The Epistemic Peril of Teaching Games Whilst Queer

by: Josephine Baird & Sabine Harrer , November 19, 2024

In a speech to the Young Conservatives of Texas, Texas Governor Greg Abbott announced his intention to ‘end’ trans and gender nonconforming teachers, which was quickly followed by a rally of support from other conservative lawmakers in the state (Reed 2024a). In Florida, it is illegal for students to use a trans teacher’s name and pronoun (Kam 2023) and it may soon be effectively illegal to call someone ‘transphobic’ or ‘homophobic’ there (Geisel 2024). At the time of writing, it has become illegal for trans teachers and students to use the toilets of their gender in schools (and in some cases, any public-owned buildings) in a number of US states including Utah (Laveites 2024), Arkansas (Mizelle & Sayers 2023), Iowa (Hernandez, Higgins, Sitter, & Gurber-Miller 2023), and Florida (Schwartz 2023), amongst others. PEN America (Meehan & Friedman 2023) and The American Library Association (Shaffi 2023) note a radical and unprecedented rise in attempts to ban books featuring LGBTQIA+ themes in the US during 2022 and 2023. It is now illegal for books that mention sexual or gender diversity to be in school libraries in Florida, and they are being removed systematically in over two dozen other states (Ramos 2022), which is part of a wider trend in also removing books that deal with Black history and racism (Moss 2023). In Kansas, age verification is now required to view content ‘harmful to minors,’ which includes ‘sexual content,’ such as ‘masturbation, homosexuality, and sexual intercourse’ (Adamczeski 2024). This effectively limits any access to information about being gay to anyone who cannot produce an adult government-issued ID, including online.

In early 2024, a West Virginia bill was proposed that classifies all trans people as ‘obscene matter,’ and would make it a felony for any trans person to be within 2500 ft. of any school (Leskovich 2024), while a bill proposed in Indiana would legally erase trans existence from the state entirely (Riley 2024). In the United States of America, the increasing number of bans on medical care and support for trans people of all ages is limiting the ability for trans people to remain in the state within which they live, let alone remain in education there (Sable-Smith, Chan, Rodriguez & West 2023). During the 2024 US presidential election, the Republican party nominee Donald Trump promised a national funding ban for any school that promoted what he termed ‘transgender insanity’ on his first day in office if he won (Reed 2024b).

All of this has happened in the last three years as of writing this article in 2024. And it is not limited to the United States of America.

In 2023, the UK approved a law outlawing the building of gender-neutral toilets in any new non-domestic construction, including educational environments (Moore & Highfield 2023). Also in 2023, the government announced a new ‘draft trans guidance for schools,’ which would severely limit trans students’ ability to (socially) transition at school, to access sport, and would forcibly ‘out’ them to their family members if they made themselves known to teachers (Mermaids 2024); and it would have a significant chilling effect on the teaching of trans experience or support for trans people as educators in general (Stonewall 2023b). This was confirmed in the 2024 general election, when leaders of both leading national parties, despite disagreeing on a great many things, did agree that ‘gender ideology’ (a pejorative term used to decry trans experience and identity) should not be taught in schools (Hunter 2024) and that trans women had no right to access gender-appropriate spaces including public toilets even if they had been otherwise legally recognised (Perry 2024). A 2023 evaluation by the United Nations was ‘deeply concerned’ by the level of anti-LGBTQIA+ hate in the UK and attributed this to ‘the toxic nature of the public debate surrounding sexual orientation and gender identity’ there (Madrigal-Borloz 2023).

Furthermore, United Nations Women (2024) warned about a recent global anti-LGBTQIA+ legislative, political, and social movement that seeks to eliminate rights and recognition including in education. Gender studies as a field has been made illegal in Hungary (Kent & Tapfumaneyi 2018) specifically citing a ban on any claim that anyone is not ‘born’ a man or a woman. At the time of writing, Georgia has moved forward with bills that outlaw public displays of LGBT Pride flags, banned LGBT Pride events, and banned gender affirming care and the legal recognition of trans people (Owen 2024). Queer theory is being positioned as a dangerous ‘ideology’ by the same proponents who attacked Critical Race Theory, which is leading to similar cultural shifts in educational policy internationally (Bond-Theriault 2022) and in the academy (Alm & Engebretsen 2022), all of which is part of a much broader anti-trans (McLean 2021) and ‘anti-woke’ (Cammaerts 2022) socio-political movement.

In many games communities, a similar homophobic/transphobic sentiment has been recorded (Pullos 2013; Higgins 2015; Gray 2018; Gillin & Signorella 2023; GLAAD 2024), as part of a broader ‘anti-woke’ discourse in games specifically (Gray & Leonard 2018), which includes a vociferous criticism of any game which might include LGBTQIA+ representation (Ruberg 2015; Klee 2023).

It is within this context that we, as educators and researchers, find ourselves when trying to teach on LGBTQIA+ representation and issues in games and game design. In such a circumstance, we stand as both subject and object of the lesson, as target and educator. And by speaking on the subject (of ourselves), we become precarious. We also become challenged for our potential ‘bias’ on the topic, our (presumed) lack of political neutrality, and perhaps even more so, our own ‘problematic’ identity.

In this article, we define the epistemic peril that positions us within this discourse as trans and non-binary games educators. We consider how this epistemic peril functions as a spectrum in the pedagogical and wider socio-cultural context. We describe the (inter-) personal navigation and calculation that is required constantly whilst educating with epistemic peril. We explore the challenges and opportunities to work, educate, and live with epistemic peril, for those educators who experience it directly and those who do not. And we conclude with an account of the responsibility of working with epistemic peril.

What is Epistemic Peril?: Building a Definition

In this article, we define epistemic peril as the condition of having one’s knowledge contributions dismissed as biased, political, irrelevant, or not valid, by virtue of inhabiting marginalised subjectivities. By blending the two words epistemic (related to knowledge, or the degree of its validation) and peril (a state of serious and immediate danger), we evoke a conceptual closeness to the more widely discussed notion of epistemic violence. Originally coined by Gayatri Spivak (1988), in the context of colonial violence, epistemic violence refers to practices of dismissing, devaluing, and erasing knowledge, or silencing (Dotson 2011) expertise which does not match colonial frameworks of excellence. The term has since travelled to multiple contexts, including trans studies, where it was adopted as a critical concept to challenge the ways mainstream feminist theory has systematically written trans women’s contributions out of history (Namaste 2009).

Overall, the concept of epistemic violence has done the important work of recognising practices of devaluing knowledge as violence. As an extension of political power differentials, it highlights knowledge as one of the arenas where marginalisation has been performed via the (de)valuing of knowing. Rather than tangential to, or isolated from, visible forms of structural violence, epistemic practices are at the heart of constructions of human value. The language of violence, while it might seem extreme in some ways, acknowledges that devaluing knowledge is an aggressive practice bound to do tangible harm to those whose knowledge is systemically challenged, devalued, or erased.

In the context of this article, we iterate on the notion of epistemic violence by developing what we call epistemic peril. This allows us to focus on the kind of state we are being put in as educators inhabiting marginalised subjectivities. While the notion of violence focuses on the fact that harm occurs, peril allows us to focus on what this violence feels like and how we can potentially respond to and resist it. In personal conversations, we have often shared our frustrations at the overwhelming nature of structural inequities happening in front of our analytical eyes. We are already aware that violence occurs, but reiterating this fact seems pointless compared to the real need for epistemic safety. We suggest that understanding some of the debilitating, oppressive mechanics of epistemic peril is a first step in moving towards such safety. Secondly, based on this understanding of peril, we can develop strategies for mutual support, solidarity, and resistance.

Whilst we talk about these strategies from our perspectives as queer games educators, we suggest that sustainable support relies on collective action, implicating everyone within the academic ecosystem. In this article, we will introduce epistemic peril as a flexible continuum of academic devaluation which potentially affects different kinds of knowledge, contingent on the larger political climate.

We consider epistemic peril as distinct from the concept of minority stress, the psychological and physical impact on health caused by living day-to-day within a society that marginalises one’s experience and/or identity (Brooks 1981). One example is the detrimental impact of having to navigate social or legal limitations on what one can do or where one can be depending on one’s identity (see above regarding new laws about trans people’s access to healthcare and public services). Another example is the psychological impact of seeing one’s rights and identities be challenged and subject to shifting socio-political conditions and opinions.

Epistemic peril is presented in specific relation to the legitimacy of the speaker to share knowledge and be respected as a knowledge-authority or teacher, rather than the broader everyday stressors of living as a marginalised subject in an oppressive environment. Minority stress as a concept applied to LGBTQIA+ experience (Francesca et al. 2019) most certainly intersects with epistemic peril, in the ways in which much of the peril that is experienced is often subtle to invisible and is experienced as much as anticipation of marginalisation as it is in terms of overt (micro)aggression. We highlight epistemic peril specifically this way as the role of educator rather than researcher per se, though as many educators in higher education may also be researchers, they may also experience the related minority stress of having their capacity for knowledge production also be delegitimised (Velduis 2020); because of the ways in which education is particularly positioned within the current anti-LGBTQIA+ discourse and the specific role the educator is asked to take and can be de-legitimised as a result.

Our goals in this essay are threefold. First, we aim to develop epistemic peril as a vehicle for self-reflection and validation through academic dialogue. The very process of developing this concept as coauthors allows us to engage with, name, and process some of the ‘invisible’ yet strongly felt dimensions around academic disenfranchisement in the game design classroom. Secondly, by sharing this academic dialogue, we would like to extend the invitation to others who might find themselves in a similar situation and feel they would benefit from developing a language around their experience. Finally, while this essay is primarily written for readers who relate to experiences of epistemic peril, we suggest the spectrum of epistemic peril applies to anyone creating or sharing knowledge in the academic space. This is because ‘hegemonic’ knowledge standards are contingent on cultural and social contexts. What might be taken for granted as ‘safe’ epistemic standpoints now, might change in the future. Furthermore, this article might potentially be useful in helping more privileged readers reflect on how they might be able to support colleagues in more perilous situations.

Inherent Bias

The current socio-political climate can have a very real direct impact on whether we can continue to inhabit social structures and public/private spaces, as well as have access/opportunity to social services. This can include any aspect of daily life, but certainly our literal jobs as educators become precarious. In addition, the discourse inherent in such a climate provides capital for arguments within the pedagogical environment which may cast doubt not only on the validity of LGBTQIA+ topics being addressed or educated upon, but also whether or not we as educators should be attended to on any subject—as our perspective has become equally dubious, by the mere nature of our subjectivity.

We think of epistemic peril as a condition affecting our status as legitimate knowledge makers and sharers (Liu 2021), which fluctuates, depending on the political climate. In a world where LGBTQIA+ experience is still constructed as matter for ‘debate,’ the state of that debate affects how, and at what cost, we can show up as games teachers.

One strategy Josephine uses in response to this is to remain exceptionally and broadly informed on LGBTQIA+ issues in games as a medium and as an industry, in part because both are research interests she would like to teach upon, but also because she is aware that students of game design are likely enthusiastic followers of game discourse and news. In consideration of this as a potential source of epistemic peril for this essay, Josephine reflected on how she also develops possible pre-emptive responses and strategies that she might deploy in the classroom, based on the shifts in the discourse around LGBTQIA+ issues and experience in games and game design.

Beyond the very real legal implications of teaching on the subject of our subjectivity in places where that is deemed obscene and/or illegal, there is epistemic peril in the (global) socio-cultural climate those legal/political actions exist within. The awareness that one’s subjectivity and therefore knowledge may be deemed politically dubious ^[1] by authorities at any moment—as well as possibly by students—puts one into a state of perpetual precarity.

When educating on games specifically, there remains a persistent discourse against the ‘politicisation’ of the medium and the representation of diversity (including LGBTQIA+ themes and subjectivities) in game playing communities, organisations, and media (Pfister 2018). The debate about queer representation is a particularly pertinent one in game design pedagogy. Beyond our own research interests (Baird & Harrer 2021) which we may or may not teach upon (in relation to said epistemic peril) there is a pervasive and persistent culture of vociferous critique of queer inclusion in games (Ruberg 2015) which has peaked at certain periods in previous decades (Evans & Janish 2015) and again at the time of writing (Farokhmanesh 2024).

The 2024 ‘GamerGate 2.0 controversy,’ in which the narrative development and consultant studio Sweet Baby Inc. was targeted for its supposed influence on the inclusion of diverse characters and themes in games, occurred as Josephine travelled to San Francisco to deliver a talk on trans representation both in games and game education at Game Developer Conference (GDC) 2024 (Baird 2024). She was warned by fellow speakers and game designers to set all her social media to private so she could limit the impact of becoming a target of abuse as well. She was further warned to be careful as she physically moved around the conference for the same reason.

As queer educators, our choice to address these topics makes us vulnerable and implicates us as subjects to those debates. These cultural discourses, however, will enter the pedagogical environment regardless by way of students’ (and educators’) interest in the medium and/or personal opinions on the topic.

Being subject to such implication can take multiple forms, but perhaps one of the most fundamental is that by being implicated in the subject, as the subject, one’s opinion as an educator can be assumed to be biased by definition. This is an argument that is often used to discount queer voices in debates of their own rights and opportunities in many arenas of public life (Henry, Drennen, Wexler, Tsipis, & Savillo 2024; Stonewall 2023a), including access to medical care and self-determination (Maung 2024) and in education.

Josephine is aware that as much as she may be considered to have some form of expert knowledge on the subject of LGBTQIA+ issues in games due to her research and ‘lived experience’ as well as her work as a game designer and consultant, she can and has been called ‘biased’ on the topic, being trans herself. As an educator with a less openly queer appearance, Sabine’s implication in the subject mainly materialises via their ‘biased’ course materials, which introduce students to concepts from leftist critical theory, whilst refusing to cater to increasing demands for more ‘diversity of thought,’ a centrist/right-wing euphemism used to legitimise hateful rhetoric, including transphobia, as part of regular curricula.

By proxy of these types of ‘bias,’ we cannot be trusted to be objective about the subject, which is, by definition, our subjectivity. And as such we cannot or should not be permitted to voice perspectives on said subject, because those perspectives would always be biased by the self-interest of advocating for the validity of said subjectivity, which is ourselves.

Even if we are afforded the validity of our personal position or subjectivity, there may be a demand for ‘neutrality’ when the ‘subject’ of queer experience and/or representation is discussed in the classroom, such that we may be required to make space for the position that our own subjectivity is invalid. We may be required to do so as a matter of public discourse or policy, or in extreme circumstances, there are recent and newly proposed legal requirements which make it illegal to make space for any other position on the invalidity of our subjectivity (Ramos 2022; Baker 2022; Stonewall 2023b).

If, as educators, we are visible as queer in the workplace, we are implicated by association to the subject of queer issues whenever they are mentioned, alluded to, or explicitly included in the curriculum. This occurs in the classroom when those discussions arise, outside of the classroom when we are not present and topics are being discussed (whether in our own courses or not), and with fellow educators when those topics might be considered in our collective work.

If we choose not to make our queerness visible, we might contend with the possibility of our identity being exposed non-consensually, and in that moment of discovery not only have our ability to share knowledge and educate (on the topic) be questioned because of our subjectivity, but also potentially be invalidated as duplicitous by withholding that aspect of ourselves.

Furthermore, on those occasions when the classroom discussion turns to topics related to LGBTQIA+ subjectivity, we may feel compelled to make ourselves (more) visible, to share our own experience, in order to relate to or even defend its legitimacy. As such our subjectivity can become a target of that discussion and/or we feel a need to expose aspects of ourselves we would rather not in an academic environment, expending emotional labour and making ourselves vulnerable to further peril.

Simply considering whether to use the term ‘we’ instead of ‘they’ when discussing the subject of LGBTQIA+ people in games, can be part of the calculation in the face of epistemic peril. And it is not as simple as a single choice made at the beginning of a career, academic year, course, lesson, or encounter. Rather it can be a constant calculation which continues throughout any pedagogical interaction over any length of time and in any constellation of company.

Including the self with the term ‘we,’ makes us a literal subject in any ‘debate’ or ‘discussion’ about queer experience in games. It is not just a nebulous ‘them’ who is being discussed in the abstract, it is the embodied ‘we’ or ‘I’ who is in the classroom. This can make challenge or antagonism to the subject personally perilous, or we may be challenged for limiting discourse on the topic by insisting on respect for us.

By distancing ourselves with the term, ‘they,’ we exclude our experience and peril from the immediate discussion, but this does not save us from the potential negative consequences of a ‘debate’ on our subjectivity. For we are still implicated, even if we are the only ones who are aware of it as the stress of seeing our subjectivities and rights debated and potentially revoked in wider political and social discourse (Ramos, Burgess, & Ollen 2022) is made manifest in our classroom.

Whether visible or not, if we attempt to insist on specific terms of respect for LGBTQIA+ subjectivity during any discussion, or express any personal standpoint thereon, we become vulnerable to the charge of bias or limiting of free speech or debate.

As educators, we are required to continually consider the impact being a subject of debate can have on ourselves, the work we try to do, and our students—who may also be subjects of such a debate, but potentially have even fewer opportunities to respond to being positioned as such. As educators who wish to create safer environments for pedagogy for all involved, including ourselves, this is a state of constant epistemic peril wherein the subject matter of academic teaching and our subjectivity intersect and interweave in moments of direct challenge and the anticipation of challenge to come.

Teaching with Epistemic Peril

Given the context and the reality of this epistemic peril, we are faced with the question of how to approach teaching on the subject of our subjectivity (or any other subject for that matter) as queer games educators. In our dialogue, we demonstrate the spectrum of epistemic peril at work, since our standpoints and subjectivities afford different coping options and strategies when faced with perilous dynamics.

What Josephine and Sabine have in common is a recognition of the privilege they have, despite this peril, in each having a full-time teaching position. For Josephine, this is the first position she has ever had that is full-time employment, which, due to employment regulations at the university level in Sweden, affords certain protections she has never experienced before her current position. We acknowledge that similar protections do not exist for teachers in more precarious employment arrangements, and in other national and professional contexts. Our shared privilege in this regard stands in stark contrast to many who are in greater peril due to the current socio-political climate. We both experience a sense of responsibility to teach on the subject in a context where, currently, we are able to speak with some measure of freedom.

At the same time, our different subjectivities put us into different positions on the epistemic peril spectrum. As a non-binary teacher whose identity isn’t bodily marked, Sabine’s gender performance is frequently classified as cis femininity, a privilege not afforded to openly trans educators like Josephine.

Our educational approaches also differ in terms of how explicitly we centre queer subjectivities in our teaching. While trans representation in games is core to Josephine’s research interest and teaching expertise, Sabine tackles LGBTQIA+ topics as part of a broader critical making teaching philosophy.

One of the ways in which epistemic peril has made appearances in Sabine’s games classrooms is through a vibe of scepticism regarding the relevance of issues around gender and racial exclusion for game making. Across a variety of teaching contexts, including game studies and design classes in Austria, Denmark, Germany, Finland and Sweden, student cohorts seem to be split regarding the legitimacy of such contents for games education. A common response to introducing critical theory concepts like hegemonic masculinity or white norms in game design, is that such contents are not or should not be part of key game design education. This dismissal occurs even when critical theory is explored through practical game design exercises.

Importantly, rather than an individual student problem, this response is connected to larger cultural patterns in games and play discourse. A dominant trend in game studies’ epistemic climate is that ‘proper’ or ‘key’ work in this field is defined as pertaining to specific ludic aspects of games, leaving political and cultural contexts at the door (Philipps 2020). This ludological orientation in game studies has mostly been concerned with boundary making: defining games’ uniqueness as opposed to other media, and generating taxonomies and models to distinguish key aspects of games and play from less important phenomena (Mäyrä 2006; Stenros 2017). Such boundary practices have been effective in justifying game studies as a discipline, but they have created an epistemic culture where politically engaged approaches to games are marked as tangential, even suspect, or dangerous to game studies’ disciplining attempts, as they complicate and problematise the ludological separation of games from ordinary life (Huizinga 1938). In other words, disciplining attempts aren’t epistemically neutral. The ludological investment in epistemic ‘boundary policing’ (Philipps 2020) is contrasted by politically engaged work, which is usually conducted by researchers who face higher degrees of epistemic peril themselves, due to higher levels of marginalisation. Epistemic peril coincides with a broader range of experiences around play in its exclusionary as much as inclusionary potential (Trammell 2023).

Students, especially those who enter game education from a place of fandom or emotional investment in games as a safe ‘apolitical’ space, can weaponise ludological arguments to dismiss inclusivity and equity concerns. Epistemic peril emerges in the space where a marginalised educator is denied the position of a knowledge maker, based on what dominant knowledge standards have demonstrated is correct game studies. This might materialise in a student’s disappointment that rather than designing immersive rules and mechanics in isolation, they are being challenged to design a game about gendered experience.

The loss of epistemic authority in such situations happens through a paradox; on the one hand, a confident claim is issued that queer contents, decolonial contents, etc. should not belong to the ‘core’ game studies curriculum. On the other hand, this confident claim—often made in publicly shared teaching evaluations—is veiled in a language of marginalisation: The queer/decolonial contents are presenting a threat to relevant games education via an oppressive and irrelevant teaching agenda. Ironically, this narrative that students face oppression by minority teachers and teaching contents, reconfirms and cements hegemonic standards. It also potentially deters epistemically ‘safe’ games teachers from considering introducing diverse contents in their classrooms. Why risk bad student evaluations and endanger one’s eligibility for teaching excellence awards?

What is not considered in this question is that for marginalised games teachers like us, ‘inclusive’ teaching contents are not an option, in the sense that they constitute a baseline of academic ethos and visibility. We cannot afford not to teach on issues that would otherwise not be offered in ‘key’ game design courses, and thus be marked as irrelevant.

Our subjectivities within the queer spectrum afford us different opportunities for self-protection when facing epistemic peril in the games design classroom. These options are afforded both by the different bodies we navigate teaching situations in, as well as the coping mechanism we have built through life experiences, inside and outside the classroom.

One of the tactics Sabine has built as a non-binary cis-female-passing educator is to teach LGBTQIA+ topics whilst occupying the position of what they call a stealth queer identity. This means that they pass as cis and thus exert control over the level of implication in debates around queerness. This tactic, although requiring internal self-erasure, can be successful in reducing the more perilous impacts of external dismissal: queerphobic moments in a ‘sceptical’ debate can be witnessed and moderated from a ‘neutral’ observational stance, rather than having to be navigated from within a now-delegitimised standpoint that is being ‘debated.’

An available classroom technique related to stealth queerness is what Sabine calls ‘epistemic peril barometer’ (EPB). EPB is a series of open questions, such as What did you understand about [idea]? or What resonated/didn’t resonate with you? Which are asked with the intention of identifying potential resistances to social justice ideas at an early stage. Depth of engagement is then adjusted to the affective needs, assumptions, and taboos of each unique student group. A second pedagogical intention of EPB is to position Sabine as a learner ‘asking along’ with the group and making space for different sides and opinions.

Whilst useful as an initial tool at the start of an input class, the EPB technique comes with a major drawback, in as much as it relies on the consistent ability of the teacher to remove any trace of their subjectivity from the classroom. The tactic has backfired in cases where Sabine’s own evaluations have shone through in discussions and clashed with the hegemonic opinions, attitudes, or emotions of a student cohort. In these cases, the original goal of EPB—to maximise constructive student engagement with class topics whilst minimising Sabine’s epistemic peril—cannot be reached, as dissonance is usually resolved by revoking trust from the teaching individual. The denial of epistemic authority usually ensues. In that sense, not showing one’s queerness in teaching spaces can be perilous too, especially when a stealth cover is not perfectly consistent throughout an entire course journey.

One of the tactics Josephine deploys when teaching LGBTQIA+ topics comes from a combination of skills developed through her years as an openly queer performer. She presents a performative version of herself that responds to the inequities of trans and queer experience in games, and that she herself faces, with satire and mirth. This is done in part to diffuse topics which might see a hostile response with pre-emptive humour, to present herself as a ‘relatable’ and ‘likeable’ queer subject of the debate, and to project a confidence she may not personally feel within such a context. This is all done in such a way as to make the knowledge she attempts to share less threatening and more difficult to dismiss in the face of the disarming quality of humour to convey knowledge about queerness (Henry, Bryan, & Neary 2023) and the humanising of a marginalised subjectivity and by implication, her own subjectivity (Dobai & Hopkins 2019).

In this sense, Josephine considers the ‘packaging’ of her message in terms of its delivery but also the presentation of herself, including such things as her costume which she considers carefully in terms of its potential to impact how her legitimacy to share knowledge may be accepted or rejected (Baird 2005). She crafts her message and herself to be ‘respectable’ in the eyes of her potential audience, establishing an amiable demeanour about topics she may feel particularly affected or affronted by and dressing in a way that is both ‘respectable’ according to traditional gender norms and hints at ‘game’ awareness in the form of subtle attire and accessories which represent different niche games and franchises—though not too much of the latter as she is aware that as a visibly queer person she feels a pressure to appear (especially) ‘respectable’ in heteronormative terms to have a chance to be taken seriously (Bilimoria & Stewart 2009).

The impact of creating a role that is close to, but significantly different from, the self, a ‘doppelganger self,’ (Bowman 2010) is explored in role-playing game theory as a way to create just enough ‘role distance’ in a character so as to be able to navigate something that is near to the personal identity of the player with just enough distance to the consequences thereof, utilising the alibi of the safer container of play (Bowman & Hugaas 2021). In this instance, Josephine deploys the performance of the doppelganger self also partially as a way to provide just enough of a buffer between the role she plays as ‘queer educator’ in the classroom and herself as an actual queer educator. This tactic does not necessarily always protect her legitimacy to share knowledge on the basis of her subjectivity but may provide enough emotional distance to disassociate personally from the harm that may come from her subjectivity being challenged or discourse which may be queerphobic.

This is due to the awareness that epistemic peril can have a significant and long-lasting impact on well-being. The need to constantly make such calculations, the anticipation of potential critique not just of one’s ability to share knowledge but also of one’s subjectivity, and the need to be constantly aware of, and possibly react to, queerphobic socio-cultural movements and policy, has a profound and often invisible impact on a person’s mental health and well-being (Mongelli, et al. 2019).

Despite having the privilege of securely employed positions as games educators, feeling the need to navigate epistemic peril and the responsibility to teach on LGBTQIA+ inequalities in games may lead to the kinds of health and well-being deterioration which could put such otherwise-stable positions of employment in jeopardy.

We acknowledge that the relative privilege of getting to teach on queer issues as securely employed games educators in Sweden must be seen in relatiion to the marginalisation we experience compared to teachers who are not currently affected by epistemic peril. As an antonym of peril, safety is the term we use to describe the condition of current knowledge positions around technical educational contents, which are deemed non-political, and therefore undebated and undebatable best practice in games education (Wu 2023).

Epistemic Peril as a Spectrum

As the experience of epistemic peril can be understood to fluctuate dependent on the shifting socio-cultural context, we believe it can be imagined as a spectrum of disenfranchisement, with being perceived a ‘matter of obscenity’ at the far end of epistemic peril, and queer ‘inclusion’ at the more ’empowering’ end. The reason ’empowerment’ is put in inverted commas here is that it is a preliminary state, which, due to the ‘debated-ness’ of queer bodies, cannot be ultimately trusted to remain stable. As such, it is not the same as epistemic safety, inhabitable by teaching bodies which are normalised as ‘suitable’ for knowledge construction and dissemination (Liu 2021).

Those who are apparently not implicated in epistemic peril are those who can avoid such considerations of being associated with queer subjectivity. When teachers can avoid such considerations—because their subjectivity is not associated with queerness and is therefore epistemically ‘safe’—they do not seem to be implicated. However, when we consider that epistemic peril is a spectrum, we can reconsider subjectivities which are on the ‘safe’ end of the spectrum as differently implicated. This is because safety is not constructed in isolation or absence of peril, but in contingency on it. Peril as a state impacting those who are most implicated in queerness is a product of normative epistemic safety; safety in that sense is actively granted to ways of knowing which are not deemed at risk to destabilise hegemonic power relations.

In practical terms, this means that non-queer games teacher subjectivities do not reside outside the spectrum of epistemic peril. Their ‘safety’ is contingent on and co-constitutive of epistemic peril, and therefore implicated in the risk to queer teacher subjectivities. Residing on the opposite pole of it, moreover, affords them with opportunities for solidarity and potentials for affirmative sabotage (Murray 2018). Whilst ‘safe’ subjectivity has the privilege of non-implication, active implication means to problematise and destabilise this safety in order to create a less perilous teaching situation for all. This stands in contradiction to benefitting from this epistemic peril by being free to discount or utilise the knowledge disseminated by those who are in greater peril, without fear of implication.

By being aware of such peril, by addressing it from a place of relative safety, and by using their relative privilege to implicate the self to the point of demonstrating that everyone suffers under the impact of epistemic peril by the negation of knowledge, those who are in ‘safer positions’ might help expose some of the structures which propagate such peril.

As we have noted, we consider ourselves partially in such a position as well. As we are subject to epistemic peril by being queer games educators, we are aware of our other relative privilege in relation to both being white European nationals with no visible disabilities who have the opportunity of higher education and are not subject to the kinds of invalidation we might experience on the basis of some other forms of intersectional marginalisation. As marginalisation exists on an intersectional spectrum (Crenshaw 1991) so does the effect of, and relative position to, epistemic peril, as a result.

In addition, as we have noted, we as educators also stand in a position of a certain amount of influence in the classroom. Though we may be subject to the peril of the debate as authority figures, (queer) students may be even more subject to such peril. As such, we believe that responsibility lies with us to create safer environments for students to express and share their knowledge. Part of that can be achieved by being visible, and therefore open and subject to the peril they may have less opportunity to defend against or navigate. By being visible as educators, we have found that students may feel more empowered to be visible themselves, which in turn also benefits the visible queer games educator and everyone else who can benefit from the sharing of queer knowledge in the classroom.

Conclusion

Very near to the completion of this article, we asked each other whether we should write or share it at all. Through our dialogue as educators and subsequent dialogue for this work as researchers, we are keenly aware of the epistemic peril in which we and others exist. What prompted our question was a resurgence of queerphobic discourse in wider ‘gamer’ culture, this time instigated by an online campaign against the inclusion of diverse characters and narratives in games (Farokhmanesh, 2024). As a result of this campaign, individuals and whole organisations are being harassed and threatened for their supposed influence on games becoming more diverse in their representation (Shutler 2024).

By sharing our experience, we open ourselves to the epistemic peril of being more visible, as well as the potential disqualification and harm of queer researchers engaging in queer research (Veldhuis 2020).

Whilst at Game Developer Conference (GDC) 2024 Josephine was part of many conversations regarding the overwhelming number of layoffs that have been occurring in the game industry (Paul 2024) and how precarious people felt in, and recently out of, employment. It was obvious that a great many there did not feel able to speak out against inequities in the game industry for fear of their positions, let alone address LGBTQIA+ issues in games.

Being ‘outside’ of the current upheaval of the game industry as an educator made her feel even more responsible to speak out about these issues, and even more keenly aware of the peril thereof. She restricted access to her social and professional media because she was aware that simply announcing the topic of her talk at a games conference made her a target for harassment and epistemic peril. When arranging her travel to the conference, she chose very carefully to avoid layovers in certain states in order to limit any possibility of being stuck in, or redirected to, a state in which her rights to be there had recently been curtailed.

These are also the states in which you, as the reader, are likely not reading this article, or at least if you are doing so, you may not have been able to access it through your libraries. And in those cases, it is very likely you would not be able to discuss this article with students, if you are an educator, whether you yourself are queer or not. In that case, we contend that in reading this article, you are implicated in the structure that limits the access to it.

And as the current discursive shifts concerning queer- and transness move into a direction where already marginalised teaching bodies, subjectivities, and knowledge are pushed further to the margin. Resistance by those in perilous situations will have to be joined by teachers located at the safe end of the spectrum. Understanding that all games teaching is implicated in dynamics of epistemic peril means developing sustainable practices of solidarity to stop and potentially revert this trend.

However, despite its impression as stable and unmovable, we suggest that the epistemic peril-to-safety spectrum responds to shifting discursive patterns in society and culture. What counts as admissible and nonpolitical today might be declared deviant, taboo, or a ‘matter of obscenity’ later, potentially affecting all education.

After all, the bans on LGBTQIA+ books in school libraries are concurrent to the banning of books on racism and Black history in the US (Moss 2023). The current legal assault on trans rights in Indiana also includes an assault on gay marriage (Riley 2024). The proposed changes in law for the bodily autonomy of young trans people in the UK, is based on the dismantling of a law that protects rights for anyone under the age of 18 to make decisions about their medical care, including abortion (Walsh 2020). The laws limiting trans people’s access to toilets and other services impact anyone who presents as gender nonconforming or is intersex (Boecker 2023) and has been linked to challenges to anyone who expresses gender non-normative appearance or behaviour in general (Reed 2024a). And the challenges to LGBTQIA+ people’s inclusion in games is part of a wider campaign against the inclusion of any other marginalised group and the wider ‘anti-woke’ rhetoric centre-stage of the US Presidential election of 2024 (Farokhmanesh 2024).

As a consequence, it can feel overwhelming to face the ever-shifting structural impact of epistemic peril. We suggest however, that as a structural concern, a collective response is warranted. A collective response which is made up of individuals who will have different positions on the spectrum of epistemic peril (at different times) and as such will have different opportunities and resources to engage with it. We propose a solidarity approach which moves beyond the personal survival strategies described above, wherein individuals in a faculty might consider what their position in the spectrum of epistemic peril is (relative to their colleagues); because as we have formulated the concept, everyone is implicated to some extent even if they are not overtly so. On the basis of that reflection, individuals can determine what relative resources they may have to address their or others’ epistemic peril, and the potential obstacles which may hinder deploying them. Through dialogue with colleagues (especially those more affected), the unique and specific epistemic peril within their pedagogical environment can be considered and action taken by those who have relative epistemic safety at that time.

One example approach could be for those who are less directly impacted by the epistemic peril of being LGBTQIA+ educators to educate themselves on the current discourse regarding queer inclusion in games; such as the ways in which diversity and inclusion is currently being discussed in the wider ‘gamer culture,’ what approaches to representation are being taken by designers from all kinds of backgrounds, and how the cycles of extremist movements like ‘Gamergate’ and ‘Gamergate 2.0’ develop and are propagated. In consultation with their LGBTQIA+ colleagues, they can consider taking a leading role on presenting about these issues with students and including them in their curricula.

By using their relative position of privilege, these educators may themselves become more implicated in epistemic peril, but if this is presented as a common or united effort, the impact of that peril may be mitigated by creating a pedagogical norm for that immediate environment, thus also potentially lessening the presumption of bias when LGBTQIA+ lecturers speak on these (or any) matters. Furthermore, by being aware of the wider context of burgeoning precarity for LGBTQIA+ educators, those less directly impacted can provide support for those who are impacted beyond the immediate classroom environment.

This process is likely to take significant time, and the shift in relative position on the spectrum of epistemic peril may require some individuals to offer more or less action in these ways at different times. We suggest that an ongoing reflection on one’s relation to this spectrum is therefore vital, so as to maintain a sense of one’s own resources and opportunities in the collective effort to navigate epistemic peril.

Notes:

[1] In 2024, the UK’s only openly trans judge resigned, citing her belief that under the current socio-political discourse in the country, any judgement she made professionally, or personally, was being considered suspect due to her identity (Chudy 2024).