Image: Aretha Brown and Kneecap alongside ‘BLAK + IRISH’. Source: https://www.arethabrown.au/

Radical art, its censorship and global anti-colonial solidarity which has emerged during the genocide in Gaza. 

Content Warning: discussions of racism, death and genocide

When I was travelling in Prague over the summer, I picked up a fascinating book by Albert Camus, titled Create Dangerously. I gulped it down over that day and the next morning, sipping it by the river and on a bus ride. The titular essay captured so much about the power of radical art in current times and the importance of thAe artist in wielding it. It spoke of the value of risk-taking, and the artist’s responsibility to write and create for those around them. Art is not art without an audience, or without a powerful message. 

I instantly, and rather tentatively, since both were swirling in my mind, connected Camus’ writing to the aggressive smothering of many artists speaking out about Palestine—in particular, Irish hip-hop trio Kneecap. The group was recently condemned by the British government and media for radical activism during concerts and major music festivals such as Coachella and Glastonbury. Long term supporters of the Free Palestine movement, Kneecap’s performances, music and recent film express their own rage against (British) imperialism inside and beyond Ireland. Through embodying exaggerated rap personas, they satirise their lives in their performances, referring to themselves as ‘Fenian cunts’ and ‘Republican hoods’ to express resistance. Growing up during the Troubles in West Belfast, anti-colonialism and anti-sectarianism is in their bones. Kneecap’s solidarity with Palestine is deeply personal and is reflected in their art. 

Despite media backlash and attempts to silence them by British and US governing bodies, this stance has garnered them much international support. Locally, Kneecap collaborated with Gumbaynggirr artist Aretha Brown, who created the artwork ‘BLAK + IRISH’. In a statement on her website, Brown writes that the piece ‘reflects the struggles, triumphs, and solidarity of Aboriginal and Irish Communities in Australia’, combining anti-colonial messages and spotlighting Brown’s message of Indigenous defiance in her art. Her project ‘Kiss My Art’ is another example of her radical approach: a collective of mural painters who refuse the imperialist traditional gallery space by creating public works. The crew intends to empower Blak women and non-binary artists, celebrating the resilience of Aboriginal cultures and confronting colonial legacies.

Resistance of colonial institutions continues to occur across Australia. The University of Melbourne has become the first in Australia to expel two students for pro-Palestine activism after taking part in a sit-in inside Professor Steven Prawer’s office in October last year. Activists have repeatedly called for the University to cut ties with weapons manufacturers and dissociate with Israeli universities, who occupy stolen Palestinian land and have ties to the Israel Defence Forces (IDF). In 2024, students participating in a 10-day sit-in at Arts West/Mahmoud’s Hall were also threatened with suspension and expulsion, but only received warnings. The police were called to interfere in both of these demonstrations.

This shift in the way the University handles political activism and freedom of speech is akin to the legal sanctions experienced by Kneecap and other performing artists such as Bob Vylan. Bob Vylan, a London-based punk-rap duo, had their US visas revoked earlier this year for leading an anti-IDF chant at Coachella. Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh (‘Mo Chara’ of Kneecap) faced terrorist offence charges by the British Government for allegedly showing support for Hezbollah after he displayed their flag at a concert, discrediting his activism by decontextualising satire. This came alongside the Australian government’s recent implementation of harsh anti-protest rules and the University of Melbourne’s stifling of student activism. This supposed sanctuary for fostering intellectual and revolutionary artistic expression is condemning students for expressing their views.

The devastation of Palestine is collapsing our faith in international systems of justice. Bodies like the UN, once believed to be the benchmark of the liberation of suffering peoples, clearly have no real ability to emancipate at all. The liberal world has not halted the escalation of genocide and has spent years refusing to condemn Israel for their war crimes. It has watched on and even supplied material support through weapons deals. Institutions like the University of Melbourne have aggressively suppressed those who speak out. As art sits in this unique liminal space between speaking and action, it has the power to be more than just words and symbols. Yet when the artists speaking out are censored, how can those watching from afar feel able to take any action at all?

A recent open letter in Australia has shone light on the role of the artist in calling for change. ‘For Gaza. From Here’ contains the signatures of over 1,500 artists, writers, directors, musicians, performers and members of the general public including 150 recognisable faces from the arts industry. It calls for the Albanese Government to take ‘urgent and concrete action to help end the unfolding catastrophe in Gaza’ and expresses that as ‘artists living and working on stolen land, we recognise the profound connection between colonisation, resistance and survival’. The letter expresses responsibility and solidarity for Palestinian resistance as well as the continued activism of First Nations people fighting for justice and freedom on their own land. Similarly, Massive Attack’s UK collective project was established to show solidarity for victims of a real-time ‘screen-genocide’ and to allow artists to use their platforms to express their outrage. Concentrated in the UK and Ireland, the project intends to destabilise the level of censorship within the industry and from external legal bodies so that there can be a focus on ceasefire and immediate action from the British Government. 

Kneecap’s new short film See it. Say it. Censored., a play on the British transport police slogan; ‘See it. Say it. Sorted.’ is another artist-led project for affirmative action. The production illuminates the testimonials of front-line aid supporters and Palestinian doctors who share their experiences of being on the ground in Gaza. Produced by the group and not featuring them, the film also reminds us that ‘Kneecap is not the story. Genocide is’. Alongside other artists such as Fontaines D.C. and Amyl and the Sniffers, Kneecap is seeking to shift the conversation surrounding their activism to real support and action, including raising funds for medical aid and continually informing and invigorating global discourse.

Oscar Wilde, the son of fiery Irish activist and writer Lady Jane Wilde, writes that ‘all art is quite useless’. It’s not the artwork itself that has any material value or tangible purpose, it’s the action whirling around it. As Camus claims, ‘Art cannot be a monologue’. Moving past the urge to take creative risk, we can learn from creatives like Kneecap that endangering ourselves as artists is necessary when demanding change. Art’s real value and purpose is the people it reflects, the people it speaks for, and the worlds it creates outside of our physical. Art is global, local and the most powerful for its material ‘uselessness’. We are learning many lessons from our history. Many of you are artists. I am an artist. And our art is dangerous.