The Hivemind Swarmed

Ten years ago I started interviewing people in the wake of Gamergate. If you've never heard that word before, the gist is: It was an important event that traumatized the videogame industry and its surrounding fandoms in 2014, going on to etch out the foundational tactics for online culture wars everywhere else since. Gamergate walked so QAnon and Donald Trump and the alt-right could run, so the story goes. 

There's already another page all about the book on Don't Die, but this is an FAQ I wrote just for you, because a book about Gamergate, of course, invites questions. From the start, my driving force was curiosity.

I felt intensely alarmed at this thing happening that most people were either ignoring or hoping would just blow over. It was uncomfortable, weird, and didn’t fit neatly into any one narrative. That curiosity sent me chasing after hearing other people's perspectives. Here's me trying to ancitipate what you might be wondering... In the end, people will have to read the book and come to their own conclusions. My goal was never to provide tidy answers, but to open up a dialogue. Maybe someday you can explain to me WTF happened and what it all means.

DUDE. WHY?

By the time Gamergate exploded in the summer months of 2014, I was honestly pretty sick of and ready to tap out on social media. From the very beginning, it just never felt like a healthy place for me. As Stephen Colbert said on The Colbert Report earlier that year, "Who would have thought a means of miscommunication limited to 140 characters would ever create misunderstandings?" 

Which is not to say that I ever thought Gamergate was anything like a simple misunderstanding.  For myself and people I knew who had worked in and around videogames, it was this absolutely unbelievable endless nightmare nauseating embarrassing freakshow parade that we watched fester and metastasize in real-time. Years later, it's casually invoked as the first of 15 domino-falls that has led to the downfall of the United States, democracy, and Western Civilization. None of this makes any real sense, and even people who say it now can barely believe it, but Gamergate is a major part of the story of the last 10 years and understanding something is undeniably wrong with the internet. Maybe irreparably.  

At the time, it was really hard to understand just what was going on. Part of that was a function of social media and the blink-and-you'll-miss-it pace of conversations there, but another part of that was because the world of videogames was already considered an arcane and repulsive underbelly by most outsiders—and by many inside its tents, too. Up to that point, the subculture of videogames wasn't seen as something worth examining closely, nor was it thought that taking a closer look could reveal anything significant. Videogames have been this pastime that were often recruited when a nearby scapegoat was needed.

So, while I was ready to and shortly after then did bail on Twitter, I was and am still not ready to give up on the internet and its potential to meaningfully connect us. Which is a weird thing to realize as a core belief and hope, as someone who has never posted a single comment online about anything, prefers to lurk in most digital spaces, and has never felt comfortable posting messages to and among complete strangers. Online, my preference is to cast a small shadow. (I hate doing video calls because the idea of making eye contact with a computer still feels so alien.) But I'm unusual in that most of my contributions to the internet came via working in the media, and my name being listed "above the fold" or far away from the comments sections. Articles with bylines were always my comments.

I've always danced in and understood the rhythms of online journalism. At a couple of publications, beyond my official paid duties, I had pushed alongside other contributors or staffers to get videogames to be taken more seriously—to fight for their fair share of real estate in print and online. These were always uphill battles. 

Which is maybe why when Gamergate happened, one of the first things I noticed were all the questions not being asked. Were gamers really responsible for the downfall of the internet? How? Should or could videogame companies meaningfully intervene? Has anything even remotely like Gamergate happened before? How do online platforms' policies and structures contribute to or mitigate harassment? Who should be held accountable for harassment: individual perpetrators, online platforms, or the broader gaming community? On the internet, what does the word "community" really mean? Who was responsible for and should atone for the gamer culture that was perpetuating misogyny and discrimination? Is something like that even possible, and has it happened in other industries or subcultures? 

On and on, I had these questions and realized I didn't know anyone I could pose them to. Everyone I knew in and around videogames, I only knew in passing. And I was aware that because of the way all industries work, there's no real channel for people to talk these topics out in an unguarded way. Without any defensiveness, and just a "maybe you or someone else feels this way, too?" wonder and hope.

When I started, people I knew however distantly in the industry all told me nobody would talk to me, but wished me luck. Really. And when I started having these conversations, I really did expect to be done in a year. I was never specifically driving at this becoming a book—at first, my goal was to work not towards answers, but understanding (which I care far more about, anyway). I had an expectation that if I put in the work, I'd be able to pitch editors on article ideas sifted from all these interviews. 

It'd be a tangent and speculation on my part to get into but—I was wrong. I wound up coming very close with several publications, though. And some editors did green-light my writing up some of these ideas on spec—before either completely ghosting on me, or some emailing back about a finished piece I'd filed something to the effect of, "Gee, I'm still not sure if our readers really care about videogames." Only the New Yorker and Vice ever paid me kill fees for work done that'd never see the light of day. Again, these were always uphill battles. 

That's sort of a sideline but also is the bigger story of how this book came to be. Probably, if articles happened at different places, I'd have stayed in that lane. But that isn't what happened. Instead, I was nudged in a direction where I was allowed to overdose on free will, and interview everyone I could think of, chasing questions that got bigger and bigger. What started in 2014 as questions specifically about Gamergate, over time, fed an itchy mind alarmed about labor issues in "cool" industries and the future of the internet. Together, these both tell a bigger story about what has happened to us in the early 21st century. 

Don't Die has never been about defending videogames. The Hivemind Swarmed came about organically, sort of the result of a lot of other bigger processes—one thing leading to the next. People always ask me when I started working on the book, and it's a tough question to answer. Probably, literally, the work began 10 years ago. The questions just kept getting bigger. I was already in the habit of asking them. This is what it all led to…

DID YOU TALK TO GAMERGATE PERPETRATORS? 

No. The book has a longer explanation: "None of the perpetrators of Gamergate were interviewed for this book—they’ve had their say, and there are no good-faith discussions to be had. the movement was designed to flip any attempt at discussion into conflict."

Maybe all I'll add here is that while it is true that perhaps the greatest radical political act is to have a change of heart, The Hivemind Swarmed is not about helping misogynists to see the light. It, to me, is about helping people who endured Gamergate try to hold onto the light. 

WHY IS IT A COLLECTION OF INTERVIEWS AND NOT A NARRATIVE?

Like Don't Die before it, The Hivemind Swarmed was part of my ongoing efforts to pass the mic on these topics to other voices. There are a few reasons for this. One of them is that Gamergate was such a big clusterfuck, bigger than any single individual, and bigger than any single individual's lived experience with it. One of the major strengths of oral history is that it illustrates how we all stand on each other's shoulders, just by living our lives, and sharing honestly. You don't know what putting the stories out there will do and help change.

Versus a first-person account, which wouldn't necessarily be limited by comparison, but didn't feel like the right approach for a crisis where there's no consensus on what it was, what it meant, and what it bled into. We've only gotten to where we are today as a culture, society, and species via the exclusion of other voices. With Gamergate, I wanted to do what I could to at least help open the door for others to read about and make sense, so they can in turn also go out and be able to ask new questions and, at the same time, walk away with a new understanding. 

Also, look, does anyone really want to hear some white dude's first-person account of Gamergate? 

SO WAIT, IS THIS BOOK THE STORY OF GAMERGATE? 

While the book's introduction does provide a comprehensive context of Gamergate's origins, including narrators sharing their earliest memories of it, The Hivemind Swarmed is primarily focused on the aftermath. This book isn't centered on Gamergate's initial targets but rather on the culture that allowed these attacks to go largely unchallenged and ignored. Has this culture changed? If so, how and why? If not, where does that leave us today? What can the many things left unsaid about Gamergate and all dark undercurrents of online culture teach us… about us? 

DO YOU FEEL YOU WERE ABLE TO APPROACH THIS TOPIC WITH ALL THE SENSITIVITIES IT REQUIRED? 

I certainly tried my best, fully aware that no approach can be perfect when telling such a complex story. Inevitably, some readers may wonder why certain people or perspectives were not included. The reality is that not everyone with something to say wanted to participate. And that decision should be respected and considered, because that's part of the story, too. 

Adopting a trauma-informed oral history interviewing philosophy echoes common sense and the Hippocratic Oath: first, do no harm. I used whatever power and awareness I had to handle the nuances of this topic and emphasize centering other voices. 

My hope is, it's a start. As one set of anonymous reader feedback at a publisher read, "Wolinsky convinces me he has made his list carefully and with due consideration for inclusion. Let the critics invent other parties."

WILL THIS BOOK COVER GAMERGATE 2?

No. This is an inherent awkward reality with writing a book about anything to do with the internet—by the time you finish any section of it, there will be a million things about it that are out of date. Nothing holds still. One benefit of an oral history is the past won't change, and conversations looking back can help us better understand yesterday and today. People talking about their lived experiences help us stand on their shoulders, and contribute to what we might be able to do or approach differently in the future.

Specific to Gamergate 2, the reality is I had finished writing the 5% of the book in my voice by the beginning of January 2024. It's hard to ever write anything concise about Gamergate, but the truth is even if we were living in some alternate reality existence where I had more time and could have included my thoughts on Gamergate 2… I'm not sure I would have. 

Mainly, I feel like the fact we call it Gamergate 2 means it actually is not that. It reflects how limited our language is and our understanding of the internet and how it works/misfires. Another way to put it—Gamergate 2 is like a bad sequel, not a true spiritual successor. Or the shitty reboot that didn’t understand what the original was about. The first time around, everything was sparked by a break-up and a personal slight. Gamergate was probably way too personal to really replicate.

WHEN EVERYONE ELSE PICKED A SIDE, WHAT MADE YOU JUST WANT TO LISTEN INSTEAD?

Jack Kornfield, an author and former monk who has worked since the '70s to make Buddhism accessible for Westerners, writes in After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, "More listening changes conflict." I only read this book last week, so while I'd like to pretend this was something driving me from the very beginning, I can't. But it certainly describes the mindset of where I find myself today and have been for the last however many years. 

Coming at it as a journalist who didn't know he was an oral historian yet, my work on all this has always been about listening from as many angles as I can imagine. So, in a way, as I understand it now in the rear-view, being a journalistic oral historian. 

That probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but this might: My goal was always "more sides" and not "both sides." This isn't about me claiming to be objective—nobody is, on anything—but looking at this work as getting conversations out there for people to read so they can look at and understand what was happening with the internet, in the world of videogames, and to all of us as individuals in a different way. I'll never forget in the early days, hearing from readers about just how radical it was for people to see people just talking to each other online. 

Bothsidesing—believing there are only two sides to every story—was not invented by journalism, but it has certainly been one of its original sins. This will sound corny as hell, but I think it's by embracing our individuality and recognizing ourselves in others that we can get to a place where we understand most of us really do want to be on the same, bigger side.

IF YOU INTERVIEWED ME BEFORE, IS IT IN THIS BOOK? 

Narrators who were being considered for the oral history were explicitly told ahead of time, and knew going in, where and how the interview might be used. These interviews were conducted between the summers of 2018 and 2019. THS is a book woven together from excerpts from longer conversations, and in instances where narrators gave permission, you can listen to the full interview at Stanford's archive of my work.

IF YOU INTERVIEWED ME BEFORE, WHY HASN'T IT BEEN POSTED ONLINE? 

Because I'm just one person and Don't Die has been from the very beginning, basically, a volunteer gig. Please don't take it personally or read anything into the fact that you generously sat down to speak with me and I haven't been able to get around to publishing it yet! To adhere to oral history best practices, and honor the voices and experiences of the voices in my interviews, at a minimum they need to be meticulously transcribed, verified, and reviewed. 

I realize this may not be exactly the shiniest consolation prize, but I promise you, each and every single email thread, conversation, and recorded interview I've had has contributed to this work. I am forever grateful to everyone who made the time to let me ask them questions that don't really have answers. 

SO, IS DON'T DIE OVER NOW? WHAT HAPPENS? WHY HAVEN'T YOU POSTED NEW INTERVIEWS IN A WHILE? 

I think it stands to reason that after hundreds of interviews conducted across a decade—each one taking time to research, prepare, plan, schedule, contact, invite, coordinate, meet, greet, introduce, explain, ask, listen, record, note, clarify, probe, reflect, analyze, summarize, transcribe, review, confirm, edit, document, contextualize, discuss, compile, catalog, archive, share, publish, preserve, and collect—I'm both a little tired, but more importantly, have perhaps asked everything I can think of and posed these questions to everyone I can imagine. 

Or, to put it another way, there has been a race with my curiosity against people's willingness to make themselves available to discuss and reflect on the sorts of things Don't Die has been looking at in the wake of Gamergate. And I understand, there is a definite distinction between people having things to say vs. a desire to share them with the public. There are still some things about videogames I will want to learn more about, so I will be trying here and there. 

In 2024, Don’t Die will reboot to explore another creative industry grappling with turbulent change: the sentiments of television workers amidst the decline of “peak TV,” the rise of streamers, and the medium’s shifting landscape.

But more on that later. I'll be doing the first interviews for that later this week and hope to post them online soon. Actually, I really hope to do this set of interviews as a podcast. If you're intrigued and want to get around, let me know. The Patreon has never paid much, but I'm happy to share some of the (again, extremely modest) take for anyone who wants to get in the canoe and help row.