A little over a decade ago, Richard Evans and I co-created the Fest of Dangerous Ideas, a unique and special Sydney show to the world. Our goal was to create a word class festival that pushed the edges of accepted discourse. There was (and still is) a serious purpose behind the festival. We believed that if we stick to the boundaries, we can help maintain as large a “middle space” as possible in the public square, a space that had hitherto been narrowed more and more by a wider culture.
Stephen Fry speaking at the 2018 Dangerous Ideas Festivalcredit:yaya stumbler
And the festival has always faced its fair share of controversy – angering “conservatives” and progressives alike. Along the way, speakers took to the stage to denounce the Ethics Center for its participation in the festival; So did several audience members who were angered by the moderators’ choice of topics, speakers, etc.
I mention this as a background to my comments on the controversy sweeping the 2022 Sydney Festival, namely the boycott by some artists of his decision to take money from the Israeli government. I am no stranger to the pressures and ethical dilemmas of organizing a public event in the contemporary era that seeks to rise above politeness.
As a matter of principle, everyone has the right to determine the circumstances under which they choose to participate in an event – whether as a “content provider” or as a member of the public. No one should be asked to contribute to an event that they feel jeopardizes their principles or appears to be complicit in wrongdoing. Given this, it is important that those who are invited to participate in the events do their own “due diligence” before accepting the role. In turn, organizers must allow potential participants to make an informed decision about whether or not to contribute to the programme.
This means that regulators must set standards for partnerships, sponsorships, associations, etc. This is probably easier said than done. For example, one could be “apolitical” and yet still decide that it would be wrong to accept funding from, say, Myanmar’s Tatmadaw military dictatorship. However, explaining the basis for denying this funding (even if it is intuitively obvious) is a challenge? Does one exclude all military regimes or all regimes established by a coup? If so, does Thailand fall short of such a rule? One can think of many other examples where similar questions might be asked – whether they pertain to legality, human rights, or other considerations. However, in the absence of such criteria, every decision risks being seen as the product of arbitrary judgment or bias.
So far I have focused on the issue of informed decision making – a non-controversial principle that I hope will be accepted and applied by people on all sides of the debate about whether, when and how contentious issues will be involved. But what about the somewhat different phenomena where one’s decision is less about personal conviction and informed decision-making, but more about “sending a message” – with solidarity, condemnation, or gaining the approval of others?
I think things here get more complicated. For example, I can see a real advantage in deciding in solidarity with others – especially if those others are a marginalized group and their opinions are rarely heard. Then, the gesture of solidarity can be meaningful – not because it impacts any major change in the world but simply because those who feel marginalized experience a moment of public support. This can be distinguished from a kind of “pseudo-solidarity” among those who only wish to gain the approval of the public or to integrate more comfortably into their “tribe”.
However, I also wonder if those who are moved by noble sentiments might not end up doing less than can be achieved by taking the stage and using it as an opportunity to express their point of view.