Mary Dejevsky: A Eurovision win that is not 'mere' politics

Don't knock the Eurovision Song Contest. It is the perfect accompaniment to a rain-threatened, narrow-lanes plagued drive, such as the one we were engaged in at the time. It makes no demands; it presents no risks; it does not distract from the task in hand.

It prompts just enough mild curiosity about what might issue from the radio next to make it worth listening to. You have the waspish commentary of Terry Wogan to give it that slight edge, and then the subdued suspense of the count, those catchphrases that have now entered the language, and the annual nudge-nudge of diplomacy-by-Eurovision, as all those neighbourhood clusters to the north, east and south vaunt their independence by voting for each other.

In every possible respect, Belgrade 2008 was a classic to the point where it verged on parody. The seriousness with which the hosts took their endeavour, the never-ending parade of home-grown glitz, the pedestrian quality of the songs, the lowest-common-denominator English of the lyrics, and – oh yes – all those back-scratching votes: everything that has conspired over the years to make the Eurovision Song Contest "naff", unfair, and a waste of time and money was on full display. To cap it all, the British entry, "Even If", came last, and and victory went to – of all countries – Russia.

Yet I still say, don't knock the Eurovision Song Contest. This is an annual event that has run uninterrupted, despite a few minor tiffs, for more than 50 years – no mean achievement in itself. It has grown exponentially from the seven countries that first contested it to 43 (out of 45) Eurovision countries participating this year. And the fact that so many countries want to take part is not only a tribute to the durability of the institution, but more evidence of how successful the idea of Europe has been.

The European Broadcasting Union and the European Union may be quite different entities, but competing in, winning, and hosting the Eurovision Song Contest is seen as a way of winning European spurs. And while the songs – or so it is said – are not what they used to be, the contest continues to provide an entirely unthreatening outlet for national aspirations. To use the jargon of international diplomacy, it is the epitome of "soft power": the external influence that countries exert through their image and culture.

Which is why Russia's victory is highly political, but should not be dismissed as "mere" politics. Dima Bilan has star quality, to be sure. He wows audiences in Russia; he had an ice-skating champion on stage with him, and part of his act was to rip his shirt open with great drama. Nor was "Believe" the worst song in what seemed a dismal bunch. But you can't tell me in all seriousness that it was the merit of Bilan or the song alone that gave him his victory. This is not how the Eurovision Song Contest works.

Seventeen years after the Soviet Union collapsed and Russia re-established itself as an independent country, two things about its first Eurovision victory stand out. One is how many of the countries that have reason to hate and resent Russia nonetheless gave Dima Bilan their top, or nearly top, marks. The cynical interpretation would be that these much less powerful countries were simply watching their backs. Ukraine wants the gas taps left on, if possible at preferential rates. Estonia does not want a repeat of the "cyber-war" when Russia apparently managed to disable its computer communications.

Georgia, Moldova and the rest would just like to keep their big neighbour sweet, and a few Eurovision points might be seen as a cheap way of achieving that.

But the argument could equally be turned on its head. Why should these former satellites, which have hardly shrunk from alienating the Russian giant in the real political arena in recent years, not make their suspicions of Russia apparent in this arena, too? To cold-shoulder Russia in the Eurovision Song Contest would, after all, make a diplomatic point at relatively little cost.

Why do these uncomfortable ties still bind? If even part of the answer is a sense of geographical realism, a recognition of a shared history, even a desire to rub along a little better, then there is an opportunity here for Russia. The second striking aspect of Russia's victory was the enthusiasm with which Russians supported their song and the infectious delight with which they greeted its victory.

This surely owed much to the personal magnetism of Dima Bilan. But was there not also a resurgent Russian patriotism to be felt here – a pride in being Russian and successful that was joyful and "normal", rather than triumphalist and threatening? If so, that is a good development, for Russia and for Europe. All in all, this has been an extraordinarily good couple of weeks for Russia in Europe. On 15 May, Zenit St Petersburg beat Glasgow Rangers in Manchester to win the Uefa Cup. Their almost incredulous exuberance in winning was palpable, and contrasted with the sullen gracelessness of the losers.

Then last week, in the face of doomladen predictions of trouble and late attempts to have the fixture moved, Moscow successfully hosted what was always going to be one of the most tensely fought Champions' League finals ever. Russia's decision to treat match tickets essentially as visas, and waive the cumbersome visa process, was the first promising sign. The second was the spirit in which, for the most part, the crowds were policed.

Now, Russia's Dmitry Bilan has sung this year's Eurovision song. This makes it likely that this time next year, it will be Russia – how about Moscow's Red Square, or Palace Square in St Petersburg? – that will be the proud host. Russia has a year to prepare its best face for Europe.

In an age of instant communications, major sporting and cultural events can transform the way whole nations are perceived. Think of the way the World Cup changed Germany's image, not least in Britain, and the way Germans thought about themselves.

The exercise of "soft power", as opposed to the bullying, gas-denying, kind, has been one of post-Soviet Russia's greatest failings. Its clumsy public relations have been at least as responsible as anything its leaders have actually done to foster an uncooperative and generally negative image around the world. The effect has been especially damaging to Russia in Europe.

Thanks to its pop megastar, Dima Bilan, a song called "Believe", and an assortment of politically inspired votes from its neighbours, Russia suddenly has a second chance. It is a chance the President, Dmitry Medvedev, and Vladimir Putin, in his new incarnation as prime minister, could never have dreamt of – and one they must do their utmost not to squander.

m.dejevsky@independent.co.uk