Criteria for play: “Initiated when an animal is adequately fed, healthy, and free from acute or chronic stress.”

This somewhat dry observation about play is from Gordon Burghardt, an American evolutionary biologist, and it’s his final defining criterion for the ever-difficult question: ‘what is play?’. Burghardt has spent a lifetime studying the playful behaviour of animals (including the Komodo dragon and the duck-billed platypus) and I came across his work while attempting to pool ‘definitions of play’ for a dissertation, a tricky task given the huge increase in play scholarship in the last 15 years. This idea of playing only when fed, healthy and not stressed was not mentioned by other theorists, so I confined it to my ‘miscellaneous notes’ – and forgot about it.   

When I started writing about play in Lebanon, Israel’s genocide in Gaza and its invasion of Lebanon had not begun – but since this time, I have heard from colleagues that children are playing less or not at all. It was then I remembered Burghardt’s definition: a depressing indication that, of course, like other animals, human children also do not play when chronically stressed. For most children, play fundamentally contributes to the kind of brain development which builds long-term psychological resilience. But for children caught up in war, Burghardt’s notion creates a vicious cycle: children feel too unsafe to play, and so their trauma is less likely to abate; they then feel even less inclined to play, their trauma increases, and so on. Teachers in Gaza have reported that they are trying to implement play, but children are simply unable to take part: 

They don’t want to participate in activities [….] sometimes it can escalate to the point where a child becomes catatonic. They can’t speak.

The horrifying notion of a catatonic child is demonstrative of how war undoes childhood, undoes what Friedrich Frobel – the kindergarten’s founder and a Christian pantheist – would say is the ‘child’s nature’. Play is emblematic of what it means to be a child, at which age the verb ‘play’ often stands in for ‘do stuff’ or more simply ‘exist’: ‘I’m just finishing up, go and play’ or ‘Who did you play with today?’. This is poetically exemplified in two quotes from teachers that I spoke to in southern Lebanon, where Israel’s invasion has been most ferociously wrought: 

“Play is like food for children.”

“A child needs to play like he needs to breathe.”

These two teachers use survival metaphors, and if you throw them into reverse then the child who does not play either starves or suffocates. In Gaza, children are being starved both literally and developmentally. 

When I mention my work in non-professional contexts, a phrase I hear back a lot is: ‘But isn’t it incredible how resilient children are?’ or ‘They adapt so quickly, don’t they?’. I am never sure how to respond to this, partly because I know that the adult in question is often looking for reassurance. Yes, this can be true with very effective intervention or a drastic change in circumstance. But I don’t know if the world has permitted such egregious violence to be inflicted for so long on so many children in such a concentrated space. Teachers in Gaza, who are currently helping me design a project, list off the usual lack of resources in emergency contexts (no materials, no toys, no stationery) and then add to the list, ‘Oh, and we can’t use or mention specific body parts’. This is because Gazan children are so commonly missing limbs that games or songs which name or use specific body parts are inappropriate. Even in the 21st century’s ever-increasing range of ‘emergency contexts’, this is beyond what we know. To call children ‘resilient’, who are either too psychologically or physically traumatised to play, is a failure to look directly at what is unfolding. 

Play is joyful and hopeful, and I would like to clutch at some straws before ending. These come in the form of hundreds of historical Seenaryo anecdotes: a boy finally emerging from under a table to join in with a lesson – or a selectively mute girl uttering her first ever words in a playful classroom. I will not say that all these children are going to be okay, but I do believe play is still the best of the very few remaining options.

We at Seenaryo have signed a letter from 138 international development organisations criticising the government’s decision last week to increase defence spending by slashing the aid budget. This is an easy decision for the government, which knows that international development spending is not a vote winner: according to a YouGov poll, 65% of voters agree with the decision.

However, it is also a decision that is both morally wrong and self-defeating. Hundreds of thousands of people are expected to die as a result, which is particularly painful as it comes a month after Trump’s disastrous USAID cuts – which are estimated to have led to 15,000 deaths in the past month alone.

The international development sector is not perfect. However, there is no current alternative to allow the world’s most vulnerable communities to develop sustainably. Britain’s rearmament should not be funded at their expense. Not only is this decision against the interests of global justice; it is also self-defeating as it makes the world less stable and further threatens peace at a time when global conflict is at its highest point ever recorded. Britain’s safety and security requires robust investment not only in defence but in international aid that supports education and community development, as well as life-saving emergency response.

For decades, the UK has been a global leader in international development. In the 1970s, the United Nations set a target for 0.7% of GNI (Gross National Income) to be spent on official development assistance (ODA). The UK reached this target in 2013, one of the first countries in the world and the first G20 country to do so. The previous government slashed that target to only 0.5% in 2021 following the ravages of Covid. Last year, the incoming Labour government made a manifesto commitment to return to 0.7% aid spending. Instead of following through on that aim, it has now cut the target to only 0.3%. Almost half of this will not even be spent overseas but rather on UK hotels for asylum seekers – marginalised communities across the world paying the price for Britain’s broken asylum system.

There are other ways to fund the increased defence budget. A war levy is one; a wealth tax on the super-rich is another.

These cuts will transform Seenaryo’s communities and the ecosystem within which we work – especially in Jordan which was until a month ago the largest recipient of US aid globally aside from Ukraine and Israel. Four of our partner organisations in Jordan have already either closed down entirely or are radically scaling back their operations. Dozens more will follow; it will be a huge challenge for us to sustain our work, as funding becomes more and more constrained in the months to come. Indeed, the whole sector will be squeezed, meaning, for example, a generation of refugees in Jordan will not receive an education; programmes supporting social cohesion in Lebanon will be terminated, risking civil conflict in a country reeling from a highly sectarian war with Israel; and women across the region will lose opportunities for protection and work, leaving them at risk of exploitation.

At Seenaryo, we extend our solidarity to all our partners, colleagues and participants. These decisions by the US and UK governments will make our work harder and our communities in the Arab region more vulnerable, at a time when they have already been decimated by recent wars and crises. We call on the UK government to urgently reassess its position. 

The first workshop in the series saw Dr. Najla Nakhlé-Cerruti lead a session on monodrama in contemporary Palestinian theatre. We caught up with her after the workshop to learn more about her practice, as well as the role of theatre in Palestine today.

Where did your interest in theatre originate from?

My interest in Arab theatre was initially linguistic. Theatre is usually based on a text that is performed orally on stage. However a question arises in Arabic theatre about the choice of which language register to use, since this changes in Arabic depending on whether it is spoken or written. From the second half of the nineteenth century, and for the following century, theatre in the Arab region was written in formal Arabic and then presented on stage. The plays were oral text readings more than performances. This linguistic contradiction created barriers to audience interaction, which is normally at the heart of the creative process. It was only in the 1960s that a form of theatre in Arabic, emancipated from the linguistic framework of the written register, began to develop and has continued to the present day. These initial reflections led me to take an interest in Arab theatre and were the origins of my first research projects. I then conducted a PhD thesis on Palestinian theatre and now – as a researcher at the French Institute for the Near East, in charge of the Amman office – I continue to work on theatre in Arabic.

What role has theatre played in Palestinian society?

In the 1970s, when it first emerged in Palestine, theatre played an important role in raising not only political, but also social issues and demands. It holds an important place in Palestinian society. It has been used as a tool for alternative resistance and as an educational resource, as well as being a means to carry out activities with vulnerable communities through an art therapy approach. It has also been used as a tool for reviving local traditions and folklore. It plays a part in writing the history of the Palestinians and recording their memory in its individual and collective dimensions, which is in danger of disappearing.

How has Palestinian theatre been affected by and how has it adapted to the current situation?

For the past year, Palestinian theatre has been going through one of the most difficult periods in its history. The practice is very difficult to maintain because of the threats to the security of the Palestinians. Rehearsing, attending a performance or traveling on an artistic tour are becoming dangerous in Palestine – and impossible abroad.

What are the greatest challenges currently facing Palestinian theatre makers? And Arab theatre makers more generally?

Palestinian theatre, and more broadly theatre makers in the Arab world, have to face significant territorial, political, and material constraints that impact contemporary theatrical creation. The creative process requires incorporating the surrounding world, experienced daily by both the audience and the artists, into the theatrical space, thereby transforming it into creative material. In this context, we can observe different ways in which theatrical practices have adapted to constraints, as well as the effects of these constraints on dramatic performances and their reception.

Finally, what was your experience of the workshop you led with Seenaryo? 

The experience with Seenaryo was very interesting for me. It forced me to step out of the academic field and look for how to put my scientific research into practice and make it accessible for practitioners. I enjoyed meeting and interacting with people from different backgrounds, who have many different relationships with theatre. I must also say that when one of the participants told me that I had contributed to changing his vision of theatre and that he no longer attended plays in the same way, that was something very powerful for a researcher like me.

The Scenechangers project aims to develop an authentic form of theatre in education, using drama in classrooms as a medium to enhance curriculum-relevant learning. 

I’ve been doing similar work for fifteen years now, working directly with teachers and teacher trainers in over sixty countries, trying to introduce theatre and arts-based approaches. Teachers are my tribe and every single workshop I’ve done with them over the years is a precious memory to me. But this project with Seenaryo is the first time I’ve been working side-by-side with theatre trainers and I’ve found the process unbelievably rich and exhilarating. The calibre and dedication of Seenaryo’s trainers encourages me to believe in the ultimate success of this programme. That’s not to underestimate the scope and scale of the challenges facing us.

Majd Madanat, Ali Al Samra and myself began by creating a set of ten workshop plans, addressing topics including bullying, digital safety and conflict resolution. The exercises within the workshops have been chosen to help young learners develop life skills such as critical thinking, communication and problem-solving. Once we’d designed the workshops, we got together to give a training to Seenaryo trainers in Amman and Beirut on how to train a group of 18-30 year olds, who we call ‘Scenechangers’. These Scenechangers will be leading the workshops for youth in community-based organisations. We want to run a pilot in such settings before negotiating with Ministries of Education to get access to classrooms – no easy task.

Often, theatre in education amounts to little more than theatre groups visiting schools to perform plays linked to the curriculum. The desire for character and narrative means that performances are predominantly linked to arts and humanities  subjects, particularly history and literature. There is usually no collaboration with learners around developing the play, no co-authorship. Laudable attempts are sometimes made to add information packs on the chosen theme but the performance remains essentially a performance. There is no genuine dialogue, no debating, no dialectic or any process that might bridge the gap between actors and audience, educators and learners as envisaged by Paulo Freire and Augusto Boal. 

Developing a more appropriate practice is our first challenge. The Scenechangers project is positioning theatre exercises in much more of a participatory manner. Furthermore, it is presenting theatre as one method within a bigger toolbox that includes other active-learning and arts-based methods. Our hope is that teachers will be inspired by the Scenechangers to welcome them in, emulate their methods and change the scene. 

The second challenge is engaging the good will of teachers. All around the world teachers face the same problems. They are frequently under-trained, relying predominantly on a lecture-based, rote-learning pedagogy. They are generally overworked and underpaid. Whilst we can never address their financial woes, we can help them rediscover the joy of teaching by offering a more creative, learner-centred approach. And we can help free them from the role of authoritarian expert in which many of them have unwittingly become trapped.

If we can persuade teachers that theatre can transform the classroom, and if our Scenechangers are perceived as a support resource rather than a form of competition, the sheer joy of the process should be enough to get us over the line. Seenaryo’s trainers and Scenechangers embody the idea that teaching can and should be serious fun and I’m honoured to be working alongside them.

In Lebanon this summer we have been living day-to-day, because we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. 

As tensions escalated in August, we were in the middle of rehearsals for a Seenaryo Showbuild with children in Zrariyeh, South Lebanon. It was bittersweet. These children live in the South, where their friends and families have been directly affected by the conflict with Israel. Lots of them mentioned to me that they found the outside world very, very scary – but when they came to rehearsals they forgot all about that and life felt good again. They could sing, dance and act. Theatre brought some fun and lightheartedness to their lives, at a time when it was so difficult for them to live a normal childhood. 

Mira, who manages our wonderful partner organisation S. S. Foundation, told me that this play was “a letter of hope and a beacon of change amidst the darkness of war”. She added, “Projects like these help us voice our pain, thoughts and dreams to the world.”

Creating art at a time like this takes us away from our reality and opens a door to dreaming, which can be really hard to do when our senses are overwhelmed all the time. Art creates a space for us to breathe. It allows us to step back and ask ourselves what we really think and feel. For children, this is particularly important as they tend to shut down when they are surrounded by adults who are hectic. They keep their feelings and their worries to themselves. 

At the start of the project in Zrariyeh, none of the children in the ensemble knew how to talk about their feelings. When the facilitators asked them to write about their experiences of the war, they asked: why would I talk about my own experiences? One girl, Rahaf, didn’t say a word at the start – she was incredibly shy. But by the end, she had such a strong presence on stage and she was thinking critically about everything. Rahaf said, “Before theatre I used to be very nervous because of the war and the loud noise, but now when I act with you a lot of these feelings go away.” 

 

I’m so happy we did something in the South since it changed the psychological state of both the kids and ourselves.

While the impact of the project was deep, it didn’t come without its challenges. We had to postpone the performance twice due to the security situation and we decided the director should not travel from Beirut, where she is based, as the risk on the road was too high. The assistant facilitators, who live near Zrariyeh in the South, stepped up.

After the performance, I spoke with Tala Zaher, one of the facilitators, about her experience. She told me, “The road from my house to the project’s location is a dangerous one; many people have been killed by Israeli bombings. It was nerve-wracking to pass through, my heart would clench every time. But the moment we reached the S.S. Foundation and saw the kids—how they welcomed us and how excited they were—it made me forget all the fear. 

“On the day of the show, the security situation was terrible; it was one of the worst days. I was glad that we postponed it. Finally, when we were able to set a day to proceed with the project, I was thrilled. The kids were ten times more excited. Although the kids initially had no idea about theatre, and the sessions were intense, they quickly opened up. They became much more confident on stage. I’m so happy we did something in the South since it changed the psychological state of both the kids and ourselves.”

People are hungry for theatre in the South. When I speak with organisations based there, they tell me that their children really need theatre. I hope we can continue creating plays with them. When everything is so hectic it can be hard to find space to express even the simplest things, like how your day was. But art helps – it helps you to understand yourself and to cope.

The ensemble was one of the most varied casts in terms of nationalities that Seenaryo has ever worked with on a play – with participants from Sudan, Somalia, Iraq, Egypt, Yemen, Palestine, Syria and Jordan. After more than six months of workshops, rehearsals and performances, the group had grown into one big, extended family. One of the participants, 16 year old Sudanese refugee Sadeel, said that the experience for her was, “Almost surreal, almost fictional. We are trying to transform imagination into reality. It was a lovely experience to interact with new people, all from different nationalities [and] we really created our own society here in this experience with Seenaryo.”

The play was written by Sudanese writer Mohammed Hussein, with the participants collaboratively creating the dialogue and characters using Seenaryo’s participatory theatre techniques. Mohammed explained that the play grew from an idea he’d long had about how refugees are treated in their host communities. “One day, I saw a cat from where I lived in my building in downtown Amman. It looked really depressed after being kicked out of its home. I thought about its life, then I thought about our lives. In the end, we’re all creatures trying to live in harmony together.” 

The real life cat became a cast of fictional cats in the play. The cats experience displacement after a natural disaster separates them from their mother and forces them to journey to a new home. There, they discover they can live together in harmony with the other animals they find in their new host community. However this does not come without its challenges. The cats encounter humans on their journey, who are unsure about committing to looking after them. They also meet charity workers who are more focused on meeting their targets than really supporting the displaced kittens.

The many challenges of humanitarian crises are depicted on stage and are up for interpretation, with the plight of refugees being at the heart of the story. Indeed Seenaryo, through continuing to bring people together and elevate under-represented narratives, hopes to challenge biases and prejudices both locally and globally, to improve the lived realities of those experiencing unprecedented levels of crisis, displacement and upheaval. As with any piece we create, each performance received different interpretations from the audience. 

One of the participants mother’s noted after watching the performance, “When you live a story in reality and then see it depicted in theatre, it delivers a message that you weren’t able to share with the world at the time. We didn’t know how to share our message then, whether with the local community or relevant authorities.”

The plight of minority refugees in Jordan is a narrative that often falls on deaf ears. In 2015, 1.2 million Syrian refugees fled to Jordan, with the crisis receiving a high level of global attention. Yet the level of global attention that met the Syrian crisis has noticeably been missing for Sudanese, Somali, Yemeni, Iraqi and other non-Syrian refugees. Namarig Yacoub, the assistant director of CATS and a member of the Sudanese community in Amman, raised her voice at a recent event noting that continually in Jordan and globally, calls for action on Palestine eclipse the war unfolding in Sudan, which is hardly mentioned on public stages or in the media. 

Namarig was training to be a doctor in Sudan before being forced to flee and has been unable to practise as a medical professional in Jordan due to restrictions on what fields non-Syrian refugees can practise. She said that theatre has given her hope again since coming to Jordan. Having trained with Seenaryo as  a theatre facilitator, actor and director, she is now “focused on changing lives through theatre.”

We interviewed Namarig after CATS finished and she wanted to remind us of the current situation in Sudan. She said, “476 days have passed since the first bullet was fired and the war broke out in Sudan, a war that began on April 15, 2023 in a sudden manner without warning, and which many do not know about due to the media blackout. The often deliberate blackout…has led to a lack of global awareness of the war. As Sudanese women outside the homeland, we are trying hard to provide assistance, but due to the harsh war conditions that Sudan is going through, we cannot do more than speak out to convey what is happening.” 

Despite the many challenges faced by their communities, the ensemble of CATS came together to weave a shared narrative – a tapestry of stories – highlighting and elevating often unheard perspectives. Namarig said, “Through the humble platform [of theatre] I appeal to the whole world to look into the issue of the Sudanese war, talk about it, and raise awareness so that everyone knows what is happening in Sudan now.”

Art is vital, especially in these dark times – it allows us to express our feelings of anger, grief, disgust, hopelessness and pride. Through art, we can tell our stories and our history to the rest of the world. We open a dialogue with the other, break stereotypes and change narratives, arming ourselves with a political tool we can use to create change in our communities. 

Your life as a Palestinian in Lebanon begins with no citizenship, no rights and with many stereotypes inflicted upon you.

As a Palestinian refugee who grew up in Beirut after the civil war, I learnt young that fighting the injustices that plague this region is incredibly challenging. Your life as a Palestinian in Lebanon begins with no citizenship, no rights and with many stereotypes inflicted upon you. You spend your childhood discovering the stories of your relatives who were expelled from their country and displaced many times after that.

My own relatives were expelled from their village in Safad by Israeli forces and displaced to Tyre, Saida, Beirut and Damascus. During the Lebanese Civil War, my parents joined the Palestinian Red Crescent’s medical team and in 1982 my father was held for four months in the notorious Ansar detention camp. A few years later, he was trapped again in the besieged Shatila camp in Beirut. Growing up with these stories, I came to learn that as a Palestinian I exist in a grey area of Lebanese labour law; we are categorised as foreigners, refused passports and excluded from many professions like law, medicine and engineering.

Although I’m geographically far from Gaza and the West Bank, everything I’ve been seeing over the past five months reminds me of what my relatives went through. The devastation is not only exposing the daily injustices inflicted on Palestinians, but also unveiling the history of our struggle for existence. 

Soon after the devastating attack on Al Ahli Hospital in Gaza in October, our Seenaryo team – enraged and horrified by the huge loss of innocent life since 7 October – got together to decide how to respond to the catastrophe unfolding in our region. Individually we could strike and protest. But as an arts organisation, what role could we play?

We decided determinedly to continue doing what we know best: bringing theatre and play to the communities that need it most. Continuing our work against a backdrop of such violent devastation has not been easy, but resistance comes in many forms – and I personally believe that our existence is a form of resistance. Through theatre we are creating a space for communities to advocate locally and globally about the injustices they face.

Exploring experiences artistically and creatively not only alleviates the burden of these struggles, but also opens up the imagination to new possibilities.

My belief in art as a tool for resistance, change and peace has accompanied me throughout my life. Since I was young, I have always admired resistance art, from the songs of Ahmad Kaabour and Ziad El Rahbani, to Mahmoud Darwish’s poetry, Naji Al Ali’s cartoons and Banksy’s graffiti.

I joined Seenaryo because of my belief that art, and especially theatre, is powerful in contexts where communities don’t usually have a space to share their stories. Seenaryo brings together different communities to form an ensemble, creating a collaborative space where they can tackle topics not usually spoken about – and speak about them in front of an audience. Exploring experiences artistically and creatively not only alleviates the burden of these struggles, but also opens up the imagination to new possibilities.

Seenaryo has been making theatre with the Palestinian community in Lebanon since our founding in 2015. Our first ever Showbuild – and first ever project – in the summer of 2015 was with Yaabad Scouts, a community group active in Shatila refugee camp. Many of the children in that first play have gone on to train to become facilitators with us and a group of them twice toured their play I see my ghost coming from afar to theatres and festivals in Germany.

The future is uncertain for our Palestinian team members, partners and participants. But we will continue doing what we know best – creating this space of resistance and change for those who need it most.

Lara McIvor is Seenaryo’s Executive Director, based in Amman. She initiated Seenaryo’s first theatre projects in Jordan – starting from a desk in a shared workspace, and now leading a team of 8 in our new office in Jabal Al Weibdeh.

It has been five years since Seenaryo took its first tentative steps in Jordan. It all began in early 2018, when I was put in touch with Abdallah Smaik, who had been working as a theatre facilitator in Jordan and set up his own theatre and film production company. I told Abdallah about Seenaryo, participatory theatre, and our idea of embedding ourselves in communities and training youth in theatre leadership. I asked him whether this was something that might interest people. The answer was a resounding yes. Abdallah believed there simply weren’t enough opportunities for people to access theatre and play in Jordan, and those that did exist were for a small handful of people.

Abdallah sprang into action immediately, his excitement propelling us forwards, and after many hours of research, meetings, emails and conversations – Seenaryo arrived in Jordan. Abdallah introduced me to the people who helped shape the first Seenaryo show in Jordan, with the Citadel community of Amman. I then met Louay Dawaime, who shared Seenaryo’s passion for using theatre and play for social change. He quickly became one of our lead facilitators – and he is still going strong five years later as our Senior Arts Manager, heading all of Seenaryo’s theatre programmes in Jordan.

After a recent performance of the Seenaryo production While We Were Dreaming, one participant Ahmad Al Rifai reflected that he loved the play because “every single move said something about ourselves.” As I reflect on the last five years, I realise that is exactly what I had hoped for from the start. I hoped that every move Seenaryo made would reflect the people at the heart of the organisation – the communities, the artists, the wonderful project managers who make up the core team, the educators, the children, the youth, the parents, and the leaders of the powerful organisations who we are lucky enough to call our partners. These are the people that built Seenaryo and continue to do so, every day.

One of those leaders is Dina Al Khaldi, Director of Sama Al Badea, a community based organisation in Mafraq who we have partnered with since 2019. I was introduced to Dina through Eyad, a young Syrian man in Seenaryo’s very first youth theatre project in Amman, Up to the Light. For three months, he travelled two hours from his home in Mafraq to Amman to take part in every session. After the project, he was inspired to make this experience possible for other young people in Mafraq. So I travelled to Mafraq, where Eyad introduced me to Dina.

In our first conversation, Dina warned me that running theatre in Mafraq might be controversial for some of the more conservative families. Thankfully she was not only prepared to take that risk, but was determined that theatre and play was something that Sama Al Badea should offer to the children and young people they were serving. Since then, with Dina’s unwavering support, we have facilitated over 12 theatre projects in Mafraq, supported five trainees to become facilitators and trained 16 emerging artists, many of whom are now independently leading their own theatre projects in their community.

People like Dina forge the path for theatre and play to be accessed by communities who are too often overlooked. The inspiration and drive to keep creating new theatre, training new teachers and working with new communities (from Karak to Irbid, Zarqa to East Amman) comes from the Eyads, the Dinas and the Abdallahs – and the many others who make up the Seenaryo network. There are too many to name, but you know who you are. For us this is the power of theatre and play: once its power is unleashed, it resonates far beyond the individual. It ripples through people, schools, whole communities and beyond, leaving behind marks of hope, connection and new possibilities. This inspiration will continue to drive the work of Seenaryo in Jordan for the next 5 years – and hopefully many more after that.

A play-based approach to education is increasingly being recognised as one of the most effective ways to engage early years learners, including children with disabilities. In an inclusive classroom with a play-based methodology, every child – regardless of ability, disability, or background – plays together and has equal opportunities to learn through play.

In Lebanon, we are slowly starting to change our approach to learning, but we still have a long way to go.

Growing up in Lebanon, my experience of education was very traditional. The teacher would stand in front of the class, writing on the board. I never felt like I could keep up with my classmates and needed extra support throughout school. When I began working in nurseries and early years classrooms myself, I realised that one way of teaching doesn’t suit everyone. I became fascinated by an inclusive approach to education, and have been working in the field ever since.

In Lebanon, we are slowly starting to change our approach to learning, but we still have a long way to go. Education isn’t a priority in this country – schools are underfunded and teachers are underpaid, with Lebanese public schools barely open last year due to teacher strikes over pay. This has a particularly severe effect on children with disabilities. They have no legal protections and many of their families have been deeply affected by overlapping crises in Lebanon, meaning they simply cannot afford to send their children to school.

At Seenaryo, we believe that play-based learning can create child-centred and participatory classrooms – making them inclusive for all early years learners. We have identified several ways that a play-based approach can foster inclusion in early childhood education:

Play motivates and engages every child in the classroom. Children with disabilities are often more motivated to participate in play-based activities than in traditional sit-down lessons, as a child-centred and play-based learning environment is flexible and can be adjusted to suit every child’s learning style.

Play supports development across different areas. Play is a holistic way to support a child’s overall development at a critical time for their brain’s development. Whilst playing, children develop language, cognitive, social, emotional and physical skills.

Play facilitates relationship-building between children. Collaborative play activities – such as drama exercises and building blocks together – facilitate positive interactions between children, as well as offering valuable opportunities for children with disabilities to engage with their peers. An inclusive dynamic fosters empathy and creates a more compassionate and understanding community.

To successfully adopt a play-based approach, teachers need time and support to thoughtfully plan their lessons – paying special attention to representing diversity in their teaching materials as well as arranging the learning environment in a way that enables full participation. When implemented well, play-based learning can transform the classroom, creating an inclusive and child-centred classroom that engages everyone in the room.

After the Beirut explosion on 4th August 2020, I decided I would always leave Lebanon for the anniversary. This is the first year I haven’t left. I believe I can face this anniversary with less fear, but I’m still angry. I’m angry with the government because after all this time we still don’t know the truth about what happened. Lebanon has been in darkness for the last three years – we have hardly any electricity and the economic collapse means people are really struggling. My neighbour has four children, two of them have disabilities, and she doesn’t have a generator so has to rely on the two hours of state electricity that we get a day.

A lot of money came to the country in the aftermath of the explosion. However, as soon as the war began in Ukraine all of the global media attention shifted, and the money went with it. Lebanon hosts around 1.5 million Syrian refugees, yet everybody seems to have forgotten about them along with the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who also live in this country.

It’s the first time I’ve seen theatre with children where they address problems like they are adults.

When we made theatre with children before the explosion, they would create plays about kings, queens and animals. Nowadays, things are different. Seenaryo did a project this summer in partnership with the Beirut Art Center and the children really wanted to talk about their problems. Their play opened with a number of questions, they asked: “Why do people suffer? Why do people get cancer? Why are some people born poor?” They were asking all these questions about what is happening in Lebanon and what is happening in the world. It’s the first time I’ve seen theatre with children where they address problems like they are adults.

Since the Black Lives Matter movement, people in Lebanon have become less afraid to raise their voices and speak out. As a black Lebanese woman, I know all too well that Lebanon is a racist place. It’s not just about the colour of your skin, but it’s also about your nationality and where you’re from. There is this mentality of looking down on others. The Lebanese look down on Syrians, and Syrians look down on Sri Lankans for example.

BLM made people question themselves and ask why they treat some people differently. A number of recent Seenaryo productions have addressed the issue of racism: Tilka, I see my ghost coming from afar and Nashr Ghasil, to name a few. The participants want to speak about racism and while they are aware of the consequences they could face, they are no longer afraid to speak the truth – and to say it loudly.

Living through the explosion and then the earthquake has given people in Lebanon this constant feeling of instability.

On 6th February 2023, I woke up at 3am to find the whole house shaking for 40 seconds. Living through the explosion and then the earthquake has given people in Lebanon this constant feeling of instability. It’s taken away our trust. You start doubting your own thoughts, feelings and expectations. Those 40 seconds transformed the way we think about life. It makes you really appreciate being alive, whilst also making it very hard to think about the future beyond today.

We’re about to start a series of theatre workshops with young Syrian refugees in the Bekaa Valley, close to the Syrian border, whose families have been affected by the earthquake. For many of them the earthquake awoke a trauma that had been lying dormant for years. The workshops will create a space for these young people to address their fears and articulate their feelings about what has happened, and I hope that this will help them to begin imagining a brighter future.