Friday 28 November 2024

Looking back at my critical—sometimes harsh—words about the Business of Opera summit, even I find myself thinking: come on, Omar, it couldn’t have been that bad, could it? Surely you’re being dramatic.

No. I don’t think I am.

Why? How could it have been that bad?

Let me explain.

Even setting aside the incompetent programming and the demonstrably negative impact, the worst part, for me, was this: no one pointed out that this was wrong. No one.

…I have to write that out again…

Not a single person in that room—filled with top representatives from almost every opera institution in the UK—said, out loud, that the way this event was organised was wrong, unrepresentative, redundant and a wasted opportunity.

Nobody.

Well, not quite. Nobody with power said it.

After the event officially ended and people were getting their coats, I rushed to the stage and tried to shout into the microphone: “THIS IS WRONG!” My attempt was clumsy, but I had to try. For god’s sake, someone had to say the truth out loud before we all left.

Bill Bankes Jones had tried to warn the organisers before the event, but his warnings, too, were ignored. So I’m saying it clearly now.

This summit made us look pathetic

Several colleagues approached me afterward to thank me for saying out loud what no one else had dared to all day. But the more I think about those whispered words of gratitude and the friendly pats on the arm as we shuffled toward the door, the more I feel a deep despair.

I have limited influence in this industry—no assets, no power, and nothing to lose. So I said something, even though it didn’t feel safe. Meanwhile, people in institutions, people who do have something to lose, thanked me for speaking up in their place. Their powerful institutions didn’t help them to feel any safer.

I understand their fear. I feel it too. But they are protected by what they have, whereas I am not. In that room, everyone allowed themselves to be swayed by the power of Lord Laidlaw’s chequebook.

I can’t stop thinking about how this conference made the UK opera industry look so pathetic.

The function and value of those on the margins

Think about this: as someone on the margins of the industry, I briefly stepped into a role that not one leader from the UK’s greatest institutions could fulfill. They couldn’t bring themselves to say, “This is wrong.” How much are those CEOs and Heads of Department paid to avoid saying what needs to be said? How much will I, in contrast, be paid or recognized for my Services to the Arts?

My reward is that me and my colleagues will survive. Perhaps my privilege is knowing what is really at stake.

ONLY a freelancer—those on the furthest margins—can see the glaring weaknesses of the system and dare to speak out. We must listen to those with less power when they say, “OUCH!” because it’s their insight that points to the systemic change we need for everyone’s benefit. The small fish are just as crucial to the ecosystem as the big fish, yet at this summit, we small fish were shoved out. Again.

This is a perfect example of the ignorant and exploitative dependency institutions have on those with less power. You, the big fish, rely on us—those you exclude—to do what you cannot, will not, or dare not do. Yet, at a prestigious conference like this, you forgot about the thousands of us who weren’t invited. By forgetting us, not only do you disrespect and dishonour us, but you also waste your own precious time. It’s hard to believe that you understand what the ecosystem is, let alone that you see us as an equal, vital part of it. Worse, some of you even accuse us of threatening the system—when all you’re really afraid of is change and fairness.

Your silence is your complicity

Since the conference, I’ve questioned every day whether speaking out was wise. Perhaps I’ll regret it one day. But as long as this anger still burns, I’ll say to everyone who was there: your silence is your complicity. You are not bad people—I know most of you personally. But it is 2024—fascists are being voted into government, our nations are at war and industries are setting our world on fire. It is time to stand up—before it feels safe for you to do so.

And if you genuinely cannot speak out, like you couldn’t the other day, what does that say about you, about me, and about our roles in this ecosystem?

What are you doing to support the others in the opera world—the ones you rely on to do what you cannot?

To everyone—whether present at the summit, absent, or in positions of influence past or future—ask yourself this: what is your duty to those with less power? To paraphrase John Singer CBE who spoke that day: what are you doing this for? Who are you doing this for?

To read my other posts about the Business of Opera summit, click here.