This blogpost follows Squid Game series (season) 3 and while it doesn’t contain specific spoilers it does assume some knowledge of the programme [readers may gather that I’ve been slow to catch its denouement]
Fairness lies at the core of the concept of Squid Game, Netflix’s dark Korean drama. The players induced to enter the game feel they have no options in a highly unequal society, and have often been cheated out of what little money they did have, in legal or illegal ways, or been caught cheating others and now have debts to repay. They take every risk in order to gain the chance of walking away with enough money to change their lives. In contrast, the so-called ‘VIPs’ are bored by the extent of their wealth and need fresh expensive thrills to stay even partially engaged and interested. Both groups have been dehumanised by unfairness – it’s not by chance that the VIPs wear golden animal masks. The sole individual not dehumanised is the protagonist, Seong Gi-hun, who makes a particular point of insisting on his humanity as he departs from the scene.
However, as discussed in this blog’s original Squid Game ‘fairness’, the concept of fairness was considered only a little in the first series of Squid Game. Then, the organisers manipulated the idea of fairness as the basis to argue that it was right to punish those who had transgressed the rules of their own peculiar and dystopian world.
In the third series, the concept is deployed a little more overtly, particularly as part of a moving speech from the old lady, Jang Geum-ja (number 149) in the third episode, It’s not your fault. Jang deploys a cynicism about fairness that seems wholly appropriate to the cynicism of the programme overall:
“No matter how you look at it, life just is unfair. Bad people do bad things, but they blame others and go on to live in peace. Good people, on the other hand, beat themselves up about the smallest things.”
The organisers also again deploy the sense of fairness as a tool to justify their actions. In this case, they use it in praise of their own – again, peculiar and dystopian – version of democracy. Early in the first episode, the announcer asserts while the players view the rebellious dead from the end of series 2: “You are witnessing the fate of those who refused the democratic process of voting and instead attempted to stop the game using violent means. We will not tolerate any irrational behaviour which attempts to destroy the fair rules of this game, and such actions will be punished in accordance with our strict standards. We thank you again for your cooperation.”
The irony of complaining about the use of violent means to subvert democracy shouldn’t be lost on viewers: after all, there is an openness to, even a welcoming of, bullying and violence as part of and following the regular public ballots that deliver that ‘democracy’ (there’s a key moment when the organisers surprise us all by barring further violence between the players, at least outside the arena itself). The labelling of individuals by how they have voted fosters this scope for bullying and violence further: the series as a whole reminds us of the importance of the secret ballot to the effectiveness of democracy, to each voter being free to express their own opinion without unfair interference. In the absence of secret ballots, Squid Game’s democracy is a sham. As highlighted in Democracy – playing fair, fairness, equality and freedom are all necessary elements for true democracy to work. It’s clear to the viewer that the ‘democracy’ in Squid Game isn’t truly fair, in spite of the announcer’s words.
Fairness matters, deeply, in Squid Game; just not in the ways that the organisers claim.
See also: Squid Game ‘fairness’
Democracy – playing fair
I am happy to confirm as ever that the Sense of Fairness blog is a purely personal endeavour.
The Sense of Fairness blog 