The Revival of the White Whale: Kojima’s The Phantom Pain and Death Stranding against Melville’s Moby-Dick

Introduction: Transnational, Hybrid, and Decolonial

American influence, especially since the end of the Second World War and the subsequent expansion of global American capitalism during and after the Cold War, has manifested through direct involvement in political, economic, and military spheres, leading to significant social and cultural impacts. Apart from engaging in proxy wars and instigating coups and revolutions beyond its borders, the United States also manipulated cultural outputs (Brune, 2006; Saunders, 2013). In addition to this explicit manipulation, cultural forms produced by affected people have emerged as implicit commentaries on intrusive American policies. Consequently, transnational American studies embrace these distant critiques, as the field examines cultural productions that reflect the aftermath of American policies from a perspective that transcends traditional nationalist views (Shu & Pease, 2015). Adopting a transnational approach to non-American cultural productions that reference US foreign affairs can reveal the imperialistic influences embedded in these works.

Transnational American studies thus interrogate the intricate pathways of histories, cultures, literatures, and media of nations that correlate with the United States of America. Discovering such transnational connections aims to diminish the American nation-state and its exceptionalist ideologies. To commence a transnational study, the arts and literatures produced outside or in the margins of the United States should be examined to find the “crossroads generated in the process” (Fishkin, 2005). In order to retrace those crossroads, I will therefore start by relocating the focus beyond geographical American borders since this article will focus primarily on US–Japanese cultural and political engagements.

This article will analyze two videogames created by Japanese game designer Hideo Kojima from a comparative perspective, transcending the limits of medium and genre. The videogames Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain (2015) and Death Stranding (2019) display plots revolving around the United States despite having been designed by an Asian creator residing miles away from the American continent; which makes them suitable case studies for transnational American studies since they dwell in a space between the United States and Japan. Even Kojima himself in attempts to open an American branch of his studio claims that he wishes his studios’ to “exist between Tokyo and LA, in a third place” and its creations not to be “only made into a patchwork with something American” but “global in the truest sense, sent out to protube into the world” (Kojima, 2021). These thoughts, which were written before the release of the two videogames that will be discussed here, further signify how much these games belong in that third space that do not adhere to a notion of American nationalist exceptionalism. This third space akin to Bhabha's (1994) notion of the same name allows for hybrid forms to emerge. Through hybridity, these videogames become sites of transformation, allowing for the emergence of fluid, ambivalent identities that disrupt imperial practices.

The hybrid quality here is not only born from portraying imagined American settings or situations in the videogames, but also their keen use of Western canonical literature and popular culture to develop these stories to criticize the dark sides of American politics. Both videogames under my scrutiny draw heavily on Herman Melville's Moby-Dick (1851/1999) as the White Whale is a recurrent motif visibly seen in all three narratives. Moby-Dick, which is a piece widely studied for metaphorically describing American imperialist advances, is utilized by Kojima in these two videogames to convey a reality grasped as an outsider affected by such American affairs (Leroux, 2009). As the player progresses in the videogames, they stumble upon other literary references that further deepen the player's understanding of the creator's logic. However, I believe the clever use of Moby-Dick aids to Kojima to create a hybridity which allows him to convey his subversive political messages quite effectively compared to the other literary allusions found in these two videogames.

Bhabha's concept of hybridity is evident in both The Phantom Pain and Death Stranding; however, as will be demonstrated in the following sections, the primary objective of both of these videogames is perceived to be the accentuation of American imperialism and invalidating such neocolonial practices where American foreign policy has been exerted after WWII. Consequently, the interpretive framework for understanding these games aligns more closely with a decolonial methodology, as they seek to invalidate and resist the hegemonic forces of American interventionism. Mignolo and Walsh (2018) maintained that “decoloniality aims are to delink from the colonial matrix of power” (p. 125). This colonial matrix, originating from post-Renaissance Western philosophy, is, in fact, a global web of interconnected series of oppressive systems created to subjugate nations and individuals. The colonial matrix of power is meaningless without its oppressed subjects. Therefore, if these subjects exercise defiance against this oppressive matrix through epistemological means, they are decolonizing their mind and subsequently their life (Mignolo & Walsh, 2018). In my view, Kojima as a postwar Japanese artist who is embedded within the colonial matrix of power is decolonizing his audience through his works by highlighting American imperialism and its consequences.

That The Phantom Pain and Death Stranding are products of Japan does not diminish their elaborate relations with American anxieties and the various forms of political critiques they present. Japan and the United States’ entanglements ever since WWII have led to the creation of many cultural productions that find faults with this relationship. Hideo Kojima is no different. He is a Japanese artist asking the world to see through American imperial politics. In verity, other critics have written extensively on political readings found in one installment or the Metal Gear Solid franchise in general. For instance, Roth (2017) and Whaley (2023), respectively, argue how Metal Gear Solid games’ treatment of anti-war themes can evoke awareness in players while enlightening them on the political structures that shape and affect people's lives around the globe. Hutchinson (2019) views the Metal Gear Solid series and specifically its first installment as “a vital counter-discourse to the mainstream war game genre in Japan” hoping for her work to initiate a stream of postcolonial analyses on this franchise (p. 229). In seeking to continue Hutchinson's postcolonial ambitions, I spend the following sections analyzing how Kojima utilizes Moby-Dick to share his decolonial views on contemporary American politics through the interactive platform of videogames.

Call Him Hideo: How Herman Melville Leads to Hideo Kojima

Moby-Dick is a novel renowned for its timeless and versatile nature, as it hosts many literary themes and political interpretations that have been inspiring critics and creatives for decades. The element that makes Moby-Dick relevant even to this day is its prophesizing of American foreign politics by metaphorically describing imperialist advances of the United States in the form of the whaling ship Pequod chasing an undefeated leviathan. New Americanists reading Moby-Dick from postcolonial and transnational perspectives, confirm such claims. They describe the Pequod's journey as a metaphor of American global expansion. For example, in his famous “Introduction to Moby-Dick,” Edward Said (2000) maintains that Ishmael's ambitions for the Nantucketer to rule the oceans actually indicate America's imperialist desires. But in his view, Melville does succeed in showing the catastrophic outcomes this desire retains by drowning almost everyone aboard the Pequod (Said, 2000, pp. 363–367). Other critics like Wai-Chee Dimock (1989) and Rob Wilson (2000) discuss the imperialist agendas in Moby-Dick as well, confirming that Melville endorsed such expansionist notions.

Acknowledging Pequod as a symbol of America racing to dominate the East through the Pacific is no farfetched image as actual expansions of the United States were successful around the time of Moby-Dick's publication. American victory in the Mexican–American War in 1848 was solid proof of imperial achievements at their formative phase in US history. However, Melville perhaps condemned imperial advances by drowning Pequod in the end. And interestingly enough the Pequod sinks in the coast of Japan, the site of a successful American subjugation, namely the ultimate site of US victory at the end of WWII, less than a century after the publication of Moby-Dick.

It is ironic that Pequod drowns in Japanese waters. This means, as evident in chapter 123 of Moby-Dick, “The Musket,” Melville (1851/1999) was aware of Japan's isolationist foreign policy (Sakoku) and how “locked Japan” did not welcome intruders (p. 387). Ironically Japan is mentioned many times in the novel and the most striking mention is during “The Advocate” when Ishmael defends and glorifies whaling and states that “If that double-bolted land, Japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due; for already she is on the threshold” (Melville, 1851/1999, p. 99). It can be inferred how whaling is just a metaphor for American imperialism and according to Ishmael Americans are really good at whaling!

Historically Japan did become hospitable by force a few years after Moby-Dick's publication. In 1854, Commodore Matthew C. Perry forced the opening of Japan to American and subsequently western trade ending the country's national seclusion which lasted for more than two centuries. Americans had tried before Perry's expedition to open up Japan but failed to do so, however as Perry threatened to attack Japan with his armed warships, the Japanese had no choice but to sign a treaty. In Passages from the English Notebooks, Volume 1, Nathaniel Hawthorne (2005) reports how Perry asked for a writer to compose his naval accounts, and Hawthorne recommended Melville among others “but he seems to have some acquaintance with the literature of the day, and did not grasp very cordially at any name that I could think of.” Perhaps the Commodore who was familiar “with the literature of the day” knew of Moby-Dick and his success did not fall in line with Captain Ahab's failure.

The “double-bolted” Japan is also where Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain and Death Stranding were created and developed. Having sunk on the coast of Japan at the end of Melville's novel, the Pequod floats again through the narrative of the Japanese videogame creator, Hideo Kojima. Kojima retells his version of Moby-Dick in The Phantom Pain. The videogame starts in a hospital in which the player is quickly called “Ahab” and goes through plastic surgery to protect his true identity since “the whole world wants him dead.” As the attacks on the hospital ensue Ahab is protected and guided out of the crisis by Ishmael, a man whose face is covered by bandages. The famous opening of Moby-Dick, “Call me Ishmael,” is also uttered by the Ishmael of The Phantom Pain (Kojima Productions, 2015). Though the parallels between the novel and the videogame do appear as easily detectable references, the analogies run deeper than those visible hints.

“This is Pequod! Arriving Shortly at LZ!”: Explicit References of Moby-Dick in the Phantom Pain

Kojima has always had the habit of using various references to pop culture and literature in his Metal Gear franchise which ran for over 20 years. In this section on Kojima's intertextualities, The Phantom Pain will mainly be analyzed in regard to its direct references to Moby-Dick. Primarily, both stories revolve around the theme of revenge. In the novel, Captain Ahab's sole purpose is to kill Moby Dick, a white whale that attacked him on his last voyage and took away his left leg. In a similar manner, the “Revenge” chapter of The Phantom Pain is the story of the mercenary leader Venom Snake and his endeavors to avenge all he lost to Cipher, a group that destroyed his private army and almost killed him at the end of Metal Gear Solid V: Ground Zeroes (Kojima Productions, 2014).

The most notable similarity is the direct mention of Ahab and Ishmael from the beginning of the game who are substantial characters in Moby-Dick. The novel presents Ahab as the monomaniac captain of the whaling ship Pequod, who sets out to kill Moby Dick. And Ishmael, a simple sailor, narrates Ahab's voyage and eventually his downfall. Ahab and Ishmael of The Phantom Pain fit the same roles. Melville's Ishmael, as the narrator, seems to decide the fate of the characters in the story as Kojima's Ishmael does with his Ahab. Ishmael is not mentioned much in the events of the novel as an active participant but seems to be a distant viewer onboard the ship who narrates and manipulates the tale. In the same way, the original Big Boss is not really present in this videogame but is the key figure in the whole Metal Gear narrative who uses Venom Snake as his clone to fight his wars.

Moreover, the detailed explanations of Ahab's thoughts, emotions, and soliloquies by Ishmael throughout the novel doubts the reader and invokes the narrator's unreliability. This unreliability leads to Ishmael's fluidity of character meaning that Ishmael can be any character on the ship, even Ahab. Big Boss and Venom Snake have a comparable relationship. For the public eye, they are the same person and only a few characters in the videogame are aware of their true identities. The videogame also reinforces the fluidity of the character for Venom Snake. First, as the player gets to create their own preferred avatar who is the person prior to the plastic surgery. Second, in the “Truth” episode of the game Big Boss tells Venom Snake/player that they are the same person and they “built it together” (Kojima Productions, 2015).

By drawing parallels between Melville's characters of Ahab and Ishmael and Kojima's Big Boss and Venom Snake, the game not only pays homage to but uses them to construct hybrid identities. The portrayal of fluid identity and narrative manipulation—where Venom Snake and Big Boss are interconnected yet distinct—create a subversive element, challenging these characters’ identities. This reinterpretation, inspired by Moby-Dick, serves to counter-mythologize Big Boss by critiquing and deconstructing his legendary status, exposing the harsh realities of his wars. The game takes this one step further by involving the player in this infamous legend, thereby immersing them in the deconstruction process. By engaging players directly in the reimagining of this myth, the game intensifies its colonial critique, transforming the reinterpretation of iconic characters into a participatory and dynamic critique of imperialism.

Besides the Ahab and Ishmael complexities, minor similarities can be found in both works. For instance, Venom Snake's helicopter pilot calls himself Pequod which is also the name of Captain Ahab's ship in Moby-Dick. In the same way, Ahab uses his ship to chase the white whale, Venom Snake uses his helicopter to travel to his missions’ destinations. Kaz's helicopter pilot is called Queequeg, who is Ishmael's cannibal friend in the novel. Furthermore, Venom Snake's base of operations is placed in the Seychelles waters close to the Arabian Sea which is akin to Ahab's base floating in the waters. Also, the ship by which Venom Snake travels from the hospital to Mother Base is a whaling fleet. Both Ahabs miss a body part that is replaced by a prosthetic. In the novel it is a left leg; and in the videogame, it is a left arm. Additionally, Venom Snake has a shrapnel sticking out of his head making him look like a demon which not only terrorizes his enemies but also distinguishes him from the real Big Boss (in the physical term besides the missing arm). It is interesting that Ahab is referred to as a “demon” or “demoniac” in the novel.

“But war is pain, and hate is woe”: Further Tropes of Political Kojima Utilizing Political Moby-Dick

Ever since its publication in 1851, and mostly since the period in the 1920s known as the Melville Revival, Moby-Dick has been interpreted differently to fit different times. For instance, during the Cold War, the novel was appropriated to portray a simple version of the war between Americans and the Soviets. In “Moby-Dick and the Cold War,” Donald Pease (1985) maintains how during that period Ahab stood as a symbol of totalitarian rule and against it, Ishmael personified the liberal ideals of American freedom. And the totalitarian Ahab would indeed fail, annihilating his crew in the process, while the freedom fighter all-American Ishmael would survive the calamity. Nowadays, Moby-Dick can also be read as a reflection of our times and Hideo Kojima has perfectly done so in The Phantom Pain.

One political reading of The Phantom Pain which is awfully noticeable is a commentary on the US's post-9/11 actions in the Middle East/West Asia. The videogame is set in the midst of the Cold War, and the locations the player visits are Afghanistan and Angola–Zaire border regions, both of which hold histories about the unending proxy war. Both wars, justified under the Reagan Doctrine, included American involvement that resulted in a successful regime change in the countries. From 1979 to 1989, Afghanistan was in fact involved in the Soviet–Afghan War, fought between the Mujahideen and the pro-Soviet Democratic Republic of Afghanistan. Through Operation Cyclone, the US assisted the anti-Soviet Mujahideen and supplied them with arms and finance. The war-stricken outskirts of Afghanistan are the place where the player spends most of their time in The Phantom Pain. During Venom Snake's time in Afghanistan, the player carried out missions requested by different clients such as the Mujahideen. Here Afghanistan attracts the attention as it was the site of the recent US War on Terror.

Afghanistan, the main terrain in The Phantom Pain, was the location of ongoing conflicts since the September 11 attacks. The so-called War on Terror in Afghanistan, which was considered as a just war for years, has been questioned by many in the past years, specifically the years before the release of The Phantom Pain. In 2011 Osama bin Laden, the alleged mastermind behind the September 11 attacks, was assassinated by the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group. With the death of a terrorist leader, one would expect this war to end but it did not. A few days after the September 11 attacks, Edward Said (2001) in an article likened the Bush administration to “Captain Ahab in pursuit of Moby Dick.” Captain Ahab did not stop even after the death of Osama bin Laden. Even though the United States agreed to withdraw all forces in 2020 and seemingly did so by May 2021, the aftereffects of the war are still damaging as such a vicious war gave birth to yet another authoritarian theocratic government in the Middle East. The newly founded Afghan government run by the Taliban has been violating human rights since its establishment. Thus, the alleged withdrawal of US troops did not mend many wounds either. People who have not directly lived through nor have been affected by the horrors of this never-ending war can feel the dread of it by playing The Phantom Pain. It also seems that Kojima is warning us of history repeating itself by recounting a past that is not so far-fetched concerning contemporary events.

But it was not only Kojima that warned us. So did Ishmael or Herman Melville. In the famed first chapter of Moby-Dick, “Loomings,” Ishmael explains that he is obliged by fate to go on a whaling voyage. He then envisions his whaling trip as a brief interlude between major historical events, listing “Whaling voyage by one Ishmael” between “Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States” and “Bloody Battle in Afghanistan.” But in contrast to Ishmael, the player in The Phantom Pain is experiencing that “Bloody Battle in Afghanistan” (Melville, 1851/1999, p. 22). Unlike Ishmael, who savors his voyage by finding delight in the sea life (and apparently not participating in the actual hunt), the player crawls in sand and dirt, passes through abandoned villages in Afghanistan and hides in toilet stalls and dumpsters to survive. Overall, the Afghanistan locations in The Phantom Pain are too realistic with ruined villages and barren landscapes. The locations look foul and the colors faded and everywhere is filled with weapons, tanks, and helicopters. Although the setting may not precisely mirror the actual Afghanistan, it effectively conveys the concept of the region seen through an imperialist American lens (Murray, 2018).

Another evidence suggesting direct criticism of American post-9/11 actions is the depiction of “Camp Omega” in Ground Zeroes. The prison base in the game is called “The United States Naval Prison Facility” which consists of Camp Omega where the player visits. Camp Omega is a reminiscent of Camp Echo and Camp Delta of Guantanamo Bay Naval Base. In an interview with The Guardian in 2014, Kojima confirmed that the association with the Guantanamo Bay detention camp was fully intended. The characters of Paz and Chico whom Big Boss is tasked to rescue are revealed to have gone through brutal torture and rape while in detention. Another gruesome act that the player visually experiences is the implant of bombs inside Paz's body in order to kill Big Boss during rescue. In a press event organized by Konami in 2013, Kojima expressed how he chose to risk the sales of Ground Zeroes to tackle mature themes such as rape and torture. This means that the description of these violent themes is again another method of condemning such acts, that were reportedly done by the United States in the Guantanamo Bay detention camp.

In my opinion, another potential political interpretation is a commentary on Japanese-American relations conducted from Kojima's point of view. Metal Gear series being created by a Japanese person, rarely (almost never) mentions Japan. The only visible Japanese reference is the character of Kazuhira Miller, who is an offspring of an American officer and a Japanese woman who worked as a prostitute during the Allied occupation of Japan. Kaz Miller can be seen as an in-game embodiment of Bhabha's concept of hybridity, shaped by Kojima's own creative vision.

The character of Kaz holds a contradictory position. First of all, his name is unique since “Kazuhira” stands for the Japanese word “peace.” Being nominally an agent of peace, Kaz is constantly engaged in war throughout his life. Also, this symbol of peace is dismembered and crippled as he is physically maimed in The Phantom Pain, having lost his right arm and left leg due to a Cipher's attack during Big Boss’ absence. Kaz seeks revenge and when he exacts it, he says that “It doesn’t feel like this is over … And I’ll never be whole again” (Kojima Productions, 2015). Therefore, it can be inferred that metaphorically peace cannot be obtained through violence and revenge.

The sense of hybridity is further deepened by Kojima's personal on influence on the characterization of Kaz. Kaz as an American-Japanese born during the Allied occupation of Japan, was bred by both cultures and belonged to none. In a similar manner, Hideo Kojima, also born in post-war Japan under US influence, was brought up by both cultures and created a new hybrid identity part of which is a critical view on US–Japan relations. Kojima's lifelong fascination with Hollywood is reflected in his videogames, yet this does not erase his Japanese roots. His consumption of international media and literature allows him to blend these influences, resulting in work with unique implications. By reincarnating his ideas through the characterization of Kaz, he might as well be illustrating his beliefs that a dismembered peace will not regenerate through violence. Captain Ahab will “never be whole again” even if he hunts down Moby Dick. And this lust for revenge only breeds more revenge and Kojima is possibly linking this lust for power to Japan's modern politics.

To understand Japan's contemporary politics, the historical context ought to be considered first. After Japan's defeat in WWII, the United States occupied Japan as a representative of the Allied Forces and started reforming the country in military, political, economic, and social spheres. In The Office of the Historian, a website directed by the US Department of State which archives the history of United States’ foreign policies, the plan to rehabilitate Japan is described as following: “The occupation of Japan can be divided into three phases: the initial effort to punish and reform Japan, the work to revive the Japanese economy, and the conclusion of a formal peace treaty and alliance” (Occupation and Reconstruction of Japan, 1945–52). The first phase produced the 1947 Constitution of Japan, which reduced the sovereignty of the Emperor of Japan to ceremonial acts and enacted the notorious Article 9 which prohibits Japan from using war as a means to settle international disputes. But at that time a failing economy and Mao Zedong's victory gave way to communism creeping into the postwar Japanese society. And then the subsequent outbreak of the Korean War birthed the Japan Self-Defense Forces (JSDF) allowing Japan's military forces to legally aid US troops in the war. The JSDF has been employed by the United Nations many times to participate in international peacekeeping missions. However, in 2004, the Japanese government deployed troops to Iraq at the command of the United States which sparked controversial views. This makes us question Japan's current relationship to the United States. It seems that Japan is still a pawn in the hand of its former occupants.

One would expect that such military restrictions enrage Japanese nationalists and it certainly did. The now deceased Shinzo Abe, who served as Prime Minister of Japan and President of the Liberal Democratic Party twice, vowed to push for a revision of Article 9. During his first term in office, in 2006–2007, Abe failed to amend Article 9 as many were in favor of the policy. When Abe took office again in 2012, he made it his priority to see Article 9 amended. In 2014, Abe's cabinet reinterpreted the law and in the next year Abe reached an agreement with former president Obama to let Japan “act when the United States or countries American forces are defending are threatened” (Hirschfeld Davis & Gordon, 2015). And in 2017, Abe announced that a constitutional reform would be in effect by the end of 2020 as he succeeded in gaining the majority of votes to do so. In the end, Abe retired in 2020 without revising the entirety of Article 9.

At this point, a constitutional reconsideration of Article 9 seems trivial since the Security Legislation law passed by Abe's cabinet in 2015 already bypasses Article 9's antiwar concept. Furthermore, the Japanese government's pacifism is rapidly fading away due to the Russian invasion of Ukraine and nuclear concerns from neighboring countries, but many Japanese people are still protesting against the revocation of Article 9, as they believe this law has been maintaining peace and economic stability in Japan since WWII, and Hideo Kojima seems to be one of them. Even though Japan has not fully remilitarized, it is still a military ally to Western countries such as the United States. And “military ally” is just another synonym for “mercenary” and Kojima taught us through The Phantom Pain about what happens to people who fight others’ wars. They become “dogs of war” trapped in a ceaseless cycle of revenge.

The Phantom Pain is a clear statement about the dangers of militarism. Kojima draws a map of what happens when you become obsessed with war. War only begets more war. Actually, the whole history of Japan is a great example. A powerful empire broken down as it sought more power, and which has been held on another empire's leash up until now. But what The Phantom Pain is perhaps hinting at is the risks that come with such a decision. It may sound patriotic and glorious to go to battle in the name of your country. But that is only the façade. The people that actually fight in the battlefield will be nothing more than puppets in the theater of power politics. Kojima wants you to live as those puppets in The Phantom Pain. You have to experience what it is like to be used. You, the player, have to face those phantoms and carry them forever.

This obsession with power is also a central theme in Moby-Dick. Melville tells us of what happens to a leader infatuated with an overwhelming ideal. Be it Ahab, Hitler, Big Boss, or Shinzo Abe. They will all follow the same path. Even if they themselves do not drown, they will surely drown their ships failing whoever followed them. However, Kojima also tells us the other outcome of such a story. What would happen if Captain Ahab conquered Moby Dick? Would he be “whole again”? Kaz clearly says no. Such a view is further supported by the narratological order of The Phantom Pain as glory slowly sinks into an unsettling abyss. The first part of the game is intriguing as the player builds an army, recruits professionals, comes into possession of a bipedal nuclear weapon, and exacts revenge. Any videogame would have stopped as the player achieves all the glamor fitting a private army. Yet, The Phantom Pain does not end there because you have to face your phantoms. All your efforts wither as you watch your nuclear warhead get stolen. You have to kill your own staff because you cannot risk a parasitic pandemic to destroy all the shiny things you built. The videogame deconstructs the character and the ideals of Big Boss level by level in the second half. The Phantom Pain might not end with a dramatic tragedy like Moby-Dick did, but it feeds you the tragedy bit by bit.

Throughout these analytic sections, I have tried to dissect The Phantom Pain to expose its political innuendos and describe how Melville and Kojima learned the same truth by analyzing their respective contexts. Kojima uses Moby-Dick, a narrative account and critique of imperialism in America, to expand on his own experience of US imperialism. In The Phantom Pain, Kojima emphasized American imperial politics and tried to invalidate such practices by placing the player in this never-ending loop of desire for power. Thus, through The Phantom Pain, Kojima decolonizes his worldview and encourages his global audience to do the same. By explaining the possible interpretations, Kojima might have aimed for his audience to experience and understand, I have also written an extended footnote to Moby-Dick. And with Kojima as my link, I may have joined the New Americanists who have been rereading the American classics critically, comparatively, and transnationally.

The similarities between The Phantom Pain and Moby-Dick go so much deeper than what the player sees, and I have tried to present them. Each is a work of a creator who understands how the world works, and appreciates the hidden forces that create our reality and lived experiences. And each story reflects its historical moment in its own way. Kojima's Metal Gear series heavily focuses on American imperialism and its effects on the rest of the world. He depicts the horrors of war and conveys the futility of war in every game. It is true that the series ended with an empty space for the players, but Kojima has not stopped. He continued his work with releasing Death Stranding in 2019, creating an even bigger empty space for the players to fill in. Still questioning the US’s role in the world, the videogame, as I shall argue in the following sections, depicts the consequences of this unquenchable thirst for control and dominance.

“Whaling not respectable? Whaling is imperial!”: From Melville's White Whale to Kojima's Stranded Whale

Melville appears prophetic in Moby-Dick by predicting the expansive empire America would one day become, and the strategies the country will adopt to grow and maintain its hegemony. Ishmael in the novel reveals his fascination with the idea of empire when he is musing about Nantucket and its inhabitants. For him “two thirds of this terraqueous globe are the Nantucketer's. For the sea is his; he owns it, as Emperors own empires” (Melville, 1851/1999, p. 65). In his view, a Nantucketer is a symbol of an American imperialist and the Pequod being a Nantucket vessel stands as the United States as it journeys to usurp the oceans and beyond. Melville left other noticeable traces of Pequod being a symbol of the United States. For instance, Pequod consists of 30 crewmembers resembling the 30 states in the union at the time. Also, the crewmembers are of different races and ethnicities, while the captain and first mates are all White reminding us of how the American government, specifically during Melville’s time, was made up of White leaders and politicians.

Furthermore, in “Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish,” the whale fishery is seen as an allegory of global expansion since, according to Ishmael's logic, conquered and colonized nations are like “Loose-Fish” waiting to be seized by whoever is powerful enough:

What was America in 1492 but a Loose-Fish, in which Columbus struck the Spanish standard by way of waifing it for his royal master and mistress? What was Poland to the Czar? What Greece to the Turk? What India to England? What at last will Mexico be to the United States? All Loose-Fish. (Melville, 1851/1999, p. 310)

Even America in 1492 is described as a “Loose-Fish” conquered by Columbus. Through such reasoning, America in Death Stranding has been turned into a loose-fish, is now waiting for a hero to turn it into a “Fast-Fish” once more. Sam Porter Bridges, America's last hope, is tasked by the President to “go west” and connect the remaining colonies of people together. In Ishmael's words, Sam will unify all the loose-fish scattered across America in Death Stranding.

Death Stranding is set in an apocalyptic America, where the country is reduced to the United Cities of America, as a phenomenon known as the “Death Stranding” has seemingly devastated the planet. It has caused the cycle of death to be broken and the dead who are now stranded come back to the world of the living. These ghostly figures originate from a place between life and death, called the “Beach.” The Beach presented to the players is a literal beach with stranded whales and other forms of sea life. The image of the whale is persistent throughout this game as not only the Beach is filled with stranded whales. But also, Sam's final battle is with a floating whale swimming in the sky. This Melvillean trope, the whale, visible in Kojima's imagination and prevalent in the game's marketing campaign, has become the center of his works ever since The Phantom Pain. Even Kojima Productions’ logo in this game displays an astronaut with a holographic whale jumping over his head as he plants the company's flag on an unknown planet.

As I have mentioned, Moby-Dick has influenced Kojima's latest works so much that the whale has become a leading motif appearing here and there. However, the novel's effect on Death Stranding is not as distinct as it was in The Phantom Pain. The Phantom Pain carried both explicit and implicit references to Moby-Dick. But Death Stranding has took a leap of faith using the novel as its jumping-off point. The simplest way to understand this is considering how Melville did the same thing. As demonstrated earlier, Melville wrote an allegory of American politics using the historical events he witnessed during his own time. Kojima took it one step further and imagined an outcome of American politics in Death Stranding. He demonstrated the doom American domestic and foreign policies would bring about in this videogame.

“America is a lie”: Political Interpretations of Death Stranding

Previously, I extensively discussed how The Phantom Pain explicitly and implicitly exposed the truths about American imperialism and its aftermath beyond the American borders. Now with the help of Death Stranding, another critical perspective on American imperialism will be illustrated, but this time within the borders of the United States. If in The Phantom Pain the player was stuck in this never-ending cycle of wars bred by the United States, Death Stranding has the player stuck in the aftereffects of these wars on the United States itself.

It is also worth noting that in an article discussing Death Stranding, Kojima stated that “Politics is always involved. I can’t create art … while trying to be blind about it” (Grubb, 2019). Thus, studying the political themes in Death Stranding aids us in understanding the world and how our reality is intertwined in a web of American politics. By understanding these political connections, we also understand the transnational and decolonial qualities of Death Stranding.

Death Stranding does carry the obvious social message of how people need to reconnect and uplift each other. For instance, the videogame's only interaction with other players is through likes and sending out positive messages like “Keep on keeping on.” Moreover, the player can choose not to initiate any combat at all during their playthrough. Green (2022) and Hartzheim (2023), respectively, discuss such themes of connection. With such a peaceful attitude there are still compulsory boss fights, three of which are with Cliff in historical war zones: World War I, World War II, and the Vietnam War. In the videogame, Deadman informs Sam/the player that each of these “Nightmares”—as the game calls them—are Beaches of so many people that have suddenly died together and thus their souls can never escape these wars. Therefore, even the souls of people who die in wars cannot rest. Cliff was also a war veteran who fought in Afghanistan, Iraq, and many other countries. Losing his family and subsequently his life to the president of a country he fought for all his life victimizes his character. By including these specific scenes and by victimizing Cliff, Death Stranding maintains the same anti-war sentiments that were also highlighted in The Phantom Pain. This passionate belief against violence and war may be rooted in Kojima's own experience; in an interview, he maintained that “Both my parents had experienced wartime, and I grew up hearing so many stories about war, from air raid experiences to stories about Auschwitz, countless times” (The Fellowship – Hideo Kojima, 2020). Thus, his position in the world as a person born and raised in postwar Japan reinforces this ideology repeated in his games.

A brilliant way Kojima employs to criticize American politics is how these politics have broken the country in Death Stranding. The United States of America has turned into the United Cities of America. The notion of UCA suggests that America as a nation-state has collapsed, and has been reduced to a series of interconnected city states such as pre-modern Europe, or even like the Silk Roads in medieval Asia. Kojima is probably aware of the future of gigantic empires such as the United States of America and he predicts that the downfall of the American empire will result in the reformation of city states. As a matter of fact, a similar scenario happened to Japan after WWII as the country lost all its colonies. Therefore, re-emergence of independent city states as both a dystopian future and a utopian alternative to the current world order is a possible prevision showcased in Death Stranding.

Not only the American ruling system is criticized, its ruler is the subject of critique as well. The position of the American president is harshly criticized in Death Stranding in so many ways. First of all, the American president is a literal Extinction Entity whose sole purpose is to end all. Bridget/Amelie commenced the Death Stranding killing so many people. She also experimented on unborn babies to make BBs. She co-created and led the terrorist group, Homo Demens. And she planned to end all life. An agent of doom appears in the form of the American president sugar coating her words and justifying her actions just to “make us whole again” (Kojima Productions, 2019).

The American president is also a symbol of imperialism. In the videogame, Amelie led an expedition westward to reconnect what was left of American communities. Sam is also tasked to “go west” to complete Amelie's work. This going-west-to-reconnect-people sounds like what Columbus and other imperialists did in the past while conquering the New World. At first, it does sound nice to be connected to a larger group of people and share their knowledge. But at the end of the game, Sam realizes that Amelie connected everyone to herself so that she can destroy everyone and everything at once. Therefore, the real agenda behind the past and current imperialists is the same: to gain dominance and eradicate lives.

Moreover, the symbolic names denoted to the character of the American president in Death Stranding aid us in understanding her wicked nature. At first, the player learns that Bridget Strand is the president. Bridget, as the name suggests, stands as a symbol of connection with her primary purpose of making “America whole.” When Bridget dies and Amelie is assigned to take over the presidency, she tells Sam of the origin of her name rooting from Amerigo Vespucci. He was an Italian explorer from whose name the term “America” is derived. This again reinforces her roots of imperialism. At the end of the videogame, when Amelie confesses her real nature to be an Extinction Entity, she tells Sam about the true meaning behind her name: “Ame is French for soul. A soul that's a lie” (Kojima Productions, 2019). In conclusion, bridging and connecting are only deceptive veneers the American president uses to lie. The true nature of the American president turns out to be an annihilating force.

Bridget/Amelie is also an opposing symbol of a recent American president. Amelie's strategy stands against former President Donald Trump's plan as she wishes to reconnect people whereas he wished to separate people. In an interview, Kojima talked about his reasons to make a game about connections and said that:

Trump is building a wall, and the U.K. is leaving the EU … In this game, we use bridges to connect things. But destroying those bridges can instantly turn them into walls. So bridges and walls are almost synonymous. That's one of the things I’d like the players to think about in the game. (Grubb, 2019)

Bridges and walls being equivalent means that the results of Bridget/Amelie's and Trump's methods are the same. Bridget/Amelie deceives others in order to devastate the planet. Trump elucidates his plans of devastation from the start. A wall and a bridge are synonymous in the hands of tyrants.

These commentaries on American politics may be evident to the players especially since the creator has talked about them in interviews. However, I believe Death Stranding has interweaved a clever criticism of the relationship of Japan to American politics. This critique concerns the existence of Bridge Babies or BBs. A lot of people playing Death Stranding for the first time might feel uneasy carrying a fetus in a pod to use it as equipment to detect BTs. And that is a very acceptable feeling because it is creepy and odd to use an unborn human being so obviously as a tool. The history of BBs according to the game dates back to top secret experiments done in the Manhattan Project which resulted in a voidout turning the whole place into a crater. The Manhattan Project led by the United States was in fact a research and development enterprise during WWII cultivating in the production of the first nuclear weapons. The atomic bombs manufactured there were later used in the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I believe that Kojima (or his Japanese consciousness in general) is quite scarred by this event as the ethicality of this action is still a topic of debate. Kojima skillfully uses this subject to his own advantage, appalling the players of Death Stranding. He links these BB experiments to the Manhattan Project to perhaps indicate how inhumane both of them were. What happened to Japanese civilians in the bombings can also be considered a human experiment, which is neither ethical nor justifiable in any way. Bombing cities and taking thousands of innocent lives is as repulsive and immoral as exploiting unborn infants. Besides, the game further stresses the idea of shunning human experiments as Sam forms a bond with the baby.

Death Stranding also explains that BBs are used as foundations for the Chiral Network in Knot Cites. This alludes to the folklores about how human sacrifices were used in the making of the London Bridge to strengthen its infrastructure. Even if it might not be true, this information is nevertheless disturbing. It seems to indicate that BBs were used to create imperial outposts as Amelie led her expedition to the western frontiers of the UCA. As discussed in the previous paragraph, Kojima may have hinted that the human experiments creating BBs are comparable to the horrific bombings of Japan. In my understanding, it is possible to see BBs as a metaphor for Japan. Therefore, Japan being a symbol of human experimentation is used by the American government as a tool to help the US’ transpacific expansions. Additionally, Sam's BB helps him find routes and avoid enemies to reach the goal of regaining control over lost American territory. In this way, BB's function is similar to Japan's function of assisting the United States in his plan of military and political dominance over the Pacific and Asia. However, Kojima ends the game in optimistic tones and Sam who is so attached to his BB eventually releases Lou from the pod.

In this section, a critical analysis was conducted on the political themes embedded within Death Stranding. The game is seen to implicitly critique American policies and project the potential consequences of such policies. While these critical elements may be readily discernible to the videogame's audience, an additional interpretative layer was explored, based on the premise that a creator's personal perspectives are inherently interwoven into their work. The initial analytical layer is focused on a critique of American policies, with a subsequent layer extending to a critique of US–Japanese relations, reflecting the artist's intention for his audience to engage with his perspective on this issue. By recognizing these political connections, insights into the transnational dimensions of Death Stranding are gained. The audience is then decolonized by Kojima, who presents a hypothetical scenario in which the United States, if its pursuit of power continues, not only endangers other nations but also jeopardizes its own existence. In this way, the narrative echoes the fate of the great Pequod, destined to sink under its own hubris.

Conclusion

In The Phantom Pain, the player experiences the gruesome wars the all-powerful United States instigated in other nations. However, in Death Stranding, the United States has been brought to its knees. Yet a broken America tries to regain control of its lost territory by sending Sam to take back what was once theirs. And this attempt fails again as the true intention was in fact abolishing all life. Hideo Kojima depicts this failure of rebuilding an empire in Death Stranding. And he paints the American empire at its center to remind us of the embeddedness of American supremacy and its politics in our current lives.

The Phantom Pain depicts the aftermath of American foreign policies by placing the player in the role of a mercenary leader involved in conflicts instigated by the United States on foreign soil. This analysis seeks to examine the political undertones in The Phantom Pain and draw parallels between Herman Melville's and Hideo Kojima's insights, reflecting on their respective historical contexts—Melville before, and Kojima after, the rise of US imperialism and global hegemony. Kojima underscores American imperial politics by illustrating wars driven by the United States in regions such as Afghanistan and the Angola-Zaire border. The futility of such imperialist and destructive practices is emphasized by immersing the player in a ceaseless cycle of power pursuit. Through The Phantom Pain, Kojima constructs a hybrid worldview that incorporates both his own perspective and that of the players, extending this decolonizing view to a global audience.

In Death Stranding, American policies are shown to have led to the nation's own destruction, with the country struggling to rebuild itself by reconnecting the few remaining communities. The videogame primarily serves as a condemnation of American policies, envisioning their dire consequences. Understanding these political connections reveals the transnational dimensions of Death Stranding. Kojima presents a scenario illustrating what could become of the world if the United States does not curb its insatiable desire for power. The political themes underlying these works illuminate the substantial role of the United States in global politics and the precarious fate of the planet in the hands of superpowers driven by a relentless pursuit of power and domination. In Death Stranding, Kojima once again reaffirms his decolonizing worldview by condemning American imperial politics and extends the same view towards his international players.