious characters. Furthermore, Bioshock creator Ken Levine noted that any ideology elevated to the level of dogma can be as problematic as religion, such as in the case of libertarian orthodoxy. A strange and wonderful theme seemed to emerge from the discussion that alluded not to just best practices in world-building for game developers and others who engage in the creative process, but really anyone engaging in everyday life: try to understand rather than judge others, whether they be repulsive villains or god-fearing bible thumpers. The impulse to judge irons out compelling complexity by forcing everyone into a false and uninteresting polemic. As Levine mentioned, studying what faith versus faithlessness provides his characters leads to the realization that regardless, they are “both fucked in different ways.”

Starting the day properly with breakfast beers at The Friendly Toast

Empathy-building and the reduction of characters into clichéd types was a theme that came up in several discussions. For instance, one panel focused on the representation of transgendered individuals in games, as well as in the gaming community, and advocated for movement away from the typical stigmatization as villains or shallow punchlines. Another panel looked at the wider issue of diversity in sci-fi at large, asking why the universe tends to be so white and English. The tone here was optimistic about the direction games are beginning to take (although there is obviously a long way to go), with a new-found freedom within the industry to address touchy issues of sexism, ableism, racism, and colonialism. Game mechanics focused on conquest, authoritarianism, and gun-based problem-solving are being questioned, the notion of gender constructs as static is being cast aside, and all manner of culturally-biased assumptions and lazy speculations inherent to sci-fi tropes are being deconstructed in fascinating ways. Perhaps the biggest challenge is not only to think beyond the boundaries of culture and the prevailing zeitgeist (in order to better see these things), but to also hit that sweet spot where the narrative can be provocative and the world-building wondrous, while at the same time characters are relatable and the universe is comprehensible to the gamer.

Society is not ready.

This question of relatability was also explored in a panel on romance in games, which talked about offering alternatives to the usual "new love" and adolescent romance. Why not acknowledge that the gaming audience is definitely not all 14 year-old boys, and so you can provide richer and more diverse experiences with mature forms of love and complex relationships that would interest married and older gamers? The idea is that there exists many ways to create meaning and attachment to narrative, and that there has been overwhelming focus on falling in love, with less emphasis on the problems and rewards that come as you continue to be in love. Also, the grand romance narrative, in both life and in games, does not always work out, and there is also a push to get beyond the narcissism of game characters existing just for the game player. As one panelist noted, the “insert approval tokens for sex” mindset is hollow, dull, and sends the wrong message.

Using games as a teaching tool, whether overtly or as a secondary function, was a topic discussed on a history panel. Games offer a different kind of engagement than other creative products by putting decision-making in the hands of players, and when they are designed thoughtfully and accurately, they can be incredibly effective as a learning tool. In playing games based on historical events or periods, users learn firsthand the intended and unintended consequences of their choices, which can reverberate throughout many dimensions of gameplay: politics, religion, economics, etc. This affords a better understanding of history and why events unfolded as they did, as well as how things could have happened differently, undermining the perceived inevitability of history. Ultimately, formal students and casual gamers alike begin to see interrelationships among diverse game elements that correspond with real world concerns, and they themselves start to connect with history in a more visceral way. An example given was Dog Eat Dog, which is a game about occupation and colonialism in the Pacific islands, but also Assassin's Creed is a mainstream game franchise known for its attention to historical detail. 

Soda Drinker Pro: The most advanced soda drinking simulator in the world.

Another aspect discussed was bias in game mechanics, such as the classic example of leaving Native Americans out of Oregon Trail. More generally, they highlighted the need for more games to offer diversity in winning conditions: dealing with informal power and not just military domination. Having a game developer, a history professor, and the manager for digital and online learning at the Guggenheim Museum on the panel led to some really interesting synergies in how each discipline could benefit the others. Also, I think it was important when they made the point that games ARE historical texts that can be (and are) analyzed in the same was as any other media.

Amazing Cosplay (Photo by Lori Hansen)

In the end, the biggest thing I took away from PAX was not really a single epiphany or experience, but rather a scaling up of my respect for games as creative works with unique strengths and the potential to reach enormous audiences. My respect was also greatly bolstered for the gaming community in general, which displayed a level of discourse and reflection that belied much of the recent negative press regarding the “Gamergate” controversy. While I have heard women in the gaming community tell me of their firsthand experiences with sexist attitudes, it was heartening to see so much of that bullshit being addressed head-on, and with a high visibility of all the various gaming demographics that don't neatly fit the widely-held stereotype of a typical gamer.

Oblivious in Bolivia - Santa Cruz

I departed Cleveland for Santa Cruz Bolivia at 5:30 Sunday morning with absolutely no sleep and a layer of dried sweat on my body from the last-minute hauling of most of my worldly possessions into storage at my dad's house. I was prepared to pity the person seated next to me on the plane, but luckily I never had anyone directly beside me.  In fact, after my layover in Panama, I had a luxurious row of three seats to lay across undisturbed by all but the most extreme turbulence.  Upon landing in Santa Cruz, I muddled my way through immigration with all the blank stares and awkward fumbling expected of smelly foreign hobo.  I was so relieved once I sped away at 120 kilometers per hour in a taxi bound for my hostel at 3:00am, conversing with the driver along the way in my broken Spanish aided by his broken English.  He was also 37 years old, but he had a wife and four children, and he made it clear, as only an exhausted airport cabbie in the middle of the night can, that he envied the single life.

Murals near the central plaza

The streets of Santa Cruz were absolutely empty and all the shops were shuttered.  It was hard for me to believe it when he said tomorrow traffic would be bumper to bumper.  I knocked on the hostel door with meek uncertainty, and he politely waited to make sure they let me in. A sleepy girl answered, rubbing her eyes and yawning.  I gave the driver a big smile and thumbs up, then she guided me through the darkness to a bunk bed where I briefly disturbed the slumber of a Frenchman, who quickly pulled a pillow over his face as the bare bulb above him bombarded his retinas.  The next morning I learned my roommate's name was Pierric, and he was a doctoral student of linguistics here to study the Chiquitano language.  He explained that the Chiquitano people are an indigenous ethnic group living mainly in Eastern Bolivia and parts of Brazil.  As we talked, somehow the conversation turned to "Obamacare," which I always find interesting because almost every European I have ever met simply cannot understand why this is such a contentious issue in the world's richest country.

Basilica Menor de San Lorenzo

I guess it needed to be said.  In the stairway of the bell tower.

Feeding pigeons in the plaza

The cabbie was right about traffic the next day as Santa Cruz sprung to life.  It was unusually cold and windy while I wandered through the city, marveling at the cars muscling their way through intersections, the right-of-way apparently given to drivers of superior boldness.  There are police, military, and security guards throughout the city, posted at every bank or government building.  I suppose it would have been a little disconcerting to walk by a man casually wielding a pistol-grip shotgun as I headed out for my morning coffee, but I became habituated to this kind of thing in Honduras and Guatemala.  The main difference here seems to be the lack of body searches before entering a bank.

I walked up to the Plaza 24 de Septiembre, a beautiful central park where pigeons outnumber humans by an unsettling margin.  The plaza is so named because it is the location and date of the province's first battle against Spanish rule in 1810.  On the south end of the plaza is the Basilica Menor de San Lorenzo, a large brick cathedral with beautiful wooden ceilings and an aura of holy reverence that kept me from nosing around too much.

Looking at the plaza from the Bell Tower

Behind the Cathedral

Political graffiti

Just outside the church in the plaza, I was surprised to see several tents and a sheet flapping in the wind bearing the name of the organization where I am going to volunteer.  I mustered my minimal Spanish skills and spoke at length with a pretty young woman at the table about what they were doing there.  After 30 minutes of furrowed brows, fumbling speech, confused smiles, and funny drawings, I finally understood that they were indigenous peoples protesting a highway that is to be build in their environmentally sensitive and protected area (Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro Secure, TIPNIS).

Two blocks from my hostel.  Too perfect.

After I left her, I found a delicious vegetarian restaurant then later hung out at a cafe enjoying some excellent coffee and chocolate torta.  I found myself instantly enamored with Santa Cruz on just my first day, mainly because of the people I've met and the energy of the city.  Perhaps it is because of the season, but there is only a smattering of tourists, and almost all of them are French.  I am spending more time here than I anticipated because my bank froze my account after I withdrew some cash, even though I told them of my travel plans.  Luckily, a toll-free Skype call fixed everything, and I am slated to leave tomorrow morning for Parque Ambue Ari, although as I type this in my hostel hammock, I have no idea how I am going to get there.

This was outside a kindergarten

"Nature is not a commodity"

Poetic graffiti

I will miss the friendly people at Residencial Bolivar.  Apart from Simon the toucan who likes to sit on your shoulder, Celia and I practiced our language skills together for a couple hours and had a really fun time saying ridiculous things to each other.  She plays the piano and is going to college for music.  She also was shocked to learn that I was not 25 years old; it must be my youthful looks or perhaps my obvious immaturity.

Simon lives at Residencial Bolivar

Simon and me

Leaving Home

I had a yoga teacher once describe the practice of breathing deeper into a posture as "becoming comfortable with discomfort." I suppose the same could be said about putting yourself in a number of awkward positions, such as traveling alone in strange, faraway lands. There is an obvious and undeniable comfort in simply staying home, whether that means a physical place, a cultural niche, or a frame of mind. Traveling uproots you from home in every sense, allowing (or sometimes forcing) you to see your life and its broader context in different ways. You gain new appreciations of nature and humanity, of the people in your life, of the little things that you've always have taken for granted without much of a passing thought. At the same time, you also begin to viscerally understand points of view that you previously only comprehended abstractly, putting meat on the bones of rickety sentences floating around in textbooks and cerebral cortices. As an outsider, you discover new, beautiful, and sometimes jarring things about the world, your home, and yourself. Just as in yoga, there is a great deal of personal enrichment to be found when embracing such discomfort, all the while remembering to breathe.

 As the time gets closer to my departure date, my excitement begins to subside into anxiety and apprehension. Part of this is due to my friends and co-workers frequently describing my loose itinerary of solo traveling in South America for three and half months as "crazy" or sometimes even "brave," often pairing the "better you than me" head shaking with jokes about my abduction into white slavery, my soon-to-be-burgeoning collection of tropical skin diseases, or my all too eager indoctrination into a Marxist rebel group. After so many comments, I started to think maybe they were right, that my travels were ill-conceived and reckless. I've had a few moments of self-doubt where I was given pause to wonder what the hell I'm doing with my life. Maybe I am being foolhardy and irresponsible, more careless than carefree. I am starting off in Bolivia after all, South America's poorest country with 60% of the population below the national poverty line, an average household income of around $900US, and a nation perpetually beset with protests, demonstrations, and complex political turmoil. I fully understand why such a place might not whet the appetite of the average First World vacationer, but honestly, that is not what really bothers me about leaving.

What bothers me is who I am leaving behind: my sister and brother-in-law who had graciously opened their home to me for the last year; my brand new nephew, Evan, who will be twice as big and four times as smart by the time I return; my co-workers who threw a "Ben Voyage" party for me on my last day; my bosses who fought hard to make sure that I have a job when I come back; my yoga instructor who believed in me enough to offer me a teaching position when I return; my friends and family who have always been there for me whenever I needed them, and for whom I desperately want to reciprocate; and finally, some wonderful new friendships that are just barely sprouting before I skip the country. Oddly enough, I have never felt more "at home" than I have these last few months in Cleveland (my lack of permanent residence not withstanding), and it is very hard for me to leave.

Whereas I focused for the last six months on the grand experiences that I would have in South America, now I am also eagerly anticipating the exciting next phase of my life that will begin when I return -- essentially homeless and broke -- but with some amazing fresh prospects. In the meantime, though, I am going to be absorbing new cultures, making new friends, learning new skills, butchering the Spanish language, and hopefully having some kind of small but positive impact on the places that I visit. My plan is to volunteer with wildlife in Bolivia, complete an intensive yoga teacher training program in Peru, and maybe even help with a coral reef restoration project in Colombia.

Along the way I am going to visit old friends, see the sights, and have as many adventures as I can manage. Everything in my life right now is uncertain, challenging, and new... and I am oddly comfortable with that.