A theatremaker's non-performance

Award-winning playwright Siana Bangura on deciding never to pander

Essay by Siana Bangura | Originally published in the print edition, April 24th 2026

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There’s an old adage in the writing world that states ‘the only good writer is a dead writer’.

As a Black woman who writes, this adage lands sharply.

It’s attributed to several different people, but whoever is responsible for it is truly savage if you ask me – much like the creative industries.

I’ve been a writer, trained journalist and professional storyteller for over a decade, working primarily across theatre and film, and throughout my career I’ve always felt on the peripheries, my toes dipping slightly into whatever pool is at the centre, but mostly existing and practicing on the edges. At the edge of a thing, you are gifted a wider perspective of the happenings. Indeed, I’m often practicing at the peripheries, whilst feeling the voyeuristic eyes of gatekeepers, watching from the centre, observing but rarely extending a proper, meaningful invitation of support. My career has been powered by community and sustained by my grit and determination, rather than by long-term institutional backing.

The picture looks bleak for most creative freelancers and cultural workers, unless they were born with access and safety nets – something the working class among us certainly don’t have. In many ways, if you are a creative practitioner who makes a conscious decision to not perform or pander to the powers that be, you’re setting yourself up for an uphill battle. If you have an unequivocally socio-political voice and deep commitment to centring voices and experiences that are traditionally marginalised, the marginalisation of you and your work will be even greater. Add being a Black woman to the mix in a society steeped in misogynoir and some might say you should call it a day. This may sound dramatic (hello, I’m a playwright), but I can confirm versions of ‘leave the industry if you don’t like it’ have been said to me before, including by other Black practitioners in the space. The thing is, when writing and creating are a calling, you don’t walk away, especially when it’s clear your work resonates deeply with those you’re writing and creating for.

“At the edge of a thing, you are gifted a wider perspective of the happenings”

The process of staging my multi-award winning play, ‘Swim, Aunty, Swim!’, a work I’d been developing for six years – mostly independently – highlighted to me an urgent need for more care-filled practices. Premiering in 2024 to critical acclaim and wide-support, this was a rare moment in my career of having institutional backing and the right-sized resource to bring a world to life. However it was also an experience in fighting to maintain the integrity of my work and the story I wanted to tell; a lesson in refusing to shrink; and a moment of advocating for myself when others would not.

To write is to be exposed. The impact of this exposure is often underestimated, with inadequate support being provided to the people who create the very worlds that others are then entrusted to help bring to life. Without writers, there is no theatre.

Foremothers of Black Feminist writing such as Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, bell hooks, and Zora Neale Hurston all advocated for the vital importance of defining oneself for themselves, especially in spaces dictated by the white gaze. In the UK, the Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre reports that 90% to 93% of the arts, culture, and heritage workforce is white. Therefore a Black woman’s refusal to ‘be crunched into other people’s fantasies’ (Lorde) or remain silent when things feel unjust poses a threat to the politics of respectability and ‘gratitude’ we are subjected to as Black and Global Majority people in spaces dominated by white people.

I often remind myself of my right to take up space and refuse definitions that don’t fit. As an artist and storyteller, my duty is to reflect the times (Nina Simone) and do so diligently and unapologetically. This authenticity strikes fear in the hearts of those still performing to climb ladders in spaces not built for them, those willing to shrink to sit at tables they have to fight to get to, then hate the taste of what’s on the menu.

In a world built – literally – on performance on and off stage, what does it mean for you when you refuse the smoke and mirrors, and demand the unhealthy patterns and structures of power in the creative industries are revealed, surfaced, and challenged?

Ongoing refusal has reminded me of the validity and urgency of DIY modes of making, and affirmed my ongoing commitment to creating more care-filled and intentional infrastructures for writers and creative practitioners like myself. We deserve to thrive by our own standards and metrics, tell the stories we want to tell, create the characters we wish to, and refuse those gazes that consume and leave us dismembered. Institutions will need to catch up.

“If you are a creative practitioner who makes a conscious decision to not perform or pander to the powers that be, you’re setting yourself up for an uphill battle”

If that old adage has any truth, it’ll be in what a writer’s absence may allow: an uninterrupted analysis of a legacy. Whatever legacy I leave behind as a writer and theatremaker, you can be sure notes on performance will be from that which I consented to. Anything else, as they say, is just noise.

Siana Bangura is a multi-award-winning writer, playwright, producer, filmmaker, curator and community organiser.