Eurovision is supposed to be fun and silly. This year is different.

For taxonomic purposes, Eurovision is an international song contest. Technically, the European Broadcast Union (EBU) created the event in 1956 to foster post-WWII European unity, but has largely expanded beyond that function and Europe itself, with countries like Australia and Israel participating. The closest reference point for people in the US is American Idol, the extremely popular reality television singing contest that once crowned national treasure Kelly Clarkson.

Think: polarizing and sometimes very disparate musical acts from each represented country, a public vote, and a night of live performances, but with the added elements like spooky Austrian comedy and whispers of a rigged vote for Sweden.

Is there any better way to symbolically present peace than getting in costume and singing a silly pop song in a lighthearted musical competition? What if I told you that there is no prize money for the winning country’s band — only bragging rights, a trophy, and national hosting duties for the next Eurovision?

There is absolutely nothing like Eurovision.

With nothing and seemingly everything on the line, Eurovision has become an international spectacle, perhaps the international spectacle aside from the Olympics. It’s a fantasy that both undergirds and undermines everything you think you know about Europe and pop music. But as we gear up for another chapter of ostentatious music acts sing-fighting for zero money, the biggest story heading into this week’s (May 7 to May 11) contest in Malmo, Sweden, threatens that escapist reputation. Protests over Israel’s participation have punctuated the lead-up to the event, with activists asserting that Israel should be barred, given its military assault in Gaza, which has killed tens of thousands.

It’s far from the first time that politics and war have made their mark on the proceedings, but now Eurovision faces a huge question over its existence, its history, and who is and isn’t allowed to take part in a competition that’s supposed to really be about European novelty.

Eurovision can’t be replicated

Eurovision usually bends toward more conventional, meaningful winners like last year’s Loreen (who has won twice), 2016’s Jamala, and 2021’s Måneskin. ABBA and Celine Dion have also won the competition, and are its most famous alums. This year the UK’s Olly Alexander, from the successful pop band Years & Years, seems like a ringer.

But the winners only tell part of Eurovision’s story. Eurovision can feel vaguely psychedelic, which is what makes it a joy to behold. And the contest is at its best when it leans into unmitigated absurdity and the unexpected.

Take, for example, Austria’s 2023 entry: “Who the Hell is Edgar?” by Teya & Salena. The female duo met on Starmania, a talent show in their native country, and wrote “Who The Hell is Edgar?” to address “an industry that all too often doesn’t give women enough credit for their hard work and expertise,” according to the official Eurovision website.

So how did Teya and Salena use their talents to discuss an industry that overlooks the female experience?

“Who the Hell is Edgar?” is about Teya and Salena being possessed by the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe. Yes, that Edgar Allan Poe. Instead of writing another short story like “The Tell-Tale Heart” or “The Raven,” Poe has commandeered their bodies to write a fantastic pop song that they believe will make them rich and famous. At one point in the tune, a spooky pop polka, the two wish that they could wrangle Shakespeare and get him to ghostwrite an even bigger hit. But alas, because it’s so hard to make money in the music business — they sing that they can only make “$0.003” per listen — not even these famous ghosts could make the women stars.

Pop music today doesn’t usually make room for the kind of camp storytelling that characterizes “Who the hell is Edgar?” but it works in Eurovision. There, weirdness and cheekiness is celebrated. This is, after all, a competition that has had entries like DJ BoBo’s “Vampires Are Alive” (Switzerland) and Verka Serduchka’s “Dancing Lasha Tumbai” (Ukraine), a techno-inflected pop-folk number where the performers looked like someone zapped The Wizard of Oz’s Tin Man with a Liberace laser beam:

How Eurovision winners are crowned

As my colleague Zack Beauchamp has previously detailed, voting is split between a popular call-in vote from the public and a jury that consists of music industry professionals from each participating country. Thirty-seven participants will compete in semifinal rounds — beginning on May 7 — in hopes of qualifying for one of the 26 total spots in the grand final on May 11.

Jury voting is like Olympic judging, with each country giving out a maximum of 12 points (and all the way down to one) to the twelve best of the night in the grand finale.

Sometimes, the jury vote — the vote from music professionals — doesn’t exactly coincide with the televote. Last year, the judges picked Loreen from Sweden’s “Tattoo”, while the public selected Käärijä from Finland’s “Cha Cha Cha” as the best of the night. The jury placed Finland fourth, which spawned a conspiracy theory about rigging Sweden’s win so the country could host in 2024, the 50th anniversary of when ABBA won.

The low-ish stakes make for a fun bit of drama, but the disconnect between the jury and the popular vote has led to questions about why the jury votes have as much sway as the millions of calls coming through. Perhaps they shouldn’t; the winner would likely be a little more out of the box if the more conventional jury votes didn’t carry equal weight.

Sweden’s alleged rigging is also not unlike some previous bits of Eurovision history, like the time Switzerland picked noted Canadian Celine Dion to represent the famously neutral country in 1988. Rules at the time did not specify that a singer had to be born in the country they represented, and Dion was a burgeoning star internationally. Dion, of course, won the whole thing.

That said, while Eurovision is a “competition” and a winner is crowned, megastars like ABBA and Dion are exceptional exceptions of Eurovision victors. Eurovision winners don’t usually become worldwide superstars. The list of winners — 1982’s Nicole? 2002’s Marie N? 2006’s Lordi — are probably blue Wikipedia links for normies. That should underscore the idea that Eurovision is really about the entertainment of the night, the stunts, the scintillating swing for the fences, rather than the actual score.

Can Eurovision still be fun this year if the biggest story about Eurovision is Israel-Palestine?

Ahead of the competition in Malmo, the lead-up to Eurovision this year has been a series of protests and proposed boycotts against Israel’s participation in this year’s competition. The gist: Israel should not be allowed to participate in Eurovision because of its continued attacks in Gaza. A country at war shouldn’t perform at an event about unity and peace.

The opposition to Israel’s inclusion — Israel has participated in Eurovision since 1973 — isn’t without precedent. Critics of Israel’s participation point out that just two years ago, Eurovision disallowed Russia in a similar situation.

On February 25, 2022, Eurovision banned Russia a day after its invasion of Ukraine. At the time state broadcasters from participating countries like Iceland, Finland, Norway, and The Netherlands called for Russia’s ban, which the EBU ultimately granted, citing Eurovision’s mission to protect “the values of a cultural competition which promotes international exchange and understanding” and saying that the event “unites Europe on one stage.”

Speaking on the ban, Eurovision’s executive supervisor Martin Österdahl said that Russia’s exclusion was a decision about upholding the core values of democracy and human rights core to the event’s spirit. “When we say we are not political, what we always should stand up for are the basic and ultimate values of democracy. Everyone is right to be who they are,” he said in December 2022.

Since then, Russia has suspended its EBU membership and has not returned to the competition.

Earlier this year, more than 1,000 Swedish artists called for Israel’s ban. Similarly, Finnish and Icelandic musicians have also called on Eurovision to block Israel’s entry, stating that by allowing their participation “a country that commits war crimes and continues a military occupation is given a public stage to polish its image in the name of music.” Fans are also making pleas to Eurovision participants not to compete this year because of Israel’s participation, and Sweden has ramped up security in anticipation of protests.

Yet, the ongoing protests and calls for action haven’t convinced the EBU or Eurovision organizers. A young singer named Eden Golan will represent Israel and sing “Hurricane.” The song’s original rejected title was “October Rain,” a not-so-veiled reference to the October 7 Hamas attacks. EBU officials rejected the title and asked Israel to alter the song before re-entry.

“I think it’s important for Israel to appear in Eurovision, and this is also a statement because there are haters who try to drive us off every stage,” Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, said in February. Before altering its lyrics, Israel had threatened to withdraw from the competition.

According to EBU Director General Noel Curran, Eurovision is a competition between international broadcasters and not the countries themselves. “It is not a contest between governments,” he said, adding that though the EBU and Eurovision made a decision on Russia, it was not going to do so for Israel.

“Comparisons between wars and conflicts are complex and difficult and, as a non-political media organization, not ours to make,” he said.

While Curran insists that the contest will be apolitical, its actions might not be interpreted as such. Palestinian flags will not be allowed at the competition nor will any pro-Palestinian symbols or signs referring to Israel and Hamas’s war. The Israeli flag will be allowed because it’s a member state and only participants’ flags are permitted, with the exception being rainbow and LGBTQ flags.

During the first semifinal on Tuesday, Swedish guest performer Eric Saade wore a keffiyeh — a Palestinian and Arab symbol — on his wrist during his live performance. Saade is of Palestinian descent. Organizers reprimanded Saade, stating: “The Eurovision Song Contest is a live TV show. All performers are made aware of the rules of the Contest, and we regret that Eric Saade chose to compromise the non-political nature of the event.”

Saade responded, telling Swedish network STV that the ban on Palestinian flags and symbols like the keffiyeh is racist:

I got that scarf from my dad as a little boy, to never forget where the family comes from. I didn’t know then that it one day would be called a ‘political symbol’. That’s like calling the Dala horse a political symbol. To my eyes, it’s nothing but racism. I just wanted to be inclusive and carry something that’s real to me – but EBU seems to think that my ethnicity is controversial. That says nothing about me, but everything about them. I repeat this year’s Eurovision Song Contest slogan: United by music.

The rules of what’s allowed to be shown and who’s allowed to support whom make for a jumbled message. Obviously no one expected Eurovision to solve the crisis in the Middle East. But in an attempt to appear apolitical and actively not reference the bloodshed, Eurovision organizers have made their decisions difficult to ignore and this event even harder to enjoy.

Update May 8, 11: 53 am: This piece was originally published on May 7 and has been updated with EBU’s reprimand of Swedish guest performer Eric Saade’s for wearing a keffiyeh.