Human Rights

Human Rights is a point-and-click puzzle rhythm game developed by Things For Humans. Released in 2019 for browser, Windows, and Macintosh, the game combines musical challenges with a narrative exploring human rights issues. Players interact with the game’s world by selecting elements in time with the music, uncovering stories and making choices that impact the outcome.

Human Rights: Review

Introduction

In an industry often dominated by high-octane action and sprawling worlds, Human Rights (2019) emerges as a poignant, unconventional artifact—a browser-based puzzle game that doubles as an interactive lyric video and socio-political commentary. Developed over a mere two months by the writer/producer of the indie band Monster Mansion’s同名 song, this title stands as a testament to video games’ potential as vessels for nuanced social discourse. Its release in February 2019 coincided with the fervent aftermath of Australia’s 2017 same-sex marriage postal survey, making it a direct response to a pivotal moment in LGBTQ+ history. This review argues that Human Rights, despite its brevity and simplicity, achieves something rare: it transforms a political movement into an intimate, player-driven experience of empathy and reflection, positioning itself as a significant, if understudied, entry in the canon of socially conscious gaming.

Development History & Context

Human Rights was crafted by the small, self-described “Things For Humans” studio—a pseudonym for the song’s creator—who prioritized rapid development to capture the zeitgeist of Australia’s marriage equality debate. The game’s genesis lies directly in the contentious 2017 postal survey, where public discourse around LGBTQ+ rights reached a fever pitch. The developer, acting as sole creator, leveraged the Unity engine to build a lightweight, accessible experience playable across browsers and desktop platforms (Windows, macOS). This technological choice ensured maximum reach, aligning with the game’s mission to democratize its message.

The era’s gaming landscape was saturated with historical epics and competitive shooters, making Human Rights an outlier. Yet its emergence fits within a growing trend identified in game studies literature, where indies increasingly tackle “public history” by translating contemporary social struggles into interactive formats. As Hartman, Tulloch, and Young note in their analysis of games as public history, such works “offer the player a chance to explore the past in immersive and engaging ways” (2021). Human Rights embodies this philosophy by reframing a recent, emotionally charged event not as a distant abstraction but as a personal journey of self-expression and solidarity.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

The game’s narrative unfolds not through traditional storytelling but through a series of interconnected vignettes, each corresponding to a lyric or theme in the eponymous song. Players explore symbolic scenes—a pride flag unfurling, a ballot box, silhouetted figures holding hands—while the song’s lyrics (e.g., “Love is love, no matter who you are”) serve as both guide and emotional anchor. The narrative structure mirrors the cyclical nature of social progress: moments of hope, resistance, and quiet resilience are juxtaposed with abstract representations of bureaucratic oppression (e.g., locked doors stamped with “NO”).

Thematically, the game is a meditation on vulnerability and agency. Its central conflict is not one of combat but of visibility: players must “unlock” scenes by clicking on objects, symbolizing the effort required to make marginalized voices heard. The absence of antagonistic characters underscores a key insight: systemic oppression operates not through individual villains but through subtle, pervasive barriers. This aligns with the song’s inspiration, which framed marriage equality as a struggle for basic human recognition. As a result, the narrative transcends its specific context to become a universal ode to dignity, resonating with anyone who has ever fought for the right to exist unapologetically.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

Human Rights eschews conventional mechanics in favor of a meditative “point-and-select” loop, blurring the line between gameplay and interactive art. The core interaction is simple: players click on highlighted objects within dioramic scenes to reveal lyrical fragments or symbolic animations. For example, clicking a “NO” vote might shatter it into confetti, while a locked heart-shaped lock could bloom into a flower. These actions are never punitive; there are no fail states, only a gentle encouragement to explore.

The game’s design reflects its thematic priorities. Puzzles are metaphorical rather than logical, serving as emotional catalysts. A sequence where players reassemble a shattered pride flag, for instance, becomes a ritual of reclamation. The music/rhythm elements are seamlessly integrated: the song’s tempo cues visual shifts, creating a synesthetic experience where gameplay and soundtrack are indivisible. This synergy is deliberate. As the Game Studies article on public history observes, games “train players into the ‘correct’ ways to engage with the gameworld” through repetition (Hartman et al., 2021). Here, that “correct” engagement is one of patience and empathy, not reflexes.

The interface is intentionally minimalist, with no HUD or tutorials. This choice forces players to intuit the game’s language of interaction, mirroring the process of learning to navigate societal codes as a marginalized individual. It’s a subtle masterclass in ludic empathy: the player’s journey from confusion to competence mirrors the emotional arc of coming into one’s own identity.

World-Building, Art & Sound

Human Rights’ world is not a place but a feeling—a collage of abstracted emotional states. The art style blends soft, pastel-hued 3D environments with papercraft textures, evoking handmade protest signs and scrapbooks. Scenes are sparse but evocative: a lone figure standing before a ballot box, a field of wilting flowers that bloom when tended, a skyline dotted with rainbow lights. This aesthetic choice rejects photorealism in favor of symbolism, making the world feel both personal and archetypal.

Sound design is equally deliberate. The song’s acoustic melody—gentle yet insistent—anchors the experience, with lyrics that double as environmental narration. Subtle sound effects (the click of a lock, a sigh of relief) punctuate interactions, while the absence of combat or jarring audio contrasts sharply with typical war-themed games. This sonic landscape transforms the game into an audio-visual poem, where every element reinforces its core message: human rights are not abstract concepts but lived, sensory experiences.

Reception & Legacy

Human Rights arrived with minimal fanfare. As noted on MobyGames, it garnered no critical reviews and was collected by only one player, reflecting its niche status as a passion project. Yet its legacy extends beyond sales figures. It exemplifies the “interactive archive” concept described by Hartman et al., using gameplay to preserve and reinterpret recent history (2021). The game’s direct engagement with the marriage equality debate positions it as a digital artifact of Australia’s social evolution, akin to how museums contextualize protest movements.

In broader industry discourse, Human Rights challenges the notion that “serious” games must be complex simulations. Its simplicity is its strength: by focusing on emotional resonance over mechanics, it proves that impactful storytelling can thrive in bite-sized formats. Moreover, its release on browsers exemplifies how games can democratize historical engagement, reaching audiences far beyond traditional gaming demographics. While it may not have spawned imitators, it remains a vital case study for developers exploring how to embed social commentary in accessible, player-driven experiences.

Conclusion

Human Rights is a quiet revolution—a game that dares to say more with less. In just two months of development, its creator distilled the weight of a social movement into an interactive experience of profound simplicity and emotional power. By marrying gameplay to music and metaphor, it transcends its origins as a companion piece to a song, becoming a standalone meditation on love, resistance, and the humanity we all share. Its place in video game history is not as a commercial juggernaut but as a testament to the medium’s capacity for empathy. In an age of increasingly polarized discourse, Human Rights reminds us that sometimes the most radical act is to simply see—and to let others be seen.

Verdict: A flawed yet essential artifact of indie game activism, Human Rights is less a game to be “beaten” than a feeling to be lived. It may not redefine the medium, but it reaffirms its soul.