I Work in Theatre – Here’s Why I Won’t be Retraining Post Covid
Despite the strength, solidarity and innovation shown by the whole theatre industry during this pandemic, our government seems ignorant and blind to the concrete value that it brings to our country.
Early in October, I sat scrolling through both Facebook and Twitter alternately, welling up. Rishi Sunak’s interview, in which he said, in no uncertain terms, that those working in the arts should go and get another job, followed by the re-emergence of the governments 2018 ‘Rethink, Reskill, Reboot’ marketing programme, just felt like one kick in the teeth too many.
In the hours that followed, as well as some extremely applaudable memes, the public outpouring of desperation, upset and anger from hundreds of friends, colleagues and industry people that I love and respect was simply heart breaking. But the message was clear. We felt insulted, undervalued, and patronised.
I always knew I would work in theatre. As a child, I attended every drama class, singing and dance exam, turned down parties in favour of Friday night rehearsals, saw every musical or play I possibly could. As I got older and teachers asked about our future plans, mine were often met with a barely disguised amusement, pity or suggestions of having a ‘plan B.’
The adults around me thought I was naïve, that careers like mine simply didn’t exist, and that once I grew up I would probably realise this, settling down into a nice quiet job, perhaps teaching GCSE Drama.
Instead I have been a performer, producer, facilitator, teacher, director, writer, programmer and community arts manager – and I sure as hell won’t let a pandemic change that.
Because the thing they don’t realise about people like us, is that we simply cannot not do what we love. You may as well tell us not to breathe. Nobody ‘stumbles into’ a job in the arts (and if they do, they don’t last long).
This is a meticulous decision that can take years of intense training, education, side hustles, networking, portfolio building, sacrifices and graft. The hours are long, the pay can be poor (or non-existent), the competition fierce and the disappointments huge.
And still we choose it. Because we believe in its power to connect people, and to make the world just a little more comforting, and a little less overwhelming and scary.
The behaviour of our government also struck a chord with another, seemingly unconnected area of my life; my decision to live child-free.
As someone who married young, I have lost count of the amount of times people I know (or sometimes even strangers) have, on hearing that I don’t want children, given me knowing looks, patronisingly reassuring me that there is some bright, shiny and ultimately ‘better’ future out there waiting for me, that I secretly really do want, but just don’t know it yet.
This is essentially what the government has done with the ill-timed and poorly executed ‘Fatima’ campaign. The image of a ballet dancer alongside the slogan ‘Fatima’s next job could be in cyber. She just doesn’t know it yet’ insults the intelligence, value and skill set of all creatives, implying that we don’t know our own minds.
It also seeks to take away a fundamental right: the right to choose a life and career that we find fulfilling and meaningful. Would they have put this ad out alongside an image of a doctor, or a teacher? I don’t think so. Which just reiterates how little our decision makers value the sector. We bring something different, but no less vital to society.
As a matter of curiosity, I decided to take the government quiz to see how I might make myself less of a burden on society by changing my career. After a series of seemingly random situational questions, it delighted in telling me that I would make a great lifeguard, football referee or bingo caller. I might add that at no point did the quiz ask if I can swim (which I absolutely cannot).
It also informed me that I may be eligible for a £500 retraining voucher. This was the final straw for me. Like so many of my friends and acquaintances, I have spent upwards of £40,000 on education and ongoing training to equip me to do what I do. Most of this I will be paying off for the next 20 years due to the fact that I work in a typically lower paid industry.
But, regardless of the facts about how much the arts bring to our economy, plus the wellbeing, health and community benefits, the government has proven with the pandemic response that they neither understand or value what we do.
Instead, they are hoping that we’ll see this as a chance to put down our crayons and quietly become ‘useful’ members of society with ‘proper, grown up’ jobs.
I can tell you now I will not do that. And, what’s more, I will do everything I can to ensure my friends don’t either. Because when we emerge from the other side of this, people are going to feel tender. There is going to be hurt, confusion and a sense of loss as we adapt to a new world.
And then, more than ever, we are going to need the Fatima’s – the dreamers, creators, dancers, musicians and more. And, with the newfound reserves, creativity and determination that artists are famous for – we will be ready.
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Written by Fiona Moon
