Love, Love, Peace, Peace: Eurovision and Queer Solace

 A guest edit by Jess Smith 

I have loved Eurovision since I was a kid. Every year, my family and I would gather in front of the television, myself in pole position, to watch hours and hours of average singing and the odd whacky act battle it out for a seemingly pointless trophy. I would stay up several hours past my bedtime and into the small hours just to get watch someone lift a trophy, switch off the monitor and forget about it again until next year came around.

Looking back, one of the reasons I think I was so attracted to the contest was to do with the diversity of culture on display. There was so much to learn about the world. Eurovision is known to be an arena through which countries attempt to perform their national identities, even if that projection tends to be devoid from reality. This could be due to Westernisation, more specifically Europeanisation. It suits newer democracies and developing countries to be perceived as Western liberal utopias. Alongside Western social liberalism comes queer acceptance on a broad social level (though not always in its entirety). Usually this comes after protection by law - it’s a requirement for EU candidate countries to have a proven track record to improving lives of marginalised and protected groups in their respective societies in order to be eligible for selection. Many of the countries in Eurovision are not EU members, and perhaps aren’t even planning on doing so. But for the majority of countries who participate in Eurovision, there is an advantage in projecting the Western ideal for foreign policy and soft power purposes. Visibly queer people are good for PR, commonly known as ‘pink washing’ - this is where queerness is used for ulterior motives, commonly seen in Pride Month when corporations turn rainbow for a month and then move on. This is how we end up with a country such as Ukraine, which comes in 112th in the World Equality Index, sending Verka Serduchka - a singing drag queen dressed like a disco ball - to the 2007 competition.

You could argue that Eurovision’s association with queerness was confirmed with Austria’s 2014 entrant Conchita Wurst - a drag queen who won with a dramatic Bond-like ballad. Although this certainly solidified a public link with the LGBTQ+ community, like much of queer culture, there are underground ties that extend much further back: for example, 2001 act Dana International is widely regarded as the first trans+ entrant on the show. This was a while before transness was widely acknowledged in the UK -the Gender Recognition Act, which gave partial legal status to binary trans people, was not passed until 2004.

On the surface, perhaps a trans-continental singing contest where nations show the best of their musical outputs from that year doesn’t exactly seem like the sort of place queer people might find a home in - or maybe it does. Creating this Western liberal illusion - however much an oasis - still creates a home for queer people through their TVs. Adding in the global reach of the competition, it means that queer people living in oppressive environments have the opportunity for the night to see themselves reflected in a positive light. It reminds them that there is a community beyond what they can see around them.

Eurovision shows no sign of slowing down - the contest and its music is all over TikTok, and a version of the contest begins in the USA this year. I imagine somewhere around the world this Saturday, there will be another queer kid, discovering the world through their TV, just like I did.

Jess is currently completing her Masters at Central School of Speech and Drama. She is an emerging theatre producer, who happens to be an avid follower of Eurovision. Her votes on Ukraine...

Sources: Equaldex.com. 2022. LGBT Equality Index | Equaldex. [online] Available at: <https://www.equaldex.com/equality-index> [Accessed 13 May 2022].