Image: Wikimedia Commons
By Leila d’Aronville
Recently, I’ve noticed posts and conversations where people express disillusionment with how we talk about the region and what it means to live a creative life here. One post even indirectly referenced toxic positivity. At the same time, I’ve been at events where people spoke passionately about the North East being the best place to live – being welcoming, innovative, and thriving.
I don’t disagree with the sentiment. Pride in place is powerful. But I’ve been reflecting on why this rhetoric can sometimes feel grating. I’ve lived in the North East since I was six. Though I was born in Somerset by accident of birth, and we had brief spells in Lincolnshire, the North East has always been home. It is the only place that truly has my heart. Yet, I have also felt unwelcome here.
There are many ways people can feel unwelcome – through race, religion, disability, gender, sexuality, or other markers of identity. So when we hear people speak with pride about the region, we feel it too. But alongside that pride sits the niggling pain of exclusion. There is a duality in our experience; love and belonging, but also alienation.
This duality translates directly into the cultural sector. We can feel unwelcome in a sector we call home, often because of hierarchy or structure.
I remember the first time it happened to me at university. I was studying Drama and Arts Education, but those in Theatre Acting made me feel unwelcome in our shared space. This was strange to me as I had grown up in the theatre, rehearsing lines, reading plays, watching performances, and talking with professionals. By the age of ten, I’d spent more time in rehearsal rooms than many TAs would by thirty. Yet hierarchy placed me at the bottom, regardless of my experience.
Jump forward to 2005. After twelve years in a senior role at one of the region’s biggest cultural organisations, I went freelance. Overnight, I went from having a title backed by institutional weight to being “just me.” Suddenly, I wasn’t invited into rooms or consulted on cultural strategy. It felt like starting over, despite a lifetime of networks and confidence that I do belong.
Even when I proved my worth, I often wasn’t valued enough to be paid. That shift, from institutional power to freelance precarity, was stark.
Why Toxic Positivity Hurts
So when freelancers and small, independent cultural businesses say they don’t feel the positivity and hope, it’s because there’s a layer of experience that those in positions of power often can’t see. We know we belong in the sector, we know it is ours. But exclusion, frustration with strategy, and lack of opportunity to shape decisions are real.
This isn’t to say those in funded organisations don’t feel precarious too. The whole sector is under pressure. But having lived both sides, I can say it honestly feels very different.
When we talk about the sector or the region collectively, we must acknowledge those who don’t always feel welcomed or represented. This is especially important in spaces of perceived power.
Creating welcome isn’t about warm words or congratulating ourselves for being inclusive. It’s about recognising that we are an ecosystem. We cannot exist in isolation. We all make up the sector, and we all need each other.
Any strategy must include all voices, needs, and wants. And any fear felt by one part of the sector is a fear for all of us.
Moving Forward
Perhaps what’s needed now is a more honest language of belonging. A language that celebrates pride in place which also acknowledges exclusion. We need to hold space for both truths. The North East is a place of creativity and innovation, but it is also a place where some feel unwelcome or excluded.
By embracing this duality, we can interrogate the reasons and begin to build a sector that is not only proud, but also genuinely inclusive.
This article is republished from North East Cultural Freelancers
