The Eurovision Song Contest: a celebration of diversity

Interview: Carola Hoffmeister

Mr Rehberg, do you remember how you first encountered the Eurovision Song Contest (ESC)?

Peter Rehberg: I grew up in Hamburg in the 1970s at a time before the internet and commercial TV channels. Every Saturday evening we would sit together as a family in our living room, my dad would doze off after a while and then, suddenly, there was this great big glittering spectacle on the television. A mixture of family evening, pop show and window to the big wide world with all its different languages; it felt almost like a party at home that connected us to living rooms across Europe.

Looking back, Eurovision has traditionally been either tacky and uncool or open-minded and cosmpolitan – fluctuating between these two extremes over the years.

Rehberg: True, but even if some of the acts may have seemed rather bland, they were nonetheless part of the spectacle. At the same time, the ESC shows how entertainment can be combined with political symbolism. Germany used the event to paint a fresh picture of itself after the war and the Holocaust. Getting young women up on stage like Nicole, who won the 1982 competition at the age of 16 with “Ein bisschen Frieden” (A Bit of Peace), or indeed 19-year-old Lena many years later, marks a deliberate departure from the country’s military legacy.

A kind of family party – but also a festival from a queer perspective?

Rehberg: Precisely. I’m gay, and for many queer people Eurovision was a place that gave them visibility and with which they could identify. In the 1990s we began having ESC parties in gay flat shares. When transgender singer Dana International won the contest for Israel in 1998, it was like Eurovision’s coming out as a queer event. From that point on, TV audiences could no longer ignore the queer culture around the ESC. Although the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) always claims that the ESC is non-political, it automatically does have a political dimension. The most dramatic example recently has been Israel: because of the war in Gaza that was sparked by the Hamas attack on Israel, people have taken to the streets in the past two years to protest against Israel’s participation in the competition. At Eurovision in Malmö, the Israeli contestant was unable to leave her hotel room without police protection. At the same time, Israel also received a lot of support from the TV audience and scored very well. Now several countries have announced that they will only take part in Eurovision 2026 in Vienna if Israel is excluded. Eurovision is not simply a global celebration of music, queer visibility and cultural diversity, but is also always embedded in political conflicts.

“Eurovision can have an impact on restrictive contexts, create temporary alliances and shift boundaries.”

What role does the audience play?

Rehberg: Until the late 1970s, the audience – often comprising representatives of broadcasting companies or the music industry – would sit in the auditorium just like during a theatre performance. Since the late 1990s, the EBU has been shining the spotlight on the fans: Cameras pan round the audience to show the atmosphere and the flags, especially the rainbow flags, making the spectators part of the show at the Eurovision venue. This change has given rise to the ESC brand we know today, as a collective cultural celebration. And of course, the event is huge outside the queer community, too: many people watch the final at cinemas, bars or special event venues and celebrate the show together. Eurovision is the world’s biggest TV show, attracting a bigger audience than even the Super Bowl in the US.

Eurovision is organised by the EBU. Is this really the institution that has facilitated queer visibility and the celebration of all things queer?

Rehberg: Yes, that’s what is so paradoxical: a show from the world of public service broadcasting has become a global space for queer identification, even if the EBU’s support for the queer community isn’t perhaps always so obvious. For example, only national flags have been allowed since Eurovision 2025 in Basel. Originally, the ban on Palestinian flags was intended to avoid political conflict. However, pride symbols such as the rainbow flag were excluded simultaeously. Nonetheless, the queer community remains crucial to the ESC’s popularity, as the leading fan forums and social media channels have their roots in the scene. What is more, gay presenters such as Thomas Hermanns have also made their mark on the event in Germany.

Russia has also appropriated the queer aesthetic to some extent.

Rehberg: Indeed. One well-known example is t.A.T.u., a pop duo that was Russia’s entry in 2003. Two young women whose marketing strategy involved depicting lesbian desire. Russia used this as an instrument of soft power, though LGBTQI+ rights in the country itself were being massively curbed. There was no longer any sign of this pose at Eurovision 2009 in Moscow: t.A.T.u. were back on stage, this time in front of a military band. Which just goes to show how quickly pop culture symbols can switch from subversive gestures to nationalist pathos.

And at the same time, the ESC repeatedly involves subversive moments.

Rehberg: Yes, Conchita Wurst’s victory in 2014 is the best example. She won for Austria in the same year that Russia annexed the Crimea – and received telephone votes from Russia despite the Russian government inciting hatred against Conchita. Eurovision can have an impact on restrictive contexts, create temporary alliances and shift boundaries.

In the global political arena, we are currently seeing a rise in conservative, authoritarian and populist forces. Will this affect Eurovision?

Rehberg: Yes, that is conceivable. Right-wing populists could exploit the ESC for their own ends. History has shown us a mixed picture so far. Until recently, autocratic states such as Russia, Belarus, Hungary and Turkey were still taking part in Eurovision. Turkey won the 2003 contest. Later, these countries decided not to participate because the event had become “too queer” for their liking. At that time, they regarded Conchita Wurst as a symbol of a “decadent Europe” they wanted nothing to do with. Hungary and Turkey withdrew voluntarily, while Russia was excluded following its war of aggression against Ukraine in 2022.

As a DAAD long-term lecturer at the University of Cincinnati, you teach German studies, media studies and queer studies and also run a course that focuses on the ESC. How well-known is Eurovision in the US – and are current political developments influencing the way it’s viewed in the country?

Rehberg: Though Eurovision isn’t a mass phenomenon here it is certainly known, and interest in it is growing. Only six students signed up for our first course, but this time round there are 30 of them. In the context of the ESC, we of course talk in the classroom about sexuality as a human right and about diversity in general. The climate has changed noticeably since Donald Trump began his second term in office: the programmes at the university that provided support to students from socially marginalised groups have already been terminated. Students feel generally uncertain. We need to directly address these processes – the end of funding, the change in the social climate – in our Eurovision class and find ways of engaging in critical discussion. As a researcher, I am interested in the dynamics that result from such processes of social transformation. –

Dr Peter Rehberg is a DAAD German studies lecturer who has taught at the Department of East European, Asian, and German Studies at the University of Cincinnati since 2022. He conducts research on queer theory, visual culture and popular culture. One particular focus of his work is the Eurovision Song Contest, about which he has written numerous academic papers and journalistic articles.