It’s Over. They Finally Sold The Whole Damn Thing.
So it happened. While you were grinding for loot boxes in Apex or raging at FIFA scripting, the suits in the boardroom were busy auctioning off your childhood. And Electronic Arts, the company that has made an art form out of nickel-and-diming its own customers for decades, just pulled off its greatest, most cynical cash grab of all time by reportedly selling almost the entire company—a staggering 93% stake—to Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund. For $55 billion. Let that sink in. They didn’t just sell a few shares; they handed over the keys to the kingdom. A kingdom built on your money, your time, and your passion.
But this isn’t some dry financial transaction you can just ignore. This is a hostile takeover of a cultural institution, a digital empire that has shaped entertainment for millions. And it was bought by a sovereign wealth fund controlled by a regime with a human rights record that would make a video game villain blush. This is the inevitable endgame of unchecked, predatory capitalism meeting petro-state ambition. They got what they wanted. They always do.
The Slow Creep of Foreign Power
Because you have to understand this didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow, calculated invasion, waged not with armies but with wire transfers and investment portfolios. The Saudi PIF has been sniffing around the gaming industry for years, a shark circling the waters, and they saw a perfect target in EA: a massive, globally recognized brand with a famously pliable corporate culture that would fold at the first sign of a big enough check. They started small, buying up stakes in Nintendo, in Capcom, in Take-Two Interactive. Just testing the waters. Getting a feel for the market. They were building a war chest, positioning their pieces on the board while everyone was distracted by the latest console wars or DLC controversy.
And now, the checkmate. They aren’t just a shareholder anymore. They’re the landlord. They are the owner, the boss, the final word. The remaining 7% is just window dressing, a pathetic illusion of independence held by private equity vultures like Silver Lake and Affinity Partners who helped broker this whole disgusting affair. They’re just there to skim their cut. The real power now resides in Riyadh.
What This Actually Means For YOU, The Gamer
So who cares, right? The games will still come out, the servers will still be on. That’s the lie they want you to believe. That’s the corporate PR line that’s already being drafted. But the truth is, when a company is owned by a state—especially one with a very specific and enforced set of social, political, and religious values—that ownership trickles down into everything. Every line of code, every character design, every story mission. It has to.
Think about it. Think about the games EA makes. Battlefield, a franchise built on modern military conflicts, often involving the Middle East. How will future stories be told when the owner has a vested political interest in how that region is portrayed? Do you really think you’ll see a storyline critical of Saudi Arabia or its allies? Of course not. It’s a joke. You’ll get sanitized, state-approved narratives disguised as entertainment. Propaganda you pay $70 to consume.
And what about games like The Sims or Dragon Age, franchises that have, to their credit, pushed for inclusivity and LGBTQ+ representation? EA loved to wave the rainbow flag and talk about its progressive values when it was good for business in the West. But how does that square with a new ownership structure where such identities are not just frowned upon, but criminalized? Something has to give. And I promise you, it won’t be the multi-billion-dollar owner. It’ll be the pride flags, the same-sex romance options, and the creative freedom of the developers who will be told to toe the new company line. Your ‘inclusive’ game company just got bought by a country where inclusivity can get you thrown in jail. The hypocrisy is breathtaking.
The Age of ‘Gameswashing’ is Here
We’ve all heard of ‘sportswashing’. Buying up beloved football clubs and golf leagues to launder a country’s reputation on the world stage. Well, welcome to the next frontier: ‘gameswashing’. It’s sportswashing on steroids, because gaming is more intimate, more interactive, and it reaches a younger, more impressionable audience. It’s the perfect vehicle for soft power. By owning the very platforms that shape the cultural conversation for a generation, you can subtly, or not so subtly, control that conversation. You can make your worldview seem normal, even desirable. Fun.
This $55 billion isn’t just an investment in a company; it’s an investment in shaping minds. It’s a down payment on cultural relevance and the sanitization of a global image. And every time you buy a copy of Madden, or an Apex Legends battle pass, or a pack in FIFA Ultimate Team, you are now directly subsidizing this project. Your hobby has been conscripted into a geopolitical PR campaign. You are no longer just a player; you are an unwitting participant in a nation’s branding exercise.
The Silence of the Sellouts
But the most infuriating part is the silence. The absolute, deafening silence from the army of developers, executives, and gaming journalists who, just yesterday, were lecturing all of us about ethics, about social responsibility, about the power of games to do good in the world. Where are they now? They’re cashing their paychecks. They’re updating their LinkedIn profiles. They are complicit. Because it turns out all that high-minded talk was just marketing. It was a brand strategy, easily discarded when a dump truck full of money backs up to the front door.
The entire system is rotten to the core. A system where a legendary game publisher can be hollowed out and sold for parts to the highest bidder, and the only thing anyone can talk about is the stock price. No one is standing up for the art, for the developers, or for the players. They just took our escape, our fantasy, our community, and put a price tag on it. And the price was $55 billion. Welcome to the future of gaming. It’s owned by someone else.
Photo by Military_Material on Pixabay.