“Huskisson’s play deserves to be embedded in the cultural membrane”
With Elizabeth Huskisson being the first playwright to be commissioned by the police, I was interested to see the kind of work she might create for an institution which has historically—and recently—been criticised as one riddled with systemic misogyny, racism, transphobia, homophobia and ableism. The public’s trust of policing in this country has been brought into question. Huskisson’s work is certainly a mechanism to resolve this.
This resolve is not brought through any affirmation of their services, but by interrogating this lack of trust precisely. Interrogative is the most appropriate word for Where have all our women gone?. The murder of Sarah Everard bookends the play with a plea to Everard herself. This alone, not mentioning her surname, thrusts us straight into our own recognition and acceptance of violence against women. We are so familiar with the story that we do not need much script at all to understand exactly which “Sarah” Huskisson is referring to.
The story does not let up from here. As is repeated throughout, there is “no plot” to the story, essentially, just a laying bare of the extent of violence against women in this country. In this stylistic approach, it is truly felt as an epidemic. Huskisson’s play is relentless, repetitive and exhausting—which is exactly what makes it so effective. Statistics, quotes and the names of murdered women are thrown out constantly. The audience is not asked to process this, but rather to feel the lack of an ability to process this. Male violence against women is extensively damaging to our public consciousness—there is a real practical sense of this unacceptability in the performance.
The set does an excellent job assisting Huskisson’s performance, which is undoubtedly excellent. Newspapers flood the space, so much so that at some points she is seen struggling to wade through all the violent, sensationalised headlines. The whole creative team deserves serious credit for this production. The sound and lighting assisted in creating a constantly unsettling atmosphere that forced us to pay attention on the edge of our seats.
As Huskisson recites, this play is “trying to tell a true story”. Taking on the role of every woman is an insurmountable task, and this is thoroughly recognised. The intersections of misogyny are well addressed too, in a way that doesn’t feel like a box ticking exercise. My only critique of this, understanding how difficult it is to capture the excess of violence against women, is particularly in relation to trans women. One scene in particular focused on a man in a women’s bathroom. I was unsure exactly what the purpose of this scene was, being one of the most abstract parts of the play, but I did find that it flagged some of the transphobic narratives we’ve heard. There’s something interesting about what (cis) men desire in women in being beyond possession, and I think this can still be explored sensitively. Importantly, it would bolster the message of the play further to critically include trans women in this story of femicide, as a group statistically targeted by violence at an exceptionally high rate. The murder of Brianna Ghey springs to mind as one that quite recently had a deep impact on the indicative safety of trans women in this country.
Although the public’s trust in the police force has been waning, mainstream accounts rarely seek to address this. Perhaps the trust is seen as too important to keep us feeling safe and under control. But regardless of what one may think of the police as an institution, it is a reassuring thought that some of those who hold the most power in society may be confronted with Huskinson’s work, whose affective power has the potential to be truly transformative.