The Day I Broke the Unity Discord (And What It Taught Me About Building Better Communities)

If you missed the drama—lucky you—here’s the 80.lv article for context. But this isn’t a post about finger-pointing or rehashing the incident. It’s a reflection on why inclusive communities matter, why they’re fragile, and why I’ll gladly stir up trouble if it means creating change.

Why Inclusivity Isn’t Just a Buzzword (A Confession From a Self-Taught Programmer)

I didn’t grow up dreaming of code. In fact, I spent most of my school years avoiding math like it was that insidious curse from It Follows (solid movie, by the way). But in university, while studying Management, I found myself procrastinating by watching lectures from Harvard’s Introduction to Computer Science, a course they annually film and “open source” as part of their MOOC initiative.
Turns out, if you give me an exam to study for, I will do just about anything, including learning to code, as long as it’s not studying for that exam.

It wasn’t glamorous. I spent hours debugging scripts that refused to run, Googling error messages that made no sense, and wrestling with concepts that seemed to click for everyone else. But online communities became my lifeline. Whether it was a Stack Overflow thread explaining recursion in plain English, Uncle Bob’s clean code tangents, or Freya Holmér’s deep dives into shader programming, these resources helped me find my way through the maze.

That’s why the Unity Discord incident stung. It wasn’t just about a heated argument—it was a reminder of how quickly exclusionary dynamics can alienate people who need those lifelines, whether it’s today or two years from now.
Because here’s the thing: People don’t wake up one day and decide to be developers, especially in the game dev space. They stumble into it, often from the margins. Someone on the Discord asking a “dumb” question, or writing really terrible code, doesn’t have to be corrected, and doesn’t have to do everything the “right” way. Sometimes they just need a hand to hold, a nudge in the right direction, and a safe space to fail.

The Case for Spoon-Feeding

“Don’t spoon-feed them!” — I hear you. But sometimes, all they need in this moment is to get past a roadblock. In Unity communities especially, these are often kids or people from non-technical backgrounds just getting their toes wet. They might be years away from being a “real” developer, but they’re here now, trying, because something sparked their curiosity.
That’s why I will gladly write a snippet or just “spoon-feed” them the answer if it means they can keep going. When they’re ready, they’ll come back with deeper questions.

You’re Not Other People, and Other People Aren’t You

Learning isn’t a monolith. Dr. Neil Fleming’s VARK model (a staple in educational psychology) breaks down how we absorb information:

  • Visual learners thrive on diagrams and flowcharts.
  • Auditory learners (me!) need discussions or podcasts.
  • Read/write types devour documentation.
  • Kinesthetic learners, like many game devs, crave hands-on tinkering.

But it’s deeper than that. A 2013 study in Frontiers in Human Neuroscience found that cultural background, gender identity, and even socioeconomic factors shape how we approach problems. Neurodivergent developers might excel at spotting edge cases others overlook, while women in tech often develop razor-sharp communication skills navigating male-dominated spaces.

Diversity isn’t charity—it’s a strategic advantage. When we exclude voices, we lose out on perspectives that could transform our projects, strengthen our teams, and push our industry forward. Yet, we often default to “one-size-fits-all” learning, assuming everyone absorbs information the same way.

The Science of “Feeling Safe” (And Why It Matters More Than You Think)

Ever tried debugging code while someone breathes down your neck? That’s what exclusionary environments feel like—your brain shifts into threat mode. Research from a 2013 study in Frontiers in Human Neuroscience shows that anxiety literally blocks cognitive processing. Conversely, feeling safe boosts creativity.

So… How Do We Get There?

Building inclusive communities isn’t about perfection—it’s about intention. Here’s what I’ve learned (often the hard way):

  1. Ban “Just Google It” Culture
    Yes, RTFM matters. But dismissing questions as “obvious” ignores how differently people frame problems. I once spent hours debugging my code… only to realize I was inadvertently passing a value by reference. A kind soul saved me with, “Hey, I’ve done this 100 times—mind if I peek?”

  2. Listen to the Unspoken
    Introverts, non-native speakers, and marginalized folks often hesitate to speak up. When I’m in group settings, I try to explicitly invite input from those who haven’t shared yet. It’s a small gesture, but it works.

  3. Embrace Perspectives Beyond the Code
    When I face performance issues in my code, I try to view them as storytelling challenges rather than just technical problems. This shift in perspective often leads me to unexpected solutions.

    For example, in one VR game, our scene was set in a city office with a full skyline view, which tanked performance. Instead of optimizing the rendering, we reimagined the setting: we replaced the skyline with a brick wall, added an immersive city soundscape, and let players’ imaginations do the rest. The result? A more atmospheric experience and better performance.

Your Turn

Inclusivity isn’t a checkbox—it’s a daily practice. Ask yourself:

  • What assumptions am I making about this person?
  • What circumstances would make me more empathetic? (If someone asks a “dumb” question, consider that they might be a single parent learning in their spare time or a kid just starting out.)
  • Could my feedback be framed with more empathy? (Instead of “What am I even looking at?”, pause and reframe.)

Communities don’t break from one big incident—they erode through a thousand microcuts. But they’re also healed through small, consistent acts of generosity.

Let’s get to work.