In Moving Beyond (Retro-)Cyberpunk: A Call for Radical Reinvention, I talked about the need to move forward and update our depictions of a cyberpunk setting. We explored how games could increase their focus on building alliances, supporting NPC communities, and contributing to a larger cause that affects the game world. I also suggested that a game's "win state" could involve overcoming the very economic systems that drive its dystopian setting, carrying the hope that a better world is possible. So, today, I want to address why this imagined "win state"—a life beyond capitalism—is so difficult to envision in real life.

It's often said that capitalism is not only the best economic system humanity has devised, but the only viable one. This notion—that we've somehow reached our final form when it comes to economic models—has permeated our collective consciousness so deeply that imagining alternatives can feel like a completely lost cause. Mark Fisher called this cultural barrier "capitalist realism" (in his aptly named book, Capitalist Realism: Is there no alternative?), and it's a term that describes how capitalism presents itself as the natural, inevitable state of human society. It's much like how Francis Fukuyama once said we have reached the end of history (before he redacted the statement some years later). Capitalist realism has such a grip on our minds that even imagining an alternative appears naïve or utopian. In fact, "it is easier to imagine an end to the world than an end to capitalism."

Capitalist realism embeds itself into our cultural and economic life with a term Fisher refers to as "business ontology"—the belief that every part of society, from healthcare to education, should operate like a business. This logic has become so normalised that it feels alien to many to imagine a world where healthcare exists as a universal right rather than as a profit-driven industry (albeit more so in some countries than others). The COVID-19 pandemic really put the spotlight on this issue since, as the virus spread, we saw shortages of essentials like hand sanitiser and toilet paper, and scalpers sold basic goods at exorbitant rates.

Supply issues are often held up as classic failures of socialist economies, but here they were, happening in capitalist societies. This wasn't a failure of socialism or communism—we're living under liberal capitalism here! It was the result of a for-profit system purely focused on quarterly gains. Many were quick to blame individual "hoarders" for the shortages, yet the problem wasn't some vague, hand-wavey notion of human nature but the very structure of supply and demand.

Even when capitalism's flaws are exposed, capitalist realism absorbs criticism without meaningful change. Hollywood offers the trope of the "evil corporation" in countless films, allowing us to condemn corporate greed at a safe distance. These cultural critiques provide a sense of dissent but only in ways that ultimately reinforce capitalism. Fisher calls this phenomenon "interpassivity"—where media perform anti-capitalism for us, giving the illusion of resistance while neutralising real agency. This is woven into how we understand the world. Instead of addressing the system itself, we're left blaming individual "bad actors" within it, as though removing a few villains would fix the deeper structural problems.

The notion that capitalism reflects human nature—that humans are inherently selfish, competitive, and motivated by greed—further reinforces capitalist realism. However, this idea misrepresents both capitalism and human nature. As David Graeber explores in Debt: The First 5,000 Years, many of the economic concepts we consider "natural," like debt, aren't as old as we think they are, or they didn't function as we have them today. For example, historically, debt functioned more as a social mechanism than an economic tool for extracting profit. In many societies, debt was a way to build mutual obligations and communal trust, not a weapon of individual financial burden. Graeber shows that before the emergence of capitalist structures, debt was more about maintaining relationships than enforcing isolation. Modern capitalism, however, redefines debt as a personal responsibility, often trapping people in cycles of repayment and dependency. Today, debt-driven economies—from consumer credit to student loans—perpetuate capitalist logic, discouraging us from imagining systems rooted in reciprocity rather than profit.

Paul Cockshott's How the World Works further examines how capitalism actively erased competing economic models. Cockshott argues that capitalism's dominance over the global economy isn't the result of any inherent superiority in the system—it's the outcome of capitalism's violent expansion, colonial exploitation, and ideological suppression over the last couple hundred years. Capitalism not only drove the exploitation of colonial territories for resources but sabotaged alternative systems, especially after the fall of the Soviet Union, because that's what made sense for the nations following the system to do in order to thrive. By ignoring capitalism's role in its own violent history, capitalist realism sustains the myth that it is the "natural" endpoint of economic evolution, discouraging us from questioning its legitimacy. The narrative of capitalism as a system that succeeded solely on merit erases the brutal conditions that allowed it to rise, reframing history to present it as the most morally sound and inevitable outcome of human progress.

This idea—that capitalism reflects a core, inescapable human nature—also feeds into what Fisher calls "reflexive impotence." This is an ingrained belief that any attempt to change capitalism is futile, as many of us find ourselves thinking, "This is just the way things are, and there's nothing I can do about it," or, "The current system the best we have tried so far." This mindset serves to reinforce the capitalist status quo by stifling collective action. Reflexive impotence is a learned response, a resignation that sees resistance as hopeless, turning the struggle against capitalism into a doomed dream. This learned helplessness is particularly pernicious because it aligns with capitalist realism's promise that capitalism is as inevitable as death and taxes. (Whoever created that adage didn't realise how avoidable taxes are for the wealthy.)

It doesn't help that in our daily lives, we frequently hear assertions that phenomena like inflation, austerity, and recession are natural occurrences—forces that operate outside of human influence and control. However, these economic conditions are actually the results of specific human decisions and policies. For instance, austerity measures and privatisation of public services are policy choices made by governments and institutions in response to certain economic pressures or ideologies.

Even during crises, capitalist realism discourages us from seeking fundamental changes to the system. Financial collapses, ecological disasters, and social inequalities may provoke temporary outrage, but the solutions we are offered rarely challenge the underlying structure. Instead, we see band-aid fixes that treat symptoms without addressing root causes. For example, during the 2008 financial crisis in the United States, the Federal Reserve engaged in quantitative easing, purchasing over $1 trillion in distressed debt securities, while the government released $700 billion through the National Economic Stabilisation Act to bail out struggling banks. Similarly, in response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the Federal Reserve quickly acquired $3 trillion in US Treasury and mortgage-backed securities, and direct fiscal assistance in the form of stimulus payments was provided to sustain consumer spending. (See COVID-19 and crises of capitalism: intensifying inequalities and global responses and A New Great Recession: Financial Sector During the 2008 Financial Crisis and the COVID-19 Pandemic)These crisis management strategies highlight capitalism's ability to absorb criticism, making problems seem manageable without fundamentally altering the system.

The inability to imagine alternatives is also sustained by how capitalism reframes its own history. We're told that capitalism is the natural state of things, a meritocratic system that triumphed over "failed" alternatives. However, as Cockshott and Graeber argue, this portrayal ignores the active role capitalist states played in sabotaging socialist experiments, as well as the violence and exploitation that fueled capitalist expansion. Economic blockades, military interventions, and ideological warfare from capitalist powers often sabotaged socialist economies. By presenting capitalism's dominance as a result of natural selection rather than deliberate suppression, capitalist realism obscures the fact that other systems could have thrived if simply left alone.

To imagine a world beyond capitalism, we need to actively dismantle the assumptions that prevent us from envisioning something new. Recognising capitalism's history of expansion allows us to question its supposedly inevitable features. Games, as I previously mentioned, can redefine winning as a collective success rather than mere individual achievement. By embracing a new concept of what success and "winning" means, games can challenge the dominant capitalist narratives and inspire players with alternative economic frameworks, encouraging us all to embrace the belief that a better system is not only possible but within reach.

We also need to reevaluate our understanding of human nature, the concept of success, and what we consider valuable in society. For too long, the belief has been that humans are inherently selfish and greedy, which reinforces and legitimises the current capitalist system and overlooks a rich history filled with instances that contradict it. Throughout history, communities have engaged in numerous cooperative behaviours, often prioritising communal welfare over individual gain. One powerful example is the Black Panther Party's Breakfast for Children Program, which directly addressed issues of hunger while building community trust and political consciousness (Mutual Aid 101: History, Politics, and Organizational Structures of Community Care). The Mondragon cooperatives in Spain's Basque region, founded by a Catholic priest after years of community discussion, grew from addressing local needs to encompassing 256 enterprises with over 83,000 workers (Cooperatives: A Historical and Cross Cultural Perspective). In Italy's Emilia-Romagna region, the cooperative movement is particularly strong, with about two out of every three inhabitants being co-op members, together producing around 30 per cent of the region's GDP. This dense cooperative economy has a long history dating back to at least the 1850s and has thrived despite significant historical challenges (The Italian Region Where Co-ops Produce a Third of Its GDP). During the COVID-19 pandemic, mutual aid networks flourished globally as communities organised to support vulnerable residents with essential supplies and medical care (The Power of Collective Support: How Mutual Aid Transforms Communities). These examples illustrate that cooperation and collective well-being have always played a vital role in the survival and flourishing of societies, demonstrating that alternative economic models based on solidarity rather than competition are not only possible but have proven successful.

The notion that not everything needs to be run for profit may initially seem romantic because of how deeply ingrained capitalist realism is, but we don't need to look far to find that there is potential for a more humane and equitable economy. Our current social and economic systems are more flexible and adaptable than we might often assume—we can create a future where community well-being and environmental sustainability take precedence over profit maximisation by changing the system itself.

Escaping capitalist realism involves exposing capitalism's forced conquering of the world and freeing our imaginations from its constraints. We can't wait for crises to force us to make radical changes—we need to actively resist the narratives that keep us from envisioning a world beyond capitalism. The economy is not a force of nature but a human construct, and media, literature, and games can offer spaces where we experiment with different ideas of success and value, breaking the monopoly of capitalist realism over our imagination. We can and should shift consciousness toward a world that values people over profit, connection over competition, and resilience over "numbers go up" economics.