Canada confirms talks with CBC to explore joining Eurovision

Only Eurovision could give us a plot twist where the next potential competing country isn’t revealed with a glittering press conference, a staged teaser trailer or an overexcited host on breakfast television — but in the middle of a Canadian federal budget document. Not even a flashy PDF. A government PDF. The kind normally read only by accountants, journalists on punishment duty, and people who think tax codes are literature.

And yet, inside that bureaucratic brick, there it was: a line stating that Canada is “working with CBC/Radio-Canada to explore participation in Eurovision.” No hype, no logo, no clip of a maple leaf spinning into 12 points. Just a quiet sentence that managed to start a louder fandom meltdown than any key change in Melodifestivalen history.

Which means one thing: Canada might actually be joining Eurovision.
Not as a meme, not as a “what if?”, not as “Céline Dion was technically Canadian”, but as an actual competing nation in Eurovision 2026 — the year the contest turns 70 and the universe clearly decides to go full chaos mode.

Of course, the comparisons with Australia began before anyone finished scrolling. Australia entered in 2015 and immediately opened the door for non-European countries to turn up with perfectly staged ballads and jury-friendly vocalists. If Australia was Eurovision’s polite test balloon, Canada feels like the moment the EBU says, “Fine, the map is fake anyway, let’s have some fun.”

And just when things couldn’t get more surreal, Canadian Finance Minister François-Philippe Champagne was asked on camera why Eurovision is in the national budget, and he casually dropped that Canada had been “asked” to take part. Asked. As if this were all a polite invitation to a dinner party rather than the world’s most chaotic music competition.

He didn’t say who asked.
Could be the EBU.
Could be a delegation.
Could be Céline Dion with a divine mandate and a wind machine.
All options feel equally plausible.

The real question now is: what does Canada even send?
A bilingual torch song that melts juries? A Toronto alt-pop banger that destroys the televote? A First Nations artist blending traditional vocals with modern production? Or , the most Eurovision option of all , something completely unhinged involving cowbells, neon plaid and a chorus about immigration policy. Canada contains multitudes.

But this isn’t just a “new country hype moment”. This is about what Eurovision is becoming. The contest hasn’t really been “European” in a long time — not since it gained Australia, a Netflix documentary, a failed American spin-off, a Latin American spin-off that’s been “coming soon” longer than Rihanna’s album, and now… Canada wedging itself into the party through public funding legislation.

And honestly? It fits. This is the most global European event in existence. It has more in common with the Olympics than with a local song contest. The fandom is international, the voting is international, the memes are international. The only thing still technically European is the name — and even that has been mostly decorative since San Marino started sending Americans.

Nothing is confirmed. There’s no song, no selection format, no staging concept with industrial fog and interpretive dancers dressed as loons. But there is something bigger: a paper trail. Once Eurovision makes it into a national budget, it’s not a rumour anymore. It’s a political line item. A physical receipt.

Which means this story is no longer “Could Canada join Eurovision?”
It’s now: “How long until they actually say it out loud?”

And when they do, Europe will have to decide whether to welcome Canada with open arms — or pretend it’s 2007 and panic because a continent can’t handle one more English-language entry.

Either way, the maple syrup jokes have already started. And let’s be honest: we all secretly want to see Sweden lose to Montreal just once.

Source: X/Government of Canada