Militant meninism: the militaristic discourse of Gamergate and Men’s Rights Activism

Abstract

The connection between military metaphor and feminism – specifically radical and ‘militant feminism’ – has been well established by theorists. However, the same cannot be said for the analogous connection between militaristic discourse and Men’s Rights Activism (MRA). MRAs have often posited themselves in opposition to feminism and frequently portray the two as being on opposite sides of a ‘culture war’. This was particularly apparent during the Gamergate movement, which became intrinsically tied to MRA. The Gamergate movement was the subject of heavy media scrutiny, due to its highly publicised and vitriolic attacks on women. This article looks at chatlogs leaked from one of Gamergate’s main chatrooms, which exposed Gamergate’s rhetorical strategies. Having analysed the dialogue, the article argues that Gamergaters have adopted a militaristic discourse. This is evidenced by their consistent use of militaristic terminology, and the treatment of their actions as being military ‘operations’ within a larger war against feminism.

Keywords

anti-feminism feminism Gamergate gender masculinity Men’s Rights Activism military metaphor online harassment

Before discussing the Gamergate movement, it is essential to preface with a brief explanation of the current ‘Men’s Rights Activism’ (MRA) movement. Much of the MRA movement can be characterised by the assertion that women hold unfair systemic and social advantages that men do not. This is often argued to be the result of an exceedingly successful feminist movement, which has led to men becoming an ‘oppressed’ group, rather than women. MRAs argue that there is a legal and social preference/prioritisation for women; for example, they point to affirmative action initiatives as examples of women’s advantages. Rather than acknowledging that initiatives of this nature are intended to counteract pre-existing inequalities, MRAs argue that they are disadvantageous to men, who they feel are naturally more suitable for non-household work and positions of power (Farrell, 2005). Common MRA rhetorical tropes include the concept that women accrue social capital based on their sexual desirability (their purported ‘primary value’, alongside their fertility) (Futrelle, 2014, 2015), and that women and feminists accrue power and sympathy through the proliferation of ‘false rape claims’ or by ‘playing the victim’ (Grether, 2014). Far from being a monolithic entity, the so-called ‘manosphere’ is a loosely defined catch-all term that encompasses many different MRA subgroups, for example, those that avoid significant interactions with women (‘Men Going Their Own Way’) and those focused on strategising ways to acquire sex from women, often through deception or harassment (pickup artists) (Ging, 2017). The most political of these groups commonly advocate for a return to patriarchal values, with the aim of men and women being ‘acknowledged’ as having inherently different roles, and women as being ‘naturally’ subservient to men.

Recently, the MRA movement has become far more prominent. Multiple anti-feminist murders were attributed to MRA ideologies. Most prominently, those of Elliot Rodger, who preceded his murder of 6 people with a 141-page manifesto blaming a hatred of women for his planned attack, leading some MRAs to hail him as a ‘hero’ (Valizadeh, 2014). The actions of Rodger and others like him attracted significant attention from the media, as did MRA’s association with the increasingly visible ‘alt-right’: a far-right political movement that was of particular relevance during the 2016 USA presidential election, and later, to the President’s administration (Cook, 2016; Gabbatt, 2016). Prior to this, however, MRA was catapulted into public consciousness because of the #Gamergate movement. The two movements hold intrinsic ties to each other; MRAs notably appropriated Gamergate as a vehicle for their own socio-political beliefs, and strove to harness Gamergate’s success and visibility for their own purposes. Due to this appropriation, Gamergate was deeply influenced by MRA politics and ideologies; however, even prior to this, Gamergate held clear rhetorical similarities with the MRA movement, particularly in regards to their views on women and feminism. Because of these intersections, Gamergate became as much an MRA movement as a gaming movement.

The latterly named ‘Gamergate’ movement was initially conceived in 2014, as the result of rising tensions within the gaming community. These tensions in part stemmed from the pervasive belief that games companies had begun ‘pandering’ to minority groups (including women), rather than focusing on their ‘core’ demographic of heterosexual, white men. Largely, these perceived concessions were attributed to the influence of feminism and ‘SJWs’ (Social Justice Warriors), an often disparagingly used term referring to groups that vocally oppose bigotry and that, like Gamergate, primarily originate from online communities. This disquiet manifested as an increased hostility towards women within the gaming community and industry. An excellent example of this is the harassment directed towards Zoe Quinn, an indie games developer who became the target of a gendered harassment campaign after she attempted to publish a game addressing depression, which dissenters felt that, as a woman, she was unqualified to comment on (Quinn, 2013; Wallace, 2013). In August 2014, Quinn’s former boyfriend (Eron Gjoni) posted an extensive attack against her online, alleging that she had repeatedly cheated on him. The post reignited the attacks towards her and became entwined with the (since discredited) suggestion that Quinn had traded sexual favours in return for positive game reviews. The attacks directed towards Quinn expanded to incorporate other women in the games industry, under the banner of ‘ethics in games journalism’: a reference to Quinn’s alleged infractions. In addition to the complaints that specifically pertained to Quinn, there was also significant criticism of ‘censorship by feminists and SJWs’, a reference to the aforementioned claim of bias towards groups outside of the heterosexual, white male demographic. Gamergaters argued that attempts by ‘feminists and SJWs’ to affect change within the contemporary games industry (e.g. by promoting more diverse and positive representations of women and minorities in games) were inherently detrimental, and only served to further their own political agenda. This particular contestation was frequently used as justification for the attacks on women and feminists, which caused many to leave the games industry (Cox, 2014; Romano, 2014) or even their homes (Alexander, 2014; Kain, 2014).

The ‘Gamergate’ movement facilitated prolonged attacks on women in the games industry, including rape threats, death threats, mass-shooting threats and bomb threats. The severity of these attacks garnered a great deal of media attention on an international scale, raising questions about sexism and the responsibility of social media platforms in curbing online harassment. Gamergate represents a focused, organised backlash against feminism, which was repeatedly referred to by Gamergaters as being a toxic influence. Further investigation indicated that Gamergate had been intentionally orchestrated as a front for sexist harassment, demonstrating a level of organisation that arguably distinguishes it from prior backlashes. The use of the Internet, in particular, facilitated the increased level of coordination required for Gamergate, in that it allowed MRAs/Gamergaters to organise their attacks on a large-scale, and with optimum participation.

One of the clearest indicators that Gamergate was a well-planned ruse were the chatlogs ascertained by Quinn, who covertly observed and recorded the conversations from Gamergate’s most prominent IRC (Internet Relay Chat) groups. Quinn then shared her findings on Twitter through a series of 16 screencaps (of varying lengths). This article examines the contents of the chatlog extracts that were shared by Quinn, dividing them into broad rhetorical trends, with a particular focus on the militaristic strategy that was prevalent throughout. Later, the article draws on the content of the latterly released ‘complete chatlog’, again assessing the militaristic patterns in its narrative, through the use of critical discourse analysis. This document was an allegedly unedited record of one Gamergate channel in particular and was posted by one of its members. As the document was so substantial (2,165,953 words), rather than ‘cherry-picking’ sections from it, the passages analysed here are those specifically disseminated by influential proponents of the divergent ideological position to Gamergate. Primarily, this refers to the 25 batches of quotes highlighted by prominent anti-MRA website We Hunted the Mammoth (WHTM; which is the most heavily trafficked website of its kind), in addition to those initially posted by Zoe Quinn. Although reference is made to parts of the complete chatlog that were not posted by either of these two parties, these additional sections are offered mainly as supplementary context, commonly comprising of the discussion that came before or after the sections disseminated by Quinn and Futrelle.

Throughout this article, the focus will be on the militaristic language and strategy utilised by Gamergaters as expressions of anti-feminism and masculine gender performance. This is presented in parallel with the militaristic discourse associated with radical and militant feminism, indicating an unintentional similarity in euphemism. Moreover, the intention is to establish the prevalence and role of militaristic allusion in gender politics, beyond its previously established usage among radical feminists.

Military discourse

The pattern of militaristic discourse is apparent from Quinn’s earliest screencap (Figure 1). In the screencap, participants in the IRC refer to their actions as the ‘operation’, or more specifically, as ‘Operation Virtuous Mission’: a reference to a covert op in the 2004 videogame Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater.¹ In keeping with the narrative of a covert op, the concept of utilising subterfuge is one repeated throughout the screencaps. Multiple references are made to covert/black operations, for example, ‘false flag’ attacks, which are when an attack/action perpetrated by military or security force personnel is blamed on terrorists or civilians (Hughes, 2011). In the context of the chatlogs, facsimiles of these tactics are appropriated to shift blame onto targets such as Quinn for actions that Gamergaters are responsible for, with the intention to discredit and vilify their targets. Users in the chatroom refer to going ‘deep undercover’ (‘best way to get this proven [. . .] is to have someone go deep undercover’) and to having ‘sleeper cells’ (‘I think all the sleeper cells are hard at work, there was a bit of organising last night [to infiltrate Quinn’s convention panel]’) (see Figures 2 and 3). In addition to re-enforcing the militaristic narrative among the participants, the discourse also suggests a degree of internalised ‘gamification’ behind the harassment, in keeping with Gamergate’s gaming roots.

Figure 1.

Quinn’s first IRC screencap: ‘Operation Virtuous Mission’.

Figure 2.

Chatroom users discuss going ‘deep undercover’ and how to better utilise ‘false flags’.

Figure 3.

Chatroom users discuss ‘sleeper cells’.

Conceivably, the connection between gaming and military fantasy has informed the discourse, as has the popularity and prevalence of military/war-based videogames.² Theorists have argued that videogames emerged from the realms of science, maths and the military, and have thereby inherited their highly masculine cultural coding (Dovey and Kennedy, 2006). However, the connection between gaming and military fantasy does not account for the members of the chatroom/Gamergate who have expressed disinterest in videogames. Instead, perhaps as the focus for many Gamergaters is the staunch opposition to feminism, evoking something coded as being highly masculine (the military) is intended as a direct contrast to ‘the feminine’ (here conflated with women and feminism). To quote Cohn:

War [is conceived as] a quintessentially masculine realm: in it, it is men who make the decisions to go to war, men who do the planning, men who do the fighting and dying, men who protect their nation and their helpless women and children, and men who negotiate the peace, divide the spoils, and share power when war is over. (2013: 1)

In a military setting, men are overwhelmingly portrayed as the dominant force, and women – if considered at all – are helpless, in need of rescue, or tools to hurt the enemy (Cohn, 2013). As women represent weakness, soldiers may attempt to ‘bolster their own masculinity and dominate their enemy by constructing the enemy as a feminised “other”’ (Bond, 2012: 12). In a military context, it is primarily the male opposition that is reconfigured into a feminine framework, through ‘taunts about [. . .] male masculinity and homophobic epithets’ (Bond, 2012: 12). However, within the chatroom, the opposition (women/feminists) already embodies the role of the feminine directly. Consequently, it is easy to transition from the ‘feminised “other”’ of the enemy (within military narratives) to the literal ‘feminine’ of the women targeted by Gamergate. In making this transition, the Gamergate military narrative can combine both the concept of the weak and helpless woman who is treated as lesser than the masculine militia, and the ridiculed and denigrated ‘feminised’ enemy who is the object of their hatred.

In some comments, the military metaphor is used more explicitly than simple references to covert ops and videogames; for instance, Gamergate is directly referred to as a ‘war’:

Im just fighting on my side as a war [sic] / its no longer counter intelligence for me / my side of the things are looking for full fucking nuclear option / ending careers and marriages. Federal time for racketeering. Smeering [sic] their careers forever. (Figure 4)

Figure 4.

Gamergaters on the IRC discuss their goals and describe Gamergate as a ‘war’.

In statements like these, users express their desire for escalation, perhaps as part of the ‘play’. Not unlike a videogame, the expectation is for the challenge to increase as the ‘game’ continues. In one comment, Quinn is even referred to as ‘the final boss’ (a common phrase in videogames referring to the last enemy to be defeated). In Quinn’s screencap, this particular reference is immediately followed by ‘okay lads [. . .] we’re going to strike’, again reinforcing the militaristic allusions (see Figure 5). Furthermore, the specifically masculine nature of the military ‘play’ is reinforced by the use of male-specific phrasing (‘okay lads’). The meaning behind labelling Quinn as ‘the final boss’ is multi-faceted; when viewing the comment in tandem with other conversations debating who is the ‘weakest’ of their feminist ‘targets’, one implication seems to be that Quinn is perceived to be their strongest opponent: a facsimile of the enemy ‘general’ in a game. Judging by similar discussions on the channel, the inability to ‘crack’ Quinn indicates her ‘power’, as victory is implied to be attained through her admission of defeat, indirectly or otherwise. This is reinforced by a post to 4chan (a popular anonymous message board) that Quinn tweeted a few days prior to the leak, wherein the poster suggested mobilising ‘to give her a crippling injury that’s never going to fully heal and remind her of her fuckup for life’, reasoning that something akin to a knee injury would be preferable to brain damage, as ‘we don’t want to make it so she ends up [too] retarded to fear and respect us’ (Quinn, 2014). Although the desired ‘endgame’ understandably varies among participants, there is still a frequently iterated desire for Quinn to acknowledge her defeat, thus signalling the movement’s symbolic victory over feminism.

Figure 5.

Quinn is described on the IRC as ‘the final boss’ by one user.

Gamergate’s use of military metaphor is in no way new; Playboy founder Hugh Hefner also used language such as ‘enemy’ and ‘do battle’ in his 1970s memo disparaging feminism (Dworkin, 1989: 310). Indicatively, the discourse of modern anti-feminist backlashes takes cues from older attacks on feminism, despite the more than four-decade gap between these two examples. Regardless of the difference in circumstances, the opposition to feminism is still treated as a battle, steeped in all of its masculine coding. The primary distinguishing feature is the collaboration between videogame and military metaphor. Despite the pre-existing connections between the two, the addition of phrases such as ‘the final boss’ differentiates Gamergate from the discourse of the 1970s. In addition, although the dialogue may be the same, the execution has naturally changed in the wake of the digital era, as will be discussed in the following section.

PR war

In tandem with the demonstrable propensity for military metaphor among Gamergaters, there is also a tendency towards referring to and treating Gamergate as a ‘PR war’, with the goals of undermining and turning their ‘opponents’ (feminists) against each other as the primary objectives.³ To return to Figure 1, the users directly referred to their ‘operation’ in terms of a PR campaign (‘this is just taking the PR angle even further’). In his extrapolation of the proposed ‘operation’, the first user in the screencap (‘NewDCD’) compared the plan to ‘Operation Payout’. This is presumably an erroneous reference to 4chan’s ‘Operation Payback’, wherein attacks against anti-piracy proponents were advertised on the main 4chan image boards as a means to coordinate mass participation, thus increasing their impact. In NewDCD’s comments, he described his proposed ‘operation’ as having a dual purpose; first (and primarily), to cause ‘infighting and doubt’ among ‘SJWs’, as a facsimile of a ‘divide and conquer’ strategy. Employing this stratagem against feminists has precedence on 4chan; for example, another user proposed ‘Operation Fourth Wave Feminism’, which sought to create or falsify a feminist movement that celebrated sexualised/thin female bodies and was critical of ‘unfit’ or ‘fat’ women. This operation hoped to create what the initial poster referred to as a ‘feminist civil war’, as a (rather optimistic) means of breaking down the movement as a whole (see Figure 6). It is likely that NewDCD had similar aspirations and intended to create in-fighting by muddying the perception of Gamergate, hoping that this would result in feminists debating among themselves on the nature of Gamergate, rather than presenting a united front against it. Instead of Gamergate’s primary modus operandi as an anti-feminist movement being clear, the confusion could theoretically create internal dissent from feminists who believed that Gamergate was truly about ‘ethics in games journalism’.

Figure 6.

4chan post proposing ‘Operation Fourth Wave Feminism’.

NewDCD’s secondary aim was the formation of an additional smokescreen against potential criticism. The purpose of this smokescreen would be to mitigate feminist criticism of Gamergate, by creating plausible deniability of its reputed anti-feminist intentions. In relation to this goal, he referred to ‘TFYC’ (The Fine Young Capitalists), a self-described feminist group who aligned themselves with Gamergate purportedly due to a disagreement with Quinn over a women-centric game design contest that they had been running. NewDCD praised the effect that TFYC’s support had had, commenting that what Gamergate needed from TFYC was ‘the good PR’. This is analogous to Dworkin’s assertion that the New York Times specifically chose to have a feminist ‘with a history of tearing down other feminists’ (negatively) review her book, as the reviewer being a feminist was ‘what they needed to discredit the book [. . .] and feminism too’ (1989: 203). As with Dworkin, Gamergate’s collaboration with TFYC allowed them to denigrate Quinn from a point of impunity. Theoretically, if feminists were criticising Quinn and supporting Gamergate, Gamergate’s attacks could not be framed as being anti-feminist, but must instead be due to Quinn’s perceived wrongdoings in regards to ‘journalistic ethics’. The goal is not to appear misogynistic, as ‘misogynistic’ implies an aberration from the norm. Instead, the desire is for misogynistic behaviour to be normalised and treated as acceptable.

Building on the same strategy, NewDCD suggested mobilising 4chan’s videogames board to openly criticise posts that alluded to harassment, with the intention of screencapping their efforts so that ‘whenever anybody tried to blame [. . .] us for harassment or whatever, we point to that’ (Figure 7). By waging a ‘PR War’, the perception of Gamergaters as being either villainous or heroic can be manipulated, culminating in the creation of a narrative that sanctions their actions. In said narrative, their attacks on demonised feminists (and representations thereof) such as Quinn would be justified: albeit under the banner of ‘journalistic ethics’. By creating a correlation (incidental or otherwise) between feminists and ‘corruption’ (i.e. through falsified violations of ‘journalistic ethics’), Gamergate serves as a jumping-off point for MRAs aiming to wage a negative PR campaign against feminism, as was attempted (often successfully) in response to prior waves of feminism (see Faludi, 1993; Mendes, 2011; Trigg, 2010). With the advent of digital media, both feminists and MRAs have recognised the benefits of utilising the Internet as a key platform to further their respective causes.

Figure 7.

Gamergaters discuss their PR strategy.

In NewDCD’s plan to create a smokescreen against criticism, he specifically compared his strategy to jujitsu (‘using the opponent’s strength and momentum against them’), thereby implicitly referring to the perceived strength of his feminist opposition. His awareness of this ‘strength’ informed his desire to ‘split the enemy forces’ by having them fight among themselves, implying that a united front would be problematic or detrimental for Gamergate. Considering the position of inferiority that MRAs typically ascribe to women, this notion of strength is something of a departure. MRA discourse frequently attests that women lack any value beyond their physical desirability (‘Why do women put so much emphasis on their appearance? Because this is all they have to offer’ (MRA Poster, Figure 8)), for which they claim women are awarded unfair advantages (‘I HAVE TITS / GIVE ME FREE STUFF’ (Figure 9)). In comparison, men (who are incapable of resisting women’s wiles) are portrayed as being doomed to lavish ‘free stuff’ upon them. MRAs bemoan the ease with which women can have sex freely with whomever they choose, lamenting their collective cruelty in not choosing to have it with them, and treating their own lack of sex as the loss of something fundamental, or even as traumatising. In many ways, it is peculiar that MRAs would choose to portray men as weak-minded beings (who are incapable of resisting ‘enslavement’ by women), considering that much of their rhetoric relies on their near-unilateral superiority, particularly in terms of mental fortitude. Essentially, the elevation of the power of women’s sexual desirability, alongside an absurdly high valuation of sex, has led MRAs to superimpose this strength onto women. In doing so, MRAs inadvertently portray men as weak and women as strong. In the case of Gamergaters specifically, this concept of strength is still present, but seems to be more abstract. Instead, the strength of the enemy is treated as analogous to the ‘final boss’ in a game: merely to serve as proof of the protagonist’s strength. In this regard, men have the potential to be restored to the role of the conquerors, and women to the conquered, again matching the military metaphor so prevalent in the narrative. Overall, the choice of stratagems and terminology (e.g. smoke shields, false flagging, etc.) indicates that Gamergate’s ‘PR War’ is merely a modern extension of the military metaphor utilised by anti-feminist (and as will later be discussed, feminist) groups. Rather than representing a wholly different approach, it is instead a natural progression from the pre-existing use of military metaphor, albeit transposed into a digital context.

Figure 8.

MRA poster.

Figure 9.

MRA meme/motivational poster.

MRA hate mob

A key element of Gamergate’s militaristic strategy is its co-operation and coordination. Gamergate is treated as a ‘team’ game, wherein Gamergaters represent one side of the war, and feminists the other. The following section seeks to examine this, through an analysis of the ‘complete chatlog’.

After Quinn’s release of the chatlog screencaps, it became necessary for the subset of Gamergate to whom Quinn’s leak did not signal a defeat to reinvigorate their PR campaign with new strategies. One particularly novel response was the decision to release an allegedly complete chatlog of the #burgersandfries (Gamergate) IRC channel, dating back nearly to its inception, and containing close to 3 weeks of content and over 2-million words. Several blogs made posts picking the document apart, including anti-MRA blog WHTM (Futrelle, 2014), which ascertained that the word ‘Zoe’ was used 4778 times in the document compared to 108 uses of ‘Nathan’ (‘the allegedly corrupt game journalist she allegedly slept with’). These figures provided a direct quantitative counterpoint to arguments against Quinn’s prominence in the conversations, and the use of ‘Nathan’ backed up Futrelle’s assertion that the focus was rarely on ‘corrupt’ games journalists and was instead on women such as Quinn.

The quotes Futrelle posted reflected the discourse seen in Quinn’s screencaps, with liberal references to furthering Gamergate’s PR campaign and a continued motif of organised harassment utilising militaristic structuring. For instance, one user proposed the division of ‘duties’ as follows:

/v should be in charge of the gaming journalism aspect of it. /pol should be in charge of the feminism aspect, and /b⁴ should be in charge of harassing her into killing herself

Similarly to previous suggestions that the videogames board (/v) should outwardly police harassment (see previous section), /v is again suggested as a ‘front’ for the board’s activities. This reinforces the importance placed on Gamergate’s ‘ethics in games journalism’ illusion and feeds into the notion of a tactical PR war being preferable to openly sexist attacks. In the conversation, the users suggested tactics for each board, treating the coordination of their attacks as if they were military tacticians. Although not included in WHTM’s post, a subsequent reply to this comment praised the rarity of seeing ‘this kind of unity’, to which another user responded, ‘we really must be at war’. Here, the camaraderie is clear, and a sense of achievement from the boards’ co-operation is openly expressed, almost as a bonding experience. This forms a counterpoint to the ‘divide and conquer’ tactics directed at feminist groups, in that the users see themselves as an unassailably united force. Rather than the ‘lone wolf’ mentality often associated with masculinity and military fantasy (Abele and Gronbeck-Tedesco, 2015; McKay and McKay, 2009), the emphasis is instead placed on collaboration. This is reflective of prominent Gamergate target Anita Sarkeesian’s suggestion that those harassing her and other feminists see their actions as being part of a massively multiplayer online game, or moreover, as a social game wherein social capital is gained from the escalation of harassment, which can then be evidenced to gain praise from peers (Sarkeesian, 2012).

As exampled in the previous indented quotation (‘[. . .] and /b should be in charge of harassing her into killing herself’), much of the discourse presented by Futrelle is symptomatic of a ‘hate mob’. In the quote, the commenter suggested that /b should assume the task of inciting Quinn to commit suicide, a far more insidious ‘task’ than any of the others suggested in the plan. This concept is repeated many times throughout the posts’ extracts, for example, references to Quinn’s history of depression accompanied by suggestions that ‘she should try [killing herself] again :^)’. Or in a similar vein, the following interaction wherein three users ruminate in detail on methods to make Quinn commit suicide:

<Opfag> I’m debating whether or not we should just attack zoe [. . .]

<Opfag> push her . . . push her further . . . further, until eventually she [commits suicide]

<OtherGentleman> [. . .] What makes you think she has the balls to kill herself?

<Opfag> I kind of want to just make her life irrepairably [sic] horrible [. . .]

<NASA_Agent> but what if she suicides

<Opfag> Good.

<Opfag>Then we get to troll #Rememberzoe

In the above conversation, even as the users discuss a fantasy wherein they have ‘achieved their goal’, ‘Opfag’ pre-emptively suggests how to progress their attack on Quinn: through the mockery of her hypothetical death. The fixation on Quinn is reinforced by many of the comments on the IRC, and in remarks such as Opfag’s, the animosity towards her is palpable. Seemingly, Quinn takes on a symbolic position as the representative of feminism within the chatroom’s discourse, thus invoking strong reactions towards her specifically, as a show of resistance to feminism itself. As Faludi wrote, ‘when the enemy has no face, society will invent one’ (1993: 91). Quinn is portrayed as the sole driving force behind the ‘objectionable’ feminist ideologies that are perceived as threats to both videogames and to men, and is thus seen as deserving of punishment. Although other feminists targeted by Gamergate received similar vitriol, it is Quinn for whom the chatroom is named, and she who is treated as the ‘feminist ringleader’, or as above, the ‘final boss’. The motivation to specifically attack Quinn is repeated throughout the chatlog; for instance, one user commented that ‘i couldnt care less about [videogames], i just want to see zoe receive her comeuppance’. The use of the word ‘comeuppance’ is particularly telling, as Quinn’s ‘crimes’ in the eyes of the IRC largely amount to sexual infidelity and general outspokenness. It is her identification as a ‘feminist’ that places her at the centre of the chatroom’s ire, and her betrayal of traditional gender roles (through purported sexual promiscuity and a lack of docility) that provides the justification for her ‘punishment’. Many theorists have suggested that a lack of gender conformity is a common motivator for sexual harassment as a form of punishment (Berdahl, 2007); however in Quinn’s case, the rationale is not as simple as being only about her personal lack of conformity, nor even wholly based on her own individual actions. Instead, she is positioned as the scapegoat for aggressions towards women and feminists as a whole.

In contrast to Gamergate supporters outside of the chatroom, within the chatroom there is little denial of their motivations: acting out a grudge against Quinn is the explicit goal. Within the confines of the chatroom, the premise of Gamergate as a quest for journalistic ethics is largely abandoned, even ridiculed. Despite the ease with which the chatroom can be accessed (as evidenced by Quinn’s ‘infiltration’), users presume a haven of secrecy within the IRC, and rather than demonstrating any pretence or restraint, many feel comfortable elaborating on and sharing their violent fantasies with one another. Comments of this nature are readily accepted within the chatroom, and even the more extreme comments are responded to with, at most, mild curiosity:

<Cyberserker> You need a reason

<Opfag> Well I don’t have a legitimate reason.

<Cyberserker> Nothing?

<Opfag> I just want to see her die horribly.

<Cyberserker> I’m talking about [your particular fantasies]⁵

<Opfag> Oh.

<totality> sometimes you just want someone to get hurt

<Opfag> That, I have no idea

<totality> nothing wrong with that

<Opfag> all I know is I want zoe to die like that

Although ‘Cyberserker’ challenged Opfag’s rationale, they did not respond to Opfag’s reply. Instead, ‘totality’ sympathised with their violent predilections, rationalising the normality of wanting to see harm come to another person ‘sometimes’, before reassuring Opfag that their violent fantasies were both acceptable and normal. Reading on beyond the snippet provided on WHTM, a fourth user suggested that Opfag may be ‘false flagging’, i.e. is purposely attempting to make the channel look bad. Here, the conspiratorial and militaristic attitude among the participants is invoked and turned inwards, in this case, by someone suggesting that the expression of such extreme views might be a counter-tactic against Gamergate. This creates an ironic parallel to Gamergate’s own ‘divide and conquer’ strategies, wherein Gamergaters fight between themselves, rather than instigating the desired in-fighting among feminists. The user (‘sarahv’) asked Opfag to stop, to which Opfag apologised and claimed to be intoxicated, before ceasing communication. Although the specific questioning of Opfag’s motivation was dropped with his or her silence, within a minute another user put forward their own thoughts regarding the prospect of Quinn dying, which quickly spiralled into an argument of the pros and cons of such an eventuality. Despite the brief querying of motives, the overwhelming mood towards discussions of this nature is remarkably relaxed, to the point of detachment. To some degree, many of the users treat Quinn as an abstract concept and discuss the effect her hypothetical death would have on their PR war as if it were part of a fictionalised setting. It is in conversations like these that the gamification aspect of the discussions emerges; her death is discussed with a detached, cavalier attitude, almost as if in a game. She is treated purely as ‘the final boss’: a virtual, non-tangible being whose death has no real consequence beyond the chatroom’s ‘victory’. Although it seems likely that there were members of the chatroom who sincerely wished for Quinn’s death in a meaningful/engaged manner, it is probable that the majority have instead internalised the Internet’s propensity for ‘digitising’ other human beings, to the point where they no longer seem real. In this capacity, Gamergaters again distinguish themselves from ‘regular’ MRAs, who have more tangible goals and whose participation in their movement is arguably based on more than ‘play’.

Quinn’s public reposting of the screencaps was a mirror of Gamergate’s own strategies, thus feeding into the narrative of a war, wherein Quinn (and her ‘feminist army’) played the role of the enemy. Despite this narrative consistency, it is evident that simply following the rules of play set out by the instigators did not qualify Quinn to ‘defeat’ her dissenters. Instead, her ‘move’ in the game seemed to be largely disregarded by Gamergaters, who instead reframed her posting of the screencaps as part of a pre-set narrative wherein Quinn is portrayed as both a liar and an opportunist.⁶ This implies that despite the apparent desire for Quinn to be involved in the ‘game’, she was expected to remain passive and acted upon, as victory on Quinn’s part was not considered a viable resolution (nor, most likely, would the victory of any feminist). Arguably, this is in part due to Quinn’s victory signalling the end of the ‘game’. The chatroom’s pre-emptive strategising for Quinn’s hypothetical death implies a desire to continue the ‘game’ indefinitely, even in the event that their immediate goal (Quinn’s death) comes to pass. To this end, Quinn’s actions were reversed within the Gamergate narrative to reinforce the portrayal of feminists as the villains and Gamergate as the innocent, wronged party only seeking to protect their community from corruption, thus maintaining the prior ‘good PR’ tactics and extending the game.

Parallels with radical second-wave feminism

In a drunken video posted to MRA website, A Voice for Men’s (AVFM) founder Paul Elam and other MRAs at an AVFM gathering ‘taunted’ feminist author Jessica Valenti to the camera, by repeatedly declaring ‘hello Jessica, here’s another dick you won’t suck!’ and ‘no means no!’ (Futrelle, 2015). Elam’s appropriation of feminist terminology (‘no means no’) is undoubtedly intended facetiously. More specifically, it is likely intended as a mockery of the phrase’s anti-rape connotations and its prominence in feminist discourse. Similarly, a commenter in Figure 1 used the term ‘mansplaining’, another feminist term of the Internet era, referring to (and used with the intent to halt) men condescendingly inserting themselves into feminist discourse with their own privilege-laden explanations. In both of these cases, the appropriation of feminist language is used as a deliberate method to belittle it, as with the scathing use of ‘Social Justice Warriors’ (which was previously used positively by people who self-identified as such). It is highly unlikely that anti-feminist dissenters would wilfully choose to appropriate aspects of feminism for anything other than condescension; however, their use of militaristic discourse strongly correlates with discursive strategies that were prevalent among second-wave feminists. As such, it is possible to identify multiple similarities in the language used by the two groups. Just as Gamergaters implicitly referred to their movement as a war, so too did prominent feminists during the second wave. For example, in her appropriately titled book Letters from a War Zone, Andrea Dworkin concluded the chapter for which the book was named with the following statement:

Feminism is magnificent and militant here because the most powerless women are putting their lives on the line to confront the most powerful men for the sake of all women. Be proud of us for fighting. Be proud of us for getting so far. Help us if you can. The pornographers will have to stop us. We will not give in. They know that and now so do you. (1989: 322)

Not only does Dworkin directly refer to feminism as ‘militant’, she also makes use of the phrase ‘putting their lives on the line’, evoking an image of soldiers fighting on the front line, an allusion that she undoubtedly intended. In the same way that one IRC commenter was quoted as saying that they were ‘just fighting on my side [of the] war’, so too does Dworkin state ‘be proud of us for fighting’. IRC members praise their own achievements as Dworkin praises her fellow feminists, and 4chan seeks to recruit other members to their cause just as Dworkin does. Dworkin frames the enemy as ‘the most powerful men’, while Gamergaters elevate women such as Quinn to ‘final boss’ status, and feminism to a ‘cabal’ (Strict Machine, 2014). MRAs portray men as being undervalued and treated as inferior to women, parallel to Dworkin’s phrasing of ‘the most powerless women’. Even the unrelenting nature of the passage’s final two sentences is not unlike the sheer determination seen in the chatlogs. Phrase for phrase, the correlation between Gamergate and Dworkin’s use of language is palpable. During the second wave, portraying feminist activism as a ‘war’ was an effective way to illustrate both the seriousness of the issues and the aggressive (militant) approach that feminists (particularly radical feminists) were taking. Gamergate chose the exact same metaphor, and in part, for precisely the same reasons. Their choice to treat Gamergate as a war was a tactic to symbolically elevate the importance of their anti-feminist sensibilities, and most notably, a way for them to create and perform the kind of ‘play’ they saw themselves as being part of (much like the coordination and camaraderie of second-wave feminists). In a sense, their inadvertent imitation was an attempt to build up their movement to the position of something of equal importance, if only among fellow participants.

The comparisons between the two do not end in their choice of wording; in another quote, Dworkin described feminists as partaking in ‘civil disobedience, sit-ins, destruction of magazines and property, photographing consumers, as well as picketing, leafletting [sic], letter-writing, and debating in public forums, [. . .] without respite’ (1989: 313). These ‘bombardment’ tactics are not dissimilar to how Gamergaters/MRAs have spammed websites/user accounts with abuse, and the more archaic strategy of leafleting is analogous to the ‘PR war’ so often touted by Gamergaters. Indeed, the destruction of magazines, public debating, and the distribution of ‘compromising’ photographs of ‘the enemy’ are in and of itself a PR war: far preceding the one attempted by Gamergate. Although Gamergate may share tactics with dissenters from previous backlashes, so too do they reflect those of the feminists who were subject to those same attacks, thus adding a new dimension to the repetitious ouroboros of feminism and its subsequent backlashes.

In conclusion, Gamergate and MRAs could conceivably be disregarded as being benign or unworthy of analysis, owing to the perceived absurdity of their intersecting rhetorics. However, the extremity and danger of the views held by MRAs such as Elliot Rodger (which led to the death of six people) informs the necessity to examine these subgroups and the online ‘echo chambers’ from which they hail. Online communities are inherently global in nature, meaning that the effect and influence of Gamergate and MRA’s discourse is not just limited to one geographic location. For example, 2 months after Rodger’s massacre, 17-year-old Ben Moynihan non-fatally stabbed three different women in England, with the intention of killing them. In a letter to the police, Moynihan attributed his crimes to prior rejection by women (Rush, 2015), creating a clear parallel to Rodger and a connection to the same rhetoric that influenced him. In addition to its globalised nature, the anti-feminist discourse seen here is in itself not wholly new. Instead, it is a modernised repetition of the same backlashes that affected prior waves of feminism. In 1989, much like Rodger and Moynihan, Marc Lépine murdered 14 women in an engineering university, claiming that ‘for political reasons [. . .] I have decided to send the feminists, who have always ruined my life, to their Maker’ (Langman, 2014).

In modern society, the presence of social media and the interconnectivity of the Internet greatly facilitates the proliferation of ideas, and in turn, allows for the level of mobilisation required for movements such as Gamergate. Rather than remaining a metaphor, military strategy is actively co-opted to coordinate attacks on women and feminists, and to engender a feeling of unity and purpose among participants. Whereas Lépine was not part of an organised MRA movement, Rodger regularly participated in forum discussions that espoused MRA rhetoric. Studies have indicated that people tend to seek out information that affirms their own pre-existing convictions, thus creating an ‘echo chamber’ effect (Garrett, 2009). This in turn has the capability to provide validation for extreme views, and to lead to rapid escalations (e.g. from abusive tweets to murders), in the service of gaining social capital and approval from peers.

The acquisition of the leaked screencaps (and subsequent log) provided an insight into the discourse of Gamergate, in terms of both its overarching sexism and its prevalent use of military allusion and emulation. Arguably, the usage of military fantasy is representative of an intersection between the two primary groups within Gamergate: MRAs and gamers. To the gamer demographic, the military metaphor correlates heavily with a gamified approach to harassment and references the prominence of military-themed games. For Gamergaters who have no particular interest in gaming, the militaristic discourse is instead a representation of masculinity, which they seek to ‘defend’ through their attacks on women and feminists. Although sexism is the uniting force between gamer and non-gamer Gamergaters, military discourse is the ‘product’ of their combined interests, and thus dominates much of their rhetorical strategy.

The parallels with militant feminism are also crucial to establishing the significance of Gamergate’s use of militaristic discourse. The use of analogous strategies by feminists serves to evidence the importance of such terminology and strategy within gender (and indeed, activist) circles, and its recurrence in MRA discourse serves to further bolster its prominence. The primary difference between the two groups’ respective use of militaristic discourse is their motivation; whereas radical feminists such as Dworkin used military metaphor to appropriate ‘the language of the oppressor’ for the purpose of fighting to attain something, for Gamergaters and MRAs, its usage is primarily based on its association with masculinity and gaming, for the purposes of ‘defending’ (or rather, maintaining) a status quo. Despite Gamergate’s ‘defensive’ position, the more ‘masculine’ approach is that of an attack, which is reflected in their phrasing and actions. In spite of this, MRAs frequently adopt a position of victimisation, arguing that women and feminists are the oppressors, thus making their adoption of the terminology previously appropriated by radical feminists as ‘the language of the oppressors’ even more ironically appropriate.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Steve Jones and Professor Karen Ross for their invaluable feedback during the various stages of this research. I would also like to thank Alexandra Fern and Emma Tolley for their comments and support. Finally, I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful contributions.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was supported by funding from Northumbria University.

ORCID iD

Jessica O’Donnell

Notes

Author biography

Jessica O’Donnell is an independent, early career scholar, who is currently in the final editing stages of a book on the feminist response to Men’s Rights Activisms (MRAs), Gamergate and the new backlash against feminism on social media.

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