Epileptics vs Videogames: Who Should Win?
The Take of a Non-Photosensitive Epileptic
Following a report on Twitter about the dangers of the flashing light effects in Cyberpunk 2077 this week, photosensitive epileptics have been one of the most spoken-about groups online, and the conversation has oscillated pendulumlike from calls to remove flashing lights from games altogether, to claims that epileptics would be stupid and masochistic to have even picked Cyberpunk up in the first place.
It’s been an interesting conversation to follow as someone who is a non-photosensitive epileptic. Not just non-photosensitive, but late-onset: I have gone through the process of adapting during adulthood to the needs and concerns of living a life that could curse you with seizures at any time. While flashing lights may not be my personal nemesis, I feel it’s an interesting observation point to occupy, and one which has had me thinking about this topic a lot in the last few days.
Prior to this debate, I would have sat mostly in the camp of, ‘While accessibility is nice, it is not for the afflicted to demand the regular world change its standards just for their minority group. Part of having a chronic illness is a responsiblity to set your own boundaries to protect your own safety.’ And I wouldn’t say that’s a view I’ve totally relinquished, but it is one that has been peppered with nuance over the recent days.
When I got diagnosed with epilepsy in 2017, I learned that there were a lot of things in life that weren’t going to be quite as easy for me anymore. My memory disintegrated into a shadow of what it once was, and the chronic fatigue vindictively lent to me by my brain as a result of shutting out my seizures with medication has been something that has plagued my day-to-day life for years. Periods of derealisation that would last weeks at a time, and this isn’t even to mention the experience of simply having seizures at basically any time. I’m lucky that epilepsy is a well-understood and relatively common disability, but that didn’t stop the onus from ultimately landing on my shoulders to watch out for my own wellbeing. After all, if I didn’t, it was only me who’d suffer.
But one interesting thing I did notice was how abundant flashing lights were in the world in general. Even though they weren’t a trigger for me, I acutely remember thinking, ‘ Wow, if I had all this to deal with every time I saw flashing lights, life would probably be even harder to navigate.’ Having non-photosensitive epilepsy makes my daily life mostly normal, but I became keenly aware that not every epileptic had that luxury.
Working in videogames, I get a lot of people asking me how I can even do my job ‘if I’m epileptic.’ It’s a constant reminder that videogames on the whole are not an inviting medium for those who need to avoid flashing lights. Gunfire on the screen? Bright colours rapidly changing? Esports events with all their strobing and light shows? It’s a minefield.
This is the point at which I’d always feel thankful, because I believed that it was my job to keep myself within a safe environment. ‘They’re right, if I were photosensitive then what would I be doing for work!?’ I’d think. But after this week, a big part of me instead started to ask the question, ‘Are these fears all necessary?’
Now, there’s a reason things like flashing lights are included in videogames: they’re immersive, they add atmosphere and character and are artistically licensed, making the experience feel epic and exciting. And I don’t think anyone is wrong for wanting to keep things like that in the games. I doubt many people would demand they be removed. I certainly wouldn’t.
But what could be done is have simple changes implemented, such as toggle options in an accessibility menu. Just like choosing to play in colourblind mode, you could opt to switch off flashing lights in the game. Maybe an accessibility whitepaper or handbook published alongside a game that lists potential roadblocks and the options available to bypass them for those withn certain disabilities. Customisability has been huge in videogames of the 21st century — surely this is no different?
It is important to note that CD Projekt Red have formally acknowledged this problem and have committed to fixing it. Which is definitely a great sign, and I don’t fall into the cohort of people who think this issue was malicious or oppressive. I think it was most likely just a sheer oversight. And oversights are fine, provided they’re accounted for graciously and attempted to amend. But this could, and perhaps should, be the inception of a culture shift in publishers’ astuteness towards accessibility.
There is a harsh, albeit not invalid, argument that sometimes a product just isn’t designed for a certain group of people. And in a lot of cases this is very true — we all have differences in life that mean we are or are not going to be suitable customers for certain things, and that doesn’t necessarily mean we should have to be included. The existence of diabetics doesn’t, after all, mean we should remove sugar from all chocolate bars. But when there is an opportunity to give some people an option to be involved, without altering the experiences of everyone else, surely that’s a win-win?
And it doesn’t even have to be viewed from a moral standpoint. Of course, it’s wonderful to think you’re doing a nice thing for people, but the naysayers generally don’t really care about that. However, from the standpoint of money? Everyone likes that, right? The size of the potential market you are unnecessarily cutting out, from whom you could reap millions of dollars of profit, by not including an accessibility option, is huge! All of these people who could be buying your game, but aren’t, essentially send heaps of money into the aether — or rather, into the pockets of rivals who do indeed make suitable provisions for them.
It’s very reminiscant of the Greggs vegan sausage roll controversy. Many claimed the company were pandering to the ‘snowflakes’ by selling a vegan option, and that the sanctity of real meat was being encroached! When in reality, Greggs saw a market opening and could make a metric ass-load of money by offering an alternative to those who don’t consume meat, while also not having to compromise on their meat product. Both groups won, and Greggs got richer. If I want to play with the originally-intended flashing lights, great! If someone else can’t do that, and wants to play without — let them! That’s simply another $50 in the publisher’s pocket. Everyone wins.
I felt compelled to write about this after seeing such discussion, and with it relating to an illness so close to my own, it hit a little closer. I know what it’s like to live with epilepsy and be constantly aware of your triggers (or lack thereof). I know what it’s like to have seizures. And I know what it’s like to love videogames. And seeing an issue that could be so incontrovertibly easy to fix be opposed online is always frustrating.
At the end of the day, it is both considerate and profitable to make provisions for people in gaming. Photosensitive epileptics may not be off to a rave any time soon, but a small in-game patch could let them enjoy videogames just like the rest of us get to. And that shouldn’t be a bad thing.
