What a Twitch stream can teach us about activism
I had the evening of Friday, January 18 planned out weeks in advance. I was going to get myself some tea, open my laptop, and watch hbomberguy—a favourite YouTuber of mine—Twitch stream Donkey Kong 64 nonstop until he had combed every level with every character and collected every single item in the game. Hbomb, whose real name is Harry Brewis, had announced the torturous upcoming feat seemingly on a whim in an earlier video. As a tribute to the speedrunning community, he, too, would do a nonstop run of a game—a game that is notoriously frustrating to complete and that he’s hated since childhood. Needless to say, I was sold. I was ready to spend the night watching him struggle.
For the next 58 hours, he did struggle. He also raised over 340,000 dollars for the trans youth charity Mermaids UK, was recognized by global news and the Scottish parliament, and hosted dozens of guests ranging from TV personality Adam Conover to activist Chelsea Manning to US congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. A Donkey Kong 64 stream skyrocketed into one of the most spontaneous and momentous events of transgender activism in internet history. How? And what does its success mean for gaming, for the internet, and for LGBTQ+ activism?
At the time, Mermaids, whose counselling and educational services have been essential for transgender youth and their families around the UK, was being attacked by transphobic rhetoric. The Lottery Fund, which was to donate 500,000 pounds to Mermaids, had recently pulled its donation for review after writer Graham Linehan urged his audience to contact the Fund en masse to drop the charity. Out of anger at Linehan and compassion for trans youth, Brewis announced that all of his stream’s proceeds would go to Mermaids. He did not expect, as he told Mermaids CEO Susie Green on the stream, to raise much more than 5,000 dollars.
Instead, the stream blew up. People kept dropping in, tweeting, writing articles, and sending donations so quickly that Twitch couldn’t keep up with them. At one point, a guest remarked to Brewis, who is cis, that a trans woman doing the stream would not have gotten as much traction. That discussion underlined the real power of allyship: the ability to use privilege to create platforms for those who need to be heard. For this reason, the stream’s behind-the-scenes team, which hurriedly assembled as the stream grew, frontlined the recruitment of trans guests onto the stream. Viewers might have dropped in to experience the humorous situation of a guy playing nonstop Donkey Kong for charity or out of spite for Linehan’s angry tweeting, but once in, they were met with a thoughtful collection of trans voices. People like up-and-coming video essayist Sarah Zedig and TransgenderNI executive director Ellen Murray were able to speak to tens of thousands of people in real time. Issues at the forefront of the discussion included the need to support the work of trans artists, the safety of trans people of colour, and the visibility of disabled trans people. While Brewis drew an audience to the stream, it was trans people who used the platform to carve out a space to be heard.
On top of charity money, the stream used the #TransCrowdFund, which allowed trans people to reach a willing audience and seek funding for wheelchairs, surgeries, and other life-altering but expensive causes. Emotionally, the stream seemed to do even more. After threats to trans civil rights, like the surge in anti-trans bathroom bills and the US military ban, listening to video game creators, activists, and even a congresswoman shout “TRANS RIGHTS!” was a much-needed boost. As Natalie (@Transsomething on Twitter) put it, “It feels like this is a game changer. Not just the money, though that’s wonderful. It’s the display of support which means so much to so many trans people & their families. It’s the way it shows the world we’re relevant.”
And all this happened while Brewis spent hours struggling to hoard blue beavers into a hole. When asked about his stream’s success in a panel at Imperial College, he answered: “I happened to be the first person who said, ‘Hey, this is bad and we should do something about it’ … I didn’t do anything. I just played Donkey Kong.” Though Brewis used his gaming to downplay his contribution, we can’t ignore the fact that the stream’s gaming aspect was the catalyst for drawing an audience into a hilarious and lighthearted atmosphere. It was entertaining, to say the least, to watch an exhausted, heavily caffeinated man with SOBEK scrawled on his forehead swear at a slide minigame while the chat spammed at him to save. And it was exactly that entertainment that attracted and maintained the audience for the outpouring of donations and support.
With GamerGate fresh in the online consciousness, it might seem that online gaming and trans activism are unlikely bedfellows, but the stream was stronger from the amalgamation. While this wasn’t the first time a gaming channel has streamed for charity, it was the first time LGBTQ+ rights, and especially trans rights, so prominently took centre stage. The mainstream gaming community, as well as the internet at large, often hasn’t been the kindest to trans people, but that doesn’t have to be the case. As Sarah Zedig (@hmsnofun) tweeted, “what this taught me is that trans people are everywhere, but so many of us believe we are alone. all it takes is something truly meant to give them the hope they need to take control of their lives.” Marginalization is terrifyingly isolating. No wonder it was so rewarding for so many to instead be heard, seen, and supported.
In this case, it took allyship; it took gaming; it took internet culture. All these elements have potential for, and often a history of, transphobia, but Harry’s stream served to prove that when handled with love, compassion, and a look toward foregrounding rather than eclipsing marginalized voices, something as ridiculous as 58 hours of Donkey Kong can drive cultural change.
The funny, the unexpected, the nerdy, and the marginal all hold potential to funnel people toward what matters. People care about those things, and through them, about other people. Especially with the recent moves made against them, trans people deserve vocal and material support. If there’s anything we can take away from this stream, it’s that activism in the Internet era can take ridiculous but powerful forms. It doesn’t need to be broadcast by national television or expressed from a podium to be important—who knows, maybe soon those journalists and politicians will be asking for admission into your stream, yelling “TRANS RIGHTS!”
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