The Price of Revolution in ‘Squid Game’: Altruism & the Savior Complex from the Perspective of Scapegoats

“Squid Game” was a record-breaking series of Netflix, partly due to its depiction of universal socio-economic hardships, such as characters driven by massive debts or those who must work far away from their families, issues that deeply resonate with a broad audience. However, Squid Game is not the only dystopian survival thriller with a high-stakes, tournament-style competition. Although “Squid Game” sets itself apart by incorporating traditional Korean children’s games, this theme has a notable precedent in Japanese media like “Kaiji: The Ultimate Gambler”, where a protagonist risks his life in a gambling tournament to clear enormous debt, and “Liar Game“, where competitors are forced to deceive and manipulate others under the threat of financial ruin.

It’s not by accident that people see anti-capitalist themes inside “Squid Game”. Since its debut, “Squid Game” has been interpreted through various political lenses by ideological actors. For instance, the socialist magazine Jacobin argued that the show is an allegory of ‘capitalist hell’, aligning with Director Hwang Dong-hyuk’s stated intention to create a fable about modern capitalist society. Conversely, the libertarian magazine Reason claimed the series is a greater commentary on Communism than Capitalism. Adding to the irony, North Korean state media, Arirang Meari, used the global hit to criticize South Korean capitalism, even though North Koreans face severe penalties, including 15 years in a prison camp, for the simple act of watching South Korean media.

Acute financial distress unites all of the “Squid Game” contestants, from the impoverished to the white-collar workers. The show makes use of this common situation to criticise the economic traps of contemporary society, which alienate a variety of groups, including both immigrant workers and local Koreans. Among the other players who were ready to lie, exploit, and attack the other players, the main character Player 456 (Seong Gi-hun) is a former chauffeur in debt. He serves as the best of the show’s moral compass and maintains his natural empathy and compassion despite not being shown as being especially clever or strategic. After showing the series of betrayal and heart-breaking moments, Player 456 became the winner of the tournament and Player 1 was exposed as one of the organizers of the Squid Game.

In Season 2, Player 456 returns to the Squid Game with the stated purpose of ending the deadly tournament, portraying himself as a morally upright individual who, despite his newfound wealth, still cares deeply about the lives of his fellow human beings. After his repeated attempts to use the democratic vote to conclude the games are unsuccessful, Player 456 chose to turn towards revolution in season 2’s final episode. This pivot reflects an authoritarian analogy: forgoing voting system for a bloody uprising of their supporters against their so-called opposition. In this light, Player 456 is initially presented as a benevolent, charismatic leader who genuinely advocates for the welfare of the oppressed contestants. However, that episode indeed revealed a fundamental inconsistency in his moral position. On the eve of a fresh vote attempt, he tries to incite this rebellion with his allies including the Front Man, but this attempt is not without deadly awareness. Player 456 was overtly aware that competitors who are desperate to keep playing the game will probably launch a violent assault on those who want to call it quits, since it will reduce the population of those who will vote to end the game. The Front Man who was disguised as a contestant offered an idea of their side attacking the other side first and warned the people on their side. One player even mentioned that their side has a larger population of children and women, who are commonly perceived as less combatant.

Even though it was obvious that many lives would be in danger, Player 456 purposefully proposed a plan to launch a revolution against the game’s ruling elites. He disregarded the immediate dangers to those who would vote to end the game and decided not to warn them ahead about a possible massacre from the opposition voters, because he wanted to use that time to allow the guards to acquire guns. By doing this, he effectively decides to use these defenceless people as scapegoats in order to further his revolutionary agenda. The very value of human life that he professes to support is blatantly betrayed by this action. Initially portrayed as selfless, his revolutionary zeal causes him to take advantage of the very people he claims to be trying to save, showing that his dedication to his political objective takes precedence over his concern for personal safety.

In the end, 456, who portrays himself as morally superior, purposefully chooses to ignore the very democratic processes built into the game itself by denying vital information to the desperate people who are clinging to the hope of casting a ballot to end the game. Even the game, which he deemed to be so exploitative and wicked, is voluntary, allowing everyone to vote democratically. But he disregarded these people’s crucial rights, particularly the right to know about the plans of the other side to murder them.

This is directly comparable to the notions of narcissism and altruism found in most moral frauds, especially authoritarian politicians on both the left and the right. Since their goal is to seize power and impose their will without the democratic consent or choice of the people they claim to represent, these people’s “altruism” is fundamentally self-serving, irrational, hypocritical, and authoritarian. Their altruism is phony, and they view people as nothing more than tools to be used along the way. Player 456 is a moral fraud with a savior complex.

The core problem with altruism and savior complexes is that figures like Player 456—and many politicians—erase the agency of the oppressed or “common” people they claim to save. This dynamic often devolves into authoritarianism and personality cults. Who empowered Player 456 to decide that others’ lives are less valuable than the future he imagines? Their deaths were not voluntary sacrifices. Who authorized him to elevate his stubborn opinion about the Squid Game above the worth of individual lives? Who gave him the right to frame the situation as if failing to revolt now means more deaths later, thereby reducing people to expendable numbers? Why should their lives be treated as small sacrifices for his vision of a greater outcome? These questions are essential to reclaiming the individuality of those people.

These patterns are evident in real history. The Great Chinese Famine, with an estimated death toll between 15 and 55 million, was the result of Mao Zedong’s Great Leap Forward—built on empty promises of a better life under the “dictatorship of the proletariat.” Likewise, the Holodomor and other Soviet famines claimed millions of Ukrainian lives due to Stalin’s irst Five Year Plan, another false promise of prosperity through socialist dictatorship. Similarly, under Franco’s Spain, food shortages and rationing produced widespread hunger. In the occupied Netherlands, Nazi blockades and requisitioning triggered the “Hunger Winter,” killing about 20,000 civilians in service of the Third Reich. The common thread is clear: self‑styled saviors cloaked in altruistic slogans devastated millions of lives. Worse still, their supporters—from Marxist‑Leninists to Nazis—often engage in denialism, reducing the dead to mere statistics. The bitter irony is that such denial of genocide and famine is carried out under the banner of “humanity” since these political forces mostly claim themselves as those who care about the common people.

Altruism and collectivism inevitably lead to hypocrisy, authoritarianism, and little more because they project what might be better for others without, for the most part, consulting the people involved. This neglected angle regarding Player 456 in “Squid Game” reveals that many self‑proclaimed political gurus disregard the viewpoint of those they turn into scapegoats. Particularly in politics, altruism and collectivism deprive people who are deemed in need of assistance of their autonomy. They are never given the opportunity to take charge of their own lives and are instead reduced to symbols or tools for exploitation. In the end, this dynamic creates the conditions for authoritarian and totalitarian governance, in which a despot with a savior complex uses altruistic rhetoric to defend their position of authority.

Genuine freedom is always undermined when individual consent is violated and personal rights are taken away in the name of purportedly greater causes, such as nationalism and the dictatorship of the proletariat. Liberation is directly opposed to any revolution or political agenda that denigrates the individual, the smallest minority. This is the fatal flaw of collectivism and altruism: they erase agency and turn people into disposable tokens by elevating abstract “political values” above the individual. Genuine liberation must start with the inalienable rights of the individual; it can never be constructed on sacrifice imposed by others.