Rage, Reckoning, and BSL: Huskinson Refuses Your Complacency.
On 13 March, Unity Theatre hosts a one-night-only performance that refuses to let its audience sit back in passive comfort. Where Have All the Women Gone? is written and performed by Elizabeth Huskinson, and it arrives with a clear intention: to disrupt, to confront and to demand something of the people in the room.
This is not theatre as escapism. Huskinson’s solo show tackles male violence against women and girls, the media cycle that packages it, and the cultural amnesia that allows it to repeat. Developed over three years and shaped by lived conversations with audiences across the country, the piece blends fury, grief and razor-sharp clarity. Presented at Unity with integrated BSL, the performance weaves spoken word and sign language into a single, shared experience, expanding both its reach and its emotional vocabulary.
Ahead of the Liverpool date, I spoke to Huskinson about rejecting comfort, sustaining rage, artistic autonomy and why she believes audiences leave carrying a responsibility of their own…
This isn’t a comfortable night at the theatre — and it’s not meant to be. Were you consciously rejecting any idea that audiences should feel “safe” in their seats?
We are certainly rejecting a lot. We’re rejecting the system, the status quo, and as you say, the notion of being comfortable at the theatre. Whilst I don’t think we’re ever consciously working towards rejecting the idea of the audience feeling “safe”, we are always working towards provoking the audience into a state of such discomfort that they feel compelled to take action. I know everyone in the audience already agrees with me; it’s tremendously rare that someone goes to see a play on a topic they know they disagree with, so it’s about challenging the audience and using theatre to generate change.
What was the catalyst that made you write this piece — and why did it feel urgent to stage it?
When I was training at the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts (LIPA), I was performing in Alice Birch’s play ‘Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again’. Written in 2014, it’s a piece about the experience of 21st century women in a system designed to suppress them and to some extent, hold them captive. During rehearsals, Sarah Everard was tragically murdered.
The whole sense, shape, emotional weight of the play changed. At the time, I thought, someone will write a new version of Birch’s play, someone will write about Sarah, someone has to talk about what’s happening in this country. And so I waited, and waited and started to feel like I couldn’t wait any longer, we had to talk about the rapid rate at which women were and still are being murdered by men in the UK.
The play confronts how violence against women is reported, consumed and then forgotten. Are we, as audiences and readers, complicit in that cycle?
Yes, it’s almost impossible not to be in this day and age; we consume media in such high volumes. Now, whilst the media holds huge power in the way we interact with MVAWG in this country and is undeniably responsible for perpetuating the culture, as are we, what’s more concerning to me is that women are being murdered, assaulted and raped on such a scale, that we are able to forget the name of the woman from today because another will appear in the news tomorrow. The cyclical nature of this cultural landscape is well embedded in the work. There are plenty of points in the play where you think “Oh, we’ve been here before”, and it’s because we have, and we will return again. I think it’s well captured when I say; “I keep writing this shit because it just keeps happening.”
This performance is being presented with BSL. How does integrating sign language change the piece?
This is the first time I’ve presented one of my plays with BSL and it has been an endlessly enriching experience. I’ve been working with Kitty, a remarkable sign language interpreter, who not only interprets the show but embodies the fifteen characters alongside me and has become conceptually woven into the play. We’ve also worked with an incredible consultant Daryl who has helped shape the way in which the spoken language and sign language become one.
Sign language is such an emotive language, the physical life of it often reflects the internal emotional life so the visual world of the play has become so much richer. I’m really excited to offer this version of the play and for both hearing and deaf audiences share a singular experience. I’ve also learnt so much from Kitty, Daryl, and Joanne who is championing accessibility at the Unity, and I hope we can continue making work like this, demonstrating the power of accessible theatre and making an access offering feel like less of an addition and more of an integral aspect of the work.
As both playwright and performer, you control the narrative completely. How important was that autonomy when dealing with such politically charged material?
Autonomy is very important to me as an artist, something I worked hard to find and always work hard to keep hold of. As a young woman, perhaps I value my autonomy more than others, because it’s so easily taken away. Now with work as fragile and rebellious as this, you have to really believe in what you’re saying and approach the process with an unwavering level of conviction, so having artistic ownership over the work is vital. I say all of this with the indisputable caveat, that I work with the most phenomenal team to create this play and their voices, ideas and artistry are all woven into the work. It’s a one-woman show in one sense only, that I’m the only person standing on stage.
Beyond that, a whole team of artists give this play its power. So, of course I have artistic control but the work is rich and reflective of a shared socio-cultural experience because of the artists that make it.
Did you ever question whether it was emotionally sustainable — or even ethical — to perform this material yourself?
When the curtain comes down, I certainly question how I’ll get back on stage the next night! I do question how physically and emotionally sustainable it is but actually, this question is the first time I’ve been made to think about whether it’s ethical… It’s a huge privilege to be an artist and in the grand scheme of things, I’m not sacrificing a lot but it’s definitely the most challenging work I’ve ever performed. There is a weight that comes with it, mostly due to the fact I like to spend time with the audience afterwards and that is both an intensely rewarding and challenging experience.
I’m very fortunate that my team take such good care of me and if anyone tells you making theatre takes anything less than a village, they’re lying to themselves because my family, friends and team are the only reason I can get back on that stage each night.
After living inside this material across multiple performances, has it changed you personally in any way — your sense of safety, your outlook, your resilience?
I’ve lived alongside this work for the last three years and it’s changed me in so many ways but the rage is still there, I have no doubt the whole system needs tearing down and building back up again. The audiences are who truly change me, the stories they share, the tears they shed are all held somewhere inside of me and find their way back into the performance. When they feel seen, I feel seen. Most importantly, these performances have given me hope. I have met so many remarkable women who believe in change.
Have you ever worried about being labelled “too angry” — a criticism often aimed at women who speak out?
I love this question. No. Label me angry, I am angry. Anyone who says that isn’t angry enough.
Have you ever had pushback — accusations that the show is confrontational or uncomfortable — and how do you respond?
I suppose I’ve been quite lucky, in that anyone who has felt that way, certainly hasn’t vocalised it to me. I know it’s confrontational, I think that’s why it’s so powerful. A lot of audience members are definitely in a state of shock and need time to process their experience, they don’t feel ready to articulate it. My job is to make you feel, so really the highest praise is an inarticulable experience. Sometimes the mind can’t catch up with the body, sometimes theatre should feel like that, sometimes it should consume you whole.
This is a one-off performance at Unity Theatre. What responsibility do you think audiences carry when they leave the building that night?
You simply leave responsible for yourself. Whatever it is you feel when you leave, do something with it. Don’t let it settle, don’t let it be, make a change. And for the love of God, feel something. Re-sensitise yourself to an issue we’ve all been conditioned to desensitise from. Riot, rebel, do it loudly, do it quietly, do it with compassion, do it with rage. Educate the men, elevate the women, burn the whole system down!
Where Have All Our Women Gone?
13 March 2026
Unity Theatre
Tickets
