Should a controversial Russian soprano sing in London?

Does it matter how good she was? Because Anna Netrebko was very good indeed. At the Royal Opera House in London on September 11th, the Russian-born soprano sang the title role in “Tosca”—Puccini’s tale of a diva who becomes entangled with a cruel, faithless tyrant in a time of war. On stage, Ms Netrebko’s voice was gloriously rich and delicate. Outside, a protester in a red-spattered robe held up a placard as another played dead at her feet: “While Netrebko sings, Ukraine bleeds.”

One of the world’s top opera singers, Ms Netrebko (pictured) was shunned by Western venues after Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022 because of her past links to the Kremlin. Now the Royal Opera, and other European houses, have invited her back (she remains blacklisted by the Metropolitan Opera in New York). To the protesters and other critics, this a betrayal, which rewards a collaborator and launders bloodshed. Art and politics cannot be separated, they insist. The truth of the Netrebko affair is more nuanced, but also simpler and sadder.

Yes, her talent matters, say both sides in an inevitably emotional debate. She wouldn’t be appearing if she weren’t a world-class artist, say her backers. To those who object, her superstar status is part of the problem. She is a glitzy decoy for a murderous regime, they say, and a tool of cultural propaganda. The odd-sounding implication is that hiring a mediocre Russian soprano would be acceptable, but a stellar one is not.

Do her political allegiances matter? Yes, both sides agree; personal morality is a consideration alongside art. But again they draw different conclusions. Ms Netrebko has condemned the war, but opponents doubt her sincerity and focus on her previous record, which understandably angers many Ukrainians. After Russia fomented a conflict in eastern Ukraine in 2014, she posed for a picture with a separatist flag (later claiming that she didn’t grasp its meaning). She has received awards from Vladimir Putin and made gauchely flattering remarks about him. She still hasn’t criticised him directly.

Of course she hasn’t, say her defenders. Denouncing him was always perilous, and has become only more so as he has ratcheted his autocratic system into a totalitarian one. Her comments about the war alone have incurred allegations of treachery. As for her earlier association with the Kremlin: it is hard for stars to avoid the touch of the tentacular Russian state. She lives in Austria and hasn’t been back to Russia since the start of the war.

Another, wholly legitimate worry informs the furore: the fear of Ukraine fatigue, and that the attention and support of countries like Britain might wane even as the Russian bombardment intensifies. Thus the urgency to call out any perceived backsliding. But the passage of time recasts the dispute in another way, too.

When the invasion began, arts impresarios, like others in the public eye, hurriedly disavowed Russians seen to be tied to the regime. The boycott was partly motivated by natural outrage and moral revulsion. It was also a case of crisis-management PR by scrambling executives. To a harsh observer, there was a trace of self-aggrandisement in the idea that creative types in the West had a say in geopolitics.

Three and a half years on, the exigencies of war are clearer. It runs on shells and drones and Patriot missiles and conscripts. Mr Putin has shrugged off hundreds of thousands of casualties and his country’s ostracism; the stalled careers of some Russian artists have not swayed him (many have anyway gone into exile or been jailed). He won’t be emboldened by “Tosca”—he is tragically bold already. For their part, opera-lovers are unlikely to revise their view of him after seeing it. As children are dug out nightly from the rubble, most in the West know what and who he is.

“I lived for art,” a dauntless Tosca laments in this gory, scintillating new production’s showstopping aria. “I never harmed a living soul.” In real life, Ms Netrebko is plainly not a heroic dissident. But that seems a lofty standard for an opera singer, and she isn’t an ideologue or warmonger either. She hasn’t abased herself like Valery Gergiev, a Russian maestro and her one-time mentor who obliges his president with musical propaganda stunts.

Let her sing; banning her is probably unfair. More than that, it is pointless. The awful war isn’t a contest of vibes, memes, placards or operas. It is waged in steel, money, oil and blood. In the ghastly scheme of things, where Ms Netrebko performs doesn’t really matter.■