It was not a surprise to see Donald Trump and a cabal of other Republican politicians seeking to implicate video games in the US’s latest mass shootings. The idea that young men can be driven to kill by Doom, Call of Duty or Fortnite is a seductive one: it’s simple, it ties in with fears that older voters harbour about digital culture and screen time, and it conveniently draws attention away from more complex societal concerns such as poverty, neglect, easy access to deadly firearms and a violently confrontational political culture. There’s just one problem: despite years of research and hundreds of studies, there is no compelling evidence that video game violence causes real-life bloodshed. It’s a dead end.

Every time these claims are made, the industry seems unwilling to analyse or engage with the reasons why games are so often implicated in violent acts. The standard response is blanket outrage and denial – games don’t cause real-world violence, they’re “apolitical” fun, so we don’t have to think about the issue, we don’t have to consider how the shooters portray or utilise military violence. They’re just entertainment.

However, over the past five years, as the visual detail, authenticity and narrative complexity of war simulations has increased, observers have started to think about the political meaning of these games. For example: should we consider the ramifications of military titles, such as Call of Duty or Battlefield, which have taught a generation of young people the names, manufacturers and magazine capacities of pretty much every submachine gun and assault rifle available? Should it worry us that for a number of years, game makers paid licensing fees to these manufacturers to use their products in games? And can we call military shooters apolitical if they constantly present the US and its allies as the default good guys and every one else as the baddies? Should we worry about the depiction of real-world cities, conflicts and crises as nothing but exciting backdrops?

Recently, there was a controversy over the inclusion of white phosphorus as a “reward” weapon in the forthcoming Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. Players who get enough kills in the multiplayer mode will be able to unlock this potentially devastating chemical weapon and drop it on their competitors – an action that in real-life would be questionable under international law. Knowing the horrific physical effects of white phosphorus exposure to the human body (it can burn down to the bone and particles may reignite weeks after contact), many have asked whether this is really a suitable munition to offer as a reward.

When quizzed about this by the games site Eurogamer, Infinity Ward multiplayer director Geoffrey Smith stated: “For us it’s about detachment … we’re just creating this playground to play on.” This echoes a familiar refrain from the developers of violent games – that they’re creating escapist entertainment. But this isn’t really good enough. If your game uses real-world weapons, real-world locations and real-world conflicts you can’t simply recuse yourself from moral and political debate. You’re in the thick of it whether you want to be or not, and maybe these moments are opportunities to reflect on how militarised violence is used by developers.

Video games are not responsible for real-world violence – life is far too complicated for that to be true – and video games should be free to explore and portray the same conflicts, weapons, themes and ideals as movies and television. But the industry has to be better at responding to the claims of political fearmongers, especially in the wake of horrific episodes of violence. Game makers need to analyse how they are portraying violence and what they are telling young gamers about military action. Whenever this subject comes up, veteran gamers recall an astonishing 2012 military shooter named Spec Ops: The Line which depicted a US military operation in a Dubai shattered by cataclysmic sandstorms. The game deliberately questioned and challenged the tactics and morality of the mission and the player’s actions, and provided a compelling critique of military activities in foreign lands – but very few games since have interrogated the first-person shooter anywhere near as rigorously. That’s a shame, especially at times like this.

It is not enough to point to the research and yell “video games are blameless” – every time a 14-year-old gains a preference for a cool-looking assault rifle in a shooter game, they’re entering an industrial-military complex of ideas and endorsements that game makers should be teaching them to navigate and contextualise.

There is no depiction of conflict in art without politics, and if the games industry refuses to be drawn into discussions around authenticity, appropriation, meaning and culpability in simulated violence, the loudest voices will be opportunist politicians such as Trump, Kevin McCarthy and Dan Patrick. And nothing good will ever come of that.