Spain Threatens Eurovision Boycott Over Israel—What It Means for Malta’s Euro-Dreams

Spain’s public broadcaster RTVE has dropped a political bombshell that is reverberating inside Maltese living-rooms: if Israel is allowed to compete in next May’s Eurovision Song Contest in Basel, Spain will stay home. The ultimatum—delivered late on Tuesday in Madrid—has pitched the festival we love to hate-watch into its sharpest crisis since Russia was expelled in 2022, and Maltese fans are already taking sides.

“Eurovision without Spain? That’s like a village festa without the brass band,” sighed Etienne Borg, secretary of the Malta Eurovision Fan Club, between sips of Kinnie at the Valletta branch of Café Cordina. “We’ve spent decades voting for Spanish entries even when they sent a bagpipe ballad. If they pull out, the whole Mediterranean bloc loses a key ally in the semi-finals.”

The Spanish threat stems from Israel’s military campaign in Gaza. RTVE’s board argues that participating would “normalise grave human-rights violations,” a stance that mirrors growing pressure from left-wing parties and 80,000 signatures on a domestic petition. Israel’s public broadcaster Kan has replied that Eurovision is “a non-political cultural event,” reminding critics that the country has competed throughout successive conflicts since 1973.

Here in Malta, the dispute lands in a society that treats Eurovision like a second religion. Our national broadcaster, PBS, spends roughly €600,000 annually on the selection show—more than any other cultural project bar the Malta Arts Festival. When Destiny won in 2021, spontaneous carcades clogged Regional Road; the economy got a €3 million tourism bump, according to MTA figures. A Spanish withdrawal would therefore not be an abstract diplomatic tiff; it could dent Maltese viewing figures, tele-vote revenues and, ultimately, the odds on our own entry.

“Spain is a guaranteed 12 points for Malta in most years,” explains statistician Maria Cassar, who runs the blog EurovisionData. “Remove them and our probability of qualifying from the semi-final drops by 18%. That translates into less prime-time exposure, fewer Spotify streams for our artist, and a smaller return on PBS’s investment.”

Inside the Auberge de Castille, officials are treading carefully. A spokesperson for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs told HOT MALTA that Malta “supports the EBU’s consensus-based approach,” diplomatic shorthand for “please don’t ask us to take sides.” Government sources admit, however, that a partial Iberian boycott could trigger a domino effect: Portugal’s Left Bloc has already tabled a motion in Lisbon, while Ireland’s RTE is under similar grassroots pressure. If three or more countries withdraw, the EBU might be forced to downgrade the 2025 edition from “grand final” to “invitation-only gala,” stripping the winner of automatic hosting rights and dealing a blow to PBS’s long-term strategy of landing Malta the contest proper.

On Facebook groups like “Malta Eurovision Family,” the debate is less measured. “Human rights come before glitter cannons,” posted Rachel Xuereb from Sliema, garnering 400 likes. But her comment was instantly challenged by 19-year-old DJ Luca Pace: “Then ban Azerbaijan, Armenia and half the ex-Soviet bloc too. Either everyone sings or no one does.” The thread, now 1,200 comments deep, illustrates how Eurovision has become a proxy battlefield for wider ethical questions—ones Maltese millennials, traditionally disengaged from geopolitics, suddenly find themselves arguing over breakfast.

What happens next? The EBU’s reference group meets on 15 November to decide whether Israel’s proposed entry—an as-yet-unreleased power ballad by Eden Golan—violates newly introduced “public sensitivity” guidelines. If the song is cleared, Spain has 48 hours to confirm its boycott, triggering a €250,000 fine from the EBU and possible exclusion from future contests. PBS, for its part, is already drafting contingency plans: a shortened running order, revised voting graphics, and emergency filler should other countries follow Madrid’s lead.

For ordinary Maltese viewers, the stakes are simpler. “My nanna and I watch together every year,” says student Leah Azzopardi. “We moan about the costumes, bet on who’ll get nil points—it’s our thing. If the show becomes a hollow shell, that’s one more shared ritual gone.”

In a country where international headlines rarely penetrate beyond the price of bread, Spain’s Eurovision revolt has achieved the improbable: making Maltese hearts race for something other than fireworks. Whether Basel’s stage lights dim for one flag or many, the row has already proved that, on this rocky archipelago, even geopolitics can be sung to a disco beat.