The Last Submarine: a larp taught me how to ignore scientific warnings

By Carien Moossdorff, PhD researcher, Anticiplay project

“It’s complicated. I can’t just say right now what will be best for the whales”.

A strange relief comes over me. Excellent. I want to do right by the whales and by this old friend especially. But if they, a leading marine scientist, can’t tell me how, then I really can’t be responsible for the animals, can I? I asked for whale advice, I was ready to listen. I did everything I could.

Once, I was a submarine captain for a day. Torn between my desire for redemption and the pull of alcohol, I led a desperate mission to find the last source of drinkable water to save humanity after the climate apocalypse.

This all happened in a live action role playing game: One afternoon of cooperative storytelling through improvised theatrical performances. The game, designed by artists Jana Romanova and Sophie Allerding, explores a world where sea levels have risen exponentially, leaving almost no land or drinking water. And the crew of players sets out to find access to water.

We could only take water from the communal supply, and mix it with different food colorings to turn into fuel, food, medicine, or alcohol.

Playing this game taught me many strange and beautiful things. Elegance of game design for example, where one resource is required for every single game mechanic: Every player had their own relevant skills to help the mission, and all required water. Camaraderie when you’re the only two people wanting to experience whatever end, refusing to sleep. A twinge of excitement when you discover someone who shares your well-hidden religious zeal. But also, and the real reason for this blog, about decision-making under pressure, and what happens when experts refuse to take a stand.

For context: The story takes place on a submarine. Every player has a role and some background information, including personal goals. My role is that of captain, and I want redemption but also alcohol. Together, the crew needs to find a rumored worm that can make saline water drinkable. Whales may be drawn to the worm — or not. Each in-game day lasts about half an hour, so there is very little time for deliberation.

The navigator keeps track of where the submarine has been and can go.

The marine biologist makes use of the time limitations.

“Captain! We can’t just sail right into a troop of whales.”

They are the captain’s old friend, even if we are very different. So when the marine biologist explains that animal welfare is important, I really want to respect that. I ask them how close we can get without bothering the whales, and how we can protect them. My ears are open to animal advice. But then, nuance happens. Long explanations about circumstances in which one might be better or the other. I feel my frustration rising: None of this is usable! I need to steer the ship, and soon.

Finally, the marine biologist says they can’t make a statement either way.

Liberation!

It’s not my fault. I tried to be on the whales’ side. I asked an expert how to do it. No statement can be made. If no statement can be made, I can’t follow unsaid statement now matter how much I wanted to. And if I can’t rely on expert advice to guide my action, then I might as well follow my own instincts and do what I was going to do in the first place. I give the order.

After the rest of the story unfolds, the organizers and all the players debrief in the yard. The marine biologist’s player explains that her character never wanted the mission to succeed — they were on nature’s side over the humans’. The player had managed to waste our* time very creatively, for example with an insane ritual where we tried to amplify whale sounds with a web of string (?).

The marine biologist spans wire across the walls to communicate with whales and/or waste other crew members’ time — but only in-game, characters’ time was wasted! As a player, I look back on this as a delightfully weird scene.

My main take-away at debrief was the one that I’m sharing with you now. I was shocked at my interaction with the scientist that was giving me advice — because I am a scientist, and I do think it is part of science to inform decision-making.

In the game, I was thrilled the expert was being unclear, because it validated me ignoring them.

Let me emphasize: I did not want to ignore the marine biologist. I wasn’t even hoping to. I was hoping to get good, clear advice, that I could follow even if it made my job more difficult. I wanted to respect the expert’s call to protect whale welfare.

But, when the scientist refused to give a straight answer, I was relieved and pleased to ignore them. Making the decision was complicated enough without the whales.

During the debrief, I mentioned that in social sciences, we love nuance. Things are messy and complicated, and people advocate to hold on to mess in favor of conceptual clarity . In the sociology bachelor’s program where I was a student and later a teacher, we emphasize that research (questions, at least) must never be normative. That isn’t ‘what we do’. How much patience do the captains of the real world have for us, and more importantly, what does it mean when they run out?

Earlier that year, my regional sociology conference had hosted a session on climate sociology. I had expressed there that we should, in my opinion, be more clear in our expertise when it comes to solutions. Sociologists are very good at discovering or investigating social problems and issues. And don’t get me wrong, that is incredibly important and worthwhile.

But the captains out there, who are willing to adjust course for a more just world, need guidance.

Every time we insist that our topic is too complicated to simplify, we deny a captain our knowledge. Worse, the captain in the real world may have another expert at her other elbow, who is willing to give simple advice.

Every time we say that giving advice or providing alternatives is beyond our scope, we abdicate responsibility. And it is true that decision-making is not our responsibility. But at the same time, gathering good and true knowledge is. And if nobody in society will pick up the responsibility to transfer this good and true knowledge to the people with decision-making power, then those poor captains will have to rely on either luck, or bad and false claims, from somebody else.

I understand that it is not always possible to make a statement on what should happen. All I’m asking is that we are more deliberate about the times that we insist on nuance, and open up to careful, humble, and hedged advice from time to time.

We ended up finding the worm. We did it through sheer luck, and no merit of our own, but at least the whales didn’t win.

Carien Moossdorff is a cultural sociologist and PhD candidate at Anticiplay. In her PhD, Carien investigates how games can allow us to engage emotionally with transformations and the building of institutions.