Criticising Capitalism in the City and on the Stage: The City Street Movement Occupy Wall Street and Tim Price’s Protest Song

1. Introduction

As this article’s title suggests, Tim Price’s 2013 political monodrama Protest Song is about a movement that criticises capitalism in Western cities worldwide: the activist street movement that started out as Occupy Wall Street. Furthermore, the playwright brings this capitalist reproval on stage to assess it critically. Price focusses on the London manifestation of the movement, Occupy London, and links it to London itself, which also features prominently in the play. The play thus belongs to a body of literature forming at the beginning of the twenty-first century that decidedly challenges the idea that capitalism “seamlessly occupies the horizons of the thinkable” (Mark Fisher qtd. in Clune 195; see also Gonnermann, Schuhmaier, and Schwander). These texts question the truth value of hegemonic narratives that promote capitalism as inevitable; as the ultimate economic and political system, for which there is no alternative. Protest Song, too, looks for the gaps in this “seamless horizon” in this hegemonic narrative; and it reflects whether different socioeconomic systems might be at least conceivable. In addition, Price’s monodrama arguably is also part of a canon of plays which problematise how “the city supports gross social and economic inequality through the uneven distribution of wealth and opportunity” (Harvie 2)^[1] and search, “within this unevenness, [for] the potential the city [and its theatre!] offer its inhabitants to find human affinity” (2). Protest Song does so by interweaving matters of capitalism, theatre, and the city of London.

In his play, Price thematises “capital” in two, intricately linked, ways: first, the capital is explored as a sociopolitical entity. London is studied as one of the European capitals, vibrating with life and money. Second, capital refers to the realm of finance. After all, the city space is depicted as one in which economic capital is invested, accumulated, and dealt with. Furthermore, “the city of London” is referenced in two ways as well: on the one hand, there is the capital as a whole; on the other, capital is used metonymically for a specific part of London: the local government district City of London, which – pars pro toto – comes to stand for London in general. Like the capital itself, this affluent economic centre of Greater London, with its monumental towers and impersonal street maze, is full of contrasts. It mainly accommodates agents of finance and turbo-capitalism, and its social stratification largely follows the money. At the same time, the location of “the City” is also the site of anti-capitalist street protests and also home to those who have next to nothing, who live on the very streets in which big money is made. All of these worlds, which could not be more different, meet in the City of London – and London as a city – and collide. Accordingly, the play’s setting serves as a tableau of current urban conditions and analyses the social imbalances that these conditions advance within society.

However, Price uses Great Britain’s capital not just as a setting of modern urbanity. He semanticises urban space to question both political and theatrical boundaries and attributes meaning to them, probing the frontiers between capitalism and anti-capitalist activism; between spatial/cultural centres and peripheries; between street and stage; between performer and spectator. Price explores these frontiers not as binaries, but uses his version of the City of London to disclose their essential overlaps and commonalities. In this article, I will investigate how this is done and which strategies Price uses to blur the lines between seeming political and theatrical oppositions. First, I will turn to his political semantisations of the city’s alleged contradictions. Second, I will look at Price’s meta-theatrical considerations that reconceptualise the difference between street and stage, performer and spectator.

2. Questioning the Borders between Cultural Centres and Peripheries, between Capitalism and Anti-Capitalist Activism

With Protest Song, a political drama,^[2] Price sets out to protest against capitalism – but he also aims his criticism at anti-capitalist activism. In addition, he questions the gulf between cultural centres and peripheries, which capitalism seems to cement. This is largely done via the semantisation of city space.^[3] Price explores London streets and investigates them as spaces of class heterogeneity, as spaces in which extremes reside and collide. Just like Steve Waters’s Temple (2015), Protest Song zooms in on the street protest of Occupy London, which took place roughly ten years ago in front of St Paul’s Cathedral. In contrast to what could be called its companion piece, however, Protest Song does not imagine “the impact of Occupy” on those behind the closed doors of St Paul’s, namely, “on the clerical hierarchy of St Paul’s” (Billington), but on those out in the urban space, on the streets in front of the church. This is where Price sets the play; where he stages the tensions between the mega-rich and super-poor, between those at the centre of power and those at the peripheries, between capitalism and anti-capitalist protest. However, the play does not represent these extremes as binaries; rather, the borders between them are blurred and questioned.

Price’s criticism of capitalism starts with his choice of protagonist. In contrast to other anti-capitalist plays, he centres the whole drama on a single character: Danny, a homeless person. Danny lives on the streets of the City, in the bank district, close to its iconic cathedral. In the play, these locations are not just (geographically and socially speaking) spaces of “centrality,” where tourists go, capital is accumulated, and protests form; they are, first and foremost, places in which, ironically, people from the social peripheries (namely, those without any financial or cultural capital) dwell, meet, and sleep. These central locations within London are the home of the culturally marginalised – rough sleepers like Danny, to whom Price dedicates the play.

When the Occupy Movement suddenly shows up on their doorstep, these people do not appear relieved that someone is finally trying to fight the social imbalance from which they suffer; rather, they feel that their home is being occupied. Danny sums up his experience like this: “Occupy screwed my life up” (39). But why is he this frustrated? After all, things cannot get worse for him, can they? He suffers from a host of misfortunes anyway: job gone. Alcohol. Divorce. No visitation rights with his son. Time in prison. But still, not all is lost. For the past seven years, the City of London has served as a home for Danny. He uses St Paul’s Cathedral, or rather its lavatories, as his bathroom. The grounds surrounding the close-by stock exchange are his “living room.” The location is great, which makes him relatively happy. He lives in the centre of one of the most beautiful and most affluent cities in the world, right next to the financial district. It is quiet at night, which allows for a good night’s rest within an otherwise busy area (7). And come day, droves of tourists and bankers occasionally try to silence their guilty consciences by handing out large amounts of cash. They are among the beneficiaries of capitalism and well-aware of this fact, enjoying their privileges at other people’s expense – people like Danny.

Showing Danny’s perspective, especially by way of the play’s exposition and the general plotline, Price portrays Occupy as a severe intrusion into some people’s lives, not as help. At the beginning of the play, Danny tells the audience how the Occupy Movement arrived and how he was taken by surprise by the sudden appearance of tents and protesters all around St Paul’s, his home. His whole life is turned upside down as a result: the global initiative, which kept London in suspense from October 2011 to June 2012, did not only occupy and disturb the financial sector, as intended; the protesting crowd also disturbed the socially marginalised and pushed them even further into social peripheries:

They were like “Occupy, come and stay!” And then they fucking closed the doors, not just to them but to everyone. Fucking Jesus didn’t close the door to any cunt. Seven years I slept outside that door. Wash in there every morning. If I don’t wash on the street, I get ill, I get fucking infections. (9)

For the homeless Danny, Occupy on his doorstep are nothing more than trespassers. The cathedral is closed, so he cannot use its toilets or wash himself anymore. His life used to be hard anyway; because of Occupy it has become even harder. It is no longer “just” social participation that is denied to him; now it is also access to water, personal hygiene, and, in consequence, physical health.

That Price highlights the possible oversights and drawbacks of Occupy seems, at first, astonishing. After all, Occupy was generally lauded as a movement that, owing to the 2007/2008 global financial, political, and democratic crisis, reached and mobilised many, even those who had been, up to that point, apolitical. It was celebrated as an anti-capitalist project that united people from all social classes. Occupy themselves claimed that they wanted to further alternatives to an unjust, undemocratic system. In their initial statement, which they say was “collectively agreed [upon] by over 500 people on the steps of St Paul’s on 16 October 2011” (Occupy London), they declare: “The current system is unsustainable. It is undemocratic and unjust. We need alternatives; this is where we work towards them.” Chanting “We are the ninety-nine per cent,” protesters highlighted the idea that one per cent of society lives in exorbitant wealth, which affords them a disproportionate amount of capital, political leverage, and material resources, at the expense of the remaining ninety-nine per cent.

Protest Song challenges the aims, effects, and general sustainability of Occupy. After the initial shock, Danny takes a liking to the basic idea of the movement: ninety-nine per cent of society protesting against the privilege of the ultra-rich, the economy, and big banks. The anti-democratic conduct of the global economy and the financial and economic crisis caused by selfishness, hubris, and greed are reprimanded by the disadvantaged general public, the actual victims of said crisis. So, Danny begins to mingle with the protesters – involuntarily at first – before gradually developing an affinity for helping out in the Occupy kitchen. He is appreciated for that, and the homeless person, the alcoholic, the outcast becomes part of an established, yet heterogeneous, community: “It’s just like being back in prison, there’s all sorts there. Mentally ill, professors, drug dealers, soldiers, bankers, musicians” (18). Now Danny belongs to them; he socialises and makes friends with the folks from the kitchen: with Allie, the fruit girl, with Hal, the Buddhist, and Wooky, the middle-class traditionalist. At first, all Danny feels is elation. He revels in the togetherness, in being needed. For the first time, people do not see him as a beggar or drunkard; they do not even avoid him. He has physical contact, dances with Allie (19–20), and feels like he is part of a community. On top of these personal and private experiences, he begins to appreciate Occupy’s political dimension and sees that the system, the one per cent, treats all sorts of people (not just him) unfairly. When Allie sits down next to him on the steps of St Paul’s, he summarises this novel experience of togetherness and political insight:

And we get pissed and watch bankers kick tents, and tourists take pictures, London go by, and for some reason it all feels new. [. . .] The more people I meet, the more I start to understand what’s going on, like, I met a blind diabetic woman in a wheelchair, with kidney and heart problems and the Government declared her fit to work. [. . .] Met a shop owner. [. . .] The bank just fucking stopped lending to him. Just like that. He went bust overnight with a wife and kids. (21)

Everything feels so new to Danny. All of a sudden, he belongs to all kinds of people – not just to the alcoholics and rough sleepers of London. He belongs to the kitchen crew and other victims of the system, such as the diabetic woman or the shop owner. And he also belongs to the protesters, is part of the political Occupy Movement:

I used to think I’m just an alki. But I’m not. I’m loads of things. [. . .] What about the fact that I’m a dad? And a metal-presser. A man. A fucking full-back. A divorcee. A rough sleeper. A chef. A ninety-nine per center? [. . .] Getting fucked by the one per cent. [. . .] Now the picture was bigger. I was finally in it. Connected, affecting others. (25–26)

Danny understands that, for a long time, he has been reduced to his negative character traits. Now, his self-image becomes much more multifarious and favourable, and his self-esteem grows. Also, he feels part of a “bigger picture,” no longer pressed to the margins of society, but in its very centre, amidst “the ninety-nine per cent.” He and the Occupiers, who primarily consist of middle-class people who usually carelessly pass him by when he is sitting underneath a bridge, suddenly all have something in common: they are united by the fact that they are being exploited – “getting fucked” is the expletive Danny uses above – by the one per cent: the ultra-rich, the banks, or, in short, everyone who draws their privilege from the capitalist system.

Up until this point, the storyline highlights its critique of capitalism. A critical plot twist that follows, however, reveals some fundamental flaws in the Occupy Movement. Danny has a falling-out with the rest of the kitchen staff. At first, it is only a feeling; but then, Danny realises that even among the ninety-nine per cent, who are supposed to stand together in solidarity, he is part of a group of people who are different, who are stigmatised and marginalised. Among all those who now gather under the Occupy banner, he is, as a homeless person, even more left behind than others by the capitalist system. His kitchen friends show him that he is not as naturally a part of the group as Danny would like to be. For example, they ask him to remove other homeless people from the Occupy kitchen based in St Paul’s because, as they condescendingly explain, he is “one of them” and “know[s] how to talk to them” (31). One rough sleeper is thus forced to ban others who threaten the success and the convenience of the Occupy community from what used to be, until not long ago, their living space. Unwittingly, the anti-capitalist protest movement gentrifies London streets even further instead of giving those very streets back to the poor. In addition, it coerces, of all people, its weakest link, Danny, to commit the capitalist deed of “urban cleansing.”

Being openly discriminated against as “different” from the other Occupiers and feeling used, Danny is hurt. In a fit of disappointment and disillusionment, he steals money from the kitchen’s donation box, buys some vodka, and gets drunk with the very same companions he was just forced to shoo away. Unfortunately, this booze party draws a lot of unwanted attention; some of the Occupiers feel disturbed in their night’s rest. Hal, the Buddhist, who had befriended Danny earlier, even tries to extinguish the fire that keeps the rough sleepers warm:

“Don’t do that, Hal. Don’t do that, we’re freezing.”

But he carries on.

“Hal, please.”

“I don’t give a shit, there’s fucking tents everywhere, you could kill someone, you stupid fucking pisshead.”

And I grab him. [. . .] I just grabbed him. But next time I go to the kitchen it’s pissing down and Carol is waiting for me. [. . .] when she sees me she steps outside. So we both stand there, in the rain.

“They told me to tell you, you can’t come in. You’re not welcome.”

“Why?”

“Because . . ."

He is ashamed.

“Because you knocked one of Hal’s teeth out.”

It pains him to remember this. (33)

With this dialogue, the plot takes another sharp turn. Danny is thrown out of Occupy’s centre, the kitchen, the heart of the movement. The task and purpose he found by helping out there is now denied to him. He is marginalised within the movement because he is an alcoholic, because he is a rough sleeper, because he became violent trying to fight another injustice, and because even a street movement is not a grassroots democracy. Danny’s outburst exposes his emotional helplessness in the face of being ostracised and vulnerable again. He yells: “YOU CAN’T FUCKING COME HERE AND GIVE ME ALL THIS AND THEN TAKE IT AWAY” (36). Cognitively, he is able to recognise why the Occupy Movement is failing: some offensive social mechanisms, side-effects of capitalism, rear their ugly heads on this smaller scale, in the artificial society of Occupy – ironically, of course, inside of a movement condemning and seeking to destroy these very mechanisms.

Occupy even seems to have the same social hierarchies as Britain’s capital. Even if united by a good cause and despite all intentions, people like Hal do not “give a shit” about Danny. The Occupier, who, in contrast to Danny, has a tent (“there’s fucking tents everywhere,” 33) and is there of his own free will, extinguishes the fire that the protagonist and the other homeless people need in order to keep themselves warm. Hal’s solidarity does not reach far beyond his own body. He feels disturbed by the talking and drinking of homeless people, and he does not care that he and Danny worked together in the kitchen for the cause, or even that they were friends. It is no wonder that Danny, reflecting on the general idea and the principles of Occupy, concludes: “Everything they were fighting about was bollocks. In the big picture it was bollocks” (34). With this insight, Price portrays Occupy as a vain movement, in the sense of being both fickle and proud: equality, democracy, and wealth redistribution all fall by the wayside when fundamental values, such as humanity, tolerance, community, and inclusion, are neglected.

Looking at spatial centres, like St Paul’s in London and the kitchen within Occupy, and by showing through his plot development how Danny gets increasingly marginalised, spatially removed, and socially ousted, Price reveals an intrinsic problem at the core of the Occupy Movement. The social hierarchies and inner workings of this movement seem to very much run in line with those of the capitalist society it criticises. In the end, even Occupy pushes forward a particular group’s interests, ignores the needs of others, and supresses them for Occupy’s own advancement. The protesters do not even realise that beyond occupying the City of London, they also jeopardise the living spaces of the homeless. The fact that the Occupiers become colonial overlords, who tyrannically displace the people native to London’s financial district, is ironically overlooked. The protest against banks and the City of London itself supersedes the interests and needs of even worse-off individuals. To Hal and the others in the kitchen crew, the concerns of the homeless, even if vital to their survival (like keeping warm), are negligible. Hal does not “give a shit” (33) about Danny freezing. All he cares about is the fact that he feels disturbed and that he thinks he has to protect his tent. Hal’s selfish and anti-social actions lead to the fit of rage and violence on the part of the victim, Danny, who is discriminated against and cast out by a group he believed himself to be part of.

Through the genre of monodrama, the choice of character, a homeless person through whose eyes Occupy is evaluated, and the play’s sobering ending, Price is able to show that the victims of capitalism are not one homogenous, indiscriminate mass. As opposed to Hal, Allie, and Carol, Danny has far more to lose than “just” a loan or his flat. He is at risk of losing his place in life, the place he has struggled to obtain and secure despite his past and his homelessness. Thus, Danny is – in contrast to the other Occupiers – opposed to a merely symbolic protest: he needs actual results. Danny reiterates this when the City of London offers to settle with the Occupiers so they end their protest. At an assembly, he yells:

NO! NO! [. . .] NO. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? [. . .] LET’S NOT ASK FOR A FUCKING SYMBOLIC TENT: YOU THINK THIS IS SYMBOLIC? WHAT THE FUCK DO I SYMBOLISE? WHAT ABOUT ALL THE ROUGH-SLEEPERS? WHERE ARE WE GONNA GO? THIS IS A PROTEST. NOT A CAMP SITE. (24)

Danny’s livelihood is dependent on the movement’s measurable success. His deprivation is real and tangible. Occupy gives him hope – but one that does not bear fruit. Resigned, he laments: “You know. I could bear it. I could bear it all. I had it all figured out. How to bear living with myself. With what I’ve done. I could bear it. And then you lot come along. And now look at me” (37). At the end of the drama, there is only a single person on stage, totally isolated from other people, without shelter, without social participation. All by himself, Danny stands there, protesting the protest. Disillusioned and desperate, he smashes the set (37). Occupy has pulled him into the centre of a community and given him the hope of change (39), only to brutally thrust him back into his life as an outsider. His shelter, St Paul’s, is no longer the only thing that has been taken from him; after being ousted from the kitchen crew, after Occupy’s disintegration, Danny is left behind by the ninety-nine per cent, who set out to change the system but failed, ashamed of himself and lonely. In the end, when Danny leaves the stage (40), Occupy – represented by the demolished set – is nothing more than a pile of rubble.

3. Permeating the Boundaries between Street and Stage, Performer and Spectator

As has been established, Price’s play criticises both capitalism and the erroneous attempts to challenge it. In this way, capitalism and anti-capitalist activism are likened. Furthermore, Protest Song also contests the boundaries between street and stage; they, too, become blurred. London streets are staged as a setting for the Occupy Movement and as a setting for the Olympics. Everything that disturbs the surface and the performance is thrown out – or, to stay within the metaphor – thrown off “the stage.” This becomes clear when Danny explains what happened to the homeless in front of St Paul’s during Occupy and the 2012 Olympics:

It wasn’t just Occupy’s fault. St Paul’s played a fucking part an’ all. They were like “Occupy, come and stay!” And then they fucking closed the doors, not just to them but to everyone. Fucking Jesus didn’t close the door to any cunt. [. . .] I reckon it was fucking Boris, he made them close. He fucking put us in detention centres for the Olympics; didn’t fucking know that, did you? (9–10)

Exclusionary politics appear to have found new partners in crime in the shape of the church and the Occupy Movement. They seem all right with giving panem et circenses to society at large, while wilfully discarding any attempts at including its less fortunate members. By accompanying the homeless protagonist, the audience does not only get to know the political and institutional injustice the homeless suffered (in the form of Boris Johnson’s systematic approach of locking them up because they would otherwise spoil the smooth set of London for the Olympic revels), but they also learn to see Occupy as a performance, transient and elusive in character, a mere show of justice and equality, an act put on to further an illusion, which Danny forces them to see.

And Danny is not only metaphorically breaking the fourth wall here. Beyond blending activism and performance, street and show, he also perforates the line of distinction between spectator and performer in two striking ways: first, Danny is shown as desiring to become part of the audience, a privilege that is denied to him. Second, members of the audience are asked on stage, becoming performers themselves. Through these two methods of audience interaction, the spectators who witness Danny’s fate learn to see how they, as privileged people of the middle class and educated elites, play a part in the perpetuation of capitalism.

Right at the play’s beginning, Danny is supposed to start his performance in the auditorium. The stage direction reads: “In the space, DANNY sits in audience members’ seats until he is moved along. This continues until there is nowhere left for him to sit. / Improvise his transgressions with audience members” (5). The actor, looking (and probably smelling) like a rough sleeper,^[4] sits in the audience, and, each time a spectator enters the room, he is forced to seek out a new spot. According to the stage directions, he needs to comply with this rule until there is no empty seat left in the audience. After this, the actor goes on stage, and the play begins. There is no need to interpret this part of secondary text in a metaphorical sense: within the paying audience, there is no place for the moneyless, no place for those who do not belong to the theatre-going elites. Every time the homeless man attempts to find his place among the audience, the spectators become actors as well, defending and claiming their seats, rejecting the one who has not paid for them. With this as well as with direct, metaleptic addresses as the play continues (for example: “Those poor cunts under the bridge who you [the audience] walked past. They are connected to you,” 26), the spectators are forced to realise their parts in the “real drama” of capitalist exploitation. Even if the members of the audience sympathise with Danny, they are more in line with capitalism than him, Othering him, when they see people like him on the streets, under the bridge, or in the auditorium. In fact, the audience – as educated and enlightened as they may be – are to blame for the misery of the homeless, too. As affluent, comparatively wealthy people who can afford to spend their money on entertainment, they, too, support capitalism.

While Price debunks Occupy as two-faced, he probes the audience, by way of his metalepses. Spontaneously selected audience members also become performers, when they are asked to donate some money for a night at a hostel (5), when they give Danny their phone numbers (9), when Danny motivates them to be a shouting, protesting crowd (26–27), or when he invites them to dance with him onstage (20). All this interaction is highly complex as it opens up a myriad of interpretative possibilities: these metalepses might be understood as a reproach to the audience; as a request to them to acknowledge, first, that, even if they might share the experience with Danny that they are exploited by the one per cent of the super-rich, they are not really as disadvantaged as him; and, second, that they really do not want anything to do with him.^[5] They also might be understood as a thought experiment that probes the intricacies of the confrontation imagined here – between a homeless character and an audience as character(s), on the one hand, and a staged homeless person in a pricy theatre play and an audience that might be aware of their participation in the cultural industry of a capitalist system – uncomfortably or comfortably so. The theatre space, unlike the urban space, creates a forced encounter between performing audience members and staged homeless people; maybe to suggest different relationships and shades in-between encounter and non-encounter in one shared physical space between different social groups – in a similar vein to José R. Prado’s pointed description of Price’s Capitalism Is Crisis, staged in 2013 by the collective Theatre Uncut. Here, two characters from different backgrounds seem to be unable “to have an actual encounter, even though they share the same physical space” (131).

Going beyond a reflection of the relationship(s) between the real-and-imagined homeless and the real-and-imagined audience(s), the play metaleptically refers to the text- and stage-external reality. Protest Song might call attention to the fact that, in everyday life, the concerns of the homeless, the poor, are often less considered in politics and society than they should be. Society usually does not care about folks like Danny: people usually do not look at him; neither do they get in touch with him, nor actually touch him. This also becomes evident in the following permeation between stage and auditorium:

people don’t touch rough-sleepers, do they?

He addresses a patron.

Would you touch a rough-sleeper?

He addresses patrons until someone says “yes.” When someone says yes, DANNY’s heart melts

You would.

Summoning courage, he offers his hand to the patron.

Would you?

Beat.

Please?

He persists until patron joins DANNY on stage. (19–20)

Danny asks a couple of spectators if they are willing to touch an unwashed homeless alcoholic. If there is someone in the audience who is courageous enough to overcome both their hesitancy to go on stage and their fear of touching someone they do not know, this experience is so extraordinary to the character of Danny that he shows strong emotional and physical reactions. The audience is supposed to “see [that] DANNY is overcome with happiness” (20).

Yet, even though Danny breaks the fourth wall in scenes like these, there is still a tangible distance between the audience and him. The audience are not simply considered “spectators,” they are called “patrons” (19). In other words, they are potential donors. Even though the play enforces a physical bond between some patrons and the rough-sleeping character, there is no such thing as true bonding in the form of kindness, interest, and benevolence on the part of the performing audience member. Becoming a performer and being forced to touch the actor, the audience members physically and emotionally feel the gulf between them and people like Danny. Thus, the audience is confronted with the interwovenness of their own actions and capitalism. In the theatre, there may be some reservation and anxiety regarding interaction. In real life, they simply do not interact with the homeless at all, nor do they think about them. Danny’s miserable situation and living conditions do not have any significant impact on their lifestyle. From time to time, the middle class just tries to soothe their troubled conscience by providing alms, like a “patron” in the play’s beginning (5).

But the play is not just critical of Occupy and theatre audiences. It also critically reflects on the role of theatre and playwrights themselves in marginalising culturally and economically deprived groups. With Danny, Price implicitly highlights the lack of protagonists like him within the corpus of British plays that were written after, and about, the global financial crisis of 2007/2008.^[6] Even though there are a couple of plays like Philip Ridley’s Radiant Vermin (2015) and Rory Mullarkey’s The Woolf from the Door (2014) which thematise the gap between the poor and the rich, too, staging either homeless people on whose metaphorical and literal demise the comfort of the middle class hinges or rough sleepers who get abused by upper-class people, Protest Song dedicates much more room and stage time to its homeless – and only – character on stage. And while famous plays such as Lucy Prebble’s Enron (2009), David Hare’s The Power of Yes (2009), Nicholas Pierpan’s You Can Still Make a Killing (2012), and Clare Duffy’s Money: The Game Show (2013)^[7] also criticise capitalism, challenge financial institutions, and focus on the causes and consequences of the financial crisis, they significantly differ from Price’s play as well. All the aforementioned plays make use of protagonists who work in the financial services industry. By constantly accompanying these protagonists, audiences learn how the hubris, greed, and corruption of bankers and CEOs, who threw other people under the bus just to succeed, led to the great financial crisis of 2007/2008 and will inevitably lead to further crises. Of course, all these plays are captivating, and they fiercely criticise global turbo-capitalism in its currently existing and threatening form. With his choice of protagonist, Price brings yet another perspective to the theatrical canon post-2007/2008. He implies that rough sleepers like Danny or other people considered at the bottom of society are not just left behind by capitalism and politicians, not only deemed unworthy to be mentioned in societal debates; they are also ignored in the theatre of the financial crisis and beyond. Thus, with Protest Song, Price rectifies the wrong that these people have, until 2013, largely been “kicked out” of the dramatic canon.

This theatrical self-criticism is also triggered by the combination of the play’s title, Protest Song, and the epigraph in the print version, an intermedial reference to a song by the Manic Street Preachers, entitled “Let Robeson Sing” (2001). It reads: “Can anyone make a difference anymore? / Can anyone write a protest song?” (1). With the first line, the play introduces its general themes: it asks to what extent protest movements, such as Occupy, can actually be considered effective and true when their criticism is only ever levied once people’s own livelihood is being threatened. The play, even though not a tragedy proper, seems to be part of what Ramona Mosse and Anna Street, in the context of a symposium, conceptualise as a “genre of dramatic thought” (130) and encapsulate in their observation that “oppression does not germinate solely in the dark recess of irrationality but is often chanted as a clever slogan in the public square” (136). Is mainstream criticism, like the ninety-nine per cent slogan, really directed at capitalism? Is it not also selfish, inhumane, and amoral? Is it not, in reality, a way of oppressing the even less powerful, a small-scale capitalism of sorts? The play, by furthering deliberations on what “real” capitalist criticism could look like, triggers questions such as: is there a genuine form of protest, devoid of hypocrisy? How can activists, average people, and plays change the existing system? Can they actually change anything?

Taking the second sentence of the intermedial reference into account – “can anyone write a protest song?” –, one is led to ask whether Price is perhaps calling for new approaches to overcome capitalism or its excrescences, even for the theatrical stage. With this statement, Price might refer to his own play, asking whether he has managed to write a true “protest song.” But he might also implicitly be criticising his colleagues. If prominent political playwrights, such as Hare or Prebble, direct their criticism only at those on the upper rungs of the social ladder – the powerful, the ultra-rich, the one per cent – instead of recognising and challenging how the remaining ninety-nine per cent participate in perpetuating capitalism, then can their works be considered truly political and critical? In other words, is their criticism applicable and at all legitimate? What should a real “protest song” on the theatre stage look like?^[8] And, for the streets, what could sustainable protest look like?

By giving Danny a voice in a monodramatic fashion, Price raises awareness for a particular kind of social group. The homeless are largely without a lobby and, thus, are usually unheard and unseen, commonly neglected, and ignored. Price points to the social opportunity gap which is widely accepted and tolerated by the middle class, intellectuals, critics of capitalism, and playwrights alike. He highlights that the privileged have, for decades, tended to see only their own troubles and failed to take true action against poverty. He insinuates that this may be because they actually profit from a system that exploits the weakest and turns a blind eye to what is happening to them. In other words, Protest Song is an attempt at reflecting what “true,” selfless, and sustainable anti-capitalist protest could look like. Merging the boundaries between street and stage, spectator and performer, and by way of theatrical self-reflexivity, Price not only criticises capitalism, but also the average people of the middle class, intellectuals, playwrights, and activists. Seen through the lens of Protest Song, they seem quick to identify as the victims of capitalism, without thinking about the part they play in keeping the capitalist system alive and flourishing.

4. Conclusion

Occupy was, according to Protest Song, a protest that was partially dishonest and certainly not sustainable. Reflecting on and semanticising city spaces like St Paul’s and “the City,” the play additionally triggers contemplations of how a street movement such as Occupy can be truly inclusive and embrace all disadvantaged strata of society – how protest can, in general, help enforce the rights of the poor and powerless and accomplish lasting social change.

Protest Song rebels against economic injustice and criticises turbo-capitalism, as it manifests itself in the big cities of today, which are home to both big money and rough sleepers. It is a political play, a form of dramatic ethical thought (sensu Mosse and Street 136–137) that focusses on Occupy London to inspire ethical and political consideration on the movement, on crass injustices within London’s social strata, and the city space itself. It reflects on capitalism and on the role cities and each and every one of us play in keeping capitalism alive. Endeavouring to find a form that expresses protest well, the play, on the one hand, lauds any grassroots attempts to further social justice on city streets. On the other, it goes deeper: by representing and assessing Occupy as a street protest, it questions its structure, aims, and effectiveness, and it searches for more impactful and sustainable ways to achieve social justice. By naming his drama Protest Song, Price highlights that he is trying to explore new ways in which protest actually can work – a protest that goes beyond tokenism, one that causes tangible change. In his play, Price dares to portray the everyday drama experienced by those left behind, even by those who call themselves “the ninety-nine per cent” but who are ignorant of the fact that they, too, actually belong to the privileged classes.

Furthermore, Price not only blurs the lines between capitalism and anti-capitalist protest, but also between street and stage. On top of that, by showing Danny’s protest against Occupy and by forcing spectators to turn into performers, Price appeals for some critical self-reflection among both the protesting crowd of the ninety-nine per centers and among the audience. They are, for once, to consider the parts they play in supporting the capitalist system and profiting from it. Petitioning the audiences to reflect on the sustainability of street protest as well as its intended and unintended consequences, like the furthering of a city’s gentrification and the exclusion of the powerless from city centres, Price calls for an honest assessment of one’s own social status and cultural and economic capital. By way of self-reflection, he asks not only individuals, or the well-off audiences, but also cities and theatres as institutions to avoid ignorance and start to truly take up arms against social injustice and the cultural dynamics which cause the further dehumanisation and marginalisation of the poor and powerless.