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The need for LGBTQIA+ diversity and representation in video games

Have you ever found yourself in a cupboard without knowing immediately how to get out? And during this time of confinement, occasionally having a window on the world to which you think you belong? Take advantage of this opening to recognise yourself in it and breathe at last? A little hope in an isolation that seems to stretch on and on, destined never to end.

This is what often happens to people in the LGBTQIA+ community, when they realise who they are: lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, intersex, asexual. The slightest projection, the slightest positive representation in this sense, whether in a book, a video game, a series or a film, is quite simply life-saving. To identify. To feel represented. To realise that we do exist, that there are others like us, even if we feel on the sidelines and on the margins of everything. Because all these representations have made their way through culture, step by step, at different rates depending on the medium. And in video games, there’s still a long way to go.

First encounters

The first LGBTQIA+ representation I consciously saw in a video game was probably in the first remastered version of The Last of Us, which wasn’t yet called Part I. (Unconsciously, it was probably the antagonist Adel from Final Fantasy VIII, probably intersex). It’s hard to remember how I perceived it at the time, as I wasn’t fully aware of what a phenomenon The Last of Us was. But it was welcome to see Ellie and Bill portrayed without clichés, with a certain subtlety and incredible naturalness, without forcing the issue.

Life is Strange : Before the storm, Deck Nine Games (2017)

As my own personal experience stabilised and grew, I found more queer characters in the world of video games. The college life of Life is Strange, so steeped in the hopes and storms of adolescence, would not have been the same without the bright, punk Chloe Price. Having a character so proud, so self-assured and so fearlessly outspoken, feels so good. This Chloe, endlessly dead and endlessly resuscitated, a real pain, so melancholic and so moving in Before the Storm, who carries with her a powerful self-esteem, a refusal to bow down, to give in or to change, even in the face of harassment or homophobia. Chloe is the first of the protagonists of the Don’t Nod games to wear these values proudly, even if the recent controversies surrounding the studio tarnish this progressivism, and even if this remains an independent game. Life is Strange is so intimate, so right in the way it lets us (re)experience the intense reversals and self-discovery of adolescence and young adulthood, that it leaves its mark on the heart.

Sometimes it’s a discreet footprint in a game, like a window discovered at the bend in the road. It could have been overlooked, ignored, dismissed as optional. But it does exist, peacefully, with a bitter taste or a certain sweetness. It is there. In What remains of Edith Finch, we are given a choice in the story of Lewis Finch, a lucid dreamer who creates an imaginary life for himself: his virtual alter ego can choose to marry a prince, or a princess. The first time I saw this option, there was a strange, slight flutter in my heart at coming across this choice, in a game that might never have touched on these themes. And yet, there it was, without any particular emphasis, simply a possibility, which unfortunately does nothing to change Lewis’s poignant fate.

Gone Home, The Fullbright Company (2013)

Gone Home is one of those independent games. It’s only towards the end that we realise that the narrator’s sister has left the family home to escape a homophobic atmosphere. The 90s were not yet very open-minded on the subject of homosexuality: a reality that the game represents through its environmental narrative, through the letters and notes left, here and there, to understand the mystery of this empty house.

Sometimes it’s just a passing detail. A certain Ciri, the heroine at the heart of The Witcher III ‘s quest , who is able to say ’I prefer women” in a fantasy world dominated by heterosexual romances. From a secondary quest in the cyberpunk thriller Observer: Redux, where an occupant of the building we visit tells the story of her marriage, and then the loss of her wife. A scientific report on a computer in the building, which talks about transsexuality as an outdated fact, recognised for a hundred years as an ailment that can be cured by a transition accepted by all. Let’s hope that one day we’ll fully arrive at a time when we think like that, even if we don’t particularly want to live in the futuristic world of Observer.

Show me you true colors

Over the years, a number of games have increasingly taken on LGBTQIA+ themes, making them their own with quality and consistency. Of course, when you think of queer video games, RPG romances immediately spring to mind. Depending on whether you choose to play as a male or female character, you may find yourself flirting with a man or a woman: a lesbian or gay choice. For some games, this is a bit of an easy option: I’m not sure it makes much difference to Kassandra in Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, for example, especially when you learn that her male counterpart was created in the face of grumbling from players desperate for a hero. In terms of representation after oppression, we’ve seen better.

And in a way, it’s also a choice that is highlighted, valued and worked on, for certain studios. Bioware has always highlighted the diversity of its characters in the Dragon Age licence. Personally, I smile when I think back to my game on DA Inquisition. By dint of flirting with quite a few characters, to push the limits of the game and find out more about the protagonists in my team, the elf Sera had advised my Inquisitor to decide what to do with Blackwall, before hitting on her… Because she didn’t want to be second best! Each of the protagonists in Dragon Age Inquisition was well-rounded, interesting and deep in their own way; natural in the way they presented a diversity of sexual orientations. The fact that Joséphine is bisexual, Dorian gay or Sera homosexual was never introduced by forceps. It’s all simply part of the character. Dorian even goes so far as to talk about a conversion therapy imposed by his father, in the form of blood magic.

But as well as these protagonists whose love orientation serves to complexify and humanise their personalities, there’s also Krem, one of Iron Bull’s team-mates. If we talk to him with the right dialogue choices, then we learn part of his story: he’s a transgender man, who has struggled and suffered deeply to get to this place, within a community that finally accepts him as he is. The fact that it is so difficult for this secondary character to confide in us, to the point where he refuses to go into any detail, is an authentic and sincere testimony to the experiences of transgender people.

Tell Me Why, Don’t Nod Entertainment (2020)

Trans people are still poorly represented in video games. Apart from Krem, one of the most recent examples to have been brought to the stage is Tyler Ronan in Tell Me Why.He is without doubt the first transgender hero to be portrayed in a video game, which is an incredible step forward in terms of representation. What’s more, he’s also dubbed by a transgender actor (Lev from The Last of Us Part II will be too, later on) and Don’t Nod has been made aware of the subject by a transgender rights association. Nor is Tyler defined solely by his gender and transition. While this may seem to be the starting point of the story, little by little this ‘secret’, which isn’t really a secret, fades from the conversation and the real crux of the plot emerges. With elegance and simplicity, the game lets us get under Tyler’s skin, without making any blunders like revealing his deadname or putting him in traumatic situations just because of who he is. We naturally become attached to the character because of his personality, his loving interactions with his newfound sister, or other characters (since he’s also gay). Acceptance is there. Without question. As it should always be.

A Normal Lost Phone, Accidental Queens (2017)

A Normal Lost Phone is full of questions. By having us ‘find’ an abandoned phone, we try to reveal the secrets of the object’s former owner.From riddle to riddle to unlock apps, documents and messages, we come to understand that this phone is the secret garden and lifeblood of Sam, a young transgender woman who is still torn between two identities.Terrified by the homophobia of her family and friends, she doesn’t dare present herself as a woman or come out. But on dating apps, she also presents herself as both genders, the better to protect her true identity, while seeking help from others like her on forums. More than just an investigative game to find out who Sam is, A Normal Lost Phone is a poignant, interactive account of the weighty secret of keeping one’s homosexuality or true gender to oneself, having to offer a front mask to others. It’s a prison of haunts and shame, of multiple precautions to avoid leaving the slightest clue. You feel suffocated by not being able to reveal your desires or your true self. Repressing yourself. Always repressing yourself out of fear of others and discrimination.

The right to be happy…

As is often the case in the arts, video games have a hard time portraying happy LGBTQIA+ characters. We shouldn’t hold this against them: cinema, literature and TV series are full of sad and painful stories about being gay, transgender, etc., rather than happy outcomes.It’s as if the pain of being different, of feeling marginal and isolated, was bound to strike, endure and become entrenched despite changing mores, even though we already experience it on a daily basis.It will pass, it’s starting to pass. In the image of feel-good queer fiction (see the recent adorable Heartstopper series , the dazzling Cosmoknights comic book or the luminous novel Felix Ever After), some representations that are not only positive, but also joyful and fighting, are beginning to appear. Without necessarily all the misery and pathos that used to accompany these themes, like a condemnation to sadness and suffering.

The homosexuality of Diane, a secondary protagonist in The Wreck, is kept discreet but never called into question. In fact, we know very little about it, apart from the fact that her family has taken her in very well, and that she easily breaks up with men as soon as they try to lay a hand on her without suspecting her preferences. We don’t know much about her, but… she’s blossoming in her relationship with her sister. Happy, natural, sincere, without playing any roles, with a butch physique that’s completely assumed.No mention is made of homophobia or rejection.

Unpacking, Witch Beam (2021)

In Unpacking, although the ending is perfectly obvious, the journey is more discreet. During one of the heroine’s last moves, a pair of rainbow-coloured socks is stored in a cupboard.Pride!And the conclusion of the story leaves no doubt about the late homosexuality (or bisexuality) of our narrator, whose cardboard boxes have made it possible to see her whole life, from childhood to adulthood, bringing her life closer together, from studies to break-ups.The last photo in the heroine’s album is a sunny snapshot of her couple and their child: all the promise of happiness. Yes, it feels good.

Because after all these hard-won struggles for LGBTQIA+ rights – and especially with the threat of regression looming – we really need to see a little happiness.

To see that being queer, or whatever label we choose (or choose not to use) to recognise and identify ourselves, does not necessarily mean condemning ourselves to a life of loneliness and persecution. All forms of discrimination against LGBTQIA+ people exist and will continue to exist for some time to come, of course.But give us inspiration, give us models and hopes for a better life, an ordinary and happy life.Not just of the unhappiness that has for so long been inherent in this community, as if it could only endure being different.

…And the duty to fight

Because this community is still suffering from this singularity as perceived by others. We may be in the 21st century, and far removed from certain clumsy stereotypes, but the harassment and hatred continues. In the sad reality of women’s rights, LGBTQIA+ rights and discrimination, as well as in the virtual world of video games. How often do we read that featuring LGBTQIA+ characters is too woke, that it’s imposing propaganda?

One of the most striking media cases is undoubtedly The Last of Us Part II. Ellie is the first heroine of a triple AAA game to be openly lesbian, her sexual orientation being part of the plot, leading her to a love, a couple, a family, with Dina. And then there’s Abby, too muscular, too imposing, too ‘masculine’ for some of the players, even though she’s straight. And then there’s Lev, the young transgender boy she saves, whom Abby delicately asks ‘if he wants to talk about it’. Not really. And so much the better. He is who he is and Abby doesn’t insist, doesn’t pry, unlike Lev’s family who reject him.

The Last of Us Part II, Naughty Dog (2020)

When we see the making-of of The Last of Us Part II Remastered, when we think back to the articles and reactions when the game was released, when we see Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn, on her recent birthday, being criticised on the internet for her downy, unsexual appearance… We sigh. Are we still there?Yes, obviously.

And it hurts, it makes you angry, to see these types of heroines and heroes subjected to so much criticism and rejection, because gamers can’t identify with a woman, because some people want games that have no ‘politics’, no reflection of a complex society that’s changing, no representation other than that of a virile white heterosexual hero or a heroine who’s too sexualised and/or vulnerable. Even without being committed or militant, how can we not despair a little when faced with these reactions? Given the destructive effect it has beyond the screen: death threats and waves of harassment against the creators of a game, against dubbers and character models, to the extreme.

You’d need to have the powers of Alex Chen (Life is Strange: True Colors) to force this conservative, prejudiced little world to have a little empathy for others. To understand that, even if it has nothing to do with them, these characters, far from clichés, far from predefined roles, by taking on other roles, by finally being different, reflect the complexity and diversity of the world.

They allow us to recognise ourselves, to have unique role models, to grow towards horizons that we thought were unattainable.And for others, it’s the chance to discover a life experience, to share a condition, to better understand others, to experience their experiences and feelings.

Artwork de Cyberpunk 2077, CD Projekt RED (2020)

That’s undoubtedly why some games, like Cyberpunk 2077, make promises that end up as damp squibs. During its marketing promotion, the game swore that we would have a fully customisable character, capable of being trans, non-binary, homosexual, bisexual… Before backtracking in the face of media criticism and the gaming community. Of course, V can romanticize several protagonists: Kerry Eurodyne is exclusively gay and Judy Alvarez is homosexual. You can completely personalise the character, change their voice, their male/female/absent attributes, mix tattoos and mechanics, change their skin colour… And yet, what a bitter taste!

There’s something empty, something mixed, something of a missed opportunity that was served up on a platter. In any case, during the first few months of the game’s life in 2020, when I played it.

Because no matter how much you create your V from scratch, the heroes and heroines of Cyberpunk 2077 will never have any experiences, memories or lifestyles related to their ethnicity, their status as a woman or an android, their sexual orientation or their gender identity.

The story’s comments on our personalisation are superficial, limited to our choice of romance (which doesn’t care about V’s genitals, or lack of them). In this futuristic city of all possibilities, it doesn’t matter who you are, because no one will ever refer to you as such, whether to make you belong to a community or to treat you with transphobia and racism. It doesn’t matter what we choose or who we are. On the positive side, isn’t it a good thing that we live in a world where such discrimination doesn’t exist? But on the flip side, isn’t it just as bitter to have a character whose creative choices ring hollow, changing neither his character, nor his impact on others, nor his experiences? V is a magnificent shell, but an empty one.

Let’s briefly re-read this article. Of course, the list of LGBTQIA+ titles quoted is not exhaustive and I salute Celeste, Mass Effect: Andromeda, This Bed We Made, Undertale, Final Fantasy VII: Remake, The Outer Worlds and so many other games.I haven’t necessarily played them, but there’s something reassuring and comforting about knowing that they exist and are there for female gamers.

But isn’t there something else? I’ve often talked about female couples, rarely about gay couples. Trans people are still too rarely present. Leaving aside the obvious choice of multiple romances, a protagonist’s inherent bisexuality is rare. As for intersex, genderfluid, drag and asexual people, there is almost no representation at all; if we add female gender and ethnicity, we’re in a very bad position. Woke up with LGBTQIA+ propaganda in video games? It’s already sometimes hard to find all the female characters written with any real quality, so there’s still a long way to go when it comes to queer representation. Playing a gay hero as a main character has never really been seen before, and it means exposing yourself to online harassment or virulent criticism and threats, given the prejudice and discrimination that still exists.

For some, the breath and relief of seeing themselves represented, understood, existing elsewhere, came through a film or a book. It was a series for me.

And yet, despite the time that has passed, it’s still something to see a fair and authentic representation in a video game. To feel real, to feel helped, to feel legitimate. To come across the creation of someone else who has had the heart to say: you exist and you have the right to be there, just as you are. To see other forms, other people from this community, move around in a fictional universe where the player is invited to be interactive, to take the character in hand, whether he or she is male or female, gay or trans, non-binary or questioning his or her own identity. With a joystick, a few choices to make and a story to discover, let yourself be guided by the story. With a little empathy, a little of that faculty that is sorely lacking these days: putting yourself in someone else’s shoes to understand them.

Some food for thoughts :

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