May is the month I develop a spring in my step. Awoken from my dissociative slump I realise, Eurovision is here yet again. The song contest is praised as a celebration of European unity and culture, while also celebrating all things camp, a brief that members of the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) deliver oh-so-well year after year. While viewers lap up the fun of it all, an undeniable political undercurrent occupies many sofa conversations with the family and is an inevitable component of the competition that has garnered considerable controversy over the years. This year, the contest was hosted by the United Kingdom in Liverpool, on behalf of last year’s winners, Ukraine, who were unable to host the contest due to ongoing conflict. The Eurovision Song Contest almost acts as an archive of European political history, clad in sequins and spandex.
Since Eurovision’s creation in 1956, it has provided both family entertainment and a stage on which political tensions and conflicts can play out. The contest has long been rife with political tension, whether that be demonstrated by voting trends, disqualification due to political references, and demonstrations against the inclusion of certain countries due to their politics. Politics was seen as such a crucial element to the contest by, then culture secretary, David Amess, that he put forward a motion calling for the UK to withdraw from Eurovision in 2008, stating that “this House believes that the Eurovision Song Contest is no longer a music competition, but is more about politics than about talent”.
My memory of Eurovision has been characterised by the era of the Russia-Ukraine conflict and Brexit. We were allocated 8 points by the public vote in 2016, and an abysmal 3 in 2019, coming in at last place. Many cited Brexit as a key cause of us falling out of the public’s favour. It is a well-known fact that the points system is laden with political bias, with some countries predictably giving their twelve points to nations they consider ‘friends’, with this positive bias often being reciprocated.
It is not only the points system but the songs themselves that act as outright political statements. Ukraine’s Jamala won in 2016, with the lyrics to their song ‘1944’ undoubtedly making a statement against Russia’s actions, referencing the deportation of the Crimean Tatars. Eurovision has come to be known as the place where bias is unapologetic and blatant, despite Eurovision organisers arguing that the contest is, and has always been, politically impartial. This year in particular, they rejected Vladimir Zelenskyy’s wish to address the crowd in light of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, in order to maintain this apparent impartiality.
Despite efforts to champion impartiality, this year’s Eurovision was as laden with bias as ever. Since their invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Russia has been excluded from participating in the competition, and the contest was hosted in Liverpool on behalf of Kiyiv after Ukraine’s win in last year’s contest. The theme ‘United by Music’ stood to represent the coming together of Ukraine and the UK, celebrating the joy and diversity of the contest. Last year’s winners, Kalush Orchestra, performed a medley of their winning song ‘Stefania’. The song was written before the conflict began, but has since taken on a deeper meaning, with poignant lyrics such as “I’ll always find my way home, even if all roads are destroyed.” The championing of Ukraine’s culture during the competition reflected conscious efforts on the part of the selection committee to include this in the criteria for which the UK city was chosen to host this year’s contest.
So while politics has always been an aspect of Eurovision, for better or worse, is it always a bad thing? Perhaps for David Amess the burden of being a Brit was simply too much. The film ‘Eurovision: The Story of Fire Saga’ starring Rachel McAdams and Will Ferrel, even included a joke about the UK getting 0 points because “everybody hates the UK”. However, the message of solidarity with Ukraine from this year’s contest goes to show that Eurovision’s political streak isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Essentially, Eurovision is a place where countries can showcase their culture, values, and stories, an opportunity celebrated by smaller nations. They are also permitted to look fabulous while doing it, showcasing high-camp spectacles that make striking impressions on fans. I, like many viewers, appreciate Eurovision for all its components, even if politics and talent engage in an ongoing battle for the biggest impact on the final leaderboard. This year in particular, where the overriding political statement was anti-war, I say embrace it, especially if it means witnessing more satirical gems like Croatia’s ‘Mama ŠČ!’.
The political aspects of Eurovision have arguably helped the contest in staying relevant in its 67, almost consecutive years (with the exception of 2020 due to the pandemic). Its political power dynamics of politics, and its high-camp pageantry ensure that the competition continues to evolve, and feels novel every year. The high-camp aspect sparks conversation around bigger political issues. Politics is often rightfully at the forefront of the acts, especially in times like these, with participants fleeing war-torn regions to compete, appealing for peace through the art of performance. From where I was watching this year’s contest, Lambrini in hand, my view of the UK was for those few hours, more lighthearted.
What would an apolitical Eurovision look like? Attempting to enforce impartiality would strip the competition of so much. Though not always an effective vehicle for political messaging, we cannot deny its impact when it comes to mapping the history of geopolitical tensions. Art is meant to invoke a reaction, so surely showcasing your home country through the medium of performance should be an unapologetic political statement. Isn’t both artistic and political strength a true sign of good art?
Words by Emily Holditch
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