Eurovision is politics by other means

The Eurovision Song Contest is famous for its camp costumes and kitsch.

The Eurovision Song Contest is famous for its camp costumes and kitsch. This makes it very difficult to take seriously, which is part of the reason it’s so popular in Britain. The other reason is that it’s on the television, and what else are you going to watch?

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So, before the 2017 Eurovision Song Contest took place in the Ukraine, most of the world had forgotten about it. Despite its name and setting, however, this was an event rooted in history: the Soviet Union’s contest from 1956 to 1964. It’s not just that it was held during the Cold War; much more important is that for four years, this competition functioned as a platform for political messages by first-time winners. Even more fascinating is that their victorious songs included anti-Soviet screeds about democracy and individual freedoms.

What makes this peculiar is that these are all acts we now consider basic elements of Western civilization: freedom of speech and expression, democratic ideals… The point I want to make here is that while we might consider these cultural birthrights as bedrock concepts when they are used by Western countries like Sweden or France in official ceremonies—such as at Eurovision—they are almost always understood as problematic when applied elsewhere. That includes within Europe: Germany has banned its entry because it includes a song called “Paradise By The Dashboard Light” (about oral sex), while Ireland has barred entry to any band with a song called “I Do It For You” (which deals with sadomasochistic undertones). There are also examples closer to home. In 2015 Canada banned Justin Bieber from entering because his hit single “Sorry” incorporates anti-Semitic lyrics about Jews dominating popular culture; Australia prevented Missy Higgins from entering because she uses Indigenous hand signs on stage; and Bulgaria banned Roxette from entering because their song “Joyride” contains lines such as “Without you my life would be over.”

In the aftermath of the Second World War, some Europeans were looking for ways to promote peace. Italy’s RAI network proposed a song contest modelled on America’s “Your Hit Parade”. In 1952, the European Broadcasting Union, which oversees Eurovision, signed an agreement to stage a song contest between broadcasters across the continent. With its catchy tunes and daft acts, Eurovision might seem frivolous—but it has always had serious purpose.

Imagine a world at war with itself. A world where the two most powerful nations on Earth have been fighting for years, dragging the entire globe into a conflict which has claimed up to 80 million people. Now imagine that this catastrophic war ended in 1945, less than two decades before your Eurovision Song Contest.

When you are watching Netta joyfully clucking her way through “Toy” or Dana International making a woman of herself in front of millions of viewers back in 1998, it can be hard to believe that 60 years ago much of Europe lay in ruins after one of the most cataclysmic conflicts ever fought.

In this context, the question was more than just how to organise a singing contest — it was about how Europe might begin anew. It was clear that the old way of doing politics had led to mass death and destruction, and that new ways were required.

The EBU wanted to provide such a forum for Europeans. They wanted national broadcasting organisations to make contact with one another, in order to create greater understanding between countries in different languages and cultures.

Although this might seem like an idealistic objective, it was very much in line with other post-war efforts at reconciliation within Europe: through culture rather than through violence or military action.

There were numerous initiatives along these lines: there were exchanges between schools; sporting competitions; cultural events; international festivals that brought together people from all over Europe (and beyond). One of these was Eurovision.

If only there were some way to, say, hold a vote every year where each country gets one vote, and the song with the most votes wins.

Now, now: I’m not saying that we should move Eurovision to New Zealand. That would be silly. We’d lose the wacky cultural mish-mash that makes it so great (because in New Zealand, everyone is basically just a Kiwi). But what if we could have the glitz and glamour of the international stage while still giving Kiwis a chance to shine?

And actually I’ve got it figured out! It’s so simple I can’t believe no one has thought of it before. Here’s how we do it: let’s have our own Eurovision for Aotearoa!

What are you talking about? The public already choose who represents us – through their votes in a talent show called ‘New Zealand Idol’.

Wait – are you talking about an election?

For those not familiar with the Eurovision Song Contest, it is a competition in which countries take turns voting for each other’s songs. Counties that can easily be imagined as bitter political enemies will award one another high points. From the perspective of the Cold War and most of human history, this sounds nuts. But as far as post-war Europe was concerned, it made sense: a new way of doing things was required.

As Thomas Harding writes in his book “Bloody Foreigners: The Story of Immigration to Britain”: “Britain and Germany used to go to war with each other; now they sing and dance about it. Those who want to keep Europe together should perhaps see Eurovision as an act of diplomacy rather than an evening of entertainment."

In 1949, Germany’s then-foreign minister Konrad Adenauer suggested introducing a “Council for Europe” open to all European countries wanting to resist Soviet expansionism. The US government supported the idea, but the Soviets were strongly against it. Nevertheless, the council was set up in 1950 and consisted of non-Soviet European states. In 1955, however, Austria, Finland and Sweden joined the council as neutral states.

Thus it was that when West German representatives met their counterparts from around Europe in Strasbourg on August 20th 1955 for the inaugural meeting of this new body—the Council of Europe—they did so under a cloud of suspicion about their country’s true intentions. There is no reason to think that this suspicion was entirely unfounded.

So how did we get from “a supranational body tasked with promoting democracy and human rights” to a cheesy song contest where the contestants are introduced with dramatic fanfare, like “from the beautiful land of Norway, let’s hear it for [insert name here]?”

Interactions between France and Germany were key to Eurovision’s genesis. In 1950, French foreign minister Robert Schumann proposed a European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC). The idea was that countries would pool their resources to build factories and coal mines, which would eventually make them more dependent on each other. And it worked: By 1952, there were four treaty signatories, including France, West Germany, Italy and the Netherlands.

The US put its support behind this idea for a pan-European alliance that would unite western states against communism. It was also in favor of cultural exchanges between member states as these might help soften Cold War tensions. Franco-German cooperation wasn’t just limited to the ECSC—in 1949 they had teamed up to create the Western European Union (WEU), a defense alliance meant to protect Europe from Soviet aggression.

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The Council of Europe was established on May 5 1949 – paving the way for the European Economic Community in 1957 and the modern EU. Its motto was “united in diversity” – often translated as “unity in diversity”.

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You might have heard it elsewhere, particularly since this is also the motto of Eurovision. And you can see why that would be! Eurovision is a great way to celebrate European culture and community, while still being just a short step away from Eton Mess-related quarrels.