The politics of ‘Werewolf’
We started playing “Werewolf” on a weeklong cruise through Alaska, and soon it became a nighttime habit when the moon was full, the buffet dining room was empty, and the lies were more easily concealed.
What’s “Werewolf”? It’s a card-based, role-playing game with many versions, though the one we were introduced to was called “Daybreak” and has a phone app instructing players how to play out their assigned roles.
The object of Werewolf is to survive being a werewolf by lying, while others try to unmask you; if you’re not a werewolf, your job is to uncover the true werewolf (or wolves) in your midst through deduction and shrewd questioning. Everyone votes at the end, pointing an accusing finger at whomever they think is the treacherous wolf — because, let’s face it, given the chance, he/she would tear the throats out of the other villagers.
Here’s how it works: three to seven players (more in the expanded version) gather around a deck of cards and pick one; the roles include Villager, Revealer, Seer, Witch, Insomniac, Werewolf, Minion (sworn defender of the Werewolf), among others. Each role has a specific ability that allows you to gather clues.
Players close their eyes as a series of actions are set in motion by the narrator through the app; certain characters may open their eyes or switch cards; identities are revealed; and when all players “awaken,” they have four minutes to debate which among them is a wolf.
A key skill here is being a very good liar. Some people are so good at throwing shade, they make you see fangs where they don’t exist. (More than once, I’ve unjustly accused my wife of being lycanthropic in a game, when she was totally innocent. You can imagine how that went over.)
Another good skill is seeing through other people’s B.S. It takes cunning to concoct a lie that will hold water (your cover story has to be airtight when you’re the wolf), but it takes some mad deductive logic skills to piece together enough clues to guess correctly, or poke holes in a Werewolf’s story.
It was fun to see my 13-year-old daughter master the game so easily, given that she seems the least qualified to tell a lie. (She was taught well by a group of Filipino-Chinese who were along on the cruise, as were we, to attend a friend’s wedding; she got tips as well from my sister-in-law and her boyfriend, who at certain times might resemble a werewolf, given his facial hair.)
What I also noticed, after having played a few rounds and observing human behavior several days afterward, was how lies are routinely woven into our actual lives. In everyday conversation, there are literally hundreds of things we could say in a given moment about the people we’re with. We could reveal things either good or bad about them; we could share some of their secrets, or speculate about their motives, or unleash untold social devastation simply by speaking the truth in a social setting. (We’re talking lies of omission as well as commission here.) Therefore, most of the time, we choose to hold our tongues. The delicate fabric of society relies on this withholding of information — this ability to lie — on a day-to-day basis.
Don’t think it’s true? Try telling someone how unflattering a certain dress looks. Try telling them they need to lose weight. (I know, I know: in the Philippines that’s just normal opening conversation.) Try telling someone that they’re awesome in many ways, but their breath stinks. Try spilling every snarky remark that comes into your head and see how many friends you have left.
Not so easy to be a truth teller, is it?
This predicament, it also occurred to me, is shared by a certain category of human whose very existence relies on an innate ability to string people along. To schmooze them, and gloss over the truth. To throw serious shade when needed.
Politicians, in other words.
If ever a game were invented to appeal to politicians, it’s Werewolf. True, poker players might also have an advantage at the game, since they’ve mastered the art of concealing their true hand; but politicians, I dare say, thrive on the Big Lie. They’re very good at it, because they do it so often. They have a lifetime of experience to draw from.
Full disclosure: I must admit, I suck at the game. I almost always get lynched when I’m the Werewolf — unless I have a Minion to watch my back. My daughter thinks it’s because I don’t understand the rules, or the roles; but I think it’s because it takes a certain talent to see lying as a game. Some, perhaps, are born with this talent. When you see Hillary or Donald out there on the presidential campaign trail, for instance, you know you’re watching some serious pros at the game. Trump serves up whoppers left and right, while Hillary seems to hold her tainted cards — and her emails — close to her vest.
Either would be someone to watch very closely if you were playing Werewolf with them.
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Daybreak games are available through www.beziergames.com.
