George Osborne v David Ross? The Lebedev protege who tells us he has never been happier? Or the dashing phone magnate with his own grouse moor and a place on Mustique?
The revelation that Osborne, the unlamented Tory ex-chancellor, was shortlisted for the chairmanship of Royal Opera House along with Ross, the Tory benefactor and favourite, goes some way to settling the question of whether Ross’s appointment, announced in July, actually was as explicitly political as an arts appointment gets (short of sourcing a Johnson) or only accidentally looked like that.
Until it emerged that Osborne was also up for the ROH job, potentially his 10th, it seemed possible that Ross had been picked despite rather than because of his being close enough to Boris Johnson to fix him a Caribbean hiding place, just as he previously supplied David Cameron with free helicopter rides. After all, his interviewers had also chosen to overlook the potentially awkward difference between Mr Ross’s position on Brexit (pro) and the view probably dominant in the creative regions of the ROH that this is an unmitigated artistic, intellectual and practical disaster. Interviewed last year, Antonio Pappano, musical director of the ROH, told the Observer’s Fiona Maddocks: “Music doesn’t have borders. The ROH is an international institution, relying on a flow of talent which needs to be unimpeded.” Maybe that’s the kind of setback Ross anticipated when he wrote in 2016: “It will be painful at first. But I hope this referendum result will lead to our wresting back more democracy for our country.”
Moneywise, the ROH nominations committee presumably wasn’t fussed by some tricky patches not in Ross’s CV, such as his resignation from the organising committee for the 2012 Olympics after he failed to declare that he had used his Carphone Warehouse shares as security for a multimillion-pound loan. If he was not described as a “friend of David Cameron” or “former tax exile”, Ross was regularly introduced as a “playboy”, with a backstory featuring a former pole dancer, the mother of his son, who had pleaded guilty to benefit fraud.
These achievements evidently outweighed, for the ROH committee, the possibility that, as a party favourite and a major donor (including to Boris Johnson’s leadership campaign), Ross might experience conflicting loyalties if the priorities of his deeply culture-averse Conservative allies ever became incompatible with the survival of the UK’s performing arts. Which, as the digital, culture, media and sport Commons select committee has recently reported, they already are. The committee’s chairman, Julian Knight, said: “The failure of the government to act quickly has jeopardised the future of institutions that are part of our national life and the livelihoods of those who work for them.” Without updates on the reopening of venues and an extension of the job retention scheme, Oliver Dowden’s emergency package has not stopped the attrition: more than 7,100 job losses, Tracy Brabin, the shadow minister for digital, culture, media and sport, says, already affect almost 100 organisations.
Still, with its grouse killer at the helm, the ROH may once again flourish. The Sunday Times report on Ross’s victory over Osborne mentioned hopes that he would attract large donations, even make them himself. In the event of such gifts, Ross would moreover delight the Tory party, which has for years dreamed of replacing state subsidy with money from the legions of imaginary arts philanthropists left over when you’ve filtered out all the dodgy people, products and business practices. Realistically, even before the economic collapse being orchestrated by Ross’s friends, such a substitute for committed state support was evidently a Tory fantasy and one that, even if the occasional philanthropist obliged – Jeremy Hunt wanted to tempt them with honours – offered the arts no security.
Whether or not Ross’s links to Johnson and Michael Gove, along with the protective value of his membership of the Conservative Leader’s Group, can offer rewards impossible for a less tribal candidate, this eye-catching appointment has reputational consequences.
For Ross, the unpaid ROH chairmanship must surely be the summit after that long ascent from playboy to leading philanthropist, by way of the National Portrait Gallery.
And for the ROH? In a role customarily occupied by quieter figures, Ross is conspicuous for being stupendously rich, with the list and the kit that prove it. But as much as Ross’s Leicestershire stately home, Mustique villa, gold Land Rover and success both with women and prime ministers dazzle guests at Black and White Balls, this imagery scarcely helps the ROH in its continual struggle to justify its subsidy, challenge allegations of affluent elitism, generate popular support and defend a ticket system that recently required the general public to agree, after ROH Friends bagged virtually all the seats, that remote Jonas Kaufmann is quite as exciting as real Jonas Kaufmann.
Insistence that the place is, in fact, ever so accessible is a familiar ROH theme; unveiling a building project called Open Up, its CEO, Alex Beard, even worried that his organisation’s name was counterproductive. “If opera isn’t part of your world and the royals are by definition ‘other’, and this is not your ‘house’, it can be a bit off-putting.”
Given this degree of extreme public sensitivity, the ROH was probably right to avoid the two further disincentives, George and Osborne. Whatever one might feel about David and Ross, or even “Boris” and “villa”, this particular Conservative has never been booed by a crowd of 80,000. In that respect, the committee could hardly have chosen more wisely.
• Catherine Bennett is an Observer columnist
This article was amended on 3 September 2020 to remove an inaccurate factual detail.
