The 69th edition of the Eurovision Song Contest kicks off this week in Basel, Switzerland, and as always, it promises a heady mix of pomp, power ballads and geopolitics. While fans gear up for a week of camp performances and dramatic key changes, this year’s competition is also weighed down by controversy over Israel’s continued participation, with questions about who gets to perform—and why—looming larger than ever.

As usual, the competing songs are an eclectic mix. Representing Estonia is rapper Tommy Cash, whose sardonic electro-pop song “Espresso Macchiato” pokes fun at Italian clichés with lines like “Ciao bella, I’m Tomaso, addicted to tobacco.” Not everyone’s laughing—especially not in Italy, where consumer advocacy groups have called for the song’s disqualification. Malta’s Miriana Conte, meanwhile, is bringing high-gloss Europop with her track “Serving,” which had to be altered after its original chorus—featuring the double entendre “serving Kant”—was deemed too provocative by British broadcasters. And then there’s Sweden’s KAJ, the current favourite to win, with their accordion-fuelled techno anthem “Bara bada bastu”—an ode to saunas with lyrics in Swedish that translate to “We’re gonna sauna, sauna/ Steam it up and let go of all stress today.” It’s the kind of bizarre but catchy song that Eurovision fans live for, complete with the obligatory end-of-song key change.

Since its 1956 debut as a postwar experiment in technological co-operation between broadcasters, Eurovision has become one of the most-watched non-sporting events on the planet. At its best, it’s a showcase of Europe at its campiest and most chaotic—equal parts earnest ballads, absurd theatrics and cross-cultural exchange. Its camp appeal and inclusive spirit have made it especially popular among LGBTQ2S+ audiences. The tradition of queer participation goes back to 1961, when Luxembourg’s Jean-Claude Pascal won that year’s contest with his song “Nous les amoureux,” a veiled love song about a same-sex relationship.

Official Eurovision rules state that songs and performances must not include political content and year after year the contest organizers insist that the event is not political. But there’s a tension at the heart of Eurovision this year. Can we truly embrace the campy spectacle while a genocide wages on, with support from many of the same governments whose broadcasters participate in and host this event? It might be easier to pretend it’s all just harmless fun, to lose ourselves in choreography and pyrotechnics. But what does that escapism cost?

To those unfamiliar with the contest, the idea that war and geopolitics would intersect with a singing competition might seem absurd. But Eurovision has always reflected the continent’s broader political climate. In 1974, Portugal’s entry served as a coded signal to launch the Carnation Revolution, which overthrew the country’s authoritarian dictatorship; in the 1990s, newly independent Eastern European states used the contest to shape and assert a national identity; and in 2016, Ukraine’s Jamala won with a ballad about Stalin’s deportation of Crimean Tatars—a thinly veiled rebuke of Russia’s annexation of Crimea. But while geopolitics have always been part of the contest to some extent, Israel’s continued participation has shattered any illusions that the competition can remain apolitical.

Israel has competed in Eurovision since 1973 and has won four times—most recently in 2018 with Netta’s viral hit “Toy”—and this is not the first time its participation has been contentious. Several Arab nations, including Tunisia and Lebanon, have historically chosen not to compete because of broadcast regulations against airing content affiliated with Israel. It has also been accused of using Eurovision as a form of pinkwashing—promoting an image of LGBTQ2S+ tolerance while drawing attention away from its human rights record. For example, Dana International became the contest’s first openly trans winner when she competed for Israel in 1998. In interviews, the singer has admitted that “there’s something to that” accusation that she has been used for pinkwashing Israel’s image.

In 2019, when Tel Aviv hosted the contest after Netta’s win, the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement urged people to skip that year’s competition. While no broadcaster ended up withdrawing, protests punctuated the event. Madonna’s performance during the broadcast of the final included a dancer wearing a Palestinian flag and Iceland’s entrant Hatari held up a pro-Palestine banner during the televote—both in violation of the contest’s ban on political statements. Calls for Israel’s exclusion have intensified since the Oct. 7 Hamas attack in 2023 and Israel’s ensuing invasion of Gaza, which have prompted accusations by organizations like Amnesty International that the country is responsible for a genocide against Palestinians. This year, Israel is represented by Yuval Raphael, a singer who survived the Oct. 7 attack. Her song, “New Day Will Rise,” is framed as a message of resilience, but amid ongoing violence in Gaza and the West Bank, some see it as a “provocation.” One Eurovision blogger wrote that the song “can’t be construed as anything but political.”

Israel’s continued participation represents a stark contrast to how the European Broadcasting Union (EBU), which organizes the contest, handled Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. In 2022, Russia was expelled from Eurovision. Why, many ask, does Israel get to stay?

Last year’s edition, hosted in Malmö, Sweden, was among the most politically fraught in Eurovision’s history. The BDS movement again called for a boycott of the contest, and thousands of protesters took to the streets in opposition to Israel’s participation. The Israeli entry, originally titled “October Rain”—widely interpreted as a reference to the Hamas attacks—was forced to change its name and lyrics after being found to violate Eurovision rules on political neutrality. The final version still prompted boos and protests during rehearsals and live performances. Despite the controversy, strong televote support pushed the entry to a fifth-place finish.

These incidents unfolded against the backdrop of continued European support for Israel—most notably from Germany, the continent’s largest economy and one of Israel’s key arms suppliers—underscoring the uphill battle faced by those who speak out against the country’s actions. While competing in Malmö, Irish contestant Bambie Thug, a vocal supporter of Palestinian rights, accused Israeli broadcaster KAN of inciting violence against them—allegations that were largely ignored by the EBU. Meanwhile, Dutch entrant Joost Klein, also critical of Israel’s participation, was disqualified entirely after an altercation with a crew member backstage.

Last year’s contest was chaotic and polarizing, and many fans hoped that organizers might reassess their stance before 2025. Although the contest made some behind-the-scenes reforms following an investigation by the EBU—including a new Code of Conduct, changes to leadership and the introduction of a “Welfare Producer” to address safety concerns—critics say the broadcasting union is still avoiding addressing the core issue.

“There’s been all this talk about the need for a change and so little talk about why,” said Canadian Eurovision watcher Stuart MacLean in a video posted to his YouTube channel. “It seems like people don’t want to talk about why the environment was so tense backstage or why the audience was booing during a performance.”

Although the BDS movement has yet to call for a boycott this year, the national broadcasters of Iceland, Slovenia and Spain have all urged the EBU to bar Israel. And last week, more than 70 former Eurovision participants signed an open letter demanding Israel’s exclusion. The letter accuses Israeli broadcaster KAN of being “complicit in genocide” and claims that by platforming Israel, the EBU is “whitewashing its crimes.” It also criticizes the EBU’s treatment of other artists last year, saying it gave Israel “total impunity” while “repressing” dissent.

As this year’s contest approaches, it remains to be seen how much of the current geopolitical reality will surface on the Eurovision stage. The competition begins with the first semifinal on May 13, with Israel set to perform in the second semifinal on May 15—two days ahead of the final. All eyes will be on that second semifinal to see whether the EBU resorts once again to its so-called “anti-booing technology” to muffle protests during Israel’s performance. The contest’s flag policy has also changed: while audience members are now allowed to wave flags of non-competing nations—including Palestine—performers are restricted to showing only their national flag, excluding symbols like the Pride flag. These measures suggest the EBU is acutely aware of how politically charged the event could become.

Some argue Eurovision should be a respite—a rare moment of lightness in dark times. But the idea that Eurovision can remain untouched by politics is not just naive—it’s dangerous. When bombs are falling in Gaza, when people are facing arrest and deportation for protesting in European capitals and when the same institutions that excluded Russia make excuses for Israel, the contest becomes complicit. The glitter and glam don’t cover it up—they highlight the hypocrisy. If Eurovision wants to be more than just a glossy distraction, it has to reckon with what and who it includes, and what those decisions say about the values it projects to the world.