One of Us

My bit on the ongoing creep of 'one of us' thought here in Spain and around the world in the next stage of the Camino a Ítaca. Read the English below or click over to the original published in el Hoy. Tambien se puede ver el original en castellano abajo en PDF.

I have to admit that I didn’t even know that something like Eurovision even existed until I had actually lived in Spain for a few years. When I did finally discover it though, it was like a revelation. It was as if I had discovered the secret root of all of the stereotypes propagated for the past thirty years about the ‘old continent’ in Hollywood movies and TV. You had everything to choose from, morose Germans dressed in black bouncing away totechno beats, angry-looking yet somehow friendly Finns, playing actual instruments, growling over a death metal dirge and at least one retro-traditional, uncomfortable looking outfit that has not actually been seen in its home country in at least 150 years. I had found the secret source of inspiration that comedians like Mike Meyers and Sacha Baron Cohen had been drawing from without ever having to move from their sofas.  

My discovery came long after Eurovision was popular enough to launch the careers of singers like Spain’s own Julio Iglesias or give bands like ABBA the chance to change the meaning of Waterloo forever. It was at the turn of the century and just before the massive shift towards songs in English took over the competition. A move that turned the once popular show into something that now vaguely resembles cruise ship entertainment with unfamiliar accents trying to sing vaguely familiar sounding words. But even still, there is something endearing about Byelorussian Butterflies, bearded drag queens from Austria and transgendered women dressed as birds from Israel. It was all so exotically European that I felt like the Griswolds discovering an mysterious continent from my own sofa.

But wait, Israel? Had I missed something? Wasn’t this competition about Europe? I’ve seen the Caucasus from the southern side, crossed through the Urals and sailed across the Bosphorous and am pretty sure that, no matter how strong their lobbies are, Israel is at least a thousand kilometres south of Istanbul. They can be guests along with Morocco, Australia and other countries beyond the continent, but by definition, they can never be one of us.

One of us, a phrase that’s increasingly heard in these dark days of identity politics. Times when groups from both extremes of the spectrum gather around a diaphanous concept of shared identity while inflating differences between one of us and lo nuestro (ours) from those who don’t belong to the tribe. It’s a much darker nationalism than the spandex outfits of Eurovision. I’ve never shared the aversion that many Spaniards have for their flag, but I do have to admit that some of the flag waving last Monday carried portents of danger ahead.

What do people waving fascist flags really want? A return…but a return to what? Are the the poor souls floating across the Mediterranean an invasion designed to steal their jobs and weaken their healthcare? Or is it that a fellow ‘patriot’ is outsourcing them? Is the evil-empire Soros gang really coming to implant chips in our brains, burn down churches and eviscerate ‘our’ religion? Or is the bronze-age faith really something as European as the Israeli women dressed as birds? Something about as much ‘ours’ as Ralph Lauren, ironed Levis and made-in-China flags.

The next time lo nuestro comes up, take a minute to reflect on just how ‘ours’ it really is.