Let Us Show You What We Can Do: Rethinking Expectations in Disability Led Theater

By Kyle Glozier

Disability rights advocate/youtuber

Caption A GOTE sheet rests on a wheelchair under stage lights — a symbol of craft, rigor, and inclusion in disability‑led theater.

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A wheelchair sits on a wooden stage with a spiral‑bound script and a GOTE sheet labeled “Goal, Obstacle, Tactics, Expectation.” The empty theater and microphone in the background evoke rehearsal and performance. The image represents the intersection of acting technique and disability‑led artistry.

 

 

When I took Fundamentals of Acting in college, we used GOTE sheets — Goal, Obstacle, Tactics, Expectation — to break down every character. Watching the Voices for Independence theater group, I found myself wondering whether their actors use the same method. They might not sit down with a formal GOTE worksheet the way I did, but the principles are absolutely there. Disability-led theater often adapts acting tools to fit different communication styles, mobility needs, or cognitive strengths. The format changes — the intention doesn’t.

Acting is universal, whether you do it seated or standing. I learned that early — first as the innkeeper in No Phibbin’ Mephibosheth at church, and later in high school as the Ghost of Christmas Future in A Christmas Carol and a protester in The Mouse That Roared. But watching disability-led theater as an adult, I’ve noticed something else: sometimes the expectations placed on disabled performers are unintentionally lower. Not because the actors lack talent or commitment, but because many programs are built around support rather than rigor. In those environments, outside work — reading the script at home, researching the story, or writing a GOTE sheet — isn’t always encouraged or structured the way it is in traditional acting classes. So while the performers absolutely bring intention and heart to the stage, the training systems around them may not always ask for the same kind of preparatory work I was taught to do.

Maybe that’s what frustrates me about some disability programs: there’s often no real rigor, even when the program is peer-led. I don’t mean the actors aren’t capable — far from it. I mean the structure around them doesn’t always ask for the same level of preparation that traditional theater expects. In college, we were required to read scripts at home, analyze scenes, and write GOTE sheets — that’s Acting 101. In many disability-focused spaces, the expectations for outside work are so low that it would be surprising to see an actor encouraged — or supported — to sit down at home, listen to the script, research their character, and build a GOTE breakdown. The talent is there. The intention is there. But the system often isn’t built to nurture rigor.

And that goes back to something bigger: the school system often doesn’t expect much from disabled students when they’re young. That mindset follows them into adulthood. It shapes programs, not people. It shapes the structure, not the performers. It shapes what’s asked of them, not what they’re capable of.

Part of it comes down to the director. That’s why, in the novel I’m writing — a school for students with disabilities where the professors and staff have disabilities themselves — the expectations are real. There’s homework. There’s rigor. There’s challenge. Because disability doesn’t erase the need for craft. And it definitely doesn’t erase the ability to rise to it.

In the news piece, the director said he was amazed at how hard the actors with disabilities were working. And honestly, my question is: why are you so amazed? Disabled people work hard all the time. What’s surprising isn’t their effort — it’s that the system around them has conditioned people to expect less. When schools don’t demand rigor from disabled students, and when disability programs focus more on support than challenge, people start to assume that commitment or discipline is unusual. It isn’t. What’s unusual is seeing a disability-led theater group finally given the space, structure, and expectation to show what they’re capable of.

And I say all this as someone who’s seen what disabled people can do up close. I wasn’t just watching from the sidelines — I rolled alongside the march from Baltimore to Washington, D.C., which was one segment of the larger journey. Even on that portion of the march, I saw disabled people navigate miles of road, weather, exhaustion, and logistics with determination that never wavered. So when I hear a director say he’s “amazed” at how hard disabled actors are working, I can’t help but push back a little. Why is it amazing? Hard work isn’t new. Commitment isn’t new. Discipline isn’t new. What’s new is seeing disabled people finally given a space where their effort is recognized instead of underestimated.

All of this is why GOTE still matters to me. It’s not just an acting tool — it’s a reminder that craft, preparation, and rigor belong to everyone. Watching disability-led theater, I don’t see people who need lowered expectations. I see actors who could absolutely rise to the same challenges I faced in college, if the system around them expected it. I’ve rolled beside disabled people pushing through miles of road on a march, watched them organize logistics, advocate for themselves, and show a level of determination that should never surprise anyone.

So when a director says he’s “amazed” at how hard disabled actors are working, I hear the echo of a larger problem: a world that has been taught to expect less. But I’ve seen too much to believe that. I know what disabled people can do. I’ve lived it, rolled it, witnessed it.

And maybe that’s why I’m writing a novel about a school where disabled students are finally given real expectations — homework, rigor, challenge, and the chance to grow. Because disability doesn’t erase talent. It doesn’t erase discipline. It doesn’t erase ambition. What it erases, if we let it, are the limits other people try to place on them.

The Voices for Independence actors aren’t amazing because they work hard. They’re amazing because they’re finally being seen for the artists they already are. And I hope a program like this comes to Washington, PA, so we can prove to the world what we can do — not because it’s surprising, but because it’s who we’ve always been.