Chance Glasco, one of the original developers who co-founded Infinity Ward and shaped the creation of Call of Duty, has opened a window into the murky relationship between entertainment, corporate power, and government influence. His allegations about internal pressure within the gaming industry arrive at a moment when that boundary appears to be collapsing.
Last week, the official White House account posted a video featuring real military strikes against different Iranian locations that began with a killstreak animation from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. The video combined actual military footage with gaming UI elements, overlaying real destruction with fictional point values. For those watching, the message was unmistakable: warfare presented as achievement, casualties rendered as score.
Glasco's response was swift. He recalled that after Activision took control following the formation of Respawn, there was "a very awkward pressure from Activision" for Infinity Ward to develop a Call of Duty centred on Iran attacking Israel, though "the vast majority of our devs were disgusted by the idea and it got shot down". His account raises a legitimate concern about institutional accountability. When a publisher owns stakes in shaping geopolitical narratives through entertainment, who guards the guardrails?
This is where the argument becomes complex. Critics rightly point out that government has long sought to use entertainment to sway public opinion on major issues, with "decades of pressure for a war with Iran across multiple administrations". That's a troubling pattern worth examining. Yet Call of Duty has never been apolitical. The series has built its commercial appeal partly on military glorification, American exceptionalism, and technologically advanced combat presentation. Defenders note that some observers argue Call of Duty has long glorified the U.S. military, so the White House post does not represent a significant departure.
There is truth in both positions. Glasco's own position complicates the narrative further. He emphasised that with early Call of Duty games, the developers "wanted to often remind people that war is hell and not just a video game" and "wanted players to feel disgust and purposefully sought to make them actually feel bad for war". The franchise itself once tried to create moral weight around violence. That artistic ambition has clearly shifted.
The real issue is transparency. It remains unknown whether Activision, Xbox, or Microsoft gave permission for Call of Duty footage to be used by the White House. That gap matters. Did corporate leadership approve the use? Were internal discussions held about brand alignment? Did anyone at Activision object on principle? These questions deserve public answers.
The pattern extends beyond Call of Duty. The Department of Homeland Security previously posted a video showing armed ICE officers with Pokémon music, with a DHS spokesperson saying they reach people with content they can relate to, whether that be "Halo, Pokémon, Lord of the Rings, or any other medium". Halo creator Marcus Lehto called such co-optation "absolutely abhorrent." These are not isolated incidents; they reflect a pattern of institutional appetite.
For policymakers, the question is whether clearer boundaries are necessary. Copyright law protects creators from unauthorised use, yet moral licensing questions persist. Should studios have explicit contractual provisions about government use of their intellectual property? Should developers have consultation rights when content is leveraged for military messaging? These are pragmatic safeguards, not censorship.
Glasco's claims raise a harder question: what happens to creative judgment when profit and power align? If a publisher faces pressure from government to produce certain narratives, and that publisher controls major franchises, the risk is real. But outright prohibition would be worse; that leads toward state control of what can and cannot be created. Instead, the industry needs voluntary standards about editorial independence, transparent disclosure of government pressure, and internal processes that give creators genuine voice.
The uncomfortable truth is that games reflect power. Call of Duty has always been a American military fantasy, designed partly to recruit, entertain, and normalise particular views of combat. Glasco's greatest achievement may have been preserving some moral ambiguity within that fantasy. The real question now is whether the industry will maintain that balance, or surrender entirely to the forces seeking to weaponise entertainment.