Below, I mention sexual abuse, coercion, rape and
paedophilia, but only in the
context
of them having occurred. I do not go into detail.
There
are useful links provided at the end of this document.
My
name is Lucy. I work as a freelancer in theatre, usually performing
in shows, sometimes making small projects. Writing here, I am
speaking only for myself.
I
am writing this in a dual capacity. First, I am an artist who worked
with Chris Goode over many years and on many different types of
projects: early fringe work, studio and main house shows, and lots of
research and development. All work that I dearly loved making and in
a time where we shared a friendship (I find that hard to think about
now). It may seem contradictory when written down, but I also
experienced some of his abusive behaviour and practices; I absorbed
it, like others did. It always seemed like he might break if we
didn’t. We fell out very badly in 2014, worked together again in
2017. I severed our relationship in 2018.
Second,
I have been involved in a mutual support circle that includes adult
survivors of Chris’s abuse. Since 2018 we have been trying to work
towards accountability and sector change. I am grateful for the care,
wisdom and compassionate leadership of the thoughtful people in this
group.
I
have been trying to understand how Chris manipulated the creative
processes I was involved in and to ask tough questions of myself. I
have also been trying to understand how he was able to continue
hurting people for so long. I often hear people refer to our
industry's ‘safeguarding system,' but I'm telling you: there isn't
one.
There
are internal processes, people with expertise, knowledge and a lot of
policy,
but it isn't joined up. We need more. [Please note: I don’t make
this statement about theatres and safeguarding with reference to work
for young people and children: their processes are different, and I
am not able to discuss them with any degree of authority.]
We
need an energetic and united move to improve safeguarding across the
entire theatre landscape. I believe the information drawn from our
experiences
can be useful to that effort.
This
writing is in three parts: some brief words on Chris, a personal
account and a call to action. I don’t wish to stir up unwanted
attention and pain for people in need of healing or who were close to
Chris. I hope that whoever reads this is supported. I have included
links to resources for support.
There
are places in this writing where I still need to respect
confidentiality.
Many
people have been trying to process this experience offline and
prefer not to unpack it on social media. This is not what I mean by
“silence”.
Many
of us have different language for describing ourselves and what
happened to us. That needs to be respected.
I
am still learning things which put memories and experiences into a
new light.
Revelations
over the years have created (for me) a sort of ‘speaking with
hindsight’. I will do my best to be alert to this and be accurate
about what I knew when.
Those
of us who knew him are all in very different places in terms of
knowledge about his behaviour, and our own healing. Many report
feeling isolated, positioned ever so slightly differently, all
facing – my words – “the wrong way”, so that none of us
could ever see the whole picture of his operations at any one time.
As such I believe that much more talking and listening needs to be
done.
There
are people with anti-trans-rights views who are seeking to exploit
this painful situation by producing podcasts and the like under the
guise of campaign journalism. I find this appalling. It is the
self-serving exploitation of people’s trauma, and only more harm
can come from it.
There
are many others, not represented here, and who I didn’t wish to
spotlight, or speak for.
I
will do my best to be kind, but I am angry. I believe these two
things can co-exist.
I
don’t wish to centre Chris Goode, but I do need to provide some
vital context for anyone who might not know. Chris was an influential
writer, blogger, theatre maker and director in British theatre. He
was also an abuser who hurt many people over many years. That abuse
and harm was hidden, wilfully obscured by his misuse of a) his power
as a director, employer and lauded artist; and b) crucially, the
language of contemporary performance in discourses around queer
liberation and safeguarding policy. As a consequence, the abuse and
harm he perpetrated was misinterpreted, overlooked and denied. Much
of this isn’t widely known today and it is survivors and the people
who have been harmed who carry that burden.
In
2021 that burden was added to when Chris’s participation in the
repulsive, industrialised abuse of children was revealed to us all
after he was arrested for possession of a significant amount of abuse
images and video. He then evaded justice by ending his own life
before being formally charged by the police.
When
we learnt about his paedophilia, it was an indescribable shock. A
horror. The news has re-traumatised adults already having to cope
with their own experiences of Chris’s abuse and many more people
across our sector who are survivors of childhood sexual abuse. This
trauma has been exacerbated by silence.
Chris
Goode coerced and abused young adult artists. He committed acts of
serious sexual violence. He showed no remorse for his actions. He
worked all across our sector – in higher education and drama
training institutions, experimental spaces, festivals and studio and
main house productions. He published books and online writing. His
influence was considerable. However painful and exposing it may be,
we need to piece together how he was able to evade safeguarding in so
many contexts. We need to identify the gaps, look into mistakes and
how measures and processes failed and become aware of the techniques
this abuser used (which others like him continue to use) to evade
detection and oversight.
Part
2 A personal account
This
piece of writing will address my experience of Chris Goode, over the
years 2005-2014, and focus more on 2018-2022. It is intended to work
with
the Call to Action, that is the priority and purpose of writing.
I
write this in solidarity with those who have not yet had an
opportunity to speak.
There
are other people who may wish to share more in the future about their
experience of Chris (outside of Chris Goode and Company, or Ponyboy
Curtis). I might at some point, as more context about a) the
conditions we were working in when we started our careers might be
helpful and b) it is important to convey why people wanted to work on
these projects, in these rehearsal rooms, why many artists poured
their hearts into the work and audience members connected to it. It
was because we enjoyed much of that making and believed that what
we were making had honesty and compassion at its core.
Something
I’ve learnt over these recent years is that you can be in a room
with people and feel it to be a kind and wonderful space, while not
being aware of abuse and oppression happening for everyone in it. It
is much easier to see now
how and why Chris was able to charm people to work with and be loyal
to him. At the time we were just making theatre.
My
first acting job was with Chris in 2005, (he was just a few years
older than me). I was starting out, zero confidence, no training and
no clue how to get work. No pay/ low pay gigs mostly then but I was
passionate about live performance and wanting theatre to talk
directly to how we lived. 17 years later - there is so much pain.
I
have heard “why didn’t you do anything?” and that is an
important question. I have heard “why would you let yourself be
treated like that?” but that suggests that the blame for abusive
behaviour lies with someone other than Chris. That question creates
shame and can prevent people from getting help.
I
don’t describe myself as a victim or a survivor. But I did
experience harm, through nasty, sometimes bullying behaviour,
manipulation, refusal to pay me for work, verbal sexual harassment,
an attempt to coerce for a nudity/sex scene, one physical assault.
I
am not the only one. I'm still processing and I don’t seek sympathy
or publicity. Nor do I suggest my experience is comparable to others,
definitely not more important. I recognise my privilege. My
motivation for writing any of this is to make people alert to the
fact that this is happening all around us, all the time.
There
were moments when I felt uncomfortable. There were moments when I
felt he was messing with people. There were moments that when
confronted, he would lose it. There were moments when I didn’t
confront
him and believed how he described things to be. There were others
like me who felt like we were tasked with keeping him safe from
himself. There were moments when I felt unsafe and kept away from
people who now I think were not safe themselves. There were moments
when I felt that my loyalty was being tested, only I didn’t think
he
would do something like that
and I didn’t have that language at the time. There are many
moments
when I was told that my objections were actually a sign of an inner
hatred of myself and my self-directed homophobia. When disagreement
in the rehearsal room meant you got crushed. There were moments,
toward the end of our relationship, when he was just so hateful in
his actions, words and work; where he slipped his guard and forgot
who I was but I saw him and what he was capable of almost-clearly,
after 13 years.
I
wish I had seen him for who he was earlier. I wish I had seen what
others were going through, pursued questions about people’s
well-being and paid attention to why I didn’t feel comfortable. I
wish I had had the training that (by pure luck) I have now; more
awareness, to look for the signs, be alert to red flags, join the
dots.
Content
warning: references to sexual abuse in this section
Disclosure
and reporting:
In
2018 I heard a disclosure relating to sexual abuse by Chris. I deeply
admire the courage it took to share this experience. I was profoundly
shocked; the coercion, the abuse of power, the controlling and
threatening behaviour and the sexual and psychological abuse were
clear. With the permission of the person who made the disclosure, I
was empowered to communicate it to someone who could help.
I
was upset and I didn’t know what to do. I had been involved in
Chris’s work for a long time, and my mind scanned back through the
years for more people he might have harmed and abused. Questioning
what I had seen and heard, I would go on to recall moments of
personal discomfort and things said that had felt unusual. It didn’t
yet make clear sense as part of a greater pattern. My focus was on
the present moment. I had immediate support from two close friends,
who I thank with every fibre of my being.
One
of them was Wendy Hubbard, another of Chris’s long-term
collaborators, who had directed many of his solo shows. Wendy worked
brilliantly with actors, an area in which Chris had little skill.
She, too, was horrified. With Wendy’s support, I contacted three
senior female leaders in the industry
and I was really nervous making those approaches, but they believed
me. They were shocked and incredibly kind, and they moved swiftly
into action.
I
would like to pause here and say to any freelancers out there,
particularly young or emerging artists: Yes, going to speak to
people, especially people in positions of authority, can feel really
daunting. But if you are in harm’s way or need to report a concern,
please
take a step in that direction. While part of our work in publishing
these blogs is to ask our industry to make it easier to report
things, there are
ways
to get help now. My advice is to get a friend to help you and never
doubt yourself.
These
meetings all happened within a few days of each other, and around
them several things happened. I met with Maddy Costa and explained to
her what I knew. She listened, took what I said seriously and shared
that there were potentially other people who had expressed concerns
about Chris. She offered to put us in touch, and during my lunch and
coffee breaks at rehearsals, I emailed (clumsily), had phone calls
and then went back to work and tried to keep it together. Each
communication clarified the scope of the situation, which was much
bigger and more frightening than I had originally realised: the abuse
that Chris had perpetrated was extensive. He had targeted individuals
and, through abusive work practices, hurt many people.
It
was suggested to me that I should contact Xavier De Sousa, who had
been a producer with Chris Goode & Company. I called him and
explained what I’d learned, and he shared his experience of raising
complaints while working for the Company – the actions he’d
taken, the blocks he’d faced and how he’d been mistreated. I
latched onto his strength then and have held on ever since.
Inquiry
and confidentiality
Things
continued to move quickly. Chris
Goode & Company were sent a joint letter from the leaders I had
approached demanding an independent inquiry into Chris Goode's
practice. I don’t have knowledge of this process but staff
responded with seriousness, engaging a consultancy firm to carry out
the inquiry. Once it began, Chris Goode & Company were the entity
first contacting people for interviews, which I assume was about GDPR
and probably unavoidable but it was also off-putting. There must be a
better way.
I
met and was interviewed – another rehearsal lunch break – trying
to keep it together.
Like
many people, I invested a lot of hope in the inquiry. I didn’t know
how it would play out, but because I knew that some survivors had
taken part (which must have taken a lot of courage and strength), I
assumed the report would be damning in its findings. I believed that
it would bring justice, that it would stop Chris in his tracks and
prevent him from being able to lure, coerce and harm other young
people who just wanted to make meaningful art and start their
careers. I believed that people in our sector would find out what
he’d done to people and how he’d lied, or at least that everyone
would pay attention. Of course it would – it was an independent
inquiry, right?
During
this time I struggled to balance my responsibilities. On the one
hand, it was essential that people knew about Chris. On the other, I
was bound to confidentiality, unable to speak publicly about what had
been disclosed to me without consent. As Xav mentions in his blog,
there are limited options when supporting adults who
have every right to
control how their information is shared. Questions can be invasive
and people can be traumatised and made unsafe by contact with the
police.
So
here, the silence was mine, I felt stuck and I worried about what
that silence was doing. I tried to speak to friends and colleagues
that Chris and I had in common, but I was wary; I thought people
would go straight to him, and I was counselled to be careful lest I
accidentally identify someone. I took this very seriously: I was
learning more and more about his threatening behaviour and capacity
to lie and deliberately cause real harm (none of us knew about
Chris’s paedophilia until 2021). This abuse – by someone who for
many years I’d believed was incapable of such behaviour – was
difficult to comprehend.
When
I did talk to people during this time, I was guarded – too much so,
I now think. I would say to them that I’d ended my relationship
with Chris because of the harm he was causing and because of the
inquiry, and that they should keep an eye on what came out in the
report.
It
was like they couldn’t hear me. Even months later, I’d see people
conversing on Twitter and I couldn’t understand it. I felt
increasingly afraid, and I started to become paranoid that no one
would believe me if I did
say something publicly. Deep anxiety and depression took hold of me.
The
last time I saw Chris was in early 2018. I hadn’t heard from him
for a long while, which wasn’t strange; he’d been vile and
abusive when we’d worked together, and we weren’t on good terms.
But over 2018 and 2019, I received two emails from him enquiring
about friendship. I didn’t reply because I was afraid of what I
would say. I felt a moral responsibility to challenge him directly.
But I didn’t want to put people in danger. He blocked me on
Twitter, and I didn’t hear from him again.
When
the report finally came out in October 2018. it felt like someone had
switched out the future that was meant to happen and replaced it with
something different.
In
the post-report process I had visualised, Chris Goode & Company
followed the recommendations. Chris faced personal consequences for
his actions, larger bodies with power and oversight stepped in and
withdrew support from him as an artist (and therefore from his
company). Survivors were empowered; able to influence the process;
seen, heard and believed. Once some or most of this work was
underway, I believed we would go public. From there, we would have a
lot
of organising to do to get any closer to some kind of justice.
The
report was confidential, for the protection of survivors and people
harmed. Campaigning or confrontation on Twitter (a platform where
Chris had a lot of influence) might be, I agreed back then,
potentially damaging to people’s chances to achieve accountability
and justice.
But
I was naïve. None of this happened. And it’s important to be real
here: is there any precedent for a process
like this in UK theatre? Possibly. But we won’t ever know about it
because of confidentiality and the risk of legal action.
And
now I think initial confidentiality agreements need to have
flexibility, to be revisited and participants consulted, once it
becomes apparent that patterns of abusive behaviour are ongoing and
misconduct is evident. Otherwise: who is actually being protected
here?
The
inquiry and report had been carried out independently (my experience
of the consultancy firm was one of sound, solid practice, ethical
rigour and a thoughtful, intelligent grasp on the complexity of the
situation. I remain grateful for what they did). But the Inquiry was
limited – due to limited finances and scope.
Chris
Goode & Company did begin
work
in response to a list of strong recommendations, they brought in
freelance consultants to assist with dealing with one of them – the
creation and implementation of a code of conduct. I didn’t know
anything of this at the time but now looking back, I believe that the
people contracted by the company were conscientious and diligent in
trying to deliver this properly (as well as some figures within the
company structure, who stayed with the process because of a
commitment to seeing the work was done).
However,
the company response to the report’s list of strong recommendations
– at least as far as I’m aware – did fall under Chris Goode &
Company management. So did oversight
of that response and this risked the integrity of the process. The
company had been built around Chris. His influence and reach were
considerable across its workings. Many of his people were colleagues
or fans. He was known to be angry and resistant when faced with
dissent, and he was being investigated for, among many things, abuse
of power.
I
now know that many people involved in the processes of the inquiry
and the company response were manipulated by him, including
freelancers and some staff at the company and some on the board. That
he presented himself outwardly as ‘welcoming the conversation’ –
but behind closed doors he despised the process and said so. I know
now – this became apparent through his reluctant responses to
requests for progress reports – that he was eventually able to
wholly manipulate the company’s response.
The
report was a lot to absorb, I had to read through it in stages
because I was really struggling with the fallout in my mental health
and I anticipated it being full of details about the abuse, this was
unfounded due to the need to protect people from being identified. (A
reminder here that people directly affected by Chris had no access to
advocacy or counselling themselves.) I thought that the report tended
to give Chris’s intentions more credit than he deserved (he didn’t
deserve any, that would have been clear if the inquiry had involved
interviews with more people) but it did contain clear
evidence
of misconduct and what I would describe as abusive practices. As I
tried to reconcile what I knew with what I was reading, my faith
dwindled.
I
learnt that important voices weren’t part of the process. Some
chose not to be, of course, it was absolutely
the right of survivors to decide
not to be interviewed; why should they have to relive their trauma?
And why would they believe that an inquiry initiated by Chris Goode &
Company could be effective, neutral or even fair? An invitation to
participate asked people who were (at minimum) affected by misconduct
to engage in a process that appeared
to be organised and paid for by the perpetrator. I also learnt that
important voices were never invited
in that initial Chris Goode & Company email – sent to Company
collaborators. I believe Chris is responsible for this.
There
was a clear list of strong recommendations for the company in the
report, including that some activities be stopped. These
recommendations should have sparked curiosity (from people in
positions of oversight especially) as well as the question “Wait –
what does this mean? Is everyone ok?” This did not happen.
The
report became another grey area that Chris was able to manipulate. I
ask this question of all of us: what grey areas are now operating in
the language
of safeguarding that
we as a sector have settled on using? What are we actually saying –
and doing?
Some
recommendations were strong and unequivocal, others felt adjacent or
perhaps irrelevant to the way Chris worked. I remember thinking that
it would be easy for him to ignore them. I remembered how many times
over the years he had encouraged or demanded “risk-taking” from
us as performers (‘risk’ being one of theatre’s favourite and
most dangerously unspecific buzzwords) and how he sneered at the
venues we’d worked at, taking the piss as soon as venue staff were
clear after a meet-and-greet or health and safety/safe space
messaging. Those kinds of things were always subtly derided.
It
is important to note that in recent years, language around
safeguarding and now well-being has become more present in how we
talk about work. Back in the earlier years of working with Chris,
this wasn’t so, so his use of similar language and the exploration
of opening yourself up, sharing about vulnerable experiences, loss,
trauma, identity, desire, made his rehearsal rooms and live work feel
like a rare invitation to disarm. For audiences and artists alike it
felt like a ‘safe place’ in comparison to the world in which we
live. As he became more fluent in this type of language, the industry
was developing its own safe-space terminology. And loved him for his.
We were, as devising performers, sharing our experiences of being
human, our vulnerable moments, mental health struggles, abuse,
assault, feeling ourselves to be safe while in fact being put at real
risk. He would use the “check in/check out” exercise – asking
“how are you?” – and in the investigation argued that it was an
adequate safeguarding mechanism. When days were difficult and he’d
been horrible, I’m telling you that mechanism was worse than
useless, it was used to crush dissent. He made “inappropriate
comments” (verbal sexual abuse) frequently over the years, which I
won’t describe here yet I remember him “holding space” for
people to share intimate MeToo experiences. He joked privately about
“not having been MeToo-d yet”. Thinking of that today turns my
stomach.
Many
of us had hoped for and visualised an outcome that meant Chris would
not be able to hurt anyone any more. Instead, the company somehow,
inexplicably, carried on being an NPO (they had paused while the
inquiry was ongoing). Chris would go on (in 2019) to frame the
experience through smooth talking Company PR online (don’t forget,
“the Company” was pretty much him). His own version of events
heavily quoted in our industry newspaper. This
was warmly
received offline, by fans and people who didn’t know what was
happening. I heard people say “yes well it's tricky isn’t it”
and thinking well of him for “doing the work”.
I
think it would have been so helpful for there to have been curiosity
in this moment, too. For people to have taken a beat and asked, “What
is this? Is everyone ok?” But that didn’t happen, as far as I
know. I don’t even know how many people knew there was an inquiry
or what those who did thought of it. I don’t want to think that
people looked away because this was happening to young men and queer
people, making it “just LGBTQ+ stuff”. I don’t say this to
shame or accuse anyone; I just think it would be worth taking a look,
internally, at what was going on there. Chris had a hold over what
people thought of him and his work, a powerful reputation that he’d
cultivated for decades. It just would have been useful in that moment
to have asked “What is this? Is everyone ok?” because these
questions require a response, follow-up and action. We can all learn
from that, me
included.
Holding
Chris Goode to account
I
am ashamed to admit that at this point in the timeline I went under;
most of 2019 was a blur. I remember trying to work while
simultaneously pushing this away and it not going anywhere.
Xav
and other people affected by Chris gathered to hold him and the
company to account. They did extraordinary work, writing letters in
response to the report and its recommendations, following up, asking
for progress reports and even intervening when somehow, inexplicably,
Chris Goode & Company offered free accommodation for an upcoming
artist at the 2019 Edinburgh festival.
This
group worked incredibly hard, without support or access to advocacy
or counselling. They just had each other. They should never
have had to do it all alone.
Xav
kindly kept in touch during this time, while I would reach out and
retract. I worried that survivors might feel unsafe around me and
perhaps be unable to heal, that I would contaminate their safe space
because of my past connection to Chris. Furthermore, this connection
still looked active online, and I was concerned that this could be
perceived as validating him in some way, especially in the eyes of
the amazing students and emerging artists that I worked with and
mentored. Chris was still seen as a “maverick avant-garde theatre
genius”, and I was someone they could talk to about his work. I was
so unsure of what to do in any direction. I did seek out advice from
friends in education and social care but there just weren’t any
pathways. I felt broken, worried that I would break others with any
decision I made, whether that meant speaking out or staying quiet.
Xav
and the group laboured away. Demanding to see evidence of the
safeguarding work that was promised. You can read about his
observations and work in his blog.
We
are still piecing together what exactly happened but I personally
believe that:
Chris
manipulated the process by positioning the code of conduct as the
centrepiece of the company response.
A
series of staff resignations led to organisational tailspin, which
blighted Chris’s company work but also consolidated his power;
enabling him to pause the work on that same code of conduct. This is
even said by him, in The Stage (2019).
Chris
name-dropped respected professionals that weren’t actually
contracted to do anything. There is still a lot of haziness for me
around this, but this is my educated guess.
Abused,
harmed and affected people were the ones having to carry out
oversight and hold the company to account. This should never happen.
Abused,
harmed and affected people in order to hold the company to account,
ended up having to communicate with the abuser. They were able to do
so anonymously but this does not afford adequate protection.
During
this period, as I mentioned, I tried to keep working. But it felt
like there was a hole in the centre of everything. An emptiness. It
took a while to realise that that emptiness was probably me. Because
of my long collaboration with Chris, he would come up a lot in
conversation, and I would either shut down or flinch and scrape to
get away.
Sometimes
I would engage; this often meant me sharing, followed by awkwardness,
which I read as disbelief, denial and possibly homophobia. It made me
less confident to proactively make these conversations happen. I wish
I could go back and change that, toughen up some. I would share with
people who asked about him in relation to work I was also involved
in. I was extremely anxious that he would be working with younger
artists again.
Sometimes
I was approached for a specific conversation about people’s own
concerns and about things someone had “been hearing about",
and I noticed that these conversations were becoming more frequent.
But this was completely unsustainable, as well as ineffective. It
only led to his name being silently added to that long list of people
in our sector who abuse, harass and bully – a list that exists only
in people’s heads, because we have no power to do anything about it
- and even if we do – we’ll get sued.
I
couldn't see a way to speak out publicly without retaliation or
repercussions for individuals who didn’t want to be identified. I
felt fearful of Chris. Such were people's strong protective feelings
for him that I didn't think I would be believed if I said anything
publicly. I found myself saying, "Our relationship is over
because I think he is a danger to people. Please, ask to read the
report."
Sometimes
people got it. But all these quiet warnings, in between the line
readings, reshuffles and withdrawals, it does us no good. It isn't
safeguarding. It’s abuser management, damage mitigation.
I’ve
spoken about my mental health a lot here but I didn’t really clock
what was up until doing an interview with an industry newspaper about
a show I was performing in. I was self-conscious anyway (don’t love
interviews), but particularly in regard to Chris coming up in
conversation, as it generally did. (Much as I wished for everything
to be known and discussed transparently in our industry press, I
didn't have survivors’ consent, and I couldn’t drag my colleagues
and employer at the time into the situation. I was meant to be
talking about the project I was working on). I managed to get through
it, but in a moment of chat afterwards, Chris Goode’s name came up.
I tried to bat it away by saying that I had a lot of “Chris-s” in
my life – something daft like that. But when I read the article he
was named as a regular collaborator of mine. I have no idea why –
he wasn't even involved in the project. I had an immediate and full
panic attack (I still have them because of all this, though fewer
now, thankfully). I understood then that we were in trouble. All of
us. Because this was just how things were now, and we didn't have
anywhere to go.
The
year ended with me recovering from an injury and emailing with Xav,
who sent me Chris’s latest “response”.
Xav
and I reconnected. We both noted that, thankfully, conversations with
people asking questions were becoming more frequent, but that the
inquiry had clearly not been able to contain Chris. He, the abuser,
was now in control of the process of creating safeguarding for his
company. Because of the threat he posed, we knew our next step must
be to move from private to public information-sharing but we didn't
yet know how. Or if we’d be empowered to do so. Then the pandemic
began, and like everyone in our industry and communities, our work
was cancelled or adapted or became entirely about fighting fire.
Content
warning: references to rape, paedophilia and suicide in this section
In
March, Xav and I reconnected again; we'd both seen the incredible
work that Helen
Raw
was doing in keeping the industry engaged in MeToo
justice and sector change work.
In
the same month, something happened that freaked me out and helped me
see things with clarity.
I
saw a tweet of Chris’s (he'd evidently unblocked me at some point)
that referenced the horrific kidnapping, rape and murder of a woman
walking home in Clapham by police officer Wayne Couzens (I’m
omitting her name purposefully so as not to create any attention/draw
her family into this). It instantly made me feel panicked and
physically sick. At that time, there was a collective call for men to
do something about misogyny in their circles and intervene when other
men abused women or circulated hateful material. For his part, Chris
cited his 2014 play Men
in the Cities
as an example of courageously facing up to and exploring
misogynistic, violent and abusive behaviour by men. I can't remember
his words precisely, but I believed he was trying to use that moment
of anguish, horror and fear to elevate himself as a progressive moral
example who was doing
the work.
It would have been egotistical even if he wasn't an abuser, but I was
horrified – unable-to-breathe horrified – that someone I knew to
be guilty of secretly and repeatedly committing the most serious
violent sexual crimes was promoting himself as an ally to women who
were calling out that same violence. It wasn't just a repugnant act:
it was a signal of his utter lack of remorse and any sense of
responsibility, perhaps even of delusional thinking. I was deeply
worried that he was active and dangerous again.
It
felt clear that there was now no choice but to go public. Xav and I
connected, we hadn't worked out anything, but we started reaching out
to some survivors we were still in touch with to see how they felt
about making some kind of a public statement (by this point, many
were understandably exhausted and needed time away). Slowly, we
arranged a date to meet.
Before
it arrived, I became aware that Chris had been in hospital. I didn't
know what for.
At
each point during this short period in spring 2021, the image I have
in my head is of an elevator dangling in a lift shaft. With each
revelation, another support line breaks, plunging you further down.
You are jolted and left dangling. You don't imagine it can get worse,
and then it does.
During
this period, I can’t remember precisely when, a piece of paper
saying that (paraphrased) “abusers work here" was left on the
door of a theatre. Chris's name was on it, along with others.
I
then learnt from a friend that he had been arrested.
I assumed this meant an adult survivor had come forward.
Friends
exchanged calls as we tried to understand what had happened, and it
didn't take long to discover the real reason Chris had been arrested:
possession of child sexual abuse images and video. He was to be
charged soon.
There
were a lot of calls now, and the nature of them changed;
increasingly, people needed help and emotional support from one
another, friends and former colleagues. People made an effort to make
sure vulnerable individuals had people to speak to, whether we knew
them or not. We worked to piece together the perspectives of this
broken constellation of people facing different ways.
It
felt like the news would become public soon (I myself found out quite
late), the thought of anyone finding out via Twitter was awful. Chris
had been so completely out of my life since 2018 that I didn’t even
know some of the people he’d recently collaborated with, much less
how to contact them. Recent colleagues, long-term collaborators,
organisations that had worked with him, particularly those that had
community casts in (it felt like many people in that context might
feel vulnerable and unsupported), many many people connecting on the
phone. Credit to the organisations that started putting together
plans to support people. There were a lot of us connecting,
creatives, designers, deputy stage managers and companies and
supporters from the early days; assistant directors that he'd
exploited and treated like crap; friends and colleagues who had
experienced abuse themselves and who might need advance warning and
support.
A
lot of care extended to one another. A lot of care extended by those
themselves suffering most deeply.
Long
days and long conversations. Shock. Tears. Calls always ended with,
"Ok, what can I do? Can I call someone? I'll think about who to
reach out to…" Even in the moment of learning the news,
people’s first thought was of others who might need support.
This
fills my heart, all these freelancers. It was "is everyone ok?"
in action.
Another
line in the lift shaft broke when an article in The
Stage
announced that Chris Goode & Company was closing due to "personal
reasons". He was lying again, and again it was hard to breathe.
Then
another: I received a call from Maddy, who told me that Chris, rather
than face police charges as he was meant to, had decided to end his
life and avoid the consequences of his actions.
We
drew up a list of people we felt we had to call. After a few calls, I
realised there was no way we could contact everyone who would have
appreciated a personal message or phone call. (I never heard from
Chris Goode & Company, whatever it was at that point. There was a
hole where duty of care should have been.)
Xav,
Maddy and I did have that meeting with the group, and I was so
grateful to be together, I hadn't before. We were in shock. We didn’t
do anything in particular; we just spent time together. It was
apparent we all needed proper support.
When
the news of Chris’s death went online, so many people responded
with pain and shock, expressing their love for his work. It was
understandable – they didn't know about his arrest, his abuse of
adults or his paedophilia, which we had just learnt about and were
still reeling from. It was painful for them. It was also painful for
those he had abused, people I don’t even know, but whose tweets I
saw. People who had been gaslit, ignored and silenced and who
remained unsupported. They watched as these tributes were made.
The
next day, there was another article in The
Stage.
This one was about his arrest and paedophilia. Online, everything
went quiet. I saw the generation that grew up with social media
tweeting, understandably, that they were frustrated that people
weren't talking more because it was so important. I also saw
generations, mine included, for whom the idea of processing something
so devastating and raw “out loud” – that is, on social media –
was inconceivable.
Offline,
it wasn’t quiet. Offline, things were raging. There were emergency
meetings in theatre organisations. Trustees and talk of brand
toxification and then…?
Theatre
workers, audience members, and the communities around us were reeling
with shock and fear. Many people found themselves scanning back over
the years, searching for sense, danger they’d missed and
information. They needed time to process, and a
process
– a place to put their questions, find answers and experience their
feelings.
Offline,
survivors of abuse – including childhood sexual abuse and abuse by
Chris – were suffering. The quiet they experienced looked and felt
like distancing and secrecy. The quiet, day by day, was turning into
silence. They, too, needed a process.
They
– we
– are still waiting.
It
is an impossible conversation. But the abuse Chris perpetrated, which
went on for years, relied on silence and secrets, shame and
distancing and denial. It continued because of the hole where useful
curiosity should have been. It grew because of that emptiness where
action, follow-up and difficult questions needed, so very much, to
be.
In
the immediate aftermath of Chris's death, we reached out to people
for urgent help. We needed to organise counselling support for
survivors and people affected by Chris who were re-traumatised by the
revelation of Chris's paedophilia and who hadn't yet been able to
access support. If that last point is surprising, remember:
Freelancers can't afford therapy. Nor can they access employee
assistance programmes, and freelancers who aren't union members
aren't eligible for union-subsidised 6-session short-term
counselling.
We
talked to a lot of people to try and make this happen. We tried to
contact the remaining people in post at what had been Chris Goode &
Company. We contacted organisations who knew us, who came to Zooms
and listened to us unpack our experiences. We wanted to start a
conversation on how we could usefully share our experience of Chris –
as we put it then, "Rather than positioning ourselves as
carriers of this painful history, we are keen for information to be
shared with a wider theatre community seeking greater understanding."
Some
organisations listened. I think some of them thought that by
listening, they were helping. But arranging and taking part in these
Zooms took a lot of time and so much effort; it was a job. And it was
draining for us to unpack everything over and over. For some, it was
traumatic. At the time, the only way I could think to express it was
"We need someone to scoop us up".
We made
contact with a provider, the East
London Out Project (ELOP),
a holistic LGBT+ centre that offers a range of social, emotional and
support services to LGBT+ communities – and they were incredible. A
plan was created to support people. They understood our situation and
prioritised people getting support ASAP. To cover the cost, we
decided we would have to just jump in and commit to future
fundraising. But how? Beyond us there were others, in more precarity,
to think about too.
I
am extremely grateful to Royal Exchange Theatre, The Yard, Theatre in
the Mill, Royal Court (and some individuals I can't name here) for
the various ways they gave help. I am grateful to the Arts Council
for taking us seriously and listening compassionately and bringing us
into the work of Raising
A Concern.
We
were fortunate to get that help, but it took a lot of work. It took
an unexpected act of deeply kind individual giving.
It
shouldn't have been that hard.
There
was a hole where duty of care could have been.
This
year, we had conversations with some former freelancers and staff of
Chris Goode & Company, some of whom only worked for the company
for a short time. I am thankful they were willing to meet, this
provided useful information that needs to go somewhere.
We
learnt a lot about Chris's manipulation. We learnt about his
willingness to steal from the reputations of respected theatre
professionals in order to protect himself and project a false image
of work being done on safeguarding. We learnt how things could be
done differently.
There
is much, much more to learn, and this short period of reflection and
self-examination is only the beginning. I don't know the inside of
people's heads. Or how we as a sector are to navigate the turbulent
times ahead, yet more government cuts, bitter economic challenges,
misinformation, reactionary backlash.
But
I do know that institutional silence, kicking this can of "What
to do about abuse?" down the road (again) only means that we'll
return to this place of extraordinary pain again, which will mean
more lives deeply affected and more people damaged.
We
can't let that happen.
There
are many already working on this. There are a lot of really observant
and thoughtful theatre workers who for various lengths of time were
involved in Chris's work – before and during Chris Goode &
Company and in independent projects. There are many more involved in
commissioning works, making shows happen and supporting productions
in countless ways. Many people beyond us, who have their own
experiences, observations and knowledge to share.
We
are ready
to
make our experiences count.
We
– British theatre, from makers to administrators, individual
freelancers to large organisations – need a space, a process, in
which we can work together, roll up our sleeves and share what we
know, learning from failures by holding them up to the light and
studying them.
In
this way, we can build robust, interconnected
and
dynamic systems
that
support survivors and stop abuse.
We
can
create a survivor-centred and properly resourced action plan
to effect the radical cultural shift needed so that abusers are no
longer empowered and protected.
We
can create a
culture-making environment where abuse cannot hide
in the shadows. Where it is detected, reported and stopped.
We
can, in our places of work – from official rehearsal rooms to the
unseen spaces beyond them – identify
and remove all barriers to reporting abuse and
be ready to support survivors and their networks,
so that they do not have to hold it all, as so many do and as we have
done.
What
follows is a call for action that contains some specific
recommendations to this end.
We
need a full-sector, survivor-centred, inclusive and transparent
conversation. This
section is intended to contribute to that with a number of concrete
actions steps, followed by some remaining questions. In compiling
these steps, I have used the following guiding principles:
We
need a resourced process
where teams communicate with one another, sharing findings,
practices, useful models and working proposals. We need to be willing
to commit to public-facing communication so that our future
workforce, the communities around our work, audiences and
international contacts can access the conversation.
Across
all of these exchanges, there must be commitment to safe-space
policy, structured support, confidentiality and agreement to share
findings, particularly when handling people’s experiences of abuse
and harassment.
I
know that important useful work on safeguarding already exists, and I
recognise that people have put a lot of effort into it.
I
know that institutional silence does not necessarily mean the work
isn’t being done internally, and that some situations stay quiet
because of legal complications.
But
I also know that for many reasons – among them, organisations being
stretched beyond capacity, government cuts, Covid-19, defensiveness
and staff shortages – we
still need to bring it all together. And
many freelancers feel left in the dark.
We
would love to hear from anyone who is already working on this. We
would like to amplify your good practices and engage and assist you
in your work.
Steps
we can take together
Value
the small steps:
identify and implement the practical changes we can make now.
Share
and improve
upon efforts that have been made to address safeguarding over recent
years, whether they were successful or not. Many individuals and
organisations have been committed to this aim, and the information
they can share, successes (and in particular) failures is useful
data.
Consult
with other sectors and industries
(education, sport, voluntary and community-based) to share
information on working practices and tackling challenges.
Release
the defensive holding position
that many institutions find themselves locked into. Ask what the
obstacles are, from risk assessment to recruitment to response.
Disallowing fear will help stop the silence.
Consult
with and listen to stage management. Equip these freelancers by
providing free training. Too often, stage managers and company stage
managers are simply assumed to be responsible for reporting. Yet the
people in these roles are also subject to abuse themselves, and
under pressure to deliver, whether freelancers or in a permanent
position.
Provide
free and accessible resources and training tools on how to recognise
harm and offer assistance when you suspect that abuse is occurring.
Refresh this training regularly. (The Lyric Hammersmith offer their
training for free to all freelancers they engage for example).
Provide
free and mental health first aid training and seek out / share
materials and resources from authors and creators
with
lived experience,
not just the MH first aid standardised training, generic NHS
resources or general well-being material.
Make
this training compulsory for students in drama schools and training
institutions and as part of freelance recruitment processes and
company orientations. Require that directors who are
commissioned provide proof of having completed this training.
Require that funding recipients have completed this training.
Include
in training packages: anti-racism training & resources, Deaf
awareness,
Neuro Diversity Awareness and Disability awareness training. They
are not luxury extras, they create healthier, safer, more successful
workspaces.
Extend
this reach beyond the walls of the theatre by identifying practical
ways to reach
the most vulnerable creators and workers in your neighbourhood.
Where are the actors who are marginalised, those who are not
currently working in your rehearsal rooms, or walking past your
green room noticeboard? How can you get the training to them?
REPORTING
– Make
it easier to report and offer robust support:
Provide
multiple / flexible reporting options for people experiencing abuse.
People need different ways to take this step.
Make
it easy - test that the terminology you are using is clear. Produce
simple “how to report” guides in accessible, shareable media.
Establish
and
communicate
a clear reporting pathway (both internally and including potential
referrals to external authorities). Asking people to step into the
unknown prevents people coming forward. Share the process.
Ensure
any survivor or supporter that raises a complaint will be able to do
so anonymously and give them the option of bringing a third party to
the conversations.
Ensure
that personalised
support such as counselling and advocacy is available for people who
have disclosed or reported abuse. Make it flexible and make it
available long-term if necessary. Centre the person’s needs and
access requirements.
BOARDS
–
Reconsider
responsibility
Reconsider
the role and responsibilities of boards and advisory boards in
relation to safeguarding. What are the human costs of defensive
decision making?
Create
clear access to board members for reporting and whistleblowing
scenarios.
Provide
robust, compulsory safeguarding training for individuals becoming
trustees so that this difficult work is centred and prioritised by
all board members (not just designated officers). Update the
training regularly.
Commit
to investigating concerns, don’t wait for them to become “clear
complaints” that your recognise according to your formal
processes. Enlist a third-party organisation for support.
Seek
out and work with thorough oversight – including by funders – in
looking at the decision-making processes of board and advisory board
members, so that we no longer have situations where abusers are paid
off and sent away, free to work for adjacent organisations in the
sector. No more quiet goodbyes for abusers moving on to
pastures new.
Be
accountable to an independent standards authority (if and when we
get one) about your recruiting, training and complaints procedures.
EMPLOYERS/EMPLOYMENT
– Talk to find solutions to the tough challenges
As
part of your recruitment process for freelance directors, check for
references and evidence of prior complaints around conduct before
hiring. Just as you would for full-time, contracted employees of
theatre organisations. This must include drama schools and training
institutions. (Chris Goode was working in drama schools).
Require
participation - or proof of participation in safety training (as
mentioned above) before directors receive commissions. (Theatres
and HR departments: If a director objects, ask why. Actors and
creatives: ask yourself if you would like to work with directors
opposed to training that would alert people to abuse.)
Work
together with other theatre organisations and professionals in HR
and executive management positions to identify the challenges in
employment law and real-world blocks that employers face. Seek
expert legal advice from beyond our sector.
Our
current situation means that freelance directors who are
perpetrators are protected - and thus enabled to be repeatedly
rehired. What can we do about this? Given the high levels of abuse
in our sector, is it unreasonable for potential employees to be
required to show evidence of their safe record? How will that be
managed? In regards to references, what formal, responsible and
legally sound process can be created to share information about a
known perpetrator?
Keep
the knowledge in the organisation (and out of your head). What
do you do when you leave your post? There needs to be a process.
Experience
with Chris Goode shows that we need to develop practical strategies
around third-party involvement for complaints processes,
investigations and inquiries. And that there need to be consistency
across the four nations of the UK> By “third party involvement”
I mean assigned individuals, teams or “neutral” organisations who
could be called in to provide or ensure the provision of:
Advocacy,
advice and support services for individuals making complaints; some
theatres already doing this work call this providing a “guardian”
Obtaining
resources and structural support for proper management of processes
Providing
Independent oversight, monitoring of processes and delivery of
outcomes
Acting
as a communication buffer who can relay messages between parties
(this is active safeguarding)
Reporting
to funders such as ACE and ensuring that the message is getting
through successfully
Ensuring
that ethical standards around confidentiality, transparency and
inclusivity are upheld, including a) a commitment to regular,
public-facing communication; b) consciousness of how marginalised
and racialised individuals experience the process; and c) the
provision of full access to the conversation for disabled and Deaf
participants and communities.
CULTURE
SHIFT: All of us play a part
Chris
Goode was repeatedly described as a “genius”. Refuse to
perpetuate “genius culture”. Let’s change how we talk about
artistic achievement – it is steeped in all kinds of privilege.
Replace
shame, fear and defensiveness about mistakes, with a culture of
understanding what went wrong and sharing information.
See
safeguarding policy as a sector-wide, open-source, living thing.
Strive to make it better. Safeguarding policy isn’t just a pdf, a
policy document or a disclaimer. It is your neighbourhood, your
past, present and future communities. It is all the places you can’t
see.
Harness
the power of freelancers. Freelancers are powerful, we move around
all the time and we can do a lot of good. We are 70 percent of our
workforce. Imagine what could happen if 70% of our workforce were
empowered by training in how to identify where abuse might be
happening? What could happen if 70% of our workforce were trained to
be more aware of people’s needs within a rehearsal room
environment?
Empower
our future workers by communicating and including them. Drama
students, new graduates, untrained actors, especially LGBTQ+ young
people are unseen and working in unrecognised creative spaces. Their
employment situation and working conditions are precarious, and they
are vulnerable, particularly given the career stage they are in.
This is particularly relevant to Chris Goode’s abuse. (In many
cases students are fighting for justice on their own).
Push
back against any reactionary backlash - online, in government policy
making and in arts programming/funding decisions. In regard to Chris
Goode, stand with LGBTQ+ makers. Radical queer theatre was NEVER the
problem: Chris’s abuse and exploitation was.
Embed
the need for useful curiosity. In leadership training, normalise
questions like “Wait – what’s going on? Is everyone ok?” and
“What can I do to help?” If you’re the chair of an
organisation, consider it your role to ask questions and extend care
beyond what is written in the organisation’s constitution.
Venue/freelancer
power relations have been much discussed over lockdown (thanks to
all the people who have worked so hard on this). Let’s reconsider
what leadership can be. What leadership models do we have?
Collective working, co-operatives and mutual support networks are
powerful, experienced, diverse and rich in talent. “How do we work
/ together?” is a creative question.
Men:
work to dismantle patriarchy and sexual harassment, abuse and male
violence in our industry and wider society. If you’re afraid of
centring yourselves in MeToo conversations, remain active, be
directed by people of other genders, offer support in the form of
resources.
Questions
and points for development
How
can we adhere to confidentiality whilst remaining engaged and
dynamic in dealing with a particular process or complaint? (I
believe this is a hugely important question for people in
organisational structures and processes and those in management
roles. People have reported to me that they feel “stuck” once a
report has been made – that it hits a ceiling and their options
are limited).
How
can we provide immediate and personalised support (i.e. counselling
and advocacy support) for people who have bravely come forward to
report and disclose? Employment Assistance Programmes don’t work
(because each time you call, you may end up speaking to someone
different. You can’t ask a survivor to unpack their experience of
abuse every time they call).
How
can we provide the long-term support needed for lengthy and
isolating inquiry/complaints processes? (A type of support that can
grow and remain flexible with the needs of the survivor/complainant,
as their needs and capacity to engage will differ throughout their
journey.)
How
do we make all this freely
available (and I mean available-as-in-accessible) for Deaf and
disabled people? BSL users are frequently required to contact
services and use email, rather than have BSL in person counselling
provided, for eg.
With
regard to personalised support plans, how do we ensure that someone
who is marginalised and experiences racism, homophobia or
transphobia isn’t partnered with a counsellor or advocate who they
don’t feel comfortable or safe with? (These oppressions are
present in counselling and advocacy services).
What
do organisations need during these processes to make sure they can
deliver a thorough, exhaustive inquiry? (Here I’m thinking
particularly of independent companies with their capacities already
stretched.) Investigation rightly takes up space and time, which
means resources taken away from company operations. I’m not saying
perpetrators should be offered support, but rather that complaints
and investigations would be conducted with more rigour if there were
more resources for the management of these processes.
These
are just a few starting points. If we – the entire sector
(individuals, companies, large/small organisations, funders across
the four nations) work in a united, action-oriented way, all are
within our power. There are a lot of wise people in our sector,
including experienced freelancers, people in HR and management. Many
people have lived experience of survival and trying to hold abusers
to account; we can advise on how we can make this happen. We are
ready. We just need resourcing.
We
are a sector of collaborative workers, problem solvers, strategists
and communicators. We design processes, use feedback tools, value
innovation and aim to be reflective and responsive.
We
can stop the silence and remove shame and defensiveness from the
equation. We can be intensely powerful and effective in keeping
people safe from harm.
Doing
this is not optional. It is our responsibility.
Reporting
(vulnerable adults and children):
