Growing up, the claw machines were found at arcades next to the skeeball and basketball free-throw games. When playing games like skeeball or basketball, the rules of physics are largely at play, meaning we can often and reasonably assess our likelihood of success based on factors like skill, practice, and athleticism. The claw machine feels this simple as well, doesn’t it? There is a joystick to control a claw, and a button to tell it when to drop and grab the prize. There is the same joy or dopamine hit if that prize makes it to the prize chute, and maybe there is some quiet or loud contemplation if it doesn’t. Perhaps a nudge forward would have helped, or aiming for another prize that was better positioned. Claw machines feel really similar to the skill-based games next to them, but deep down inside, do you also sense that the claw machine is different?
As an adult, I own a small commercial claw machine. It’s one of my most extraneous and fun investments. It brings joy to our family parties and fundraisers, and most importantly, it brings joy to me. I find filling it up a creative process, and I look forward to sharing in the childish laughter that is sparked when loved ones, especially the elders, play. What I didn’t expect was that this machine would also offer me a deeper understanding of our systems, trust, and human nature.
If you don’t have one, let me confirm your suspicions – the claw machine is riggable. It comes with a manual and has a variety of ways to set the conditions of play, including how many coins it will cost for how many turns, how many seconds it lets players contemplate before automatically dropping the claw, how strongly it grips generally, and even how often prizes are won. What this means is that, though there is a baseline skill needed for positioning your claw in the right spot, that is not always enough to win.
I often share the settings context with the kids and adults who play on my claw machine, and we all still play. It continues to be loads of fun. What I’ve observed is that we have an innate level of tolerance for algorithms and odds beyond our control. In fact, we engage in some level of synthetic trust all the time when we use social media, our smartphones, or chat-based AI. Humans are grace-giving and curious creatures who are ready to flow when given the opportunity.
Regularly, we choose to participate even when we know the odds are against us because the stakes are low or we simply want to beat the odds. Sometimes we don’t see a viable alternative choice. Social justice work for me is akin to seeing the claw machine as it is. All of our systems are indeed made to benefit some more than others, and our systems are riggable. From a facilitation perspective, I’ll also share that our systems, along with our sectors, fields, and organizations, often mirror our messy, imperfect, and beautiful selves. Our work is about shining light on the parts that we can shed and grow out of, like inequitable and unjust factors, on mitigation of harm, and more so than ever, on finding better or liberatory ways forward. In the claw machine world, some jurisdictions now distinguish it from gambling machines by requiring randomized prize payout to be displayed through signage about the prize odds and how the machine functions, as well as limitations on prize value. These are important ways forward for even a fun, small system. What are you imagining for our greater systems as the world is shifting and changing at a rapid pace?
Photo by Ashwin Tanjore on Unsplash
