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In some games, the rules tend toward producing a stable meta — the popularity of the King’s Pawn opening in chess, for example, seems remarkably durable. Unfortunately, if a meta gets too dominant, the game can become predictable, and players lose interest. So, popular games often need rule changes periodically to counter emerging metas.

This is something today’s policymakers also need to think about, because criminal strategies can now spread through the internet with some of the ruthless efficiency you see in the gaming community. Only the results are much worse than player boredom.

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Last week, law enforcement officials arrested a California teenager who reportedly might be one of the most prolific “swatters” in history, meaning that the teen allegedly called in false 911 reports of the kind that are designed to generate an overwhelming police response — such as bomb threats or active shootings. This practice is insanely dangerous; in 2017, a man in Kansas was killed when police stormed his house after such a call. But it has become alarmingly common, because it is a powerful way to harass someone, even from thousands of miles away.

Beyond the obvious alarm and moral outrage, what’s striking is that swatting was possible long before it became popular. Even though 911 launched in the late 1960s, and police began adopting paramilitary tactics decades ago, swatting seems to have started in earnest in the early 2000s by gamers who were competing against one another online. (Since then, the targets have broadened to include public officials, celebrities and schools.)

It is somewhat remarkable that a very powerful tactic, attractive to wrongdoers, could lie undiscovered within the system so long — a meta-lag, if you will. What’s not remarkable is that it was popularized by gamers. Online communities are hyperefficient engines for finding and mining an unexploited meta-lag, processing it into a new meta, and then exporting it globally. And swatting’s not the only incidence of this.

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Consider the viral videos of shoplifters brazenly clearing shelves while employees stand by and watch. The thieves are taking advantage of “no touch” retail security policies, which have been deployed for years to minimize store liability. But once this possibility was widely publicized on social media — ironically, often by outraged people trying to get the police to do something — it became untenable, especially in combination with the kinder, gentler policies toward petty crime that some cities adopted to much fanfare. Now, many urban stores are putting frequently stolen items behind glass or are closing altogether.

Or consider the recent spike in thefts of Kia and Hyundai cars. Unlike most American cars, many Korean models were sold for more than a decade without immobilizers to foil thieves. Yet they didn’t become particular targets for theft until someone, apparently in Milwaukee, figured out how to steal them using only a screwdriver and a charging cable. Thefts of Kias and Hyundais shot up there in 2021, then spread to Chicago in 2022. By 2023, the trick had gone national, courtesy of the internet, and thefts spiked around the country, while Kia and Hyundai raced to fix the problem and settle with angry car owners.

If you want an example closer to a gaming meta, consider the crisis along the southern U.S. border. Wanting to build a better life for yourself and your family isn’t morally wrong like car theft or shoplifting; it’s admirable. But migrants eventually hit on a too-effective strategy: file a dubious asylum claim. And it spread rapidly. The asylum system wasn’t made to handle economic migrants, especially at this volume, and the flows are not only overwhelming its capacity but also threatening its political legitimacy.

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In all three cases, I doubt the people who made these decisions understood the extent of the perverse incentives they had embedded in the system, or how fast that knowledge could propagate. Which meant they weren’t ready to act when the meta-lag was finally discovered and exploited.

Here is where we might learn from the best game designers. For example, Magic: The Gathering, a popular trading card game, combats emergent metas by regularly phasing out cards, including banning some that become too useful, while introducing new ones that help counter the current most dominant strategies. If all this seems incomprehensible to nongamers, it’s really just a digital version of rule changes in baseball — such as adjusting the pitcher’s mound — that aim to keep the game exciting by maintaining a reasonable balance of power between pitchers and hitters.

In the real world, of course, policymakers are often tweaking the rules to make things less exciting, and more safe and secure. But whether you’re a game designer trying to keep things hopping or a lawmaker looking for peace and quiet, you need to start by assuming there’s a lot of unexploited meta-lag out there waiting to cascade into a problem — and that, wherever it is, someone will eventually find it and share the information with several million of their closest friends. So you must be prepared to quickly change the rules of the game until the most popular tricks no longer work.

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In some respects, a good society is like a good game. Both have well-defined, well-designed rules that allow for the pleasures of companionship alongside the thrill of competition. Both require their participants to have virtues, such as honesty and good sportsmanship, that temper the naked lust for victory. And both offer everyone a fair chance of winning and keep the cost of losing bearable.

The obvious corollary to all this is that the designers of games face many of the same challenges as policymakers who write the rules by which we live. They solve miniature models of our larger problems, which is why we often say that decent, hard-working people are “playing by the rules” — and why gaming communities might offer helpful lessons to people who have never picked up a controller.

One particularly useful concept I’ve been thinking about lately is what online gamers call a game’s “meta.” For reasons I’ll explain, this offers a good way to think about the current explosion of certain kinds of crime. But first, let me explain the word.

Many gamers will tell you that “meta” stands for “most effective tactics available,” and while “dominant strategy” isn’t the only meaning of a subtle and capacious concept, that aspect suits what I want to talk about: how game designers respond when a meta becomes so dominant, it threatens to break the game.

In some games, the rules tend toward producing a stable meta — the popularity of the King’s Pawn opening in chess, for example, seems remarkably durable. Unfortunately, if a meta gets too dominant, the game can become predictable, and players lose interest. So, popular games often need rule changes periodically to counter emerging metas.

This is something today’s policymakers also need to think about, because criminal strategies can now spread through the internet with some of the ruthless efficiency you see in the gaming community. Only the results are much worse than player boredom.

Last week, law enforcement officials arrested a California teenager who reportedly might be one of the most prolific “swatters” in history, meaning that the teen allegedly called in false 911 reports of the kind that are designed to generate an overwhelming police response — such as bomb threats or active shootings. This practice is insanely dangerous; in 2017, a man in Kansas was killed when police stormed his house after such a call. But it has become alarmingly common, because it is a powerful way to harass someone, even from thousands of miles away.

Beyond the obvious alarm and moral outrage, what’s striking is that swatting was possible long before it became popular. Even though 911 launched in the late 1960s, and police began adopting paramilitary tactics decades ago, swatting seems to have started in earnest in the early 2000s by gamers who were competing against one another online. (Since then, the targets have broadened to include public officials, celebrities and schools.)

It is somewhat remarkable that a very powerful tactic, attractive to wrongdoers, could lie undiscovered within the system so long — a meta-lag, if you will. What’s not remarkable is that it was popularized by gamers. Online communities are hyperefficient engines for finding and mining an unexploited meta-lag, processing it into a new meta, and then exporting it globally. And swatting’s not the only incidence of this.

Consider the viral videos of shoplifters brazenly clearing shelves while employees stand by and watch. The thieves are taking advantage of “no touch” retail security policies, which have been deployed for years to minimize store liability. But once this possibility was widely publicized on social media — ironically, often by outraged people trying to get the police to do something — it became untenable, especially in combination with the kinder, gentler policies toward petty crime that some cities adopted to much fanfare. Now, many urban stores are putting frequently stolen items behind glass or are closing altogether.

Or consider the recent spike in thefts of Kia and Hyundai cars. Unlike most American cars, many Korean models were sold for more than a decade without immobilizers to foil thieves. Yet they didn’t become particular targets for theft until someone, apparently in Milwaukee, figured out how to steal them using only a screwdriver and a charging cable. Thefts of Kias and Hyundais shot up there in 2021, then spread to Chicago in 2022. By 2023, the trick had gone national, courtesy of the internet, and thefts spiked around the country, while Kia and Hyundai raced to fix the problem and settle with angry car owners.

If you want an example closer to a gaming meta, consider the crisis along the southern U.S. border. Wanting to build a better life for yourself and your family isn’t morally wrong like car theft or shoplifting; it’s admirable. But migrants eventually hit on a too-effective strategy: file a dubious asylum claim. And it spread rapidly. The asylum system wasn’t made to handle economic migrants, especially at this volume, and the flows are not only overwhelming its capacity but also threatening its political legitimacy.

In all three cases, I doubt the people who made these decisions understood the extent of the perverse incentives they had embedded in the system, or how fast that knowledge could propagate. Which meant they weren’t ready to act when the meta-lag was finally discovered and exploited.

Here is where we might learn from the best game designers. For example, Magic: The Gathering, a popular trading card game, combats emergent metas by regularly phasing out cards, including banning some that become too useful, while introducing new ones that help counter the current most dominant strategies. If all this seems incomprehensible to nongamers, it’s really just a digital version of rule changes in baseball — such as adjusting the pitcher’s mound — that aim to keep the game exciting by maintaining a reasonable balance of power between pitchers and hitters.

In the real world, of course, policymakers are often tweaking the rules to make things less exciting, and more safe and secure. But whether you’re a game designer trying to keep things hopping or a lawmaker looking for peace and quiet, you need to start by assuming there’s a lot of unexploited meta-lag out there waiting to cascade into a problem — and that, wherever it is, someone will eventually find it and share the information with several million of their closest friends. So you must be prepared to quickly change the rules of the game until the most popular tricks no longer work.

QOSHE - Public policy isn’t a game, but policymakers can still learn from gamers - Megan Mcardle
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Public policy isn’t a game, but policymakers can still learn from gamers

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01.02.2024

Follow this authorMegan McArdle's opinions

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In some games, the rules tend toward producing a stable meta — the popularity of the King’s Pawn opening in chess, for example, seems remarkably durable. Unfortunately, if a meta gets too dominant, the game can become predictable, and players lose interest. So, popular games often need rule changes periodically to counter emerging metas.

This is something today’s policymakers also need to think about, because criminal strategies can now spread through the internet with some of the ruthless efficiency you see in the gaming community. Only the results are much worse than player boredom.

Advertisement

Last week, law enforcement officials arrested a California teenager who reportedly might be one of the most prolific “swatters” in history, meaning that the teen allegedly called in false 911 reports of the kind that are designed to generate an overwhelming police response — such as bomb threats or active shootings. This practice is insanely dangerous; in 2017, a man in Kansas was killed when police stormed his house after such a call. But it has become alarmingly common, because it is a powerful way to harass someone, even from thousands of miles away.

Beyond the obvious alarm and moral outrage, what’s striking is that swatting was possible long before it became popular. Even though 911 launched in the late 1960s, and police began adopting paramilitary tactics decades ago, swatting seems to have started in earnest in the early 2000s by gamers who were competing against one another online. (Since then, the targets have broadened to include public officials, celebrities and schools.)

It is somewhat remarkable that a very powerful tactic, attractive to wrongdoers, could lie undiscovered within the system so long — a meta-lag, if you will. What’s not remarkable is that it was popularized by gamers. Online communities are hyperefficient engines for finding and mining an unexploited meta-lag, processing it into a new meta, and then exporting it globally. And swatting’s not the only incidence of this.

Advertisement

Consider the viral videos of shoplifters brazenly clearing shelves while employees stand by and watch. The thieves are taking advantage of “no touch” retail security policies, which have been deployed for years to minimize store liability. But once this possibility was widely publicized on social media — ironically, often by outraged people trying to get the police to do something — it became untenable, especially in combination with the kinder, gentler policies toward petty crime that some cities adopted to much fanfare. Now, many urban stores are putting frequently stolen items behind glass or are closing altogether.

Or consider the recent spike in thefts of Kia and Hyundai cars. Unlike most American cars, many Korean models were sold for more than a decade without immobilizers to foil thieves. Yet they didn’t become particular targets for theft until someone, apparently in Milwaukee, figured out how to steal them........

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