Lyrics, nationalism and gay pride - (Moscow News: Putin)
It was one triumph amongst many for Russia in 2008. Dima Bilan's winning entry in last year's Eurovision song contest brought Russia its first Eurovision win since the country made its debut in the struggle in 1994. But Eurovision's arrival in Moscow has brought tensions with Georgia, internal acrimony at home, and a potential showdown between gay rights activists and the authorities.
One of the awards for winning Eurovision is the honour of hosting the following year's contest. That is the kind of contrast that makes hotel owners very happy, and gives tin-pot dictatorships what they see as an opening to burnish their name abroad.
And while the politic value of hosting the world's most cringe-worthy kitsch fest may be dubious, the anticipated influx of gay fans will certainly give Moscow and its Mayor Yury Luzhkov an moment to dispel an undesirable stature for homophobia and sexism.
Not that the signs are encouraging. Although gay rights groups are purposeful to hold a series of events over the several days of the contest, including a march on the day of the final, Luzhkov, who has banned every gay pride march in the city since 2005, has explicitly warned against any such action.
But neither side seems keen in giving in.
"The fact that Eurovision is going to take place in Moscow this year gives us an moment to raise this issue on a higher political level both in Russia and in Europe," said Nikolai Alexeyev, the organizer of the gay rights movement Moscow Pride. "We are going to apply to the authorities for acquiescence, as we have done for the last three years. The law does not allow the Moscow authorities to ban this event."
And those are not the only tensions converging on the Olimpiisky Stadium as it is prepared for a four-day festival of camp silliness (the grand final will be held on May 16, but the semis are scheduled for May 12 and 14).
The Georgian entry, "We Don't Wanna Put In" by Stefane & 3G, has raised smiles in Europe and apoplectic fury in Russia with its clumsy but unmistakeable pun on the Russian prime minister's surname. And now Russians are fighting amongst themselves over the selection of a Ukrainian, Anastasia Prikhodko, to represent Russia.
The Georgian saga threatened to cause rare awkwardness on the night, as it was unclear whether Channel 1, the comically sycophantic state broadcaster that is to broadcast the show, would allow it to be shown.
The potential abashment (Eurovision is often marred by obvious political voting from the public, but the songs themselves have seldom caused confrontation) may have been nipped in the bud by the European Broadcasting Union (EBU), which on Tuesday ruled that the Georgian entry breached its rules on political lyrics or gestures. Faced with a choice of changing the lyrics or the song, the Georgian contestants on Wednesday evening announced that they were pulling out of the contest.
After last summer's war, the Georgian flippancy was almost to be expected. They had from the beginning planned to boycott the event in protest, and the light-hearted and not entirely lucid protest song is hardly bellicose.
The unsettled chorus, "We don't wanna put in, the negative mood, it's killing the groove" is neither confrontational nor obscene.
To judge by the reaction of some elements of the Russian society one might think the Sex Pistols had produced a rendition of the Russian national anthem.
And if nationalist passions had not been incensed enough by Stefane and 3G, last weekend's selection of the Russian entry proved if anything more divisive.
It is not just that Prikhodko is Ukrainian. Her song ("Mamo") has Russian lyrics and a Ukrainian chorus. And to add insult to injury, she was rejected by the Ukrainian selection board. So Russia will be represented by a foreigner, singing in a foreign language, and who wasn't good enough for her own country.
There are, naturally, egos at stake here, as well as Russian pride.
Valeriya, the Russian pop singer who Prikhodko beat into second place, is said to have stormed off the set when the selection contest results, broadcast on Channel 1, were announced. And the most outspoken critic of the decision has been Iosif Prigozhin, her producer and husband, who called the decision a "disgrace," declaring that "a song performed in Ukrainian has nothing in common with Russia," and that he could not agree with it "either as a producer or a citizen of Russia."
And he is not alone. The ultranationalist Liberal Democratic Party (LDPR) faction in the State Duma weighed into the row on Wednesday, claiming that Prikhodko's candidacy damaged national prestige.
"It is not even that she is a citizen of another state, although by itself this causes annoyance among our voters, but the fact is that she is known for her extreme right-wing nationalist views," LDPR faction leader Igor Lebedev told the Duma, RIA Novosti reported.
The faction tabled a motion for the Duma Culture Committee to ascertain the legality of her candidacy, but it is doubtful that it will get very far.
She probably won because she had the better song; she won the popular vote fair and square, taking 25 per cent, and took six votes from the 11 member expert jury. Channel 1 has defended the legality of the vote.
There is another way of looking at this, of course. The song isn't bad (that's not to say it is good - this is Eurovision, after all), and if anything, as Yury Aksyuta, Channel 1's director of Music Programming told RIA Novosti, it should be welcomed for sending a message of unity between former Soviet countries.
"Nastya - from Ukraine, became a singer in Russia, performed the song in two languages, written by a composer of Georgian citizenship, and co-authored by an Estonian," he told RIA Novosti. "The cosmopolitan cocktail reflects not only the views of the majority of Russian citizens, but will certainly welcomed by the organisers of Eurovision, whose main goal is to unite the European peoples through pop music."
And that is a nice thought. One reason for Prikhodko's disqualification in Ukraine was that she was singing in Russian. 3G have come under fire for playing up to national divisions. Could Russia actually seize the moral high ground, and prove it is a place of tolerance and unity?
Not according to Moscow's police chief, Vladimir Pronin. On Friday, he reiterated Luzhkov's hard line on gay pride marches, telling Interfax that gay pride parades were improper, homosexuality was unnatural, and that "Russia is a patriarchal society, and that about sums it up."
But he may be missing the tide. Alexeyev reckons the objection to gay pride marches has fallen dramatically in recent years, from several thousand counter-protestors at the first unsanctioned march in 2006 to just 50 last year.
He even reckons there is some sympathy amongst the police.
"I have had a lot of contact with the police, at all levels. I've talked to the deputy police chief about marches, and I've been arrested twice. And they have always told me the same thing - they are ready to cooperate with us, it just a matter of political will," he said.
His hope is that the attention of Eurovision together with pressure from the European court will be enough to change the politicians' minds.
Probably the biggest mistake one can make about Eurovision is to take it seriously. It may be difficult to appreciate how one's national pride could be hurt any more than it already is by participation in what is basically a very funny party.
But with the Georgian song banned, the Russian entry under discovery procedure by a conformist committee, and the Moscow authorities vowing to battle for the patriarchal Russian way of life, this year's contest has shown more than any other the folly of vanity.
At least Alexeyev is getting into the unifying spirit of the thing.
"We're planning a joint action with Belorussian activists," he said. "We're calling it Slavic Gay Pride." Luzhkov will love that.
One of the awards for winning Eurovision is the honour of hosting the following year's contest. That is the kind of contrast that makes hotel owners very happy, and gives tin-pot dictatorships what they see as an opening to burnish their name abroad.
And while the politic value of hosting the world's most cringe-worthy kitsch fest may be dubious, the anticipated influx of gay fans will certainly give Moscow and its Mayor Yury Luzhkov an moment to dispel an undesirable stature for homophobia and sexism.
Not that the signs are encouraging. Although gay rights groups are purposeful to hold a series of events over the several days of the contest, including a march on the day of the final, Luzhkov, who has banned every gay pride march in the city since 2005, has explicitly warned against any such action.
But neither side seems keen in giving in.
"The fact that Eurovision is going to take place in Moscow this year gives us an moment to raise this issue on a higher political level both in Russia and in Europe," said Nikolai Alexeyev, the organizer of the gay rights movement Moscow Pride. "We are going to apply to the authorities for acquiescence, as we have done for the last three years. The law does not allow the Moscow authorities to ban this event."
And those are not the only tensions converging on the Olimpiisky Stadium as it is prepared for a four-day festival of camp silliness (the grand final will be held on May 16, but the semis are scheduled for May 12 and 14).
The Georgian entry, "We Don't Wanna Put In" by Stefane & 3G, has raised smiles in Europe and apoplectic fury in Russia with its clumsy but unmistakeable pun on the Russian prime minister's surname. And now Russians are fighting amongst themselves over the selection of a Ukrainian, Anastasia Prikhodko, to represent Russia.
The Georgian saga threatened to cause rare awkwardness on the night, as it was unclear whether Channel 1, the comically sycophantic state broadcaster that is to broadcast the show, would allow it to be shown.
The potential abashment (Eurovision is often marred by obvious political voting from the public, but the songs themselves have seldom caused confrontation) may have been nipped in the bud by the European Broadcasting Union (EBU), which on Tuesday ruled that the Georgian entry breached its rules on political lyrics or gestures. Faced with a choice of changing the lyrics or the song, the Georgian contestants on Wednesday evening announced that they were pulling out of the contest.
After last summer's war, the Georgian flippancy was almost to be expected. They had from the beginning planned to boycott the event in protest, and the light-hearted and not entirely lucid protest song is hardly bellicose.
The unsettled chorus, "We don't wanna put in, the negative mood, it's killing the groove" is neither confrontational nor obscene.
To judge by the reaction of some elements of the Russian society one might think the Sex Pistols had produced a rendition of the Russian national anthem.
And if nationalist passions had not been incensed enough by Stefane and 3G, last weekend's selection of the Russian entry proved if anything more divisive.
It is not just that Prikhodko is Ukrainian. Her song ("Mamo") has Russian lyrics and a Ukrainian chorus. And to add insult to injury, she was rejected by the Ukrainian selection board. So Russia will be represented by a foreigner, singing in a foreign language, and who wasn't good enough for her own country.
There are, naturally, egos at stake here, as well as Russian pride.
Valeriya, the Russian pop singer who Prikhodko beat into second place, is said to have stormed off the set when the selection contest results, broadcast on Channel 1, were announced. And the most outspoken critic of the decision has been Iosif Prigozhin, her producer and husband, who called the decision a "disgrace," declaring that "a song performed in Ukrainian has nothing in common with Russia," and that he could not agree with it "either as a producer or a citizen of Russia."
And he is not alone. The ultranationalist Liberal Democratic Party (LDPR) faction in the State Duma weighed into the row on Wednesday, claiming that Prikhodko's candidacy damaged national prestige.
"It is not even that she is a citizen of another state, although by itself this causes annoyance among our voters, but the fact is that she is known for her extreme right-wing nationalist views," LDPR faction leader Igor Lebedev told the Duma, RIA Novosti reported.
The faction tabled a motion for the Duma Culture Committee to ascertain the legality of her candidacy, but it is doubtful that it will get very far.
She probably won because she had the better song; she won the popular vote fair and square, taking 25 per cent, and took six votes from the 11 member expert jury. Channel 1 has defended the legality of the vote.
There is another way of looking at this, of course. The song isn't bad (that's not to say it is good - this is Eurovision, after all), and if anything, as Yury Aksyuta, Channel 1's director of Music Programming told RIA Novosti, it should be welcomed for sending a message of unity between former Soviet countries.
"Nastya - from Ukraine, became a singer in Russia, performed the song in two languages, written by a composer of Georgian citizenship, and co-authored by an Estonian," he told RIA Novosti. "The cosmopolitan cocktail reflects not only the views of the majority of Russian citizens, but will certainly welcomed by the organisers of Eurovision, whose main goal is to unite the European peoples through pop music."
And that is a nice thought. One reason for Prikhodko's disqualification in Ukraine was that she was singing in Russian. 3G have come under fire for playing up to national divisions. Could Russia actually seize the moral high ground, and prove it is a place of tolerance and unity?
Not according to Moscow's police chief, Vladimir Pronin. On Friday, he reiterated Luzhkov's hard line on gay pride marches, telling Interfax that gay pride parades were improper, homosexuality was unnatural, and that "Russia is a patriarchal society, and that about sums it up."
But he may be missing the tide. Alexeyev reckons the objection to gay pride marches has fallen dramatically in recent years, from several thousand counter-protestors at the first unsanctioned march in 2006 to just 50 last year.
He even reckons there is some sympathy amongst the police.
"I have had a lot of contact with the police, at all levels. I've talked to the deputy police chief about marches, and I've been arrested twice. And they have always told me the same thing - they are ready to cooperate with us, it just a matter of political will," he said.
His hope is that the attention of Eurovision together with pressure from the European court will be enough to change the politicians' minds.
Probably the biggest mistake one can make about Eurovision is to take it seriously. It may be difficult to appreciate how one's national pride could be hurt any more than it already is by participation in what is basically a very funny party.
But with the Georgian song banned, the Russian entry under discovery procedure by a conformist committee, and the Moscow authorities vowing to battle for the patriarchal Russian way of life, this year's contest has shown more than any other the folly of vanity.
At least Alexeyev is getting into the unifying spirit of the thing.
"We're planning a joint action with Belorussian activists," he said. "We're calling it Slavic Gay Pride." Luzhkov will love that.
