Tuesday 9 May 2017

State and spectacle: post-Soviet states’ construction of a European identity through Eurovision

(This is a redrafted version of an academic essay, with citations and references removed for ease of reading. Please don't sue me.)

The European Broadcasting Union created the Eurovision Song Contest in 1956 to strengthen the cultural development of a European soul.  At its most basic, Eurovision is a contest between European nations to write and perform the best original pop song every year, judged and scored by each other. However, from its origin, Eurovision was guided by political strategies, namely the creation of the EU by six leading Western states, the strengthening of Western initiatives through an increasing number of participant states and, finally (in the 1990s), the presence of newly-founded former USSR and Yugoslav states.

European identity can best be identified in a constructivist framework, where Eurovision serves as a platform from which a European identity and European values are socially and culturally constructed, as opposed to describing a European identity that exists as a top-down political entity. Benedict Anderson, in Imagined Communities, asserts that the origins of nationalism is socially and culturally constructed, and not self-evident. In this light, post-Soviet states use Eurovision as a strategy to construct a national narrative that attempts to identify themselves as, first, independent, and second, European.

There are three processes at work here, examined below: first, Eurovision allows a state to present a preferred identity of European values to itself and its citizens through popular nationalist iconographies; second, the state then has the opportunity to present and amplify this preferred identity to the rest of Europe; third, by adopting the European values embraced by Eurovision, they become a member of an inclusive Europeanness that Eurovision sponsors.  

We will also briefly examine the antagonistic relationship between Ukraine and Russia, as expressed through 15 years of Eurovision participation, particularly looking at how Ukraine, more than any other post-Soviet state, frequently builds its identity formation process in Eurovision by means of interaction against the ‘other’, the other here being, of course, Russia.

Constructing identity as a self-referential image
Ruslana. Copyright Wiwibloggs, 2004
Ukraine’s entry into the 2004 ESC was the singer Ruslana with the song “Wild Dances”. The notes that accompanied the entry began, “In the very heart of Europe, in the majestic Kingdom of the Carpathian Mountains, there lives an ancient culture that possesses unique mystic rituals…”. Here is a perfect example of the dual strategy that post-Soviet states harness in order to construct, for a native audience, a national post-Soviet identity as an independent European country: first, by deliberately placing themselves “in the very heart of Europe”, Ukraine are deploying an identity process that uses Eurovision as a chance to prove that they imaginatively belong to a larger European community which had for years placed them on the periphery. Second, states harness nationalist folklorist musical styles and narratives to create new myths and traditions. Governments of post-Soviet states harness the notion of continuity that these folklores provide and the notion of change with those the new myths, without making them contradictory, and constructed within the social and historical framework.

The process of constructing a tradition must be viewed as one of ‘essentialisation’, a process that includes in a new identity desirable iconographies, but omits other, possibly politically inconvenient, narratives. This essentialising of Eurovision performances by post-Soviet states has become a frequent event, as witnessed by Ukraine’s entry with Ruslana and the accompanying story of the artist uniting “the mysteries of the mountains with a new energy and power”. 


This new narrative amplifies a national tradition through folklorism – the memory of societies handed to each generation through stories, song and dance - and celebrates the new performance as a normative display of its Europeanness.

‘The politico-cultural issues addressed inside the short-lived discursive space emerging around Eurovision are superimposed on existing discourses, but dissolve within a short period of time, with each intensive round adding a new layer of sediment to public debates and social imaginaries’ (Christensen and Christensen).

Indeed, the Eurovision Song Contest is seen by post-Soviet states as an opportunity to present this new norm – independent Europeanness - to its own population.

Presenting identity to Europe
Ich Troje. Copyright, Youtube, 2003.
Eurovision also strikingly and most persuasively allows new states to announce their chosen narrative to the European continent. Eurovision is seen, simply, as a means for Central and Eastern states to “return” to Europe after Communism’. Like Ukraine’s “In the very heart of Europe…”, the 2003 Polish Eurovision entry Ich Troje appeared onstage with his hair dyed the colours of the Polish flag, singing the song “No Borders” (“Keine Grenzen-Žadnych granic”) that celebrated the 2003 Treaty of Ascension that saw Poland entering the European Union, serving both to signify to the Polish people their new independent European identity and to announce itself to its new European family.

Such is the importance that post-Soviet states place on the impact of Eurovision, Azerbaijan, Estonia and Moldova made winning the competition national policy in the early 2000s.  A byproduct of the strategic importance placed on Eurovision has seen former-Soviet states grow in domination in the competition and, consequently, grow in the regional discourse of Europeanness. Through Eurovision, being a mass cultural event, the peripheral states earn their central place in European cultural consciousness by defeating this imagination, and shifting the balance of power in their favour. Seven of the past 16 Eurovision contests have been won by a country from the former-Soviet Union.

If one of the main goals in the construction of a new national identity is to create a national culture (the system of common values and expectations) and define an identification depending on the newly created, then hosting Eurovision, with an annual global audience of over 400 million presents states with an enormous opportunity.

Ukraine's 2005 Eurovision entry Green Jolly, with Orange
Revolution Ukraine President Viktor Yushchenko
Copyright ABC, 2005
Eurovision is hosted by the previous year’s winners, and hosting offers a state the opportunity to represent itself to Europe through the “master narrative” it attaches to the entire show, through, for example, a variety of 30-second filmed ‘postcards’ showcasing the host city, shown to the TV audience before each new song. Eurovision allows states to project a pro-European identity to the rest of the continent, putting the local on show for the global. Returning to the Ukraine (not for the first or last time), hosting the 2005 contest in Kiev after their 2004 victory, the contest became an almost instantaneous commemoration of the Orange Revolution’, a popular protest that saw the Russian-backed President Viktor Yanukovich ousted in favour of the democratic party of Viktor Yushchenko, an event that set a major new landmark in the post-communist history of eastern Europe, a seismic shift Westward in the geopolitics of the region. The Ukrainian song entry that year worked in harmony to reinforce an overarching narrative of Ukraine entering European (post-)modernity. Russia’s response to anti-Russian protest, attempts at Europeanness, and its attitude to Eurovision, is examined below.

The European family
The third construction strategy that a post-Soviet state harnesses through Eurovision is the supposed sponsorship of the pan-European community, as reflected in its cultural and socio-political values. The Eurovision Song Contest is an arena for European identity, in which both national solidarity and participation in European identity is. This view exposes Eurovision’s usefulness in two definite roles; first, as reflecting a grand European narrative in which post-Soviet states are eager to participate; second, supporting the essay’s opening statement that Eurovision is guided by political strategies, the increase in Eastern European participation has exposed Eurovision’s political dimensions as a discursive tool in defining Europenness or striving for Europeanisation. This may also be true for Western countries, of course, but it is especially true for the transitional countries in the 1990s and 2000s, where Europe represented (or still represents) a cultural phantasm par excellence in most public discourses, which was one of the central catalysts of the post-Soviet nation (re-)building.

We can even go so far as to compare Eurovision to international sporting events, as both focus issues of national identity and prestige in an international setting. To recently independent countries, emerging from the shadow of the USSR, Eurovision, like sporting events, is viewed as affirmation of statehood; the country has been recognised as a legitimate state. Eurovision has become not just a mirror but perhaps a driver of changing conceptions and realities of Europe and Europeanness since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Russia and Ukraine
Jamala. Copyright BBC TV, 2016
A common strategy employed by states in identity construction is to identify an external, politically useful ‘threat’ that a new identity can by described against. In new post-Soviet republics, nationalist identities are built as much as a backlash against Russia than on a strong historic pattern of national identity. Several times this backlash has surfaced in Eurovision over the past 20 years, almost exclusively between two countries. Ukraine has repeatedly voiced veiled (and not so veiled) anti-Russian protests through their Eurovision entries, most noticeably in 2005, 2007, and last year in 2016 (Jamala, 1944, believed to be about the Stalinist violent expulsion of Crimean Tatars during the Second World War). For its part, Russia has occasionally attempted to construct its own post-Soviet European identity through Eurovision, but often their entries reflect an opposition to Europe and Europeanness, building instead a narrative towards a romantic construction of a Soviet Union of brotherly love for all its constituent parts. Russian involvement in the ESC is ideologically coopted by political elites, and the identity put forward is made of nostalgia for a glorious Soviet past.

The mixed narratives behind Russia’s Eurovision entries since the collapse of the USSR reflects a country struggling to locate a new identity, reminding us that Russia’s identity as a European nation remains contested both inside and outside Russia. At the 2010 Eurovision in Moscow, for instance, the Russian entry did not underscore the country’s integration into Europe, but rather its opposition to it. Russia’s general attitude to Eurovision can perhaps best be summed up by Russian journalist Artemii Troitskii. In explaining his country’s defeat in 2009, Troitskii mused over whether the Russian authorities did not recognise that in Eurovision, ‘the accent is on the ‘euro’, and that those same euro-values differ decisively from our Russian values’.

Conclusion
Since its debut in 1956, the Eurovision Song Contest has represented one of the most consistently silly recurring spectacles on television. Undoubtedly. However, in amongst the silliness is a process that reflects the evolution of Europe and Europeanness, and in the 1990s and 2000s a chance for a host of countries to say hello to Europe as an independent country for the first time in half a century

(28m 26. At the height of the Bosnian conflict after the collapse of Yugoslavia, for the first time ever the Eurovision host hands over to the jury of the one-year-old independent nation of Bosnia for their scores...)

A contest that may seem trivial gives a particular relevant case for studying the construction of national identity. This argument exposes one of the paradoxes of the concept of ‘the nation’ described in Anderson’s Imagined Communities: ‘The formal universality of nationality as a social-cultural concept – in the modern world everyone can, should, will ‘have’ a nationality, as he or she ‘has’ a gender vs the irremediable particularity of its concrete manifestations, such that, by definition, ‘Greek’ nationality is sui generis’. Under communism, the individual states did not stand unique or independent. But, through Eurovision, these states are now expressing, presenting and amplifying their individual nationality as a social-cultural concept, harnessing the competition as an arena in which participating nations stage their relationship to an idealised vision of Europeanness and articulate new models of self-representation. In this light, it is no wonder at all that post-Soviet states, leaning hopefully towards Europe, would want to be a part of Eurovision. The Western, more ironic stance towards the competition (as perfected by the British attitude for over two decades), with its camp ideology, is opposed to the more strategic attitude of the Eastern European participants.

Eurovision represents more than a camp festival of diversity and a glittering celebration of inclusiveness, as if that wasn’t enough. To some states, emerging from half a century of brutal occupation, it was and remains a precious nation-building tool in the journey towards a new, brighter future.



Christensen, M., Christensen, C., 2008. The After-Life of Eurovision 2003: Turkish and European Social Imaginaries and Ephemeral Communicative Space. Popular Communication (Online), 6(3), pp. 155 – 172. 

Monday 6 February 2017

Beautiful Berlin (part 2)

There’s something wonderful about the toilet walls of Berlin bars. Not for our Teutonic friends barely legible marker pen scratchings about the size of someone’s genitals or errant phone numbers promising untold sexual pleasures. Maybe it’s that Berliners are all too acutely aware of history, or maybe it’s just a place where Berlin men take the time out a toilet break affords and reflect on the state of the world. Either way, it's always worth having a good look around the walls and ceiling as you're spending a pen- spending a cent in a Berlin bar's public toilet.

Having said that, I did have some difficulty with public lavs in Germany. The confusion lies in the names, you see: Herron (Gents), and Damen (Ladies). Here's the problem: Herron contains the word ‘Her’, and Damen contains the word ‘men’. Now, how is my booze-addled brain to cope with that as I lurched towards the toilets at some ungodly time in the evening/morning?

Anyway, here are a few of my favourites found at various times on the walls of Herron across Berlin. 

(See here for Beautiful Berlin, Part 1)

I really miss Berlin. See you soon, old friend.


If for no other reason...



'They put a helmet on your head and a rifle in your hands and send you off to kill your brother in his native land, and I say LAY YOUR WEAPONS DOWN.'
'We can't go on this way, oh no! It's really up to us now, comrades. We can make it happen...Gotta put an end to war today!'


                             

Of course. And why wouldn't you have pictures of Leon Trotsky and Rosa Luxemburg going to the toilet, on the doors of your toilets?



'YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL.'
'Not so bad yerself.''
Love that someone actually replied, too. Just a great big love-in in this toilet.



'Give DARKNESS no chance.'



This reminds me of my old Hackney Green Party comrade who was seen on TV during the 2009 Copenhagen climate change summit using his bike as a shield/weapon as the Danish police were laying into protesters.



'The AfD is Racist.'
(AfD: Alternative for Deutschland - basically the German version of UKIP, only these bozos don't bother to cloak their latent racism.)



This wasn't a toilet wall, but including here in keeping with the spirit. Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg is the radical leftwing area of Berlin. The Greens basically run the show, representing this area in the Berlin Parliament.



'Nazis, you piss off! This is our quarter!'






'Football is when twenty-two men get behind a ball, and at the end, the Germans always win', Gary Lineker. Ahem...



Again, not from a toilet wall, but I love this, spotted in Dresden, and a lovely way to finish this post.

For more, see here for Beautiful Berlin, Part 1

Sunday 5 February 2017

Rock and roll Jesus

God is a concept by which we measure our pain.

John Lennon killed religion for me. In truth, he saved me the bother of doing it myself. I had been sent to a Church of England primary school, a midweek church group and church-run Sunday school, maybe hoping for the best. But when Dad leant in conspiratorially one teenage day and handed over Lennon's John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, Lennon's first post-Beatles solo album, the world I had had built for me by other people – parents, school, church – crumbled. Like my own acerbic Toto, Lennon pulled back the curtain, but instead of a small man pulling levers, there was nothing. The destruction of religion left a hole where my soul should have been.

Raised on a baby boomer rock and roll diet, music was already as much a part of me as my parents' DNA. I don't remember, for example, hearing Sgt Pepper's for the first time; as much as I've just always known that the sky is blue, I’ve just always known that she's leaving home to meet a man from the motor trade, how many holes it takes to fill the House of Lords, and, of course, Henry the horse dances the waltz.

John Lennon turned me into a teenage sceptic. He created me by tearing me down, and he left my soul on fire, embers burning in the rubble. Lennon took a sledgehammer to the walls, but then stepped aside as something new, all brooding, righteous contempt, swaggered in with petrol canisters. The shock of the new arrived at the perfect time for a teenage boy searching dark corners for a music, a culture, a communion of his own.

Britpop, gyrating, menacing, often androgynous, fun, a mischievous nod to the peerless paternal music collection, a celebratory antidote to the dominant US grunge, a particularly miserable stodge of Americana that, as Stephen Patrick sang, gladiola swaying languidly from his jeans' back pocket, said nothing to me about my life. I watched ‘The Word’ in 1994, open-mouthed, as the Grim Brothers, standing wilfully stock-still, glaring straight at me down the East Lancs Road and directly into my wide eyes, created a new wall of noise like nothing I had ever heard before, and thought, 'So THIS is what music sounds like.' Definitely Maybe made us feel 10 feet tall: we might belong in the gutter, but hang on long enough and we'll flow into the wide open sea.

At the same time as Oasis were stamping me with a new take-no-prisoners attitude, the Boo Radleys were writing the manifesto. Martin Carr’s devastating declaration on Four Saints - I believe in love - meant to me an Eden more than a childhood of Bible stories and moralistic teachings. Laugh if you must, he dares us, laugh if you must. I don't care. I just don't care: a warning to an impressionable teenage boy building his moral kaleidoscope; a warning to mind the shrieking cynics and to kick back against the pricks that will surely come to shake his faith; an ideology with which to start rebuilding. Then, a call-to-arms, in Find the Answer Within. He really means it, too, looking us straight in the eye, daring us to disobey: The world is at your feet. Try and make something happen. A get-your-stupid-arse-out-of-bed-and-do-something-spectacular shotgun blast that shook a working class boy from Merseyside into full self-consciousness; sitting on the banks of the Mersey in the dull dawn light, with every repeated Walkman play the Boo Radleys rebuilding in their own image what John Lennon tore down, watching cargo ships steam past towards the Irish sea and into the waiting world and everything in it, everything in it.

There was no room for God here, nor room for doubt or loss of nerve. Over time, relationships let me down, books and films delivered hollow promises, a succession of jobs left me adrift. Decisions were made, without apology, based simply on wether the outcome would hold The Jam’s voraciously capitalist Burning Sky at bay, or whether The Libertines would give their blessings. No heavenly influence could ever hold rank more than when Hope of the States demanded Stand up, be counted, no-one’s buying me, and Keep your friends close; your enemies won't matter in the end. In the paranoia and fury of the 2003 Iraq War, Conor Oberst’s quiet pacifist denunciation in There’s boys playing guns in the street, one's pointing his tree branch at me, so I put my hands up, say 'enough is enough', if you walk away I'll walk away, and Matt Bellamy pleading It’s time we saw a miracle was everything I needed to know about where right and wrong lay. I became an committed atheist searching for redemption in God’s kingdom, but the closest I’ll ever get to heaven now is by injecting Spiritualized into my broken heart and letting their angels take me.

And while my Dad had Beatles and the Stones and Paul Simon, Neil Young is mine, reclaimed and remoulded as a sage for our terrifying new world, a messenger from previous turmoil, whispering the wisdom of Zues in our ear, bullwhip lashes on his back still weeping. Sure, tattoo Hey hey, my my onto my skin for cavalier in approach and courage in dark times, but the scripture for the age is tattooed into the fabric of the new world: I join the multitudes. I raise my hand in peace. I never bow to the laws of the thought police. I take a holy vow to never kill again.

And now. Pushing 40. The kaleidoscope still turns, each year erupting into new cosmic colours. The Boos and the rest still unconsciously influence every decision. The scepticism Lennon taught me still keeps me on the straight and the narrow. But...but...The fires fuelled by rock and roll still burn with a furious intensity but, in these older, greyer days, choices taken are now more often in wisdom and not anymore in furious righteousness, and when that happens I struggle to ignore the idealistic disappointment from down the decades. But, then, as John said, life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. 

Amen to that, Brother.