80 Zombie Media
that was perceived as hostile to the cause (and in the vast majority of
cases clearly was), presaged similar patterns that emerged during the
Trump presidential campaign of 2016. Indeed, for one publication –
Breitbart – it could even have served as a dry run. The technological
editor of Breitbart, Milo Yiannopoulos, was initially contemptuous of
the gaming community, announcing in a tweet from 2013 that “Few
things are more embarrassing than grown men getting over-excited
about video games”.
14
By the second half of 2014, however, Yiannopoulos had quickly realised that writing pro-Gamergate pieces attacking
some of his favourite SJW targets was an easy way to build up a huge
following. Depicting Gamergate as a “consumer revolt against shoddy
standards in games journalism and wacky feminist critiques of popular titles”,
15
Yiannopoulos not only extended his reach greatly but also
meant that Breitbart provided – as in the later Trump campaign – a clear
alternative home to Gamergate supporters in the face of almost uniform
media opposition.
Gamergate ultimately failed in almost all of its objectives: if anything,
it prompted a surge in support of extending diversity into video games
as publishers seek to avoid the accusations of misogyny that surrounded
it by the end of 2014. Indeed, without any clear central organisation,
without any notable leaders, its demands were perhaps inherently contradictory (demanding a removal of censorship, for example, while actively seeking to censor alternative voices; demanding greater ethics in
journalism while frequently behaving in an unethical fashion). Indeed,
those contradictions themselves would become the hallmarks of “posttruth” journalism a mere two years later. As well as clearly exposing
a divide between mainstream media and anti-progressive voices which
had been bubbling away since the 1990s, however, Gamergate was also
extremely important in terms of demonstrating that a technologically
savvy network, one hiding in plain sight, could often achieve a great
deal despite mainstream hostility. The actual number of pro- Gamergate
supporters was not necessarily that large, although clearly larger than
the number of journalists who turned their attention briefly to the topic
in the summer of 2014. What is more, many of these supporters were
activists, fully engaged in combating what they saw as antagonistic
perspectives rather than occasionally surfing the crest of a wave when
a publication realised that this Gamergate-thing actually was a thing.
Activities such as “Operation Disrespectful Nod”, a mailing campaign
that, briefly, convinced major advertisers such as Intel to pull their ads
from Kotaku and other anti-Gamergate sites, demonstrated a peer-topeer, crowdsourcing approach to tactics that could be extremely effective from time to time even if the movement as a whole failed to convince
a wider audience.
As a movement, then, Gamergate was doomed to remain on the
margins, but as an example of how to mobilise digital technologies to
that was perceived as hostile to the cause (and in the vast majority of
cases clearly was), presaged similar patterns that emerged during the
Trump presidential campaign of 2016. Indeed, for one publication –
Breitbart – it could even have served as a dry run. The technological
editor of Breitbart, Milo Yiannopoulos, was initially contemptuous of
the gaming community, announcing in a tweet from 2013 that “Few
things are more embarrassing than grown men getting over-excited
about video games”.
14
By the second half of 2014, however, Yiannopoulos had quickly realised that writing pro-Gamergate pieces attacking
some of his favourite SJW targets was an easy way to build up a huge
following. Depicting Gamergate as a “consumer revolt against shoddy
standards in games journalism and wacky feminist critiques of popular titles”,
15
Yiannopoulos not only extended his reach greatly but also
meant that Breitbart provided – as in the later Trump campaign – a clear
alternative home to Gamergate supporters in the face of almost uniform
media opposition.
Gamergate ultimately failed in almost all of its objectives: if anything,
it prompted a surge in support of extending diversity into video games
as publishers seek to avoid the accusations of misogyny that surrounded
it by the end of 2014. Indeed, without any clear central organisation,
without any notable leaders, its demands were perhaps inherently contradictory (demanding a removal of censorship, for example, while actively seeking to censor alternative voices; demanding greater ethics in
journalism while frequently behaving in an unethical fashion). Indeed,
those contradictions themselves would become the hallmarks of “posttruth” journalism a mere two years later. As well as clearly exposing
a divide between mainstream media and anti-progressive voices which
had been bubbling away since the 1990s, however, Gamergate was also
extremely important in terms of demonstrating that a technologically
savvy network, one hiding in plain sight, could often achieve a great
deal despite mainstream hostility. The actual number of pro- Gamergate
supporters was not necessarily that large, although clearly larger than
the number of journalists who turned their attention briefly to the topic
in the summer of 2014. What is more, many of these supporters were
activists, fully engaged in combating what they saw as antagonistic
perspectives rather than occasionally surfing the crest of a wave when
a publication realised that this Gamergate-thing actually was a thing.
Activities such as “Operation Disrespectful Nod”, a mailing campaign
that, briefly, convinced major advertisers such as Intel to pull their ads
from Kotaku and other anti-Gamergate sites, demonstrated a peer-topeer, crowdsourcing approach to tactics that could be extremely effective from time to time even if the movement as a whole failed to convince
a wider audience.
As a movement, then, Gamergate was doomed to remain on the
margins, but as an example of how to mobilise digital technologies to