Post Script
Far Cry 6’s timid political perspective does a disservice to players and real-world struggles
We feel real anticipation as we hike through thick jungle to meet Far Cry 6’s ‘Legends Of ’67’, guided by the voice of El Tigre, Yara’s answer to Che Guevara. He’s an original character, of course, but the game’s inclusion of an aging Che analogue is potentially fascinating – an opportunity to consider the political evolution (or not) of survivors of communist revolutions past. Yet in person El Tigre is merely a big personality spoiling for a new fight, and the only debate in his camp is whether his old comrades have the stomach to join him. He looks the part, complete with beret and cigar, but he’s not so much Che as a Che T-shirt.
The question of politics has hung heavily over Far Cry 6 since its unveiling, and it’s impossible not to snag on it in the final offering. In May, narrative director Navid Khavari wrote a blog post clarifying that, obviously, the game’s story was political, if not specifically about Cuba, and it would feature “hard, relevant discussions” about a range of political subjects. He also explained that the development team had sought the perspectives of ex-revolutionaries, as well as various experts to ensure “sensitivity”. So why does Far Cry 6 seem to go out of its way to say nothing of real consequence?
Dani Rojas’s revolution is less a political endeavour than pure adventurism. Yes, it’s clear that Castillo needs overthrowing – he relies on forced labour to produce his cancer drug, Viviro, and conducts horrific experiments on the poor. But the only strong theme running through Dani’s efforts is the danger she might get addicted to the process. It’s the same with most of the would-be guerrillas she recruits. Young or old, deep down they’re all hot-blooded warriors, enjoying their killing as much as their partying, but light on manifestoes.
In this way, Far Cry 6 turns Latin cultures into a fetish, romantically offering up a nation of spirited outlaws, free from our everyday grind. Yara becomes a site of nostalgia for a time when grassroots change could come from the barrel of a gun, refuge taken in militarism for want of difficult answers to hard questions. The story skates over Latin American history, not least how, after Cuba, many left-wing revolutions were throttled by fascist coups and regimes with US state support. More conspicuously, it omits any significant nod to the creative, alternative forms of resistance the region has fostered – landless workers’ movements, cooperatives, liberation theology, feminist movements, and so on. In Yara, you’re a guerrilla fighter or a nobody.
At most it ponders potential frictions. Paolo is the young trans leader of protest group Máximas Matanzas. He’s conflicted, knowing that, even after Castillo, Yaran culture won’t accept him. But Far Cry 6 doesn’t dwell on such issues, and ultimately evades the question of what comes after the revolution. It also sidesteps many moral quandaries, such as when it asks us to incorporate depleted uranium and napalm – virtually synonymous with imperialism and brutality – into our arsenal. These and many other scenarios are open goals to consider the texture of political change, but there’s no intellectual presence to raise them. The brains of our operation is Juan Cortez, a tactician whose guerrilla rules include gems such as “Fucked-Up Situations Call For Fucked-Up Solutions.”
Perhaps we’re at fault for expecting anything else from Far Cry 6 (we’re a long way from Far Cry 2 by now). Certainly, it’s difficult to imagine how weighty themes could survive amid tens of hours of mindlessly gunning down soldiers and helicopters. But then why start down the road of real-world parallels and research at all, if not to frame our actions with their gravity? Instead, our adventure stops at allusions to the evils of fascism, the need for democracy, equal rights and ending forced labour. A far cry from hard discussion.