By Meagan Day

Eurovision: It’s all about sequined costumes, headset microphones, and regional conflicts over small semi-autonomous regions of post-Soviet states. This year, for instance, Ukraine has entered a song about the deportation of Crimean Tatars in 1944. While the song doesn’t directly mention Putin’s 2014 annexation of Crimea, it does seem a bit timely to be a total coincidence.

Technically, political messages are grounds for disqualification from the massive annual European song contest, which tries to limit its scope to kitsch and flair. Eurovision is supposed to be an occasion to celebrate what unites Europe — an outdated passion for disco balls, the ability to tolerate lengthy exposure to aneurysm-inducing laser lights — not what divides it.

But that hasn’t stopped Eastern European and Caucasian nations from berating each other on the public stage. Every few years, the bizarre parade of light-up lederhosen turns serious, reminding viewers that though Europe is unanimously in favor of rhinestone capes, it is also riven with geopolitical conflict. After all, if you’re from Azerbaijan, how many chances do you get to send a message to the entire European continent? For people on Europe’s periphery who feel their struggles are overlooked, Eurovision is an opportunity — however outlandish — to register their political grievances.

How is “Yushchenko, our president” political?

In the winter of 2004, Ukraine erupted in protest over a rigged election that put Viktor Yanukovych in power instead of popular opposition leader Viktor Yushchenko. The season of civil disobedience, which came to be known as the Orange Revolution, had its own unofficial theme song: “Razom Nas Bahato, Nas Ne Podolaty” by the hip-hop group GreenJolly. The original lyrics translated to:

No to lies! Yushchenko, Yushchenko! Our president! Yes! Yes! Yes!

After a new election was staged and Yushchenko was made prime minister, Ukraine boldly chose “Razom Nas Bahato” as its entry into the 2005 Eurovision contest. The decision was made by popular vote, with a little help from the Yushchenko administration.

The European Broadcast Union (EBU) was unimpressed. At the very least, it decided, Yushchenko’s name needed to be removed from the lyrics. GreenJolly complied, and also added in new English lyrics with a more universal meaning. Apparently they didn’t make it universal enough, though, because GreenJolly finished in the middle of the pack.

Politics aside, someone needs to get those backup dancers on Dancing with the Stars, right? © Eurovisionaire TV/YouTube

Georgia refuses to put out

In 2008, Russia and Georgia went to war over two Russian-backed semi-autonomous regions, South Ossetia and Abkhazia. That same year, Georgia submitted as its entry to the next Eurovision contest (which would be held in Moscow) a song called “We Don’t Wanna Put In.” Get it? Put in? It was a delicate, highly nuanced way of rejecting Putin’s involvement in Georgian affairs.

The song was disqualified by the EBU due to its transparent allusion to the Russian leader. Rather than change the lyrics, Georgia decided to drop out of the contest altogether. Georgia didn’t even broadcast the event in 2009 — take that, Putin.

To be honest, we don’t want to put in any more time listening to this song… © Cyxymu/YouTube

Monumental feud over Nagorno-Karabakh

South Ossetia and Abkhazia were not the only semi-autonomous zones to inspire controversy at Eurovision in 2009: Nagorno-Karabakh gave them a run for their money. The contested region, which is considered part of Azerbaijan by international law, has been under control of the Armenian-backed Nagorno-Karabakh Republic since 1993.

The Armenian entry to the 2009 contest was accompanied by a video showing a monument in Nagorno-Karabakh’s capital — the implication being that Nagorno-Karabakh is Armenian. Azeris were not having it, and complained to the EBU, which asked Armenia to edit out the image of the monument.

Armenia complied, but it had a trick up its sleeve. On live television, the presenter of the Armenian votes repeatedly held up a clipboard featuring an image of the disputed monument. Every time the camera flashed to Armenia, Nagorno-Karabakh was on full display. As a subliminal messaging tactic, it was genius — but it probably only worked on the few deeply invested souls who recognized the monument to begin with.

In an act of revenge, the Armenian presenter Sirusho Harutyunyan repeatedly flashed a clipboard containing an image of “We Are Our Mountains.” © HoKTemBeRyAntsii/YouTube

We deny that “Don’t Deny” is about denial

2015 marked 100 years since the beginning of the Armenian genocide. Armenia, which has long fought for global recognition of the atrocities perpetrated by Turkey a century ago, pulled no punches: It chose a song called “Don’t Deny” to represent it at Eurovision that year. The song was performed by the group Genealogy — who dressed like this for their promotional photos:

Genealogy © Public Television of Armenia

Genealogy was made up of Armenian diasporic singers from five different continents. In the accompanying music video, the performers wore pins featuring pictures of their grandparents. “Will you run and forget all the despair?” they sang.

Armenia disputed allegations that the song had a political subtext; basically, it denied that “Don’t Deny” was about genocide denial. When Azerbaijan objected, Armenia changed name to “Face the Shadow” — which, while missing the political connotation of the word deny, is still a pretty powerful imperative.

Oh, is there a new Crimean conflict? I hadn’t heard.

After Russia seized Crimea from Ukraine in 2014, it was only a matter of time before the controversy hit the Eurovision stage. This year, Ukraine is entering a song called “1944” about Stalin’s deportation of Crimean Tatars to the hinterlands of Russia and Central Asia. The song’s lyrics are intense: The performer Susana Jamaladinova — a Crimean Tatar herself — sings, “When strangers are coming, they come to your house, they kill you all and say: ‘We’re not guilty.’”

Ukraine hopes that “1944” will be accepted by the EBU on the same basis as the Armenian entry the year prior: It’s about an old tragedy, not new beef. The singer has called it a “memorial song.” But many point out that the song’s timing with renewed geopolitical tensions in Crimea is a bit too perfect. European commentators are already viewing Ukraine’s selection as a dig against Russia. Whether the song will be too political for the EBU remains to be seen.