I recently read the news that playing Janggi (Korean chess) and Baduk (Go) has been banned at Tapgol Park in Jongno-gu, Seoul. Apparently, this decision was made to address persistent issues like public intoxication, gambling, smoking, public urination, foul odours, shouting, and the general slum-like atmosphere caused by some of the elderly patrons who gathered there. On one hand, the idea of cleaning up a place with such a notorious reputation makes sense. Yet, on the other, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu and unease—despite the fact that I never visit the park, nor do I have any personal connection to the behaviour of these specific individuals.

The reason for my discomfort? It’s because the regulation targets the 'play' itself—the games of Baduk and Janggi—rather than the 'misconduct' of the players. Our society’s view of the game industry has historically been identical. Whenever the industry grew and minor hiccups emerged—be it over-immersion, sexualised content, or violence—the focus of the debate always landed squarely on the game 'itself.' Each time, society slapped a 'regulation' badge on the medium, hoping for a quick-fix solution.

This ban on Janggi and Baduk is officially justified as 'protecting cultural assets,' aiming to remove elements that might damage the historical significance of Tapgol Park. Those who have long complained about the park’s environment are, unsurprisingly, in heated agreement. I get it. It is an undeniable fact that some of the elderly players have engaged in unethical behaviour, including smoking, drinking, and public nuisance. But these acts are not inherent to the games themselves. There are plenty of exemplary people who enjoy a quiet game of Janggi or Baduk in the open air without bothering a soul. Concluding that the games must be banned to solve the disorderly conduct of a few is a textbook case of administrative laziness and logical fallacy.

To use an analogy, it’s like claiming that a restaurant is the root cause of jaywalking just because a few customers happened to cross the street illegally after eating there. In logic, this is known as a 'Straw Man Fallacy' or a 'Hasty Generalization.' The director of such policy distorts the root cause to attack an easy target, painting the entire group with the brush of a few outliers.

The game industry has been subjected to this exact type of flawed logic for years. Proponents of regulation targeted the gaming habits of teenagers to introduce the 'Shutdown Law,' lobbied for classifying gaming as a psychiatric disorder, and used pre-censorship to block releases over concerns about violence or sexual content. Every one of these attempts took the cases of problematic individuals to treat all gamers as potential delinquents, making 'the game' the primary target of regulation. They consistently overlook the fact that the problem isn't the game, but the ethical lapses of users and the systemic social or environmental issues left unaddressed.

When proposing solutions to any issue, understanding the root cause must take precedence over blunt regulatory control. Perhaps this is why the Tapgol Park ban feels so reminiscent of the recurring calls for game regulation. The solution for Tapgol Park isn't to ban Janggi—it’s to enforce better order and management within the park. Likewise, the answer to gaming issues isn't to strangle the industry, but to foster a healthy gaming culture and support users. The issue is never the Janggi, the Baduk, or the game—it has always been the people.