Stories from the front line

Ephemeral Ensemble brings this lens to the stage with Uprooted at New Diorama. Inspired by encounters with Indigenous, Campesino and Afro-descendent activists in Colombia and exchanges with Shirley Djukurnã Krenak, a Brazilian Indigenous activist, the show is ‘a tropical-punk, ecofeminist rallying cry’. Director Ramon Ayres describes it as based on the stories of those “on the front line, fighting corporations, dams and mines; those trying to stop climate destruction, territory destruction and also community destruction”. 

“Less than 5% of people protect about 80% of global biodiversity,” Ayres notes. Yet Indigenous perspectives are seldom heard on British stages. The stories of the global south – from the First Nations people in Australia facing wildfire devastation, to small island nations confronting the loss of their homelands – are surely those we most urgently need to encounter now. Their experience of climate disaster is a warning of what lies ahead for many more of us and also demonstrates the remarkable resilience humans are capable of.

The climate world has been spellbound in recent months by the story of a small group of students from Vanuatu whose campaign to get the International Court of Justice to recognise the legal responsibility of states to act on climate change has led to one of the most significant legal rulings in climate history. One only need watch Cynthia Houniuhi’s extraordinarily moving speech, as president of Pacific Islands Students Fighting Climate Change, to wish for a Kyoto-style retelling of the events on stage.

‘We don’t need to invent the revolution. The revolution is happening. How can we join in?’ - Ramon Ayres, Ephemeral Ensemble

For Ayres, the challenge is decentralisation: “Why is the metropolis still considered the centre of the world? When the Notre Dame cathedral caught fire, they raised millions the day after. But now we see the Amazon on fire every week and the mobilisation for that is not even close. So, I think: ‘How can you decentralise imagination, narratives, dreams and the sense of community?’ That’s climate justice.”

Banerjee points out that British audiences often lack a frame of reference for Indigenous custodianship. In Australia, where Finnigan’s play originated, there’s a growing recognition of First Nations people as the original land protectors. More relevant in the UK context – the “heart of empire” as Banerjee describes it – are the legacies of colonialism. “The devastation caused by Britain in South Asia, for example, or South Africa or the Caribbean, will resonate.”

True climate justice in theatre is not confined to the stories on stage. Recognising the emergency as systemic demands reflection on how our sector reinforces the structures that are so destructive. Accepting sponsorship from big polluters legitimises business models that must end. Power imbalances within our organisations must be addressed, recognising that not all have the same capacity for making change. Those in authority must lead climate action rather than outsourcing it to junior staff and build a culture that recognises and values the work. 

Thinking about climate justice casts sustainable practices in a different light, too. Buying a prop second-hand may seem trivial when billionaires emit more carbon in 90 minutes than the average person does in an entire lifetime. But when understood as an expression of climate justice, and as part of a deep cultural shift towards a better way of living for everyone – one in which we take care over our everyday choices as a way of shaping the bigger reality we all share – it seems imperative. As writer and activist adrienne maree brown puts it: “The patterns of the universe repeat at scale.” 
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Cracks in the system

At its heart, the issue is that theatre is built on the same extractivist economic model driving the climate emergency. Yet, it has never really worked that well for the performing arts, as economist William J Baumol highlighted in the 1960s, because the performing arts cannot match productivity gains in other industries – a string quartet still needs four players, as it did in the 19th century. The model has always strained theatre; now, amid wider societal pressures, it is cracking. We can persist with business as usual, deepening inequality, or experiment with alternatives – rehearsing more equitable futures both on stage and in our business models.

“How can we have a process that is less about crazy speed?” Ayres asks. “How can we do work that is more collaborative? More fair?” 

It might sound idealistic to call for theatre leaders to work as if an equitable, regenerative future were already here. All of us are bound by the realities of the compromised system within which we live and work, and I fear sometimes that a perceived moral puritanism within the environmental movement can leave people who are trying their best in hard jobs feeling chastised or, worse, unwilling to engage at all.

Yet, theatre is the perfect place to rehearse a different kind of future: embodied, collaborative and made through the collective imagination. When I think of the art form like this, I can feel myself falling in love with it all over again. In fact, I catch glimpses of that future often – in Fuel Theatre’s slower touring models, ARC Stockton’s Pay What You Decide nights, citizens’ assemblies at New Art Exchange in Nottingham, or shared meals at Slung Low in Leeds. All are models of community, equity and care.

As Ayres puts it: “We don’t need to invent the revolution. The revolution is happening. How can we join in?”