The Eurovision we once knew just isn't the one we fell in love with
For seventy years, Eurovision has served as Europe's great communal ritual — a space where music, identity, and belonging converge across borders. This year in Vienna, that ritual is strained by the weight of a distant war: Spain, Ireland, and others have withdrawn over Israel's participation, citing a conflict that has claimed tens of thousands of lives since October 2023. The contest proceeds nonetheless, its sold-out halls and empty broadcast slots existing in uneasy tension — a mirror of a continent that cannot agree on where culture ends and conscience begins.
- Spain and Ireland, among Eurovision's most storied participants, have pulled out entirely — leaving the contest without some of its largest financial backers and most passionate national followings.
- The Gaza conflict's death toll, now exceeding 72,000 according to Hamas health authorities, has made Israel's presence on a celebratory stage feel unconscionable to many fans and governments alike.
- Last year's Israeli entry became a flashpoint when Netanyahu's government openly campaigned for public votes, shattering the contest's carefully maintained fiction of political neutrality.
- Fan communities — long the emotional and commercial backbone of Eurovision — are fractured, with some sites suspending coverage entirely and others urging a middle path of partial engagement.
- Despite broadcaster withdrawals and moral anguish, all nine Vienna finals sold out at record speed, suggesting the contest's pull on its devoted audience has not yet broken — only complicated.
Vienna is hosting the 70th Eurovision Song Contest this Sunday, complete with a turquoise carpet parade and 35 competing nations. But the milestone arrives under a cloud. Spain, Ireland, and several other countries have withdrawn over Israel's inclusion — a rupture that has left the fan community divided and uncertain.
The controversy is rooted in the October 2023 Hamas attack that killed roughly 1,200 Israelis and took 251 hostage, and in Israel's subsequent military campaign in Gaza, which has killed over 72,000 people according to Hamas health authorities. A ceasefire took hold in late 2025, but the wounds have not healed. At last year's contest, Israeli contestant Yuval Raphael performed amid protests — two demonstrators rushed the stage during her performance — and her song topped the public vote before jury scores placed her second. The result was further inflamed when it emerged that Prime Minister Netanyahu's government had used official channels to solicit votes for her, a striking intrusion into what is meant to be an apolitical event.
When a vote on Israel's participation failed at a November meeting, Spain and Ireland announced their withdrawal. For fans who had loved the contest for decades, the decision prompted genuine grief. Some fan sites have gone dark entirely. The team behind Eurovision Hub wrote that the contest they once knew no longer exists.
Others are searching for a middle path. Eurovision scholar Dean Vuletic notes that the contest carries deep meaning for LGBTQ+ communities and others who find belonging in its margins — making a clean break painful. He acknowledges the difficulty: sadness, anger, and loss are all present in the community at once.
And yet the tickets sold out. The grand final's seats were gone in 14 minutes. Eurovision's director called it a testament to the contest's enduring spirit. But longtime fans describe the atmosphere as apprehensive rather than joyful. Austria's broadcaster has confirmed it will not ban Palestinian flags or silence audience booing, but Spanish, Slovenian, and Irish broadcasters will carry no coverage at all. Vuletic draws comfort from history — Moscow in 2009, Azerbaijan in 2012 — arguing that Eurovision has always had to navigate its political context. The fans, he says, have always kept coming. This year, they will arrive carrying more than they ever have before.
Vienna is preparing to host the 70th Eurovision Song Contest this Sunday, with a turquoise carpet parade and competitors from all 35 nations. But the milestone celebration arrives shadowed by the most divisive political row the contest has faced in years. Spain, Ireland, and several other countries have withdrawn over Israel's participation—a decision that has left the fan community fractured and uncertain how to proceed.
The controversy traces back to October 2023, when Hamas launched an attack that killed roughly 1,200 Israelis and resulted in 251 people taken hostage. Israel's military response in Gaza has been devastating. According to the Hamas-led health authority, the offensive has killed 72,628 people. A ceasefire agreement took effect in October 2025, but the scars remain raw. Last year, when Israeli contestant Yuval Raphael performed at Eurovision, she had rehearsed for being booed. During the final, two protesters rushed the stage as she sang. Her song, New Day Will Rise, unexpectedly topped the public vote—though she ultimately placed second after the jury scores were tallied.
What made that result explosive was the revelation that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's government had used official social media channels to urge followers to vote for her, an extraordinary intervention in what is meant to be an apolitical cultural event. When several countries called for a vote on Israel's participation at a November meeting, the proposal failed. Spain, one of Eurovision's largest financial backers, and Ireland, a seven-time winner, announced their withdrawal. The decision left fans in genuine distress about whether to participate in an event they had loved for decades.
Eurovision exists in an unusual relationship with its audience. Fan websites and blogs occupy the same press center as the BBC and the New York Times. These sites post year-round coverage of contestants, staging, voting predictions, and rehearsals. Dean Vuletic, author of a book on Eurovision and postwar Europe, notes that fans are the commercial engine of the contest—they buy tickets, merchandise, and sustain the industry through their loyalty. But some fan sites have suspended coverage entirely. The team behind Eurovision Hub, a cross-continental fan page, wrote that the contest they once knew and loved no longer exists.
Others have tried to navigate a middle path. Vuletic points out that Eurovision carries profound meaning beyond music—it is deeply linked to LGBTQ+ identity and, less visibly, to neurodiversity and community belonging. For conflicted fans, he outlined options ranging from complete boycott to watching the build-up and withdrawing before Vienna. "This isn't an easy situation for anyone," he said. "Many people in the community are feeling a mix of sadness, anger, and loss."
Yet the tickets tell a different story. All nine final events in Vienna sold out in record time. The grand final's seats vanished in 14 minutes. Eurovision's director, Martin Green, called it a powerful reminder of what the contest represents: joy, togetherness, and shared experience. But the reality is more complicated. One longtime fan and podcaster described the atmosphere as no longer purely fun—it now carries a sense of apprehension and nervous anticipation. Marcos Maximillian Tritremmel, president of Austria's Eurovision fan club, remembers the 2024 contest in Malmö as the worst it had been, with heightened security and backstage tensions. He understands the protesters' objections to Israel's presence, but being yelled at entering a concert hall—accused of supporting genocide—crosses a line.
Vuletic argues that Eurovision has weathered political storms before. He recalls Moscow in 2009, when police violently dispersed a gay pride rally timed to the contest, and Azerbaijan in 2012, when a dictatorship hosted the event while suppressing dissent. Swedish winner Loreen made a point of meeting local activists and speaking about human rights violations. "The media tends to sensationalize the current moment," Vuletic says, "but we've always had to navigate the political context. And the fans have always kept coming, no matter what." Austria's broadcaster has confirmed it will not ban Palestinian flags or censor audience booing. But broadcasters in Spain, Slovenia, and Ireland will not air any coverage, and viewership is expected to decline. The fans who remain will be watching with more trepidation than ever before.
Citações Notáveis
The Eurovision we once knew, that shaped this community and inspired us to create this channel, just isn't the one we fell in love with all those years ago— Eurovision Hub fan site
The fans have always kept coming, no matter what— Dean Vuletic, Eurovision historian
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does Eurovision matter so much to people that they're willing to stay despite all this?
It's not just about the songs. For a lot of people, especially LGBTQ+ folks and neurodivergent communities, Eurovision is one of the few places where they feel genuinely seen and celebrated. It's a space where difference is the whole point.
But doesn't that make the political conflict harder to bear?
Absolutely. You're caught between something that's given you joy and belonging, and a moral position you can't ignore. Some people are just walking away. Others are trying to stay because they believe the contest can still bring people together.
The government promoting a contestant—that's unprecedented, isn't it?
It's shocking, yes. Eurovision is supposed to be above politics. When a prime minister's office starts campaigning for votes, it breaks something fundamental about what the contest is supposed to be.
Do you think it will survive this?
Probably. Eurovision has hosted contests in countries with serious human rights problems before. But this feels different because the conflict is so immediate and the fan community is so invested. The question isn't whether Eurovision survives—it's whether it survives with the same meaning it once had.
What about the people going to Vienna anyway?
They're not ignoring the politics. They're making a choice that the contest, despite everything, still represents something worth preserving. But they're going with dread, not excitement.