The Complete Yes Minister

‘Why is there no cause? There’s no difference between subsidising football and subsidising art except that lots more people are interested in football.’

‘Subsidy,’ he replied, ‘is to enable our cultural heritage to be preserved.’

But for whom? For whose benefit? For the educated middle classes. For people like Humphrey, in other words. Subsidy means they can get their opera and their concerts and their Shakespeare more cheaply than if the full cost had to be recouped from ticket sales. He thinks that the rest of the country should subsidise the pleasures of a middle-class few who want to see theatre, opera and ballet.

‘Arts subsidy,’ I told him simply, ‘is a middle-class rip-off. The middle classes, who run the country, award subsidies to their own pleasures.’

He was shocked. Genuinely shocked, I think. ‘How can you say such a thing? Subsidy is about education and preserving the pinnacles of our civilisation. Or hadn’t you noticed?’ he added scathingly.

I ordered him not to patronise me. I reminded him that I also believe in education – indeed, I am a graduate of the London School of Economics.

‘I’m glad to learn that even the LSE is not totally opposed to education,’ he remarked. I rose above his pathetic Oxbridge joke, and remarked that there is no possible objection to subsidising sport. Sport is subsidised in many ways already. And sport is educational.

Sir Humphrey’s sarcasm was in full swing. ‘Education is not the whole point,’ he said, having said that it was the whole point not two minutes earlier. ‘After all, we have sex education too – should we subsidise sex perhaps?’

‘Could we?’ asked Bernard, waking up suddenly like a hopeful Dormouse. Humphrey scowled at him.

I was enjoying the cut and thrust of our intellectual debate, particularly as I seemed to be doing most of the cutting and thrusting.

I proposed to Humphrey that we might, in fact, choose what to subsidise by the extent of public demand. I certainly can’t see anything wrong with the idea. It’s democratic at least.

Humphrey normally ignores me when I’m being provocative, unless a serious policy decision of mine is at stake. But for some reason it seemed important to him to persuade me to change my mind.

‘Minister,’ he said, pleading for me to understand his elitist point of view, ‘don’t you see that this is the thin end of the wedge. What will happen to the Royal Opera House, on this basis? The very summit of our cultural achievement.’

As a matter of fact, I don’t think that the Royal Opera House is the summit of our achievement. It’s a very good case in point – it’s all Wagner and Mozart, Verdi and Puccini. German and Italian. It’s not our culture at all. Why should we subsidise the culture of the Axis Powers?

‘The Royal Opera House,’ I explained, ‘gets about nine and a half million pounds a year of public money. For what? The public can’t afford to buy thirty- or forty-quid seats for gala nights – and even if they could, they can’t get them, there aren’t enough. The audience consists almost entirely of big business executives, block-booked by the banks and oil companies and multinationals – and people like you, Humphrey. The Royal Opera House is for the Establishment at play. Why should the workers on the terraces foot the bill for the gentry in the stalls who can well afford to pay the full price for their seats?’

He stared at me as though I’d been brought in by the cat. I waited for a response. Bernard was studying his empty notepad intently.

Finally Sir Humphrey spoke. Very quietly. ‘Minister, I am frankly appalled! This is savagery! Barbarism! That a Minister of the Crown should say such things – this is the end of civilisation as we know it. And it’s a gross distortion of the truth.’

Emotive language from Humphrey! He was indeed upset. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a bit upset and was thoroughly enjoying myself.

‘A distortion, eh?’ I replied cheerfully.

‘Yes indeed. Art cannot survive without public subsidy.’

I wound him up some more. ‘Did Shakespeare have public subsidy?’

‘Yes of course he did.’

‘No he didn’t, he had patronage. That’s quite different. It’s a rich man spending his own money, not a committee spending other people’s. Why can’t the theatre live on its wits? Is it good for art to be dependent on officials and committees? Not necessarily!’

Humphrey made incoherent choking noises. I put up my hand regally, to silence him.

‘And, if you persist in arguing in favour of subsidy, what about films? Films are art. Films are educational. Films are – God forbid! – popular with the public. More than opera, anyway. So why has the Establishment ignored film subsidy?’

He tried to reply, but I refused to yield the floor. I was having much too good a time. ‘I’ll tell you. Simply because people like you prefer opera.’