Death by Video Game: Tales of Obsession From the Virtual Frontline by Simon Parkin Page A

into campaigning than prominent candidates, and even then they are at a huge disadvantage. Having a positive profile in the community is a huge advantage.’
    In May 2013, after months of campaigning both within the game and across social media, the lineup of the eighth CSM was announced. It’s the fifth time that fifty-four-year-old Robert Woodhead from Wilmington, North Carolina, has been elected as a council member. A seasoned veteran, these days Woodhead campaigns on his favourable track record, although his experience doesn’t preclude some grassroots leafleting. Last year he harvested thousands of player names from the game’s web forums and sent an in-game email to each, encouraging them to ‘Get out to vote’ when the polls opened.
    ‘I view the elections as good clean political fun, even a part of the actual game experience,’ he says. ‘You are being elected to be an advocate, not a legislator, and the campaign lets you demonstrate how well you can advocate.’ That advocacy is, according to Woodhead, surprisingly effective.
    ‘I have watched the CSM evolve over the past few years into a very useful tool for influencing the company,’ he says. ‘More and more people at CCP have come to realise that our feedback and advice is tremendously valuable, and we do help shape the game.’
    CCP’s Coker agrees. ‘As a business we always get final say when it comes to whether or not we choose to act on the CSM’s lobbying,’ he says. ‘But it behooves us to listen to the council. They are a distillation of the game’s populace and they also hold a pretty large sway through their reputations. We’ve seen individuals in the councilmake extreme efforts to impress upon people that they are standing up to “the man” if we make an unpopular decision in terms of game design or development. To some degree they have been successful.’
    Indeed, in 2011 CCP held an emergency meeting with the CSM following in-game riots after the developer decided to take a more aggressive approach to selling virtual items. Disgruntled players believed that the introduction of micro-transactions—which offered items of virtual clothing, accessories and mementoes for real money (including, for example, a $70 monocle)—was evidence that the game was moving in an unwelcome direction.
    ‘The riots happened because CCP prioritised their vision over the needs of their customers,’ explains Woodhead. ‘They lost sight of the fundamental reason for EVE ’s success—the depth and complexity of the social relationships that it spawns.’
    The emergency summit demonstrated CCP’s commitment to listening to their players and showed that the CSM has real power in representing the views of the game’s populace.
    ‘Some people think the CSM is a PR stunt,’ says Coker. ‘There are always conspiracy theorists. They think we flew them over here, got them drunk, and told them what to say. But that incident showed the system works. Players not only felt like the CSM was working hard for them (after all, they all put their real jobs and lives on hold for a week), but also they held us to task.’
    While the CSM is closer to a lobbying group than a governing body, it’s not immune to corruption. Councillors are privy to forthcoming changes in the game and some unscrupulous members have used this information to their advantage. In 2009, one councillor, Adam Ridgway, bought items worth thousands of dollars for stockpiling ahead of a game-design change that would drastically increase theirvalue. As these virtual items carry significant real-world worth, CCP closely monitors the actions of both CSM members and its own internal staff who play the game.
    ‘We hold the CSM to a high standard,’ says Coker. ‘We even have an internal affairs department that follows players to see they’re not using insider information for personal gain.’ Ridgway stepped down from his position on the CSM as a result of his indiscretion.
    Sociologists and