Putin Revives Pathetic USSR-Era Eurovision Substitute
In a move equal parts nostalgic, absurd, deeply political, and hilarious, Vladimir Putin has revived the Intervision Song Contest—a long-defunct Soviet alternative to Eurovision—in what appears to be a last-ditch attempt to remain culturally relevant on the global stage.
Set for September 20, 2025, at Moscow’s Live Arena, Intervision 2025 is being trumpeted by the Kremlin as a celebration of “traditional values.” In reality, by all appearances, it’s a cartoonish attempt to mimic soft power while further isolating Russia into its own corner of the world’s notorious kleptocracies.
The origins of Intervision date back to the Cold War, when the USSR’s International Radio and Television Organisation cobbled together a counterweight to Eurovision. It limped along between 1965 and 1980, with sporadic shows in Czechoslovakia and Poland, before dying a quiet death. It was mostly forgotten—until now.
In February 2025, Putin signed a decree to resurrect the contest, entrusting his loyal Prime Minister Dmitry Chernyshenko and the Foreign Ministry with organizing and promoting it globally. The stated aim? “International cultural and humanitarian cooperation.” The real aim? Weaponizing kitsch to draw a further cultural Iron Curtain between Russia and the West.
Russian Senator Liliya Gumerova insists Intervision will promote “real music” and oppose the “fake values alien to any normal person.”
Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov, never one to miss a xenophobic cue, said the contest would be “free of perversion”—a clear dig at Eurovision’s embrace of LGBTQ+ performers, including 2024’s winner Nemo, a non-binary artist from Switzerland.
The list of countries, as of May, reads like a geopolitical rogues’ gallery: Russia, Belarus, China, Azerbaijan, Cuba, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, and Brazil.
Most participants are members of the CIS or BRICS, groups often viewed as aligning with authoritarian or illiberal governance. The result is a contest with the musical appeal of a bureaucratic summit and the ideological flexibility of a Soviet parade.
Each participating country brings its own baggage:
- Belarus is running its own political-prisoner gulag archipelago, crushing dissent in all its forms since the 2020 protests.
- China censors everything from TikTok to toddlers.
- Azerbaijan silences journalists.
- Kyrgyzstan has criminalized opposition under vague “extremism” laws.
- Cuba and Brazil appear mostly for diplomatic optics and probably cash, though both have their share of political controversy.
The real joke? Russia’s pitch for cultural leadership comes at a time when its own artists—those who dare question the Putin regime, even with a single “like” on a Facebook post—are either jailed, exiled, or silenced by a variety of methods.
Anti-war singers, filmmakers, and poets have fled or been banned, leaving state television to elevate folk duos and mediocre crooners who toe the Kremlin line.
Reports suggest that participants in Intervision may be selected less for talent than for ideological conformity—a musical Stasi in sequins.
Meanwhile, Eurovision continues to flourish. Its 2025 edition broke records for viewership and voting participation, proving once again that inclusion, not exclusion, wins hearts.
Intervision 2025 will undoubtedly go ahead, beamed across Russian state media, pumped like free government cheese into decaying hovels across Putin’s hellscape, and probably re-run until the next war film cycle kicks in. But for all its pomp, this contest reflects not power, but insecurity—a flailing empire dancing to its own fading echo while the world turns the volume down.
