For most of us, Eurovision is synonymous with flashy costumes and cheesy pop. However William Payne, a teacher of American Studies at Vilnius University, saw it as a window into the dynamics of relationships between nations. For this article, Payne, a newcomer to Eurovision, looked beyond the glitter to find the event's deeper political and social ramifications, and what it says about how Europeans relate.
Much to the astonishment of my Lithuanian students, I had barely heard of the Eurovision Song Contest before arriving in Vilnius. However, just weeks before the event, I had been systematically initiated into the local rites leading up to it. Each week, I was forced to watch preliminary rounds of singers trying to be selected to represent Lithuania in the Eurovision finals held in Helsinki, Finland.
For the finals, I imagined an endless parade of blonds emoting predictable tunes about peace and unity while simultaneously undulating their hips to suggest more carnal interests. And I somehow expected a benign political message: the acts would pay homage to an enlarged, peaceful, and largely prosperous Europe. With recent geopolitics in the Baltic republics playing like a bad Mexican soap opera, we could have used a break from the tears and back biting. Sometimes we just need a few dollops of simplicity, youthful optimism, and diversion. However, the Eurovision contest was a bit more complex than I anticipated. It inadvertently underscores important themes about identity in Europe
Most illuminating about the Eurovision song contest was the run-up to the final vote. If one of the guiding cultural missions of the contest is to promote a cosmopolitan, post-national European identity, then the Eurovision contest only illustrates how other forms of identity 's nationalism and ethnic identity 's have obdurate roots and cannot be easily deracinated from the European consciousness. I consulted my experts for their opinions on the matter: my students and girlfriend.
My students at Vilnius University offered some interesting analysis of Eurovision. When I asked, "Does the Eurovision song contest help promote a sense of cosmopolitan, European identity throughout the EU members?" the question was met by derisive laugher. One student argued that it underscores regionalism more than it does a common European identity. Neighbors tend vote for neighbors, this student argued. Outside of the classroom, arguments about what it takes to win Eurovision are even more candid.
On the night of the finals, my girlfriend noted skeptically that Lithuania did not have a chance to win because "all the Balkan countries vote for each other." And, as the Balkan countries started to report their votes, a pattern of mutual support seemed to emerge among them. "It's so unfair! You see? It's just 'Balkan vision'" she said. Finally, she rhetorically asked, "Why can't these people just vote for the best singer and not vote for each other's singers as people?"
From one perspective, the Balkan voting pattern may simply be a rational, reciprocal voting strategy that has evolved among the voters in small, neighboring countries of the Balkans more by chance than by design. With television coverage, and rapid reporting of the voting results, it influences how individuals will vote in the future. In other words, if we notice that you help out our singer; we will support your singer with our votes. It's not a central government decree that tells a country's citizens how to vote. However, once a quid pro quo starts happening between the citizens of one country and another, and the people from each country have collectively noticed it, they keep it going precisely because an advantage is obtained for their own singer. It's what political scientist Robert Axelrod calls the evolution of cooperation without a central authority. It's also analogous to what game theorists call the "iterated prisoner's dilemma."
For there to be continued, informal cooperation between the peoples in this game, as in a standard "prisoner's dilemma," neither party can "defect." If your people do not support our country's selection with an appropriately high score, a quid pro quo, then trust will be lost, and we will not give a high vote for your singer in the next round. Thus, there is an incentive not to "defect" and to continue "cooperation" once trust is established because both parties benefit from the voting and because it's repeated each year, you can punish someone later if that party does not reward your singer with a high score. For good or bad, everyone knows that there will be more Eurovision contests into the foreseeable future.
Of course, transnational identification also plays a role in voting but it is not just limited to the Balkans. When votes were being tallied for Lithuania's song, my girlfriend's mood suddenly brightened. "Watch Ireland!" she laughed with a sparkle in her eye. When Ireland reported its twelve points were going to Lithuania, she shouted loudly with a truant's glee, fists in the air, and then gave me a "high-five." Of course, the large number of Lithuanians who emigrated to Ireland in recent years now vote to "help" Lithuania, or at least, to spare Lithuanians the collective shame of coming in last place in front of the eyes of the rest of Europe. Many voters were really not endorsing this year's smooth jazz tune as showing collective solidarity for Lithuania.
Arguably, the reciprocal voting strategy used successfully by small countries is being replicated elsewhere but not yet with the same level of success as in the Balkans. On the night of Lithuania's selection of the representative to the Eurovision final, the winners from Poland, Belarus, Malta, Latvia and Norway were invited to perform in Lithuania. This is more than just an attempt to get good television ratings for an evening. It's also a means of courting good-will among other small countries by generating good publicity and good feelings among neighbors, which may lead to popular voting cooperation for one another. In the finals, Latvia announced that 10 points were going to its 'brother' in Lithuania. In turn, Latvia received 10 points from Lithuania, Ireland, and its neighbor Estonia.
The politics of collective identity were expressed as protest votes within a state by ethnic minorities too. Most telling was Estonia allotting twelve points to the bevy of beauties from Russia. Although the Russian group was good, photogenic and polished, the vote carried an additional political subtext. Many ethnic Russians in Estonia probably used the large public stage in Europe to vote and symbolically repudiate the Estonian government's decision to transfer the Soviet war memorial outside of Tallinn by voting in large numbers and giving twelve points to the Russian girl-group. Unfortunately, with wounds still fresh, we were not able to escape politics entirely.
Yet, if a work of art catalyzed political tensions in the region recently, then perhaps art can play a salubrious role to mitigate tensions, too. Why couldn't the Estonian government make an offer to the Russian government to co-commission a series of new sculptures to illustrate the hope for a bright future between mutually respectful, independent neighbors? The sculptures could be exchanged and situated in Tallinn and Moscow to represent peace, good-will and hopefulness for a new Europe. And, although Maria's prize-winning song might have been in a foreign language we all do not understand perfectly, the prayerful message it carries hopefully uplift us all.
