The Eurovision Song Contest was designed to be, and makes huge efforts to remain, a non-political entity. It was birthed by a broadcasting union, in a geeky celebration of technical competence in sharing programming via satellite. A light entertainment TV show, it celebrates a shared sense of fun and a diversity of musical tastes amongst its audience and participants alike. It’s supposed to be silly, joyous, camp and theatrical.
Nonetheless, it’s foolish think that it was never political: Eurovision and the EBU were after all, like the institutions that preceded the EU, born out of the ruins of war. Eurovision’s songs have been signifiers of coups, subliminal messaging for referendum results (imagine that!) and vehicles to recall genocide. Like gays on the streets of Moscow, Eurovision and politics walk uncomfortably hand in hand.
This year is no exception. The contest is taking place in Israel, and falls over the Nakba, the day that Palestinian’s commemorate their displacement before and after the Israeli declaration of independence in 1948. An estimated 700,000 Palestinians were expelled or fled from their homes and villages during the birth of the modern State of Israel. This year’s contest, at Tel Aviv’s Expo, is built on the land of the former Palestinian village of al-Shaykh Muwannis. Whilst no country has withdrawn from this year’s contest on political grounds, there have been many calls for boycotts from artists, singers and musicians globally, and protests abound both in Israel and around the world, in a bid to shine a light on the Palestinian cause and juxtapose their plight to the picture-postcard version of Israel that will be sold to the watching world during the Eurovision festivities. With recent deaths in skirmishes, attacks and counter-attacks near the Gaza border, this year’s contest is inextricably linked to Israeli geopolitics.
The difficulty for participating countries to agree to a boycott is this: on what grounds can you pull out of a contest because you don’t like the host country’s governing party and their policies, or even their history? Many in Europe do have issues with the policies of Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel’s current prime minister (who is facing fraud and corruption charges and may yet be indicted whilst in office). His politics is that of the authoritarian-leaning, nationalism of Putin, Trump, Modi, Bolsonaro and Erdogan. He is however democratically-elected, and Israel is not the only country in the world today with a right-wing government that openly cohorts with politicians with fascist tendencies, nor is it the only country that has led and fought wars with morally questionable battles and outcomes. Then there’s the slight smack of anti-Semitism in the manner of some calls for a boycott.
For fans of the contest, the dilemma is personal. Is it possible to enjoy a song contest that celebrates the camp and diverse in a city that remains proudly cosmopolitan and secular, whilst at the same time having sympathy for the Palestinian cause, deploring the human rights situation of those in Gaza and wanting a lasting two-state peaceful solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? For tens of thousands of Euro-fans, the answer seems to be “yes”, though the navigation of this moral maze has not been without discourse and debate, on social media and beyond.
This year’s contest is also deeply political when it comes to Muslim – and specifically queer Muslim – representation. Both Italy and France are sending queer artists with Muslim parentage. The views of the French National Front and the Italian Northern League on both Islam and sexuality are well-rehearsed. In the context of the enormous popularity of those parties in France and Italy, there is a danger that the artistic freedom and tolerance that enables these artists to thrive (and the Eurovision audience’s anticipated acceptance and celebration of them) is seen as an elitist, globalist conspiracy corrupting traditional European identity. This debate is currently being had in Paris and Rome. No doubt, had a queer Muslim been selected to represent the UK at Eurovision, the front pages of our newspapers and our major broadcasters would have given oxygen to the predictable rage from the usual suspects, for whom that level of hybridisation, pollution and audacity would have been too much to take. What a sad state we are in, and how far from that summer of 2012.
Nonetheless, though Miss World is parodied for its desire for world peace, Eurovision can still be a positive force for the world. As the world’s biggest live music event, it does still generate global headlines and winning acts can move the needle of diversity and acceptance. Israel’s own Dana International, a transgender artist, won the contest in the UK 21 years ago. Drag artist Conchita Wurst topped the leaderboard for Austria in 2014 in a gold spangly dress and a fully grown beard, years before the phrase “gender fluid” became commonplace. It’s not all about LGBT+ representation though.
Eurovision also showcases diversity in religion (several singers with Muslim parentage or faith have won the contest, from Sweden’s Loreen to Ukraine’s Jamala), in language (whilst English remains the most common language of international pop, Eurovision winners have also been sung in Crimean, Hebrew, Portuguese and Serbian). Ethnicity also plays a large part in the contest – with entries regularly celebrating traditional costumes, folk songs, refrains and instruments. This year, Poland, Hungary and Norway take on the ethnic mantle, whilst Iceland delivers a firmly political and anti-capitalist (and bondage-replete) message, albeit with a tongue firmly in cheek.
Eurovision’s governing body, the EBU, should be recognised for its continued focus on Eurovision’s message of harmony, togetherness, shared joy, inclusion and diversity. It’s a distinctively progressive message – which is in itself political in these days of polarisation – but one that reflects the values of a modern, connected, technologically-advanced, accepting continent. And that’s the (Eurovision) world I want to live in.