Could Squid Game Be Hosted in Real Life?

By Maks Kozluk

I have never been a staunch Netflix viewer. The reason? It is not even about me being some adversary to cinematic works or serials (admittedly, I adore Christopher Nolan’s films). Paradoxically, one of Netflix’s selling points is arguably one of its biggest turnoffs. Finding a serial or film on Netflix that captivates you and leaves you rethinking your belief system for quite a while is the modern-day needle lodged somewhere between thousands of strands of hay.

However strained my relationship with the streaming site may be, I decided to give it a shot circa three years ago on a Friday night. I ended up accidentally unearthing the needle amongst the sea of content. However, I would not call it a needle, but rather “바늘” or “baneul,” because at that very moment, I had been exposed to Hwang Dong-hyuk’s Squid Game Season 1. The result? I fell in love with South Korean serials. I was sent spiralling down an ethical rabbit hole, with one specific question cementing itself into my brain: As bloody as the Squid Games were, could they one day be hosted publicly with society being fully aware of the brutal nature of the games, or would our moral compasses prevail and quash such a notion?

To deliver a truly objective verdict, let’s take a trip to the past—specifically back to the age of Ancient Rome. Why Rome out of, well… everything? Here’s why: The ancient Romans were the first to fully popularise what falls under the umbrella term “death games” within their society (Etruscans did indeed have such practices, albeit more commonly for religious reasons than entertainment), and we are, of course, talking about Gladiator Games. For those who aren’t fully familiar with them, the main premise of said games was entertainment for the masses whilst simultaneously providing competitors the chance to obtain their freedom and fame amongst the horde of gladiators.

Now, the reason why I brought up Ancient Rome wasn’t to inherently compare their games to Squid Games, due to there being a plethora of differences. What’s important is the mentality of the spectators. The people of Ancient Rome, with hardly any exemptions, weren’t appalled by people’s chests being cut open by razor-sharp swords or fallen gladiators’ guts spilling onto the bloodied sand after

a savage fight. Why? It all has to do with the glamorisation of violence and the desensitisation of citizens.

The organisers of the games achieved this by not putting common folk in the pit of hell, because this would have immediately upset spectators who would be witnessing their neighbours convulsing on the ground. Instead, it was slaves and prisoners of war who were condemned to the sinister playground. These groups had already been dehumanised and were widely considered as either scum of the earth or private property that had little use but to serve—and serve they did in the Colosseum. By pitting what was regarded as trash against each other, the organisers ensured that the notion of said group being nothing but barbarians, miles below the common free Roman, lived on, providing mass entertainment to Rome.

So what does this have in common with Squid Game?

In the series, the audience is limited to a handful of “VIPs,” who are almost a one-to-one replica of the old Roman upper class. Desensitised folks were able to derive pleasure either through watching people of lower statuses squabble amongst each other and fight to the death or indulging in immoral activities (such as gambling on the lives of contestants). In a way, the genesis of Squid Game and Gladiator Games only slightly differ, with Gladiator Games starting as funeral rites for the elites and later evolving into entertainment, and Squid Game inherently serving as entertainment. Regardless, the two games’ paths align, which, of course, begs the question:

Could our modern society be desensitised to the degree that such games would be deemed acceptable?

Short Answer: Maybe?

Long Answer: 1984.

I’m referring to George Orwell’s novel on an alternate dystopian world divided by three superpowers (Oceania, Eastasia, and Eurasia), who wage an eternal war over contested regions near the equator. The war itself is devoid of any true meaning, as all superpowers already have the resources they are supposedly fighting for. What they are fighting for is survival—so long as they are in a state of war against a country that (I’m specifically talking about Oceania, the main focus of Orwell’s book) they can market as a common enemy to the impoverished citizens of their own country—the people outside of the Elite (in Oceania commonly referred to as the “Inner Party”).

Said elite has anchored itself to power over 90% of Oceanian society via highly efficient propaganda campaigns, such as introducing doublethink—the process of indoctrinating one into simultaneously accepting two varying beliefs—to the Proles and Outer Party members, essentially allowing the Inner Party to bend history and the present to their will. There are many more concepts that the Party has implemented; however, we will refrain from elaborating on them because doublethink is the most important one as of right now.

Correctly assuming that the Party controls all events in the past, present, and very likely the future, society would naturally also bend to their will and become desensitised to certain events should the upper echelons decide it is necessary. After all, Oceanian society is a chunk of clay, and the 2% ruling the masses are the omnipotent sculptors.

Arguably, this is the ideal environment for publicised Squid Games, as there is zero opposition to it within Oceania. Worst-case scenario: a few Outer Party members out of millions feel that it’s wrong, and they are treated to a free session at the Ministry of Love. Through intensive brainwashing, they would be reintroduced back into society as fans of the concept.

There would only be two key differences: Firstly, the contestants would be either prisoners of war (it is honestly irrelevant whether they are from Eastasia or Eurasia because no alliances are eternal) or party members who’ve committed “heinous acts of treason” against Big Brother (the apparent leader of Oceania). Simply picking up random depressed people wouldn’t make the cut, because in 1984 everyone is drowning in their misery, with only a minority being conscious of that. Plus, it would be a rather interesting way to get rid of opponents while further desensitising society.

Second of all, there could be no prize for winning the games. Awarding those who acted against the Oceanian agenda would be a direct contradiction, so the champion would likely be sent straight to the Ministry of Love to be discreetly disposed of. The public, despite never seeing them again, wouldn’t dare question their disappearance. In line with Inner Party tradition, they would simply erase all records of the winner’s existence and announce that they had never existed—and the masses would, of course, accept it. After all, the government, which is totally working for a better future, wouldn’t do that…right?

In summary, it would be theoretically possible for games of such nature to be hosted in public; however, it would require a huge shift in the moral code of humans (either by moral regression to a period such as the Roman Empire or by sheer propaganda).

The history of gladiatorial games in Ancient Rome | Sky HISTORY TV Channel

Why Did Romans Use Gladiators In Entertainment?|AncientPedia

Inner Party – EverybodyWiki Bios & Wiki

Orwell, George. 1984. Kindle Edition. HarperCollins, 1949.

Squid Game (2021). Created by Dong-hyuk Hwang. Netflix.