Archive for Edinburgh International Festival

SELEDKA at the Fringe: Uliana Klimchuk on Art, Displacement and Defiance

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There are interviews that arrive already humming with urgency, and Uliana Klimchuk’s is one of them. Some artists talk about war from a distance; she talks from the middle of it, carrying lived experience into every line she writes and every room she walks into. SELEDKA isn’t just a play—it’s a pressure valve, a reckoning, a refusal to let anyone else tidy up the truth of what displacement feels like.

What struck me most while preparing this piece was how naturally Uliana moves between clarity and candour. One moment she’s discussing the mechanics of institutional support; the next she’s describing Kyiv summer days punctured by missiles. Her answers don’t posture. They don’t reach for grand statements. They simply insist on honesty, and that insistence becomes the spine of the work.

This interview isn’t just about a show heading to Edinburgh. It’s about ownership—of story, of identity, of the right to define home even when history tries to redraw the map. It’s also about collaboration, resilience, and the strange, stubborn hope that theatre can still make people look up from their routines and feel implicated in the world again.

You describe SELEDKA as a political satire born from the “cultural chasm” between Ukraine and contemporary America – when did that gap stop being an irritation and start becoming an artistic obligation?

Every single day in my life, as well as millions of other Ukrainians in the past 4 years, was marked by war. The feeling that I need to talk about it boldly has been growing since day 1. I think I needed to accumulate all of the stories from home, moments of ignorance abroad, people really willing to learn all over the world, but being able to fully comprehend what it’s like to live with war, stories of my family, friends and strangers being so resilient and joyful, happy to share another day summer day in Kyiv, even if it’s followed by missiles and terror at night. I couldn’t have written the play if I didn’t live through it myself, haven’t met all of the courageous people, and wasn’t hurt by the indifference of others. So at a certain point writing became a necessity, because all I had to say was too much to keep in my head. Besides, I really believe asking questions and learning about someone else’s reality, even if it puts us in an uncomfortable position, is what’s gonna ultimately help us be better people. Better citizens of the Earth.

The play asks who gets to claim ownership of a country. That’s a huge, loaded question. In performance, do you want audiences to feel unsettled by it, or implicated by it?

We don’t want to prescribe an experience to the audience, that’s why theater is so compelling, because everyone takes it in their own way. But the hope is that the audience will feel like they can’t turn away from it any longer. And I believe both of these options are a part of one. You can’t feel implicated without feeling unsettled. The world is full of bystanders, I am one sometimes, and so is everyone else. It does not make us monsters, but it definitely provides us with an opportunity to act. To change something. To stand up for what we believe. War is a macro-issue, and because of that it very easily gets overwhelming. We aren’t in charge of war, the government is, therefore we can’t end it. But the truth is, even asking the smallest question can change someone’s life. Ask and continue being curious. Opportunities to help will present themselves. And if we can’t stop the war, we definitely can help people suffering from it. If you don’t know what’s the best way to help, asking that question can create connection, therefore a sense of security and make tangible changes. Seledka, however, forces the audience to question where they stand by arguing for the “other” side, calling it righteous and inevitable. The history is painfully repetitive and we’ve learnt a while ago that all villains believe in their cause thinking they’re saving the world. So does Seledka. The audience then is asked to check in with their values, beliefs and simple acts of will. Do they follow his orders or do they sabotage the troupe?

You’ve lived through invasion, displacement, reinvention – Kyiv to Bulgaria to North Carolina. How much of SELEDKA is theatre, and how much are you refusing to let anyone else narrate your story?

The war has forced people to leave what they love behind. Millions have fled and some never came back. What most Ukrainians now consider the “norm”, should’ve never happened to anyone. But every day our people are exercising their resilience and freedom by just going to work, drinking coffee at a local cafe, watching plays and going to a rock concert. People are living their life to the fullest in the face of danger. That is the most outstanding act of bravery. As for myself, I won’t let Russia tell me where my home is or how to live my life. I come back to Kyiv whenever I have a chance. I use the curfew inflicted by war to spend time with my loved ones under the same roof. The blackouts in the city as an opportunity to connect the way we used to, not through instagram. I have never seen people as kind, generous and loving, as Ukrainians during times of need. Russia tries to turn us against each other, but for the past 4 years we’ve been standing strong and united. That is real defiance. And even though my studies brought me to North Carolina and now my work is taking me to Edinburgh, Kyiv is the only place I call home, and I have never yet been to a city where I felt like I could stay, but my hometown. That is why the play is partly a love letter to the country, the city and the people who bring its streets to life.

SELEDKA has already travelled from Winston-Salem to Washington D.C. to New York. Did American audiences respond with curiosity, confusion, or that particular brand of polite distance people adopt when war feels far away?

I think because the war, not just this one Ukrainian, but any of them really, feels so far from America, people were really moved hearing real stories, to hear more than news headlines. Many have never met anyone from Ukraine, and most definitely haven’t heard stories from people who lived there, so the play changed their world view and the sense of distance between these worlds. Americans most definitely didn’t know a lot about Ukraine, what it looks like, what the weather is like and sometimes even where it is on the map. Good thing, that lesson is learned very quickly during the show. I am very curious to see the audience response in Edinburgh as people in Europe are more aware of the fact that Ukraine is serving as a man shield for the Union. And I have no idea what the reception of the play would look like, but I know it will make people reevaluate the importance of the end of war.

You talk about similarity – that “we are more similar than we think if we learn from our history.” Do you find that audiences resist that idea, or do they secretly crave it?

Audiences do crave it, the mass media just puts way too much effort into creating chaos between people. As a result we all feel separated, scared to offend if we try to relate, forced to live our lives as a routine where we don’t take in what’s going on around us. However, all the great books, movies and stories that we’ve been passing on through generations show the same thing. History is circular, humanity has repeatedly struggled with the same patterns over and over again, and we won’t get any further if we let ourselves forget what we’ve already been through. So to share that experience with thirty or so strangers in a theater, to face the same villain, to really take in the stories of those who have been standing up for the villain is an act of unity we all crave for.

Your director, Lily Afghani, works heavily with themes of immigration and displacement. What happens when two artists shaped by uprooting collaborate – does it create clarity, or does it create friction that becomes the work?

It creates a safe space. Lily being half Iranian, half Mexican and so passionate about both cultures and their heritage is the best person who could’ve possibly directed SELEDKA. They know what it’s like to talk and bring to stage things that are hard to discuss, let alone live through. We started out as friends, and many times we shared conversations followed by tears and a bond between us, because we didn’t turn away from something hard. So our collaboration thrives through that need to connect, to share things that’ve been overlooked and make a difference. Our rehearsal process is a balance of a friendly check in (that tends to last too long, cause we’re having too much fun) and then another conversation about what’s going on in both our worlds politically, what’s the overlap and what did we not yet know. Then we explore how these themes fit into the story that we’re telling through this play. The third person in our small team is Jake Bryant, a phenomenal actor, great singer, writer and luckily for us, producer in this case, is another classmate of ours from University of North Carolina School of the Arts, and a crucial part of this production. I am very thankful to UNCSA and the life that they brought us all together, because I couldn’t have managed to share this play with the world without Lily and Jake, and if I miraculously did, it wouldn’t have been as much fun.

The show was supported by the Thomas S Kenan Institute for the Arts and developed through UNCSA’s season. How did institutional support shape the piece? Did it give you freedom, or did it sharpen your sense of responsibility?

We are immensely grateful for the support from both Kenan Institute and UNCSA as they were there from the very beginning, not only supporting us financially, but guiding us in the effort to build a show from scratch. They let us figure out how to produce a show starting from creating a budget and making sense of Excel sheets formulas, but were always there when we needed advice and were the foundation for our partnership with Producer Hub who is serving as our Fiscal Sponsor. These organisations connected us with people who knew infinitely more about the Fringe, producing and marketing, and, really, all of the other aspects of creating your solo show. Ultimately they have granted us freedom to make choices and not go into debt, which is an outstanding opportunity for artists just out of college and for that I will forever be grateful.

Your background in pop singing is fascinating – pop is often dismissed as light, disposable, unserious. Has that training influenced how you deliver political material onstage, perhaps through rhythm, breath, or emotional precision?

Thank you for this question, because I never really thought about it. First of all, the teachers in my conservatory were all very tough and direct. One of my favourite stories from that time is when I got to my first voice lesson, my teacher gathered her class and after listening to me sing made them tell me one thing they thought was bad about my performance. Perhaps not the best teaching technique, but it informed the way I move through life now. That is all to say, there was nothing light or unserious about pop singing. I think it gave me an amazing training in terms of voicing what I think is important, because singing somehow is one of the scariest things I’ve done. Not only are you conveying the message of the song, but you’re doing it with your own voice. One of the most vulnerable and nerve-wrecking experiences. But having to do that in the pressure of my school where all 18 girls in my class wanted to be the next pop-star has given me the sense of confidence, without which I wouldn’t be able to share the story of Ukraine at the most renowned Theatre Festival. The vocal training has prepared me for the endurance and stamina one requires for a solo performance. And love for music has instilled in me pride for my country and its culture, the incredible music that our artists make inspires me to share that with the world and doesn’t let me stop until the whole planet knows about how talented and courageous Ukrainians are.

You’ve worked with major performers – David Harbour, Ivanna Sakhno, Kelly AuCoin, Jessica Hecht. Did seeing your writing interpreted by actors of that calibre change how you approached SELEDKA?

Most definitely. First of all, seeing your work being brought to life by people you’ve admired long before you thought you wanted to write is a very overwhelming experience. But not only did these people give voice to my characters, some of them became my life long mentors. People who I look up to and who are always there to give back to those just staring out. First of all, they really made me feel like what I have to say is important and should be told. For that I have to thank Laura Cahill, the leader of Young Playwright Ukraine, the group that brought all of these people together and created a platform for young writers like me. One of the mentors I met through that platform is a London based writer, Suzanne Heathcoat, who has given me feedback on the initial stages of SELEDKA and has been there to support it all the way through. The Alum of UNCSA, a Tony Award winner for his play “Oslo”, JT Rogers, has encouraged me and Lily to be the brave artists that we want to be, he has advised me on the writing and was always quick to respond to any email with an absurd question I had. I cannot overstate the impact these people have made on my growth as a writer and an artist, and I only hope to build a career as successful as all of them did, giving back to the next generation.

SELEDKA arrives at the Fringe at a moment when audiences are hungry for authenticity but exhausted by crisis. What do you hope they carry out of the Snug or Playground 3 – a political awakening, a cultural bridge, or simply a deeper sense of human proximity?

The hope is that the audiences will leave with a sense that they’re a part of the history of whatever happens next. That their small actions have the power of helping someone. That history is currently being written. We live in unpredictable times when every day things turn around, when the dangers are far more overpowering than they were 70 years ago and when humanity and kindness are a far more valuable currency than any other existing one.

 

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Fringe review: Alice Hawkins – Working Class Suffragette

Alice Hawkins – Working Class Suffragette
— a powerful spoken-word tribute presented by her great-grandson Peter Barratt, with “sister suffragette” Ruth Pownall

From the moment Peter Barratt took to the stage, it was clear: his passion for Alice Hawkins, his great-grandmother, is not just historical—it’s heartfelt. With warmth, a sprinkle of humour, and steadfast pride, he guided us through her extraordinary life, sharing family archives, letters, and stories that felt both personal and universally stirring. His delivery felt like a chat with kin—welcoming, sincere, and deeply human.

Peter Barratt

Ruth Pownall, as “sister suffragette,” breathed theatrical life into Alice’s voice. With words drawn from real letters and speeches, and with suffragette songs woven into her portrayal, Ruth added another evocative layer that helped transport us back to those fervent years. Her singing gave a poignant rhythm to the fight, reminding us that the suffragettes’ struggle was not only political, but deeply emotional.

Alice Riley Hawkins—born in 1863 in Stafford—became a leading suffragette in Leicester. A machinist at Equity Shoes, a devoted socialist, and a mother of six, she lived the daily grind of working-class life while pushing a suffrage campaign. Through the cooperative structure at her factory, she accessed education and socialist ideas—precisely the foundation that fired her activism. In 1894 she joined the Independent Labour Party, and by 1906 she was in correspondence with Sylvia Pankhurst. When Sylvia came to Leicester in 1907, Alice helped organise and launch a WSPU branch there, alongside Mary Gawthorpe.

Alice was jailed five times for militant actions on behalf of the WSPU—a testament to her courage and dedication. In February 1907 she was arrested after a Hyde Park rally turned violent, when police on horseback charged the protesters. She was sent to Holloway Prison, where a lawyer remarked that “in no other civilised country would women be dealt with in this manner.” In 1909 she attempted to enter a Winston Churchill meeting from which suffragettes had been barred. Arrested again, she went to prison and took part in a hunger strike. In 1911 she smashed a Home Office window with a brick in full view of police. In 1913 she poured ink into a Leicester postbox and was suspected, though never proved, of the famous “no votes, no golf” slogan written in horse dung on a golf course. Alice also received a Hunger Strike Medal from the WSPU and was among the working-class women selected to meet leading politicians like Lloyd George and Sir Edward Grey to press their cause directly.

Ruth Pownall

Alice’s husband Alfred was no bystander—he actively supported her. When he was assaulted and had his kneecap fractured after questioning Churchill at a Liberal Party meeting in Bradford, the court awarded him compensation. That wasn’t just solidarity—it was bravery in its own right. His backing allowed Alice to keep campaigning, even while raising a family of six children.

Peter’s storytelling shone with a warm confidence and touches of humour that made history feel alive—not dusty. We sensed the pride in his family history, the importance of sharing it, and his belief that Alice’s story still resonates today. Ruth’s performance, rooted in real letters and speeches, gave voice to the suffragette soul—and the songs and her stagecraft made it unforgettable. For many in the UK—even today—these stories of suffragette violence and state repression remain poorly known. The police charges, the arrests and imprisonment, the force-feeding, the property damage—all were radical but essential tactics of a desperate, determined movement. Sharing those stories matters: it highlights how hard-won women’s rights were—and how easy it is to take them for granted.

Ultimately, their efforts prevailed. Women secured the vote—gradually, starting in 1918, and fully by 1928. Today, a bronze statue of Alice Hawkins, seven feet tall, stands in Leicester’s Market Square—her arm raised, mid-speech, a commanding presence recalling that she once preached change in that very spot. The unveiling in 2018 was a community moment, with thousands watching, including members of her family who had fought for years to have her commemorated.

This was a moving, inspiring experience. Peter Barratt’s passion and pride bubbled through his every word—his warmth and humour made history feel close. Ruth Pownall’s theatrical presence, singing, and faithful voice-of-Alice made it vivid. Alice Hawkins deserves to be known—not just as a suffragette, but as a working-class mum, machinist, socialist, and fighter. Her story speaks to what it takes to change the world—and why we must remember.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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The Heart-warming Legacy of Ah-Ma: A Story of Love

Five black stars displayed in a row on a light background.

298 words, 2 minutes read time.

When Cathy spotted a strange red glow in the sky she realised that something was wrong. It was the destructive Eaton fire in California. It stopped half a mile from her home. The neighbourhood was reduced to rubble, speculators moved in to buy up land for buttons and build apartments for huge profit, but despite it all the community kept together. This caused her to think that in times of chaos we have no choice but to survive and do what we can in the moment.

A performer holding a floral patterned shirt in a dimly lit space with red and green lighting.

Cathy was reminded of her ‘Ah-Ma’ – granny in in Fujianese. In this funny and poignant story, Cathy’s Ah-Ma comes to life for the audience. Stories of how she coped with her brother‘s suicide, her strong loving relationship with Cathy, how she ‘wrapped me in the warmth of her presence.’  She recalls as a child running tearfully after a bus when her Ah-Ma went away for a month – a whole month – at New Year. She wasn’t just a grandmother, she was hope, she was safety for the young Cathy. Whether Cathy was in away in Hong Kong or in the US to study, her Ah-Ma wanted to know, ‘Have you eaten enough? Are you warm enough?’

Then, ten years ago, her beloved Ah-Ma began to fade away with dementia. This wonderful lady, who never learned to read or write yet practised signing her own name in a notepad couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

How Cathy and her Ah-Ma coped with all that life threw at them is a touching story of love and survival. It’s bound to touch the hearts of many who’ve known similar circumstances. Kasen Tsui brings this bittersweet story to life with minimal props, a chair, a shirt and a little notebook – and remarkable stage presence. Don’t miss this.

Reviewed by David Kerr

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Transforming Mental Health Care: Insights from SECTIONED

Poppy Radcliffe in conversation with Pat Harrington

How do you hold a system to account while it’s holding you? That’s the question pulsing beneath SECTIONED – Schrödinger’s Mental Health, the raw, poetic, and politically charged solo show from neurodiverse performer Poppy Radcliffe. In it, Radcliffe takes the audience on an unflinching journey through nine years of coercive psychiatric intervention—including eight sectionings, the most recent of which occurred just weeks before this year’s Fringe.

Blending slam poetry with sharp commentary, she takes a scalpel to a system that asks patients to be simultaneously unwell enough to detain yet well enough to self-manage. The “Schrödinger” metaphor, far from a gimmick, becomes a lived paradox—a way to interrogate the cruel logic of mental health bureaucracy where diagnosis justifies surveillance and vulnerability is met with suspicion.

Here, Poppy speaks candidly about the trauma of being detained, the institutional failures she’s endured, and her hopes for poetic protest as a catalyst for reform. In this moving and urgent interview, she lays bare the contradictions of a system that claims to care, but too often punishes, isolates, and invalidates. What follows is both testimony and artistic mission statement—one that may well leave you changed.

About the Show and Creative Approach

  1. What inspired the title SECTIONED – Schrödinger’s Mental Health, and how does the quantum metaphor shape both the narrative arc and audience experience?

The title Schrödinger’s Mental Health is a reference to two things being true at the same time.  When dealing with the mental health services, it often feels like you are expected to be both well and ill simultaneously.  You are expected to accept life long ill health and medication but act calmer and more together than people without diagnosis. If one is well why can’t there even be consideration to reduce medication? If one is ill, why do you get no practical support? 

Promotional image for the show 'SECTIONED – Schrödinger's Mental Health', featuring a person with vibrant face paint expressing intense emotion.

The show asks the question: am I ill or am I well, because I surely can’t be both? 

  1. You describe the piece as part crushing poetry and part TED talk. How do you balance raw, confessional verse with the more structured, informational elements?

This is one of my favourite aspects of the show.  The show transitions smoothly from the prose parts to the poetry, with the poems chosen to highlight the emotional impact of the policies on the patient, there is no stop and start between them.  

  1. Your debut show was shortlisted as “best emerging artist” at Brighton and won Best Neurodiverse Performance. How has that early recognition influenced your creative process this year?

It has certainly given me confidence that the show will be well received.  Writing this show has been incredibly difficult, it is a scary thing to stand up and say that a system that is universally loved and believed to be doing the best they can is in fact failing as many people as it helps.  Winning the outstanding neurodiverse performance award at Brighton was an honor and a shock, until I received the nomination, I wasn’t even aware that any awards people had seen the show.  It made me feel that there really was a chance that the show and story could get noticed at Edinburgh this year, which is both everything I want and also terrifying as the thought of being the face of mental ill health in the UK brings its own level of anxiety.  

Anxiety that got so high that my most recent sectioning was between Brighton and Edinburgh 2025.   I had to take the mental health services to a tribunal (independent legal process to determine whether I should be released from section) in order to get released in time to perform at the fringe this year.  A tribunal I won and I am very proud of that as apparently that is rare.  In a weird way I am grateful that I had recent experience of a ward, it had been 2.5 years since I was last in and it is easy to forget the horror, but if anything they are worse than they ever were.  

It has thrown into contrast the general public perception of myself and the perception of the services, the former seeming to have faith and the latter, that I am only trying to help, still doubting my sanity.

Talking Sectioning and Inpatient Care

  1. You’ve been sectioned eight times in nine years. Can you walk us through the most jarring moments during the AMHP and medical assessments—what questions or procedures stay with you?

My first sectioning and last sectionings were the most jarring. The first happened three months after the separation from my husband at a time when I felt as mentally well as I have ever done.  I slipped up, over did things and got arrested for drunk and disorderly, not my finest moment but in my view understandable given the circumstances and it was the first time ever in my life.  When I left the cell the next morning, the second lieutenant said to me “Don’t worry, a lot of people who go on to do amazing things have records for drunk and disorderly”.  I felt seen, supported and ready to repay their faith in me by buckling down and working.

I got sectioned two days later after nothing more than a row with my parents who didn’t know how to handle the arrest.  In that meeting, and it was until recently the only one that I had seen the section notes of, I was called delusional for believing I could build a database (my area of expertise), they commented that my speak was laboured when talking about my parents, people who had broken a promise and with whom I had always had a difficult relationship.  At the time I was a satellite engineer, I may have used the term “rocket scientist” a slight exaggeration.  The section notes wrote there were “elements of truth”.  I felt that they saw a distressed woman and formed their own conclusions when there was nothing at that point to be worried about.  That decision was the start of my mental distress, not the culmination of it.

In general, I could not tell you what parts hurt the most because I have not been given access to what they have written about me, you are almost periphery to the decision process about your own future.

The most recent sectioning hurt because prior to it, I had spent a week trying to get myself voluntarily committed.  I called an ambulance on myself 8 times, because I was so mentally unwell that it was also physically ill, an interconnect between my mental and physical health now being something I deal with on a daily basis.  The ambulance came 5 times and each time wrote me a note, saying “Talk to your sister” or on one “If you experience unconsciousness, dial 999” which is impossible advice and then left without me.  I honestly thought I was going to die and they left me and only sectioned me after I had recovered my strength.  Yes I damaged church property, but if I committed a crime whilst psychotic then charge me with a crime and allow me to tell my side of the story.  It is not right to lock people up with no ability to advocate for themselves.

  1. Mind’s guide to sectioning stresses the right to an interpreter, a friend present, and full explanations of each stage. Which of these rights did you find most critical in preserving your dignity, and where did the system fall short?

None of these were offered for any of my admissions, I was not even aware until this interview that I had a right to have a friend with me at the assessment phase and have never done so.  The explanations for the treatment tend to amount to “We believe you need medication” but no explanation given to what exactly they believe they are treating.  

I can not think of any way that the system has not failed, nearly all actions in my life that sound shameful were during the sectioning process at first admission to a ward.

  1. Looking back at your ward admissions, which practical changes—big or small—would have transformed a punitive experience into a genuinely therapeutic one?

The key thing I would change would be the welcome.  Arriving at a ward is scary, no one greats you.  You are just dumped and left to wait.  It’s a minor change but if you were met by a nurse and given a cup of tea and taken to a quiet place to talk and have the rules of the ward explained to you, I think this could do wonders to transform the experience.  The first time I was in a ward, I had my phone confiscated after putting a post on Facebook trying to track down a woman’s partner.  She had been picked up and taken with no notice and no ability to get a message, believing he may have thought she just left, she was desperate to reach him.  I thought I was doing a good thing, no one had explained to me that you weren’t allowed to post publicly about patients and for doing so they confiscated my phone, my only link to normality.  It was just hours after this that the first signs of psychosis occurred in my mind.  Something I had never experienced before I was sectioned that first time.

So give a proper explanation and tour.

Also the way they deal with medication is atrocious.  You go into a ward and are handed small pots of pills to take throughout the day, you are often not even told what they are or what they are supposed to be treating.  Medication can be transformative is done right, my sister is the poster child for the positive effects of the right medication, but in wards they do not listen to you when you say that the pills they are giving you are not right.  People in mental wards are not stupid, they are the ones with lived experience of the medication, believe them and listen to them about what they are struggling with and try different meds with their agreement until you find something that actually works.  Nobody wants to be chaotic, no one wants to be in distress.  The arrival of the mental health services should feel like the cavalry has arrived, in reality it often feels like shelling from the enemy.

Systemic Reflections and Remedies

  1. You argue that a successful service is one that makes itself redundant. From your research and lived experience, what three concrete tweaks to acute inpatient wards would most accelerate that goal?

1: Believe what the patients are telling you.  You do not end up in a mental ward because you have a supportive family and good people around you.  In my most recent admission I was called delusional for believing in the threat to my wellbeing from my neighbours, a very real threat.  Even if they seem far fetched, start from a place of trust.

2.  Make the services point of contact, make it easy for someone to self refer, have a more GP like system for appointment, mental health does not occur on a regular monthly basis, if a crisis happens, they must respond quickly.  Conversely don’t force people to appointments when they have nothing that they need to discuss.

3. Make people create recovery plans as well as crisis plans.  The services always insist you make a crisis plan for what they should do in an emergency.  It forces you to think about the past and your ill health and then, at least in my case when a crisis hits, is not followed anyway.  There is currently no concept of a recovery plan.  Allow people to think about a positive future, allow them to define the steps they need to take to experience good mental health again.  The mind is an incredibly malleable organ, the viewset that once you become ill, you will always be ill is in my opinion not only wrong but self fulfilling.  If you do not have positive encouragement from friends and family, you need it from the services and this is something they currently don’t provide.

  1. In preparing the show you must have come across pockets of best practice. Which trusts or units seemed closest to “care that empowers recovery,” and what lessons do they offer?

The most positive thing I experienced in a ward was one ward that held weekly patient and staff feedback meetings where you could give your opinion on what had been good and bad the previous week and what you would like to see going forward.  There was also a particular nurse one time who always seemed genuinely pleased to see me and was always available for a chat and who even came in on her day off because it was the day I was being released just to say goodbye.  Her kindness has stuck with me to this day.

  1. Underfunding and staffing shortages are chronic issues. How might frontline practitioners advocate for incremental improvements—say, in ward layout or daily routine—that cost little but yield outsized benefits?

They say they are understaffed but there are loads of staff on the wards they just sit around.  We do not need more staff, they need to change the way the staff are trained and the processes they have to follow.  Staff sitting around all day just watching the patients does nothing.  I once saw a nurse on 1 to 1 sitting by and watching a patient hitting her head against the wall till it bled.  There is a never ending stream of people wanting to work in mental health, let them actually help.

Neurodiversity, Performance, and Stigma

  1. Winning the neurodiverse performance award at Brighton Fringe must have felt momentous. How has that validation shaped the way you frame the show’s themes for audiences unfamiliar with neurodiversity?

I touch on the topic of my autism during the show and indeed it is the autistic neurodiversity that I most associate with. At the time it was given and to some extent, to this day, I am very uneasy with the bipolar diagnosis that I also have.  It is a very common misdiagnosis for autism.  I try to show the positives of autism, I was a natural at maths and physics in my youth and I liked my honesty.  As I say in the show, I fail to see how an intense interest in subjects and difficulty lying can be considered negative traits and not attributes to aspire to.

  1. You’re reaching people who’ve never spent a night on a psychiatric ward. How do you tailor your language and imagery so that lived-experience audiences feel seen, while newcomers remain engaged without feeling overwhelmed?

I focus on a few key moments in the process, particularly on the initial greeting and the overwhelming boredom that is the most prevalent emotion in the wards.  The poetry adds depth to the descriptions as they are poems that were written at the times of the stories so show the emotional impact.  I am trying to show that wards don’t often feel like places of recovery but places where distress is exacerbated by a system that says it cares but where the staff tend to seem aloof and disparaging, which is the opposite of what someone going through trauma needs.  There are good sides, the craft groups that are sadly becoming rarer especially providing some respite to the monotony.

  1. Performance art can crack through stigma in ways policy papers never will. What moments in the show do you think resonate most in shifting public empathy?

This is a tricky one, I think the most impactful poem in the show is one called help

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When your help is nothing thus………….

Don’t tell me you don’t see them

The hopeless, disenchanted mass………

I’m hoping that this will encourage people to open their eyes. The same actions with different motivations can be good or bad. That we live in a society now that seems to support the bullies and those that shout loudest rather than the gentle and those trying to obey the laws.  There are thousands of people struggling and when the care criticises and leaves you alone it does less good than kind words and practical assistance.  

I have tried to make the show as light as possible but I hope it shocks people into realising that the “care” provided by the acute services is very different to that provided for less intensive situations and that there is a significant difference to receiving help you have requested than having help you don’t necessarily want thrust upon you

Just let me lick my wounds in peace

And somehow make it through at least  .

Future Directions and Impact

  1. You’ve said that after Edinburgh you want to use your birth name, Robyn, and move into standup comedy. How do you envision translating your poetic confessions into a comedic set—what stays, what goes?

The poetry and standup I think will become separate. I love poetry but social reform is really what I’m aiming for. My recent poetry is much lighter than the stuff included in the show, in part because my mindset is much lighter now.  I have one called “we’re doing AI backwards” which is a piece about wanting AI to help me search and categorise existing human made art rather than create art for me and I even wrote my first love poem a few months ago.  I’ve signed up for a comedy course starting in October. I do not know yet how successful it will be but I’ve done a lot of absurd things in my struggle to survive and I hope to uplift people by being vocal about the rubbish I have done and showing that the past is not the future.  We all deserve a fresh start.

Of course if Edinburgh goes well, I will consider touring this show, I hope to do a London date in the autumn.

  1. Beyond moving seats in Laughing Horse’s Little Cellar, what change in policy or public mindset would you love this show to catalyze over the next year?

I want to blow the doors off the whole system, though I know this can not be done in a year. There is a brilliant book called Fragile Minds by a mental health nurse called Bella Jackson who sees the same problems that I see with judgement, disbelief and lack of care. I’m hoping together we can start a movement for reform. 

I am also hoping to get actively involved as an expert by experience or peer worker within the wards, my dream is to run poetry groups within wards and within time to publish and anthology called “Poetry from the wards” to show the world that many of the people detained in mental wards are gentle, good people trying to get their lives back on track.

  1. If you could pose one urgent question—about rights, resources, recovery—to a mental health commissioner, what would you ask, and what would your ideal answer sound like?

Good question.

Why are there more opportunities for convicts in prison to upskill and start again than there are patients in mental wards?

My ideal answer would be:

Many people in wards are only there for short periods, (but this is not true, many people are there for 6 months going onto years).  I would like them to recognise that heavy sedative medication prevents people from really engaging in meaningful recovery, to acknowledge the empty craft and therapy rooms and suggest that a move towards more holistic therapy and practical help and guidance could have better results.

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Ladysmith Black Mambazo

ladysmithThe Edinburgh Playhouse

18-22 Greenside Place
Edinburgh
EH1 3AA

Running time: 2 hours

Best known for accompanying Paul Simon on his hugely successful 1986 album Graceland, this nine-man South African Zulu choir held their adoring fans in raptures with a moving range of haunting a capella harmonies expressing universal values and experiences.

As you would expect, one of the songs – Long Walk to Freedom – was a tribute to the late ANC leader Nelson Mandela. However, most of the songs are related to the mundane things of everyday life; to encourage a young man taking cold feet before his wedding to go ahead with it and another extolling the virtues of mothers-in-law.

One or two cultural differences did show up for the Edinburgh audience. The song Lovely Rain may go down well on the parched South African veldt and in the townships, but in Edinburgh? One thing Edinburgh has no shortage of in most years is rain. In fact a house less than a mile away was hit by lightning in a heavy thunderstorm the previous evening.

The choir members interact well with the crowd, gently taking the rise out of one-another and, just before the break, with the audience too. What’s astonishing is that the performers bring out this extraordinary range of harmonisation without any accompanying musical instruments. It’s all done with the human voice alone. Once you see and hear this you’ll never forget it!

***** Five Stars

Reviewed by David Kerr

http://www.eif.co.uk/2014/ladysmith

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