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An Act of Resistance

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In the current socio-political climate, when proposed cuts to disability benefits by Chancellor Rachel Reeves threaten the livelihoods of many disabled people (The Guardian ), Not F**kin’ Sorry and its inclusion in DaDaFest International 40, ‘RAGE: A Quiet Riot’, couldn’t be more essential. At a time when disabled communities are being forced to fight harder than ever for their basic rights, this performance at Liverpool’s Unity Theatre was more than just a show, it was an act of resistance.

Stepping into the theatre space on Saturday evening felt like walking into a party, the room was a buzz with laughter and chatter and the stage shimmered with foil streamers.This celebratory atmosphere would later clash, deliberately, with the weighty themes the performance sets out to explore. But before anything even began, intrigue was brewing. A tall, striking figure in a long black raincoat loomed at the back of the audience. If I’d been told they were the bouncer, I’d have believed it. But this wasn’t security, it was Adam Smith, one of the performers, setting the tone for an evening of expectation-defying theatre.

On arrival, each audience member was handed a green token. The premise? “Which one of us will survive,” to be decided by our votes. It was an ominous but playful framing of a reality that disabled people navigate daily, one where systems and policies dictate their survival. This was hammered home by the opening number: the Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive. It felt tongue-in-cheek at first, but as the performance unfolded, its relevance became chilling. Through song, movement, and spoken word, the cast exposed the harsh truths of hate crime, mate crime, the devastating impact of COVID-19 on disabled communities, and the suicides resulting from disability benefit cuts. Xandri/Emma Selwyn delivered these facts with unwavering clarity, ensuring the weight of each statistic and story landed.

Adam Smith’s powerful vocals, Housni (DJ) Hassan’s expressive dancing, and Steph Newman’s razor-sharp Countdown based word game all underscored the weight of language, how words can empower or dehumanise. The conundrums weren’t just playful; they revealed ableism still embedded in everyday discourse. This theme was taken to its sharpest point when the cast lip-synced to real, ableist “jokes” from well-known comedians. Hearing Jimmy Carr’s infamous remark that “the positives of the Holocaust” included thousands of murdered disabled people, mouthed in unison by disabled performers, stripped it of any pretence of humour. Instead, it exposed the casual cruelty that mainstream entertainment still allows, leaving the audience with feelings of disgust.

Yet, for all its rage and confrontation, Not F**kin’ Sorry was just as much about joy and resistance. The audience wasn’t just spectators—we were invited to join in, to dance, to sing, to be part of something bigger. The final moments of the show solidified its message: “We’re right here, and we’re not going away.” A simple statement, but one that felt like both a declaration and a warning.

In a time when disabled people are being pushed further into precarity, Not F**kin’ Sorry isn’t just important—it’s vital. It amplifies voices that are so often silenced, forcing audiences to confront, to listen, and ultimately, to act. This wasn’t just a performance; it was a rallying cry.

You can catch Not F**kin Sorry on its current tour at:

 Brighton Festival, Brighton Dome, Tuesday 8 & Wednesday 9 April, 7.30pm, tickets from £5 https://brightondome.org/whats-on/VIS-not-fkin-sorry/ 

Derby Theatre, Saturday 12 April, 8pmm tickets £15/£17 http://www.derbytheatre.co.uk/event/not-fkin-sorry/ DaDa performance will be BSL interpreted and audio described