The Fight Doesn’t Start Until You Do.
The idea of fantasy reflecting reality isn’t exactly groundbreaking; we all have pieces of fiction that have influenced our lives in one way or another, shaped us in our formative years to become the people that we are today. And while it would be easy to write this type of thinkpiece on any number of RPGs in decades past, one has stuck with me over the last few months.
Since Metaphor: ReFantazio was first released, the world has changed in more ways than we thought possible. The narrative of a political assassination, a glamorized election, and pushing back against division is one that feels uniquely timely.
Metaphor: ReFantazio came out at a time when I was close to almost totally giving up. The world was isolating and scary. Speaking out felt like an invitation for horrific harassment and dismissal. Metaphor managed to light the spark in me to stand up and keep fighting for what’s right.
Fantasy is often used as a thin veil to take a stab at the real-world oppression that so many suffer. It isn’t trying to diminish these real-world conflicts; the writers are just trying to reach the audience. Most people aren’t going to care about something unless you bring these issues to a place where they can’t ignore them.
Every day, I fight a bit of myself that says “don’t bother” or “give up” because I won’t have an impact or be able to make a difference. The annoying fly in my ear that says, “you’re too late to be a part of change.” I don’t want to believe that. Anybody can be that change, in every aspect of life. All it takes is the strength to take that first step.
ATLUS is no stranger to tackling contemporary social issues in its work; Persona as a series is almost always set in the times that it releases. The series functions as a fascinating time capsule of when each game was made.
And while Persona tends to angle towards introspection, ATLUS’ effort with Metaphor: ReFantazio has the unenviable task of deconstructing broader political dogma, and the charged conversations that arise from it. It’s a tall order, and it’s one that it manages to ー in its broadest strokes ー fulfil without many stumbles. Metaphor: ReFantazio is a reminder that change can be enacted from anywhere if you’re willing to put up a fight.
Metaphor is a game about belief, ideology, and the responsibility of those in power to the people they serve. It couldn’t have been released at a more poignant time. World leaders are content with harming those who only want to live their lives in peace. Right now, the world is fraught with division. Discrimination and prejudice are the modus operandi of those recently elected; systems of government are being weaponized against the people who need support the most and twisted to line the pockets of those who would see people suffer.
Metaphor tackles this systemic discrimination in no uncertain terms, and also manages to handle it without feeling like lip service. It seems to be an unshakable truth of the United Kingdom of Euchronia that certain races are slaughtered for sport in the street. The game quite literally opens on the execution of a Paripus man for a crime that he didn’t commit.
By the time the credits roll, the main cast of Metaphor includes representatives of every single race within the game. Each one comes together under the same banner to fight for dignity and justice, to take back their world from those who spin false narratives.
Taking back control is a big point of conversation throughout both the main plot of Metaphor and the smaller stories that flesh out each of the supporting cast members. Each character you meet has their life shaped by people that they will likely never meet. Most of them accept the bureaucracy and dogma that have so impacted their lives as inevitable. That is, until they actually decide to push back. Each of these stories demonstrates that every person can and should fight for what they believe, even if that fight feels insignificant; you can’t enact big change without starting small.
In the main story, this emerges in the deposition of a tyrant who hides his genocidal intentions behind the thin veil of an “interest in the people”. He’s a monster who charismatically distracts from his true goals by appealing to crowds and preying on non-existent anxieties to sow division within the masses; these are tactics as old as time, and seeing them so faithfully (and aggressively) recreated in a fantasy setting only draws attention to how patently evil it is.
Ironically, ATLUS’ first major foray into the traditional fantasy genre does a better job of exploring the modern concept of revolution and resistance than anything Persona 5 attempted to do in 2016. For better or worse, Persona 5 was a story built on the youthful urge to rebel against authority figures, making use of a far louder visual language than its predecessors. While it has undeniably put Persona and ATLUS as a whole on the map, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Persona 5 presents an oversimplified idea of what revolution and resistance look like.
The Phantom Thieves are caricatures of their own rebellious spirit, and while this makes for an engaging cast of visually distinct characters, it makes their efforts to save the world feel that much more disconnected from the ways that we can resist on our own. We can’t dive into the hearts of our oppressors and beat them in a boss fight. We’re out here in the real world, fighting the real fight.
Metaphor shows us the mechanisms that can enact change. Mechanically speaking, Metaphor is ー by design ー a far more cohesive experience than the Persona series; there’s no distinct split between the social elements and the more action-focused combat. These characters are literally doing these things. There’s no wish fulfillment.
Where Metaphor doesn’t shy away from the darkest part of human nature, it also manages to shine a light on the worst of us and show that there’s hope for redemption, accountability, and ー most importantly ー change.
Joanna is the second “main villain” of the main quest. Her motivation is built around the race-based murder of her newborn child. It’s a grim reminder that inflicting harm is cyclical. In trying to support her surrogate child, Joanna actively harms the community that she’s supposed to be caring for by kidnapping other children and using them as food for her “baby,” a monster that threatens every life in the city. A monster that she adopted in the throes of losing her own baby. We look for shelter in distraction, and here is an instance with disastrous consequences.
Her grief is no excuse for the atrocities she commits, though she isn’t motivated by blind evil, either.
On my first playthrough of the game, I took an evening to pause and actually think about what was being said here; Joanna truly becomes “evil,” and yet this wasn’t used as a cheap excuse for an obligatory boss fight. This is where Metaphor impresses me most; it shows the impact of discrimination, and it spends time humanising these struggles and letting an RPG villain actually take accountability for their faults. You defeat Joanna in the obligatory battle sense, but you let her speak. What she’s done is unforgivable, but is a symptom of a much greater disease.
From the struggles of the individual to the sweeping laws of the land, the malignant influence of tyrannical leaders is everywhere. It’s these stories that often go untold. Metaphor suggests that the only way to properly tackle these issues is not through a boss fight to challenge the player, but through a conversation. The people we need to fight are the people who pushed her to become what she is, and the ones propagating it at the top of the pile, the ones who will never see the harm they are causing.
More than anything, Metaphor argues that the biggest threat against resistance is anxiety and apathy. Nothing will change if nothing is done. It is so important to set down some kind of battle line and start pushing yourself as hard as you can to make a difference. It can feel easy to roll over and give in to the belief that one person can’t change the world, which is why you don’t fight alone. You put up a fight where you can, and you use what platform you have for the greater good. Pick your hills, but make sure they’re good ones.
Not every character in Metaphor joins you in dungeons, but they are all fighting their own battles. Each bond explores the meaning behind the “fight,” and each manages to show that everyone and anyone can be a part of change. Maria is a child left without a father, and her quest to find acceptance and spread kindness in the wake of abuse by other children shows that anybody can do the right thing.
Games have an inherent value outside of the period they were released. Constantly chasing the new and forgetting the old is a symptom of a much larger problem in this industry. But in the case of Metaphor, it is impossible to separate it from the world that spawned it.
On the one hand, it’s a depressing reminder of where we are and the mountain that we’re still climbing. On the other, it shows that there is a brighter future if we choose to fight for it. We’ve all been victims of some kind, and the only way to build a better world is to get into the fight in the first place.
