We sat down with Zakiyyah Deen, whose debut play, created out of frustration with the lack of attention towards Black women’s maternal health,  scrutinizes how intersectionality and British politics contribute to the lived experiences of Black women’s maternal journeys.

Why A Black Woman Will Never Be Prime Minister addresses complex topics like intersectionality, politics, and Black women’s maternal health. What was the driving force behind blending these themes, and how did you balance the personal and political aspects of the story?

Honestly, the themes just naturally came together because they’re all linked. You can’t talk about politics without talking about race, gender, and class – especially when it comes to Black women’s experiences. Maternal health is personal, but the politics behind it are so obvious when you dig into the stats. Black women are more likely to die in childbirth than white women, and that’s not just some random figure – it’s a reflection of how our society treats Black women across the board. So for me, blending these themes wasn’t a stretch; it was obvious. The personal is political, like our director Kelechi always says. Shanice’s story is political, and it’s important that people see that.

You’ve mentioned that the play was conceived out of frustration with the lack of attention toward Black women’s maternal health. What are the specific issues within maternal health care that you hope your play will highlight and bring into public discourse?

There are so many, but I think the biggest one is how Black women’s pain is often dismissed or ignored in healthcare. It’s rooted in these outdated, racist ideas that Black women have higher pain thresholds, which is just mad when you think about it. I also want to highlight the lack of representation in terms of midwives, doulas, and healthcare workers who get the specific needs of Black women. It’s not just about survival rates, though – it’s about dignity and being treated like a human being, whether that’s in the delivery room, in the doctor’s office or at work. These aren’t new issues, but for some reason, they still feel like they’re not getting the airtime they deserve.

The dynamic between Shanice and John reflects a clash between “the people” and “the institution.” What do you hope audiences will take away from their interactions, and how do these characters represent larger societal divides in Britain?

Shanice and John are basically two sides of the same coin. They both come from the same area, but their experiences of life are worlds apart. Shanice is rooted in her community, whereas John’s out there representing this shiny political image. It’s not even that John’s a villain – he’s just a product of the system he’s a part of, and that’s what I want audiences to see. The real problem is the system itself, and how disconnected it is from the people it claims to serve. Their interactions are a way of showing how the political and the personal collide, and I hope it gets people thinking about the bigger picture: how those in power often have no clue about the lives they’re making decisions about.

Your play uses satire, spoken word, and narrative to explore heavy topics. How do you feel these different forms allow you to communicate the serious realities of Black women’s experiences, while still engaging and entertaining your audience?

Satire lets you hold a mirror up to society but with a little humour, so people can laugh but also think. That’s important because when you’re talking about something as heavy as Black women’s health or politics, you need to keep the audience engaged. Spoken word is where the rawness comes in for me – it’s direct, emotional, and there’s no hiding. Poetry allows me to say things in a way that feels urgent and honest. Combining all these forms helps me balance the heavy with the light, so it’s not just an info-dump of harsh truths. People can be entertained while still absorbing the message. Plus, a bit of laughter makes the harder moments hit even deeper.

You’ve worked across film, television, and theatre, but this play marks your debut as a writer-performer for a full-length work. How has this journey of writing and performing your own play been different from your previous work, and what has it taught you about storytelling?

This one’s been way more personal. When you’re just acting, you’re bringing someone else’s words to life, but when it’s your own writing? That’s a whole different ting. It’s like you’re putting a piece of yourself out there for everyone to see. It’s been challenging, but also kind of freeing because I’m telling my story, my way. I’ve learned that writing is about patience – about letting the story develop, evolve, and not being afraid to get it wrong along the way. Performing what I’ve written has taught me to trust the process, and to trust that the story I’m telling is worth hearing.

You’ve collaborated with Camden People’s Theatre for this production, a venue known for championing new voices. How has the support of spaces like this, and other initiatives like the Squint Playwriting Award Scheme, helped shape your career as an emerging writer and performer?

Venues like Camden People’s Theatre are so important for people like me. They’re all about taking chances on new voices and new stories, and that’s exactly what emerging artists need. It’s one thing to have talent, but if no one’s giving you the platform to show it, how are you meant to grow? The Squint Playwriting Award Scheme gave me a space to develop my ideas with real guidance, and that kind of support is priceless. Being seen, having people invest in you – it’s motivating. It makes all the difference in pushing forward and getting your work out there.