"There is no such thing as unpolitical art"

Alice Goodman, librettist of "The Death of Klinghoffer", discusses the controversial opera

How did you and John Adam come to choose the hijacking of the Achille Lauro as a subject for an opera?
Peter Sellars actually came up with the idea when we were all together in New York in 1986 for a works-in-progress workshop on Nixon In China. People were asking what our next opera would be, and Peter immediately suggested Klinghoffer. John and I could immediately see that it would work - it was about the right size and shape for an opera and there was an interesting sense of dramatic action being confined - but everyone else who was there thought it was a joke in poor taste.

Why write an opera about it?
The aim was to go to the places where the news reports can't go, to explore the events at a depth, and with an emotional engagement that you don't get on the news - the same reasons that art looks at life generally.
Opera is such an amazing art form. I've been thinking recently about the Lucian Freud exhibition; if I could paint like Freud I think I would still rather write this story as an opera than paint it. The opera is giving me more than myself, it's the polyphony you get from a composer, director, designer, singers and a librettist all bringing something to the work.

Do you believe all art has a duty to politics?
Art has a duty to the political rather than to politics. I'm of an age to have grown up with the notion that there is no such thing as unpolitical art, that when art is escapist that that too is political.

"Contemplative" is a word that's been used a lot by John Adams about the opera, which is in many respects anti-operatic, anti-dramatic... How did you come to take the Bach Passions as a model instead of a more conventional operatic structure?
My first stab at the libretto was much more dramatic than the final draft. That initial version is no longer in existence; it felt cartoonish and unserious. It was as though we could only deal with the situation by being contemplative. I tried not to be, but that was the only thing that worked.

That abstraction was reflected in Peter Sellars' original production...
Yes, that kind of design frees up the realistic elements, helps them to stand out. It's rather like when you have a bright colour against a neutral; when you have an abstract staging and someone sings something that's very colloquial, earthy, human - something that's incredibly concrete - it will stand out more.

Since you wrote Klinghoffer the political situation in the Middle East has changed rather dramatically. How does this affect the work?
Difference in opera now as we watch it, the opera as you conceived it..

John was actually recording Klinghoffer at Abbey Road on 9/11. They had just finished Klinghoffer's final aria when they were told the news. Hearing those words after that - "If a hundred people were murdered and their blood flowed in the wake of this ship like oil, only then would the world intervene" - felt like a terrible prediction.

Klinghoffer was written during the First Intifada in Palestine. At that time the assumption was that if there was a hijacking it was because the hijackers wanted something, that they could be negotiated with. The idea of suicide bombing was then almost exclusively confined to Sri Lanka's Tamil Tigers. The opera's whole exploration of the desire for death and martyrdom was actually anachronistic. It's the way things are now, but it's not the way that things were then.

If you were writing it today in light of that change would you write differently?
If I were coming to write it again today the changes I would make would be principally technical ones, not philosophical and certainly not political ones. This current English National opera production has a somewhat improved libretto; things that were emotionally vague have been made clear.

One of the opera's original co-commissioners was Glyndebourne, who have never yet staged the work. Do you know why?
I really don't know why, but I'm pleased that it is finally being performed in England, and I'm especially delighted that it's in London. There is a feeling here of cultural conversation, of a dialectic in which people can talk and not necessarily have to agree.

Given the recent disruption at last summer's Proms it seems like a sensitive time to be staging the work...
It's always a sensitive time. I hope it will be received well, and I would be very surprised if there were a disruption. The worst we've ever had were a few pickets, although Penny Woolcock [director of the film adaptation] wasn't able to show her film at a festival in Palestine in 2005. The film was perceived as being pro-Israel, or at least pro-Jewish, and she was encouraged to leave Gaza very quickly.

So Klinghoffer has been attacked as both pro-Jewish and pro-Palestinian?
I know. It pleases me so much to have had that disapproval from both sides, it sort of makes me feel that I must be doing something right.

Were you conscious of trying to be even-handed in your presentation of events?
It's not even-handed - it just looks at everybody as a person. People think that I'm making Mr Klinghoffer stand for the entire Jewish people and the policies of the Israeli Defence Forces. I'm not, but the fact is that as an individual human being you find yourself repeatedly being identified as representative. John and I joke that our favourite line is the opera is "America is one big Jew" - not so much because it wraps up the whole idea of a manifest destiny and a chosen people and a new Israel, but also because it is all that while at the same time being so brief and so pithily offensive. John suggested it for the poster for ENO...

Following the cancellation of a performance of Klinghoffer in Boston, musicologist Richard Taruskin wrote an article for the New York Times praising the decision, citing the fact that "art can inflict harm". How do you feel about this?

If art can do good then art is not innocuous. I think what Taruskin is demanding is both censorship and propaganda. The kind of art that he sees and wants predicates a kind of world I wouldn't want to live in. He believes that a work like Klinghoffer shouldn't be produced because the hijackers are allowed to be eloquent - because they are young and have a romantic sense of their nation, their sufferings and their mission. He believes that this is a depiction which is too dangerous for the world to seer to see. For him, all art that is produced must be art in which our nations foes are seen as lifeless, ugly, and inarticulate, and our nation's martyrs are are seen to radiate every form of beauty. A world in which art is like that can't contain me, but more importantly it can't contain Shakespeare. It's kitsch, and demands such obtuseness of the human beings that are the audience of that art.

Alexandra Coghlan's article on classical music and politics appears in this week's New Statesman.

"The Death of Klinghoffer" opens this Saturday at the ENO

Alexandra Coghlan is the New Statesman's classical music critic.

Flickr/Alfred Grupstra
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How will future videogame makers design a grand strategy game about the 21st century?

With the diminishing power of nation states, and the lack of conventional warfare, what would a 21st-century grand strategy game look like?

In the world of historical strategy games, it always seems clear how to win. Paint the map your colour. Raise your flag over the capitals of your rivals. Pave the streets of your cities with gold. Games based around statecraft in olden times will tend to have diverse objectives, they usually focus on the greatness of a nation in the traditional senses of the word: military might, technological advancement, religious and cultural hegemony. These same priorities hold up from the times of the Roman Republic to the Cold War.

Yet if games designers in the future were to look at the world of today, how would they interpret the actions of modern governments? Do the same goals as before apply or have we moved on? Are the objectives of contemporary societies different, and if so, just what would a player in a game of 21st-century grand strategy be trying to achieve?

One thing is for sure, the conventional measures of success in historical grand strategy games don’t stack up so easily in a modern setting.

War, for instance, has always been a staple part of historical games and it remains a preoccupation of contemporary society too. In the 15 years of the 21st century, Britain has invaded two countries, conducted armed interventions in three more and is even now lining up the procurement of new fighter jets, new aircraft carriers and new nuclear weapons at incredible expense. So we can safely say we do not live in a peaceful age.

But despite having all this firepower and the political will to bring it to bear at the drop of a dossier, war doesn’t seem to serve Her Majesty’s Government in the way it does in either the history books or the strategy games. There is no territory to be won and no rival great powers being thwarted – only air strikes, occupations and teetering puppet governments.

Indeed the only country whose military adventures bear any resemblance to the old-timey way of doing things is Russia, with Putin perhaps the last of the breed of world leaders who still thinks swapping out the flags on municipal buildings constitutes a legitimate redrawing of national boundaries. Given his famous distrust for technology it seems quite likely he didn’t get the tersely worded Tweet from Obama about how that kind of thing isn’t supposed to work anymore.

On the economic side of things the approaches opted for by governments today don’t fit with the historical mind set either. Nations are no longer trying to get rich for their own sake. Privatisation relinquishes the assets of the state in return for a temporary financial gain and long term loss of revenue. Deregulation and poor tax enforcement bleeds capital overseas. It is here we see perhaps the key difference between games where you play as The State itself and real countries, countries run by people who have bank balances of their own and competing party financiers to appease.

The idea of running a country for the purpose of making that country wealthier and then reinvesting that wealth back into the country by developing assets and infrastructure has gone out of the window. Simultaneously both the leftwing model of a state run for the benefit of its citizens and the rightwing ideal of a country mastering its economy to become a more powerful force on the world stage have been quietly phased out. Outsourcing and tax havens suggest that there is no longer room for patriotism in economic policy – unless you’re China, of course, but it wouldn’t be much of a game with only one nation playing it.

On a technological front there was the space race, and there have even been games built around it. But in the 21st century, the urgency and the sense of competition has been lost. Rovers on Mars, probes on comets and space stations tend to be viewed in a spirit of collective human achievement, partly because of the collaborative nature of modern space exploration, and also, I suspect, because lots of people in those fields are Star Trek fans.

The idea of going to Mars so you can stand on the surface of another planet and tell the Communists to stuff it no longer appeals as much as that whole "pushing back the scientific boundaries for the benefit of all life of Earth" deal. It is laudable, but not ideal for games built around competing with other countries.

In the 21st century grand strategy game, we wouldn’t be looking to conquer the world, we wouldn’t be looking to buy it and we wouldn’t be looking to leave it in our technological wake either. So what does that leave? What would 21st-century grand strategy look like?

It could be argued that we’ve moved beyond the era of nation states as the bodies driving world affairs, and such a game might reflect that. Maybe something more akin to a Crusader Kings game would be the way to go, with the player taking the role of an individual – a connected political blueblood, perhaps, like an oligarch, a CEO, an activist turned politician, a drugs baron or a terrorist leader. Or maybe we would play not as an individual, but as an organisation, for example the CIA, ExxonMobil, Isis, Amnesty International or the Solntsevskaya Bratva.

It may be that we never see the present day immortalised in a strategy game, at least outside of that passing phase in Civilization where everything is either settled down or exploding in nuclear fire. Perhaps we’re destined to nestle into a historically obscure crack between the tumult of the 20th century and something spectacular or horrible yet to come. It is nice to think, however, that the times we live in are at least interesting and that maybe we’ll get to see it all laid out in a game one day, if only to find out what winning the 21st century would look like.

Phil Hartup is a freelance journalist with an interest in video gaming and culture