’School wars’ gamify harm and belonging—but Christian families can offer a better story - Sara Taylor sets out how Christian parents can guide kids through peer pressure, identity struggles, and the dangerous pull of online trends
Recently, schools and police across the UK have been put on alert about something being referred to as ’school wars’. What began in London has spread like wildfire throughout UK cities.
Like most things now, it arrived unannounced, unexplained on social media. A poster, in loud colours, with flames running up the middle. School names split into sides like rival teams. And then, almost casually, a scoring system. Points for ’catching opps’. More points for using objects as weapons. Even more for recording it.
this isn’t just conflict; it’s conflict with rules; conflict with incentives. Conflict reframed as something you can win
It borrows, or perhaps more accurately ‘appropriates’, the language of sport, of gaming, of competition. And that’s precisely what makes it so dangerous. Now this isn’t just conflict; it’s conflict with rules; conflict with incentives. Conflict reframed as something you can win.
When I saw it on my son’s phone, I felt physically sick. Not just because of what it was, but because of the memory it evoked.
Years ago, when my eldest was 15, I found messages on his phone. He’d been challenged to a fight, out in the hills. It wasn’t spontaneous. It had been arranged. People were already messaging saying they couldn’t make it but would send others. Friends were planning to film it.
this time, it’s not just a dispute between a few teenagers. It’s been turned into a game
When I spoke to him, he didn’t brush it off. He didn’t pretend it didn’t matter. He looked me straight in the eye and begged me to let him go. Because, in his words, getting beaten up carried less shame than refusing and being seen as a chicken.
That moment has never really left me.
And now, years later, here we are again. Except this time, it’s not just a dispute between a few teenagers. It’s been turned into a game.
And the child holding the phone isn’t 15.
He’s 12.
When harm becomes a game
What makes this different isn’t simply the behaviour. It’s the framing.
Gamification is everywhere. It’s how apps keep us engaged, how streaks keep us coming back, how progress is measured and rewarded. It taps into something powerful in all of us, but especially in young people whose sense of identity and belonging is still forming.
Points. Progress. Recognition.
It works because it feels good to move forward, to achieve, to be seen.
It’s not always about wanting to cause harm but about not wanting to be the one who doesn’t belong
But when that same framework is applied to violence, it begins to reshape how it is perceived. The question subtly shifts. Not, “Is this right?” but “What does this get me?” And that shift really matters.
Games create distance. They simplify complex human interactions into objectives. They reduce people into roles: opponent, target, content. The emotional and moral weight of an action is dulled when it’s wrapped up as a game.
Suddenly, inhibitions are lowered. A young person who would instinctively hesitate in a real-world moment sees it differently when it’s presented as participation. As something that earns points. As something that contributes to identity.
Games are built to escalate. What starts as ‘just a laugh’ can quickly become something more serious. Not always by intent, but by design
Adolescence is about working out where you fit and who you are. In a world where visibility equals value, that pressure intensifies. Identity is everything, and trends like this offer a shortcut. Pick a side. Prove yourself. Be recognised. It’s not always about wanting to cause harm but about not wanting to be the one who doesn’t belong.
There’s also something deeply formative happening in how others are viewed. When people are reduced to ‘opps’, they stop being classmates and become targets. It creates distance, making it easier to disconnect actions from impact. Games are built to escalate. What starts as ‘just a laugh’ can quickly become something more serious. Not always by intent, but by design.
Schools can’t do this alone
Schools are taking this seriously. Staff are responding quickly. Headteachers are emailing parents. Safeguarding leads are raising concerns. They are doing what they can within the structures they have.
However, this isn’t something that can be contained within school walls.
The culture shaping our children doesn’t switch off at 3.30pm. It travels home with them. It lives on their phones. It shows up in spaces that are far less visible to adults.
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The issue is bigger than any one institution.
This is about formation. About how young people are learning to see themselves and others, and that kind of formation happens most powerfully in the context of relationships.
Which brings it, inevitably, back into our homes.
A different story about who we are
I think back to that conversation with my son. Not because it was extreme, but because it was honest. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to fight. There was no bravado in him, no excitement. Just tears.
What struck me most wasn’t his fear of getting hurt. It was his fear of being rejected. He wasn’t trying to be violent. He was trying to belong.
That is the part we have to understand.
it’s easy to assume aggression sits at the centre of it. But often, it’s something much more fragile. A young person trying to secure their place
Because when we look at something like “school wars”, it’s easy to assume aggression sits at the centre of it. But often, it’s something much more fragile. A young person trying to secure their place. Trying not to lose face. Trying not to be pushed to the edges of their social world. And that is a powerful motivator.
“Prove yourself. Don’t back down. Show them who you are.” Rarely do they consider the true cost, because their identity is being rooted in performance. In how others respond. In whether they can hold their place under pressure.
Honestly, that kind of identity is exhausting to maintain.
the Christian story offers something quieter, but far more secure. It tells us that people aren’t labels, but image-bearers
Thankfully, the Christian story offers something quieter, but far more secure. It tells us that people aren’t labels, but image-bearers (Genesis 1:27). That every person carries worth that doesn’t need to be earned or defended.
It reminds us that strength doesn’t always look like stepping forward. Sometimes it looks like stepping back. Like David, who had every chance to prove himself by harming Saul and chose not to.
if your worth isn’t up for negotiation, you don’t have to fight to prove it. And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one who steps out of the game
And it emphasises that love is not weakness. When Jesus says to love your neighbour (Mark 12:31) and calls peacemakers blessed (Matthew 5:9), he is not offering a softer option. He is offering a different way of being entirely. One that refuses to turn people into enemies just to secure your own place.
For a young person, that changes things. Because if your worth isn’t up for negotiation, you don’t have to fight to prove it. And maybe, just maybe, you can be the one who steps out of the game.
What this looks like at home
So, what do we do with all of this as parents?
We lean in, not just with warnings, but with conversation. Ongoing, open, and honest. The kind that makes space for them to say what they’re really thinking, not just what they think we want to hear.
This isn’t just about behaviour. It’s about pressure. The pressure to belong. The fear of being seen as weak. The quiet pull to go along with something, even when it doesn’t sit right.
it’s in those quiet conversations at home that a child finds the courage to step out of the game altogether
Our role is to help them name that, and to anchor them in something deeper. To be clear about what we believe about people, about harm, about what real strength looks like. Where faith shapes our home, it frames the conversation. What does it mean to see others as made in the image of God? What does it look like to choose peace when something else is being rewarded?
This isn’t about getting the wording perfect. It’s about being present. Close enough to notice, to ask, to listen.
These moments rarely arrive loudly. They show up quietly, in messages, in passing comments, in decisions made in seconds.
Often, it’s in those quiet conversations at home that a child finds the courage to step out of the game altogether.
