..in which Forbes angers a Saudi Prince

Prince Alwaleed bin Talal Al Saud is annoyed.

Forbes has long been the ultimate list. Featuring on the magazine’s list of the world’s wealthiest is an aspiration of many an entrepreneur, while, for the rest of us, it’s ranking of billionaires shows us just who actually is in charge.

But today the magazine has just infuriated Prince Alwaleed bin Talal Al Saud, the man who it believes the wealthiest in the Middle East. In a brutal statement of misgiving, the CFO of Alwaleed’s company, Kingdom Holding, said, “Forbes has no intention of improving the accuracy of their valuation of our holdings”. While in another statement he said, “I never knew that Forbes was a magazine of sensational dirt-digging and rumor-filled stories.” 

So how has Forbes provoked such a stir? How is one of the most powerful men in the Middle East moved by some shallow rich list? Here’s why: The article headlining Forbes’ March 2013 magazine not only paints the picture of a man obsessed by money, but gives an interesting insight into the region.

Alwaleed, Forbes argues, annually exaggerates his wealth by billions just so he can appear on their rich list; such is his obsession with the competition. He uses his public company – Kingdom Holding, which uses the tagline, “The World’s Foremost Value Investor” – to inflate his value. Only this year, Forbes gave him a net worth far less than Alwaleed would have liked. Here’s what they say:

“Of the 1,426 billionaires on our list, not one–not even the vainglorious Donald Trump–goes to greater measure to try to affect his or her ranking.”

This distaining Forbes article may show up Alwaleed as a man whose pride is his wealth. But it also raises questions over his fellow Saudi’s obsession with money.

The article goes on to list Alwaleed’s 420 room palace (apparently filled with portraits of himself), 747 private aircraft with a throne, private “farm and resort” with artificial lakes and a zoo. Yet all of these (bar perhaps the zoo) are not uncommon displays of wealth in the Kingdom, which, also according to Forbes, has the second most billionaires in the Middle East after Israel.

Ironically, this accumulation and ostentation goes against the wishes of Saudi Arabia’s founder, and Alwaleed’s grandfather, Ibn Saud. According to his English adviser, St John Philby, Ibn Saud was frequently frustrated by many of the Princes’ displays of wealth.

As for Alawaleed’s true wealth: Forbes puts his worth (apparently wrongly) at $20 million; Bloomberg, who he endorses, says he is worth $28; Arabian Business takes the middle ground at $25.9 and WealthInsight, a global wealth consultancy says that Alwaleed owns $22.6.

Look at all my money. Photograph: Getty Images

Oliver Williams is an analyst at WealthInsight and writes for VRL Financial News

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.