I’m a UK Taxpayer and I Stand With Disabled Artists

The Little Big Things-musical — “The Little Big Things”. Photo by Pamela Raith

I work three jobs to make the end of the month barely even. Most months, not even even. Like many Londoners, I live with a finely tuned calendar of invoices, side gigs, and just-in-time payments that keep me afloat in one of the most expensive cities in the world. And still, I’m proud—yes, proud—to pay taxes. Because to me, that means I get to support the fabric of something bigger than myself. It means that even in a country increasingly obsessed with profit margins and private gain, I can still contribute to a safety net that catches people when they fall. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

But that safety net is being slashed, and the ones falling through are disabled people, many of whom already live at the sharpest edges of our society. The UK government is preparing to cut disability benefits by £5 billion a year. It’s not just a statistic, it’s a historic rollback of support. If the changes go through, up to 1.2 million people could lose between £4,200 and £6,300 annually. For many, that’s not a cut. That’s survival pulled out from under them.

We’re talking about people in wheelchairs, people living with severe mental health conditions, people with invisible disabilities, fluctuating conditions, chronic illnesses, sensory impairments. Disabilities that shape every corner of a life, even when they don’t fit neatly into policy tick boxes or public assumptions. And it’s this broad, deeply human spectrum of experience that is now being pushed further to the margins under the banner of “reform.”

And let’s not sugar-coat what’s happening: this is not about “tightening” systems. It’s about disappearing people from them. It's about telling the most vulnerable members of our society that they cost too much to be cared for. That their pain, their access needs, their right to live with dignity are negotiable.

I find that disgraceful.

I find it especially disgraceful when I think about where else our tax money goes. We pay for politicians’ bar tabs, for their chauffeured cars and private flights, for dinners at clubs we’ll never step foot in. For PR firms, advisors, golden pensions, and properties “flipped” for profit on expense accounts. And while they dine on foie gras at parliamentary soirées, we’re told there's not enough to fund a support worker for someone who can’t leave the house due to severe anxiety. Or enough to help a young artist with bipolar disorder attend a rehearsal safely. Or enough to install a lift in a fringe venue so a disabled dancer can reach the stage.

I’m tired of this austerity narrative that always, always, punches down.

Cutting disability benefits isn’t just a spreadsheet decision. It has cultural consequences. It slices through the already fragile visibility of disabled people in the arts—a sector that loves to parade diversity when it’s convenient but seldom invests in true equity. Theatre, dance, performance: these are spaces where disabled artists have had to fight twice, three times as hard just to be seen. Without government support, what little ground has been gained will be lost. And we will all be poorer for it.

Because let me tell you: disabled artists are not optional. They are not charity. They are formidable voices. Necessary and fiercely inventive. Their absence will not be silent; it will echo in the gaps of every festival programme, every funding shortlist, every stage that once made space for them when cameras were rolling.

Politicians say taxpayers’ money must be “respected.” I agree. I’m a taxpayer. And I want my money to go towards lifting up my neighbours, not padding the offshore accounts of billionaire donors. I want to subsidise ramps, therapy access, support workers, and creative opportunity—not private helicopters and luxury conferences. I want to fund expression, not suppression.

And to those who wave the Bible in one hand while slashing with the other, I ask:

where are you now? Where are all the self-professed Christians when our society turns its back on those who need help the most? When did supporting your neighbour become optional? (Luke 10:27)

This is not just about policy. It’s about who we are. About what kind of society we choose to be.

I choose one where disabled people—including those living with chronic mental health conditions—aren’t punished for existing. Where art isn’t reserved for the able-bodied and well-funded. Where taxes are not a tool of cruelty, but a contract of care.

And if I have to keep working three jobs to do my part in that vision—so be it.

Just don’t ask me to pay for the lies of those who would shred it all apart.

Giuliano xx