There is a special kind of genius required to look at decades of sectarian violence, car bombings, hunger strikes, and weeping mothers, and think: “You know what this needs? Victory points and a rulebook.”

But here we are. A company in the United States has decided that the horrific conflict in Northern Ireland, known as the Troubles, is the perfect setting for a fun Friday night with friends. The game is titled “The Troubles: Shadow War in Northern Ireland 1964-1998.” It sounds less like a historical tragedy and more like a budget action movie you find in a gas station bargain bin.

This board game invites you—yes, you, the bored suburbanite with a craft beer in hand—to take control of the IRA, the British Army, or the Royal Ulster Constabulary. It comes with dice, tokens, and 260 cards. Because nothing captures the nuances of a divided society quite like drawing a card that says “Political Deal” or “Ambush.”

It is truly breathtaking how quickly human suffering becomes a toy. The creators promise that you can “wrap up the conflict within six hours.” If only the actual people living in Belfast knew it was that simple. If only the politicians and peacemakers who spent years banging their heads against brick walls had known they just needed to roll a double six. The arrogance is almost impressive. It took the real world thirty years and thousands of lives to reach a fragile peace. But do not worry, Dave from Accounting can solve it before his pizza gets cold.

Of course, this is an American invention. To the American mind, history is just content waiting to be packaged. Europe isn’t a place where real people live and bleed; it is a theme park with old buildings and “lore.” The Atlantic Ocean provides a wonderful buffer. It turns the screams of the past into sound effects. When you are sitting in a comfortable living room in Ohio, planting a bomb token on a map doesn’t feel like an act of terror. It feels like strategy. It feels like moving a thimble in Monopoly, only instead of buying a hotel, you are dismantling a society.

Victims’ rights groups in Northern Ireland are, understandably, furious. They have condemned the game for turning their trauma into entertainment. They argue that the company is ignoring the “living legacy” of the conflict. And they are right. The legacy is living. The scars are still there. The walls dividing communities are literally still standing in some places. But to the game makers, these are just “game mechanics.”

There is something deeply cynical about the way we consume tragedy today. We used to wait a few centuries before turning wars into games. We play games about the Romans or the Vikings because everyone involved is dust. But this? The ink is barely dry on the history books. There are people walking the streets of Derry today who remember exactly what that violence felt like. They do not need a cardboard token to remind them.

The game allows players to “plant bombs” and “make political deals.” It treats these two actions as if they are just different buttons on a controller. It flattens the horror into a math problem. If I blow up this checkpoint, do I get more points than if I negotiate? It turns moral choices into tactical calculations. That is the luxury of the player. You don't have to live in the wreckage you create on the board. You just sweep the pieces back into the box when you get tired.

The defense for this sort of thing is always “education.” They will say it teaches people history. They will claim it helps us understand the “complexities” of the struggle. Rubbish. You do not learn about the terror of a midnight raid by rolling dice. You do not understand the grief of a family by playing a card. This isn’t education; it is gamification. It is taking the worst moments of human existence and asking, “Is this fun?”

In the end, this board game is the perfect symbol of our times. We are so detached from reality that we treat war like a puzzle to be solved for amusement. We sit in our safe houses, watching the world burn on the news, and then we turn off the TV and play at war on our tables. It is safe. It is clean. And it is completely devoid of soul.

Perhaps next year they will release a game about the current economic crisis. We can all roll dice to see if we can afford rent or if we lose our jobs. That would be a laugh, wouldn't it? But for now, we have this: the packaged, plastic version of Northern Ireland’s pain. Enjoy the game. Try not to think about the real people who lost the game before you even opened the box.