Godzilla vs. Cultural Governance

A scene from the film Mothra in 1961. Toho, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

I had a spring clean-out the other day and decided to finally part with my Xbox 360 and games. It’d outlived its usefulness because Grand Theft Auto IV online, which I used to play almost exclusively, had been turned off to make way for the game's latest edition. My husband, Luke, who’s very good at these things, found a fantastic deal on the console and games at a local second-hand shop. Interestingly, the retailer was willing to pay more for Godzilla: Save the Earth than any other game.

I wasn’t surprised that the game was considered as such hot property, given that Godzilla and other colossal creatures, primarily of Japanese cinematic origin, or kaiju as they're known, have experienced a pop culture revival in recent decades. Audiences can't get enough of kaiju, with the fifth series of the queer reality TV competition the Boulet Brothers' Dragula airing the fang and fur-filled episode Drag Kaiju in 2023, and this summer Cultplex, which describes itself as “the home of cult cinema, video games, and weird nerd stuff in Manchester!”, is holding screenings of kaiju classics as part of its Kai-June programme (I love the title).

Godzilla celebrated his 70th year in show business in 2024, solidifying his position as the King of the Monsters. This is the type of reputable status and ability to remain relevant that would make many parts of the cultural sector envious. With a cultural sector increasingly preoccupied with reputation and relevance, it can often feel like individuals and organisations are compelled to establish and maintain a platform on a scale and scope comparable to Godzilla's. It makes sense because reputation and relevance determine whether or not audiences, communities and clients are willing to engage or collaborate. But, like a supporting actor in a monster movie, it's easy to get swallowed up by this concern, which can have consequences for ourselves and others; so, is there a kinder, less kaiju-esque way of going about it?

Joining boards and committees is one of the most visible ways to develop a platform. Until recently, I had an overwhelming urge to join as many of these as possible, which was likely triggered by a sense of separation anxiety after leaving the National Lottery Heritage Fund North committee in early 2025. I joined the committee in 2016, and during my tenure, we navigated a significant amount of change together, including the merger of the three northern Heritage Lottery Fund outfits into a single area entity, as well as my own transition from salaried to freelance work.

When I was interviewed for the committee, I was asked to bring an example of heritage that I was particularly interested in, so I brought a photograph of the historic Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway network map at Manchester Victoria Station. I chose the map because it always bothered me that my hometown of Skelmersdale had been removed, as if some kaiju, let’s go with Biollante, had destroyed it (if you’re unfamiliar with Biollante, she’s similar Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors but a mere 100 metres or so taller, and if you don't have this rock horror-comedy musical as a pop culture reference, I can't help you). However, the more mundane explanation is that it was most likely erased because the station itself no longer exists, more’s the pity.

You'll be pleased to learn, as was the interview panel, that Skelmersdale reappeared on the map once the Manchester Victoria Station reopened following a refurbishment in 2015. My point was not necessarily about preserving the historical integrity of heritage maps in railway stations, but rather to demonstrate how the presence of overlooked places and underrepresented groups in art, culture and heritage can be easily undermined or excluded, especially when it comes to cultural governance.

Prior to becoming a National Lottery Heritage Fund North committee member, I’d never been on a committee or board. As a queer working-class person with no senior decision-making authority in my job at the time, the National Lottery Heritage Fund North team and committee were nothing short of incredible; they were always approachable and encouraging. After reflecting on this positive experience, it occurred to me during my hunt for other governance positions that I’d never want to deny people from similar backgrounds this type of opportunity by snapping up too many of them. 

Not only did I not want to cause a blockage, but I also needed to consider the effects of governance overconsumption on myself, as well as my motivation for doing so. These became reoccurring thoughts as I submitted applications, and I began to imagine myself as a kaiju hellbent on devouring boards and committees for platform fodder, sacrificing my downtime and well-being in the process. I shuddered as I pictured a B-movie biopic about my shocking transformation, titled Board Swallower: Attack of the 50 Foot Cultural Practitioner.

As I never wanted to see this B-movie in a cinema or, more likely, on one of those free-to-air TV channels dedicated to horror and sci-fi, I applied the brakes rather than applying for more and more governance positions. I'm already a member of the Safe Access advisory group, a Queer Kernow and Association of Independent Museums programme focused on “embedding wellbeing and a Trauma Informed Approach within heritage settings”, and I've recently been appointed a trustee for the Ahmed Iqbal Ullah Education Trust CIO, a programme and organisation about which I'm deeply passionate, and that’s plenty.

Reducing your uptake of governance positions doesn’t require abandoning your platform. Rather, it means overcoming the urge to consume too many board and committee positions for the sake of an ever-expanding platform in order to potentially open up new opportunities for yourself and others. It's not a monstrous thing to be ambitious and strive for a reputable and relevant platform, but how we do it is what matters; if it results in casting a Godzilla-sized shadow over underrepresented groups, as well as our own rest and recreation, we have a problem.

Despite any shadows, Arts Council England's Equality, Diversity and Inclusion Review 2018-23 shows that diversity in cultural governance is steadily improving. Recruitment to boards and committees is also becoming more inclusive, with Manchester Histories HiDDEN's recent advertisement for a new chair stating that “We welcome applications from individuals at any stage of their career. You might be starting out and full of ideas and fresh thinking”. While this is encouraging, it’s not grounds for complacency, especially when it comes to the need for greater working-class representation. Plus, according to the recent Arts, Culture and Heritage: Recent Trends in UK Workforce and Engagement in England report, ingrained inequalities in the cultural sector are resurfacing like Ebirah, the lobster-like kaiju also known as the Horror of the Deep, and will inevitably have ramifications for cultural governance. 

If we want to see more progress, put an end to an inequalities revival and ensure that Board Swallower doesn’t become a film franchise, let alone a standalone film, encouraging and enabling members of underrepresented groups to apply for, take up and be supported in governance positions is an enormously good use of any platform, whether it’s individual, organisational or both. To that end, while still a committee member a few years ago, I combined my platform with the National Lottery Heritage Fund North, as we embarked on a recruitment drive to ensure that the committee represented the rich and diverse people and places of northern England.

So, yes, there is a way to create a platform that includes cultural governance in a way that’s kinder to ourselves and others, but it doesn’t have to be completely free of kaiju-esque features. Consider Mothra, the Monsterverse's formidable moth-like queer icon; she may not always play the lead, but she commands a captivating onscreen presence by lending a helping hand, or proboscis, to other mild-mannered kaiju, including Godzilla, and bringing more light than shade with her kaleidoscopic wings (to all the diehard Godzilla fans, I recognise that this is a highly liberal interpretation of Mothra's nature to help me prove my point, so please don't come for me).

So, when you're looking to extend a platform and cultural governance is on your mind, ask yourself, “How can I be more Mothra?” and maybe head down to Kai-June for some popcorn and inspiration.