Welcoming Ways
When a well-placed smile is good for people and good for business.
So, I was sitting on the floor, next to my nine year old son, who was standing on his head, listening to Liam Esler welcome everyone to GX, the second of two such queer-focused game conventions we’d been to. I already felt welcome, and I got the sense that everyone in the room was really happy to be there, but when Liam started specifically explaining how to meet the people around you, by saying “Hi” and asking them what they thought of the indie games on show, I started thinking, “Well, yeah. This needs to be explicitly stated more often.”
We’re all computer nerds here, right? And we were nerds in high school? And we know what it feels like to be excluded? I do, anyway. The deputy principal, at a high school where I used to teach, called this process, with an ominous tone of voice, “The Game.” At assemblies, she’d talk about the kid who would approach the group and find that everyone was suddenly turned slightly away. Or, he who was participating in a discussion, but was being questioned rigorously, as if he had to jump through hoops just to be allowed to talk.
I don’t know what impact her dark speeches had, really. It’s possible that some of the kids who were doing the excluding needed for it to be pointed out. Her approach was very much to not look past someone’s behaviour and to see it for what it was. At the time, I was just impressed by how encouraging my music students were towards each other. It’s difficult to stand in front of a group and sing, everyone understands that, and so they’d genuinely cheer on literally everyone. Skill was appreciated, but bravery more so.
If we want to become more inclusive, we have to be active in our welcome
I’ve never understood why “games” doesn’t also feel more innately like a special group of likeminded people. We share a pursuit that is clever, creative and social. Liam’s words, of course, reminded me that there is something to be done to improve things. Moving mountains to make events like GX happen, but also just remembering to smile. I want to know what people are playing and making. I also want people to feel welcome to chat with me. They’re mutually supportive goals.
As I was wandering around the indie games on show at GX, I decided to take off my game reviewer hat and put on my Cap of Friendliness +1, instead. I’m good at showing enthusiasm for people’s weird indie projects, but I found myself asking people how they were feeling and how their day was going, too. Interestingly, it encouraged better, more open conversation, and designers seem to divulge more about their games than the regular public relations pitch I’m used to.
Similarly, when my son wanted to have a go on a Switch, I fought my urge to “play all the PC indies right now” and decided to stop and punch him in the face for 20 minutes; in ARMS, that is. (And don’t worry, he punched me plenty enough, too.) Really, it was all a lovely experience in which I de-prioritised my usual approach to work, had an uncharacteristic amount of laughs with developers, players and my son, and came to better appreciate how enriching relationships supports my work anyway.
I contacted Liam, who is GX’s cofounder, to ask why he specifically invited people to actively engage with each other. He says, “It’s something that’s often easy to forget to do, but also crucially important. If, as an industry, we want to become more inclusive and diverse, we have to be active in our welcome. We have to make it clear to people that they are welcome and valued, because these things aren’t assumed. It’s the difference between knowing a party is happening, and being invited to the party.”
Again with the high school awkwardness, but I certainly remember being invited to parties I wasn’t really welcome at, where I’d be greeted at the door by smirking people who obviously didn’t like me. On other occasions, people invited me over and had hired movies I liked. There’s a difference. I asked Liam about how they’d structured the convention, for inclusiveness. He says, “This meant tabletop RPGs, well-curated panels, a carefully selected list of guests.” Indeed, there was room to move, shared spaces and niche panels on queer content.
So, in the spirit of using my work to better support and network with people, within areas I’m already interested in, I collected inspiring words and made a website called Tiny Advice for Game Developers. Everyone is welcome to give and receive words there. So, what can you contribute? Even a smile next time you’re in a gaming space might make a difference, to both someone else and to you.