Extracting Lessons as an Activity Facilitator and Participant

Stardust’s Odyssey is a game set against the backdrop of an unequal society...In a world where people are treated unequally, the most valuable asset isn’t the amount of money in your pocket but the question of "who you are."

Parichat Chaiwong - WORKSHOP FACILITATOR & PLAYER

English version is translated and edited by Rubkwan Thammaboosadee.

The first time I participated as a player in Stardust’s Odyssey, I took on the role of Star Collector whose personal goal (Individual Victory) was to create a theatre production to record my own history. Although I was somewhat aware that the game also had a collective goal (Collective Victory), where all players could win together, I found myself unable to pull away from the mindset of being a star collector, focused on accumulating resources with all the advantages I had. While I didn’t win during my first game, the thrill of holding resources and feeling like I was controlling the fate of others became a new experience, revealing much about the inner workings of the player's thoughts.

Holding enough resources to dictate the direction and course of society as I wished led me to exercise power over the other participants to an unprecedented extent, despite knowing it wasn’t beneficial to the group.

Whenever my power was challenged, I often reacted with frustration. "I felt like Tan Ichitan [a Thai Billionaire] being pressured by the marching band to lend them money!" I exclaimed when pushed to contribute to a mission that would reduce the impact of dust pollution, despite having already purchased a personal air filter. The empathy I once had for others faded remarkably when power was in my hands. After the game ended, I was determined to play the star collector again and redeem myself.

That opportunity came during the final playtest, where I was again cast as the star collector. This time, I was tasked with pushing the game’s limits, testing how far it could take the players. I set my sights on playing as a ruthless elite, focused on maintaining my status while trying to hinder the other players from uniting.

In this last round, the game and the players reached a ‘boiling point’ in a way that was both impressive and surprising. Feelings of frustration, anger, humour, satisfaction, and isolation struck the star collector at various moments. The final game provided an emotionally challenging experience that shook my beliefs considerably.

When I stepped back to observe as a facilitator, I noticed how different players in each round created entirely different atmospheres in the game. In the first round, where the players were all newcomers who barely knew each other, the game was straightforward. Everyone was focused on their individual victories and just trying to survive. The location was an open space, it was hot, and the game took place late at night. Once there was a winner, the game ended without much argument.

This contrasted with the second round, where more experienced board gamers—self-proclaimed 'Dr. Boardgame'—took part. This led to surprising outcomes, as the player with the least resources, the vacuum cleaner, managed to win quietly as early as the second turn.

When discussing the game afterward, this player said the role was quite challenging, especially after they had positioned themselves as an expert. Playing the character with the lowest starting resources felt like a hidden challenge, but they still managed to achieve their personal victory. However, they kept it secret because they wanted to understand the game’s mechanisms further. It was interesting to see how the game evolved as players explored every hidden aspect, constantly reminding themselves, "There must be more hidden here."

One key aspect that stood out during this final round was the role of the side characters, who came to life more clearly than in previous sessions. This may have been due to the mix of players from various backgrounds—teachers new to board games, private-sector employees who were board game experts, a guidance counsellor focused on self-exploration, and a kind-hearted acting teacher. The game flowed cooperatively, with the star collector helping society instead of hoarding resources, and characters working together to explore the game's mechanics thoroughly.

In this round, character cards representing people encountered along the way became more significant than before. Voices, gestures, backgrounds, and dreams were expressed by each player, making the side stories (Easter Eggs) within the game, like moments from Thai political history, resonate with the players, as if they too were characters within the game.

During the final playtest, I played as both a participant and a facilitator. The selected participants included a labour rights activist playing the vacuum cleaner, a content creator as the star hunter, an ad agency employee as the traveller, and myself as the ruthless star collector. This mix created an exciting and memorable final session.

In this last round, the power of the star collector was constantly challenged, threatened, and undermined by the other players, especially the vacuum cleaner, who rallied the star hunter and traveller, convincing them that they all started with fewer resources.

They should, therefore, join forces and, if necessary, steal resources from the star collector to help society overcome its crises and achieve collective victory. As a result, my gameplay experience drastically shifted from the first round. This time, I couldn’t accumulate resources as easily, having to spend them on allies and hospital fees, with the constant threat of being locked away by the other three players!

I couldn’t plan investments as I wished, constantly having to buy off other players, negotiating truces in exchange for not being locked away. The final round of the playtest highlighted the game’s ability to explore power dynamics between the oppressed and the oppressor, showcasing collective consciousness and class struggle clearly.

All three rounds of playing the game revealed a rare quality found in only a few board games: the game serves merely as a tool or medium, while the experience players derive from it depends significantly on the nature of the four players involved.

Beyond the emotions and experiences during gameplay, Stardust’s Odyssey is a game set against the backdrop of an unequal society. Although it doesn't provide differing amounts of stardust as starting capital, the voices, memories, and identities recognised within the game reflect real societal dynamics. In a world where people are treated unequally, the most valuable asset isn’t the amount of money in your pocket but the question of "who you are."

Moreover, while the game encourages players to focus on personal victory—the default for each character as set by the game's design—it also opens the possibility for players to imagine a society where everyone thrives together through collective victory cards. Whether achieving this is easy or difficult depends on how strongly players are swayed by their individual victory cards. It’s as if, even though we know that pooling resources could create a society where everyone’s burden is lighter, the question remains: are we willing to abandon our inherited identities—our birthright, fame, wealth—and leave behind the dreams set by the game’s design to build a new world outside the preordained rules?

Throughout the playtests, both as a participant and as a facilitator, I observed only one player demonstrate this phenomenon: the labour rights activist who played the vacuum cleaner. Their assigned goal was to collect 10 stardust, which seemed relatively easy. However, this player rewrote their character’s dream, turning it into a revolution.

This approach dramatically changed the dynamic of the game, cornering me, who played the greedy Star Collector intent on maintaining my advantaged position, into submission. It led to a unique occurrence: a collective uprising of the working class, forcing the star collector to surrender in a way that had never happened before. The final game ended with the personal victory of the traveller, who managed to pay off their mortgage to the bank, partly through a deal with the star collector, agreeing not to be locked away in return for assistance.

Upon reflecting after the game, I realised that if the other three players had united and abandoned their individual dreams to insist on building a new world, the star collector would not only have had a more difficult time but would have been unable to maintain the unstable status quo.

As a teacher, this game has inspired me to apply it in various educational dimensions. What stands out most is the character cards, which open up space for the identities and voices of people who are often not recognised as important by the state or central authority. Alongside these are Easter Eggs related to key events in Thai political history, which could be used in history lessons with simple questions like: which group of people does each card represent, in what historical period and context? The cards can be used to sequence events and encourage students to explore whose identities were recorded as collective memories, and whose were erased, silenced, or used as tools to create new narratives that overwrite the old ones. How were these memories used, and for whose benefit?

Stardust’s Odyssey is not just a board game that makes class struggle and inequality tangible. It’s a game that captures the stories and identities of people who have contributed to shaping Thailand’s economic and political memory, all while being engaging and challenging.

As all the players said unanimously after playing the game for over two hours, "Can we play again?" Of course, not everyone will be lucky enough to uncover the hidden elements within the game after multiple rounds, as I did. However, I sincerely hope that this game will be developed into a version that is accessible to all, allowing future players to embark on the same journey of learning alongside the characters in the dusty city, just as I did.