“What struck most powerfully, though, was the collective soul of their performance”
Four women, dressed in black, stand on a bare stage and for the space of an hour, deliver a passionate diatribe against the twin evils of sexism and racism visited on them daily. They are fierce, they are angry, they are eloquent, and they are young black women.
The experiences discussed here: patronising treatment in white-run offices, dreadful dates with white men who think the women are ‘exotic’, weird assertions of their sexuality and their personalities by black men, were powerfully articulated. They aren’t experiences that I’ve had, but the power and the responsibility of theatre is to make an audience feel things they’ve never previously felt, things that are the experiences of others articulated and embodied by performers. This quartet accomplished that in style. They used wonderfully arranged soul standards, sung a cappella, as leaven in this slightly preachy, torrential statement of their woes. Aretha Franklin songs have only sounded better when sung by Aretha, and their rendition was wonderful.
What struck most powerfully, though, was the collective soul of their performance: lines shared and restated, songs harmonised, movement synchronised, four actors sharing a space and a moment to make a collective statement. They even sighed in harmony. At the end, the audience leapt to their feet in spontaneous standing applause. So many standing ovations are woefully unearned, but this one felt right, like a coming together of actors and an audience that shared their experience. That was quite a moment. Would it have been a better play with less polemic? Very possibly. Would it have spoken so powerfully to the audience if it had been more measured? Almost certainly not.
“an essential piece of theatre that tells a story that deserved to be told long ago”
The Trojan Horse inquiry began as a counter-terrorism operation and ended as a symbol for modern Britain’s barely concealed Islamophobia. Spurred on by an anonymous letter, which detailed conservative Muslims plotting to “take over” Birmingham schools, education secretary Michael Gove took action, launching not only inquiries, but a sense of hysteria that was fed by a biased media.
Five years later it is widely accepted that this letter was a hoax, the planned takeover fictional, and the schools – far from breeding terrorism – were quite the opposite of extremist. But what of the teachers, suspended and under surveillance? What about the students who were caught in the crossfire? Birmingham City Council, disgruntled head teachers, worried parents, school governors – what do their lives look like now?
Based on 200 hours of interviews, LUNG Theatre answer these questions by asking us to relive Trojan Horse from the inside. What begins as a tale of redemption – a failing school turned around, teachers inspiring and students prospering – quickly devolves into a nightmare that is hard to endure and even harder to pull back from.
Five actors bring a fascinating group of characters to life. Rashid (Mustafa Chaudhry), who left school without any GCSEs, teaches Urdu at Park View, his life having been changed by school governor Tahir Alam (Qasim Mahmood). Alam is credited with having turned local schools around, allowing students like Farah (Gurkiran Kaur) to have hope that they can pursue success outside of Alum Rock. Former head teacher Elaine Buckley (Keshini Misha) is less than complimentary of Alam. Buckley claims she was forced out of her old school for refusing to bend to the will of parents and governors. She raises her concerns with Jess (Komal Amin) at Birmingham City Council; the anonymous letter arrives on Jess’ desk days later, giving Elaine the ammunition she needs. Though they are undoubtedly amalgamations of many people, these feel like whole characters, rather than representations of a certain viewpoint. This is thanks to the purposeful performances of the actors, particularly Mahmood’s unflinchingly honest Rashid and Misha’s vitriolic Buckley.
Once the letter leaks, the community crumbles under the weight of the controversy. School is no longer enjoyable: the students are subject to government surveillance and head counts of hijab wearers. Rashid is not an inspirational teacher, but a dangerous facilitator, and Tahir Alam his sinister leader. Hinge-top desks are wheeled around the stage to create classrooms and courtrooms, until we have no choice but to associate the two.
It is impossible not to watch and feel anger, above all else. Despite the inevitable conclusion, this is not a play where the audience leaves limp, their heads bowed with sadness. This is not a play that asks us to observe its content, clap politely, and go home. This is a play that demands action.
Trojan Horse is an essential piece of theatre that tells a story that deserved to be told long ago. Here I do my bit to transmit this story, to raise my small voice and ask that everyone that reads this go and see it. And, when the play goes to the Houses of Parliament in January 2020, I ask that everyone at Westminster – from the Prime Minister to the lowest government employee – do themselves the favour of watching and learning, not only about the power of the arts to tell stories, but from the mistakes of the past decade, in the hope that they will not be repeated in the next.
