Two years ago, after the Malmö farce, here in the Brussels Signal comment pages, we issued a warning. We argued that the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) had defenestrated artistic meritocracy, turning a historic song contest into a vehicle for radical ideological indoctrination. We called for a return to sanity and for the comeback of a feel-good event that put singing, rather than progressive polemics, back at the centre of attention.
Last weekend, the 70th anniversary contest in Vienna suggested that the message might finally be sinking in. For the first time in years, the aggressive, in-your-face display of woke aesthetics and diversity box-ticking felt seriously toned down. The question we must ask ourselves is simple: Have the organisers finally returned to their senses, or have we simply become so desensitised to the spectacle that the madness no longer makes an impression?
The truth is a mixture of both, combined with a heavy dose of geopolitical reality. The main reason the cultural engineers dialled back the ideological volume in Vienna was pure survival. The EBU found itself staring into an abyss of its own making. With five nations completely boycotting the event and deep political rifts threatening the very transmission of the show, the organisers simply could not afford to add fuel to the flame of culture wars.
When a building is structurally compromised, you stop redecorating the lobby. Faced with empty green rooms and a polarised public, the producers retreated to what Eurovision was always supposed to be: A song contest. They realised that pushing a hyped up, progressive agenda on steroids onto an already fractured audience can turn out to be a recipe for institutional – and therefore commercial – suicide. Therefore they returned to factory settings.
The proof of this retreat is evident on the scoreboard. The victory of Bulgaria’s Dara with Bangaranga was a victory for tradition over transgression. It was a high-energy anthem rooted deeply in local folklore dance and traditional costumes. The rest of the top five was dominated not by avant-garde gender-bending, but by traditional rock from Romania, a classic beat from Australia and a disco ballad from Italy in the tradition of San Remo dolce vita. Men and women kissed on stage and the televoting applauded. We are so back.
So, the European public did not vote for a lecture. They voted for songs. Of course, we cannot ignore the desensitisation factor. There is no doubt that our taste and tolerances have been systematically altered by decades of boundary-pushing performances. What would have caused a continent-wide scandal ten years ago is now dismissed as standard Eurovision flair. We have, to a certain extent, grown used to the establishment of progressive culture.
But tolerance is not the same as endorsement. The pivot in Vienna signals that the progressive LGBTQ+, DEI, no borders momentum may have hit its natural ceiling. When the cultural elite is forced to rely on traditional folklore, boy-meets-girl narratives and standard pop formulas to keep their flagship show afloat, it is an admission that the project of cultural re-engineering has failed to critically replace standard social norms.
Europeans are tired of being indoctrinated by public broadcasters while the continent faces actual, existential crises. The retreat from the aggressive woke agenda in Vienna shows that even the most militant media elites can alter course when their survival depends on it. Last weekend, they finally remembered that Eurovision used to be a good time built on the glamour of beautiful women, handsome men and sparkling melodies.
The 70th anniversary was a step back toward that safer, more authentic spectacle so many generations learned to love. It brought Europe’s diverse cultural heritage back into the spotlight -especially with entries like Albania and Croatia. It brought good old straight love and romance back to the forefront. As for the lesson, it is clear: The circus was forced to sober up, as the era of progressive despotism is in retreat. Still, we need to make sure that the clowns do not forget the hangover.
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