The Squid Game Economics

THE PHILOSOPHER Thomas Hobbes, had he lived today, might have been a fan of the hit Korean show Squid Game. Hobbes famously described life as nasty, brutish and short when in a state of nature. That would resonate with those who have watched the show’s three seasons. What makes a show that is not in English, that comes from a small country of only 50 million, that is set around games children usually play, and played by adults not to win or lose but to live or die, such a universal hit? The first season is Netflix’s most watched show of all time, ahead of all English rivals. The second season is Netflix’s third most watched show, behind just one English-language rival.

Is it because the show’s anti-capitalist undercurrent has a strong appeal in a world characterised by a backlash against globalisation? Perhaps its inbuilt commentary against inequality, exploitation and an unjust world captures the zeitgeist after the global financial crisis, the pandemic and violent conflict which followed three decades of capitalism at its peak (early 1980s to late 2000s). In doing so, it isn’t the only South Korean show which has a lens on the underbelly of capitalism.

Ironically, South Korea is probably the best example, outside of Singapore, of the power of the market economy to bring great prosperity to people in a single generation. In the early 1960s, South Korea was poorer that India. By the late 1980s, it had become a developed country. Today, it has a higher per capita income than its former colonial master, Japan.

Why the angst then? Because capitalism is not perfect. It has cycles of booms and busts. South Korea learnt it the hard way during the Asian crisis of 1997. Free markets also have losers who, for various reasons, are unable to join or stay in the mainstream. The contestants of Squid Game are in this category, left behind, sunken in debt and with few options in life. For them, life inside the playing arena fraught with the risk of death isn’t much worse than the life outside at the mercy of thuggish moneylenders. They are willing to risk death to win a big prize and escape their penury.

Why are we drawn to their story? Perhaps they are the subjects of universal sympathy, if not empathy. And everyone loves rooting for the underdog. Perhaps, it is just voyeurism or entertainment. Like the VIPs in the show who pay money to watch these poor souls battle it out for survival?

But there is something deeper about the universal appeal of Squid Game. It portrays the basic human condition. On the one side, it is about survival, competition and winning. We all hone these instincts as children, often on the playfield. Indeed, we all know from childhood many of the games played in the show. But, in the show, the games are played by adults. As competitively as possible. But the losers don’t get to sulk or cry, they get killed. It is like the Hobbesian state of nature. It probably tickles our DNA, which has our very ancient past imprinted on it somewhere.

On the other side, it is about being good. It is about having a moral anchor. The things that organised society or civilisation have taught us—to overcome our base instincts. There are moments amidst the mayhem when some characters in the show will think about, and act upon, something larger than their selves.

Which side prevails? It is left for the viewers to judge in what can only be described as the bittersweet finale of Season 3. Some commentators have said that the show holds a mirror to Korean society. Actually, it holds a mirror to us as humans, warts and all.

To return briefly to the theme of the oppression of capitalism. What is the alternative? Socialism, or greater control by the state? That comes with its own oppression and without prosperity. There are several K-dramas which reflect on the heinous nature of the state. Capitalism works because it can self-correct. Even the state of nature has a balance.

And what if the nature of the state is like the organisers of Squid Game, exploitative and murderous?