The current state of the world demands a particular kind of hero. Timothée Chalamet as the youthful messiah in Dune—though undoubtedly attractive and charismatic—isn’t going to do the job. Even if Jesus would succeed, although one of the most suitable men for the mission, is doubtful. No, if you had to place a bet right now on who’s going to save Christmas this year—with peace for all, and especially for the Palestinians—it would be notorious Belfast rap group Kneecap.
Because who truly poses the greatest threat to an aging, narcissistic autocrat? Is it the fancy young hero with a magical sword, who boldly proclaims the autocrat to be the face of ultimate evil? No, the real threat comes from the punk ass kid who yells, “The emperor has no clothes!”
The Netanyahus, Putins, and Trumps of this world aren’t afraid to play the part of evil warlord, in contrary — but they’re terrified of the one who pull back the curtain – or better: pull down their tailor made pants- and reveal the ugly truth: that they’re not fearsome overlords, but just frail, frightened old men. Stripped of meaning and relevance, rage-driving golf carts with the Grim Reaper in their rearview mirrors. And that’s precisely why they fear our young heroes from Belfast.
If you only know Kneecap from the controversies surrounding them, that’s a bit of a shame. Because beyond the headlines, they’re also bringing soundwise something entirely new to the game. Their lyrics are a mix of Irish and occasional English, and their message is crystal clear: f*ck the oppressor of free speech and the right to express yourself in your mother tongue.
Their music blends a deep tradition of rebellion. Irish art has long been political, defiant, and anti-colonial. You hear it in the poetry of Yeats or the songs of Christy Moore and Sinéad O’Connor.
And yet, Kneecap also taps directly into the spirit of early hip hop. Those first rap sessions on the streets of New York, where MCs, Masters of Ceremony, like the druids and priests of old Ireland with their secret ceremonies, stirred the people, moved them, and kept them connected to their roots at the same time. That—plus the fact that they make truly awesome tracks, makes Kneecap exceptional candidates to challenge today’s autocrats, whose favourite foot soldiers are the big media companies and music labels.
Because let’s be honest: the terror offence charges against Kneecap member Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh aka Mo Chara didn’t come out of nowhere. It’s the result of diligent lobbying from an illustrious group called the Creative Community for Peace.
Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? A collective of creatives who stand for peace. Except it’s a very selective kind of peace—one reserved for the state of Israel, not Palestina.
And don’t be fooled—this isn’t some group of hippies hoping to elevate the world through meditation. This “community” and its backers are rooted in the entertainment industry’s global elite. People with the power and money to frame themselves as righteous defenders of humanity. But power and mafia-style tactics tend to backfire—especially in times of open, visible atrocity.
In the world of music, what endures is the story that touches people. “The most entertaining outcome is the most likely,” are the only words to agree on with Elon Musk. It’s a prediction to cling to in times like these, because there’s never been a hero’s tale where the oligarchs and dictators, with their vaults of cash and arsenals of weapons, have the final word.
And as long as musicians like Kneecap exist, there never will be.
“Every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom,“ a father tells his son in Kneecap, the movie. True words are dangerous to any oppressor who rules by lies—especially when they’re dropped on a beat like Kneecap does.
The case against Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh will be heard on June 18th in London UK.
More info about the charges against Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh and the Creative Community for Peace follow Lowkey here.
