The best way to convince someone of your own point-of-view is generally not to bash them over the head with a cudgel, though that seems to be the preferred approach in modern political discourse and, alas, in entertainment. The culture, being what it is, has lost all sense of subtlety. In far too many films, TV shows and video games, we see a heavy-handed, top-down approach to the issues of the day. It’s a real shame that the developers at BioWare decided to go this route in Dragon Age: The Veilguard.
I’ve already posted my impressions piece about the game, which I’ve been pleasantly surprised with so far. I was worried going in, but Veilguard has been a lot more fun and a lot more engaging than I expected, even if I’m still annoyed with its overly-saturated, overly-cartoonish art-style (among other things).
In my piece, I noted that—so far at least—I hadn’t encountered anything overtly preachy or that one might describe as garishly political or “overly woke”. The game is diverse and gives you options to play as male, female or trans but in my time with it, this felt mostly like giving players more choice and freedom, and I’m all for that especially in an RPG, where choice and freedom are largely the point. Other big games in recent years have done the same thing.
But I had not yet arrived at a certain section of the game that has now been making the rounds on social media, being roundly—and rightfully—mocked. Unfortunately, the scene in question will play directly into the narrative that this game is “woke”, feeding a cycle of online discourse that goes nowhere but earns lots of clicks. It will undoubtedly turn many gamers off entirely, not necessarily because they’re unsympathetic to trans rights, but because they’re tired of being preached at.
In the scene in question (below), one character misgenders another. To atone for this sin, she does a set of push-ups and then lectures the other characters on how to properly apologize. The term “nonbinary” is thrown around, despite this being a word that very few people had even heard of when Dragon Age: Inquisition came out a decade ago—let alone in a fantasy setting divorced entirely from the real world.
This is immersion-breaking. Frankly, it’s written so poorly that it comes across as self-parody. The character’s performative apology is shallow and empty, as all performative apologies are. In my experience, a simple and genuine “sorry” is better than making a big show of it and then bragging about how much better your apology is. The whole scene feels freshly cut from some conversation in an undergrad gender studies class in the year 2024—the kind of conversation said undergrads will someday look back on and cringe over. Here’s the scene:
Again, my problem with this scene is not the inclusion of trans or nonbinary characters in Dragon Age, but with the hamfisted way this issue is framed.
I recently wrote a review of Lev Grossman’s excellent Arthurian fantasy, The Bright Sword, and noted in that review that he includes a trans character as one of the Knights of the Round Table. The difference in approach is worth noting here. In the book, the term “trans” is never used, since it would not have been around in the Arthurian era (similar to how “nonbinary” would not be a word in Dragon Age). Instead, the character is born as one of two twins. At birth, she is a girl and her twin is a boy, but she chaffes at all things girly and the confines and restrictions placed upon her and wants nothing more than to train with a sword and become a knight.
She eventually encounters a fairy with whom she makes a magical bargain. The fairy takes her to a lake, and instructs her to swim down below where she meets another fairy. This second fairy gives her a fae blade to train with and every night she returns to the lake to train for hours with the curious swordsman. For years she trains like this, eventually becoming a sword master. Then, one day, she’s told that she will be forced to marry. Instead, she chooses to run away, disguising herself as a man and taking on a new identity. She had always felt that she was meant to be a boy and not a girl, and with her new name and manly disguise, she—now a he—goes on to live her dream in Camelot at Arthur’s side.
This works because it’s never preachy. It doesn’t awkwardly adopt the terms of modern-day gender politics. Instead, Grossman tells the kind of story anyone can relate to (with beautifully written prose that never comes off as politically driven, but rather part of a grander, timeless tale). Many people are born feeling as though they don’t belong for one reason or another. This character’s story—he calls himself Dinadin, and when the hero of the book encounters him it’s Sir Dinadin—is one just about anyone can empathize with and feels like part of an old fable rather than a conversation you might hear at the campus coffee shop. It doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb, in other words. There is no performative apology after someone misgenders the knight, no cloying lecture inserted as some kind of message to readers. It’s subtle and gracefully handled and, in my opinion, a much more effective way to create sympathy toward trans people than Dragon Age’s clumsy approach.
Alas, this will undoubtedly dominate the conversation around Veilguard—and to what end? Will anyone who plays this game learn something useful because of this scene? Will people who are hostile toward social justice politics become convinced otherwise? That’s the problem with preaching to the choir. Someone not normally inclined to sympathy toward trans people might read The Bright Sword and actually walk away with more complicated feelings; nobody playing The Veilguard will. Instead, they’ll be rightfully annoyed at having this type of 21st century dialogue (hamfisted even for the modern era) foisted upon them midway through a fantasy RPG.
There are better ways to address these issues, but these require a subtle touch and clever writing and character-building, especially since this is a fantasy RPG in a setting far-removed from the modern world. The character in question is a Qunari whose people have very strict gender roles in the lore of the game’s world. How hard would it have been to have them say something about their choice to abandon the restrictions placed upon them by the Qun and then delve into that for a bit, shining a light on the lore of the game rather than the terminology of the real-world? There are so many ways to approach gender identity in this setting (this isn’t even the first time it’s been explored in the series!) it’s just such a huge shame that they’ve chosen this path instead.
You can see how misguided the game’s writers truly are in the scene above. The character says that a normal apology “makes it all about you” when she’s just blatantly hogged the spotlight and made it all about her. Nobody seems to spot the irony. I have to ask, has anyone ever successfully apologized while lecturing everyone at the same time? “Ah, I made a mistake, here’s my apology and here’s why my apology is so great and your apology is so bad, even though you’re not the one who made the mistake. Look at me! Look how wonderful I am!”
That’s sort of how I see BioWare in all of this. They’re making it all about them, all so they can be praised for their progressive bonafides rather than doing the hard work required to tell stories that might actually evoke in players true empathy and understanding. Tapping into that, creating something that people can relate to, requires more than a cudgel. Nobody enjoys being beaten over the head. In the parlance of our times, “Do better, Bioware.”
I still recommend the game. You can read why in my review-in-progress. It’s not perfect, but it feels a bit like Dragon Age meets Mass Effect and I’ve had a lot of fun with it so far—quite a lot more than I anticipated going in.
