One of the main questions I ask myself these days is how, in a world that seems to be collapsing, I can justify devoting my life to making music. Few issues have surfaced this thought as much as the genocide currently being committed in Gaza by occupying Israeli forces.

As an Irish artist working in state-funded music, I benefit from the history of liberalism and globalisation that has built much of the infrastructure that people like me rely on. It is the sheer blatantness of our complicity in the plight of the Palestinian people that makes it so present in my mind: everything I do is basically supported by the same systems of liberal democracy that have led to the apartheid regime in Gaza.

In my mind, if we are to make art against this backdrop, opting out of politics is unjustifiable. Notions of musical legacy are out the window when I may be outlasted only by a desolate earth, and playing on a sinking ship is only romantic if you already accept that we are doomed. We must use our skills to make a material difference.

My peers seem to agree: in recent months, I have witnessed endless outrage, activism and fundraising from Ireland’s music and arts scenes. At Unit 44, Kirkos have presented events run by Clíona Ní Laoi and Amanda Feery that have been packed out, platformed Palestinian artists, and raised large amounts of money. Lankum, Damien Dempsey, Lisa O’Neill and more filled up the 3Arena last November with a fundraiser for Palestine; singer Eoghan Ó Ceannabháin made a powerful speech at the RTÉ Radio 1 Folk Awards in February; Irish bands boycotted the SXSW festival in Texas in March; Lankum sang a Palestine-inspired version of ‘The Rocks of Bawn’ at the RTÉ Choice awards; and the Dublin folk band and Kneecap were again vocal about Palestine at Glastonbury last month.

But in all this time, there has been virtually no comment from any organisation from the institutional or funded parts of the music sector. So why are larger organisations mostly silent about this? And does this matter?

I think it does. Clearly, organisations can contribute to the BDS (Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions) movement through a cultural boycott: statements from art institutions reduce the legitimacy of Israeli propaganda and increase pressure on government to take action against the regime. But the Gaza crisis also affects Irish musicians more directly. The crackdown on pro-Palestinian speech, notably in Germany, led to the cancellation of Lankum’s concert at the TransCentury Festival in Leipzig. It follows that this chills the freedom of expression of Irish musicians working in Germany, and may reduce international opportunities for outspoken artists.

Organisations’ executive staff have secure, protected salaries in comparison to musicians, and can call upon resources, networks and strategic skills unavailable to freelance artists. These staff would be buffered from the financial blowback now facing activist musicians. Nine months into this crisis, organisations have had time to help and amplify activist artists: they have chosen not to.

Expressing solidarity
In recent months, many colleagues played in Berlin through Zeitgeist, a year-long cultural programme in Germany run by Culture Ireland and the Embassy of Ireland. This is a relationship-building exercise with a country that is implementing repressive policies against artists (the Frankfurt Book Fair, for example, cancelled an award ceremony honoring Palestinian novelist Adania Shibli). Friends of mine privately expressed discomfort about Zeitgeist and their involvement in it. But I have been dismayed to see no statements or action from the promoters involved. Irish organisations producing events at Zeitgeist without indicating solidarity with silenced artists show that the ‘apolitical’ silence of arts organisations amounts to tacit support of oppressive, racist policies. This is a moment where a statement could achieve wide publicity.

One of the more prominent points regarding speaking out has been ‘Why Palestine? Why not Ukraine? Why not Sudan?’ And yet, the repercussions against Russia in 2022 were so swift that they barely needed to be argued for. EU-wide sanctions were immediate, the National Symphony Orchestra wore Ukrainian flags on their lapels during concerts, and cultural boycotts were so broad that they were thoughtlessly applied against individual Russian artists. After an attack on a white population on Europe’s border, many arts organisations were actually willing to take a rare political stand. A better answer to the whataboutery about other wars is that opposing Israel’s apartheid must not be a special case, but a first step towards an anti-imperial stance.

In my experience, the choice to shy away from politics is sometimes motivated by fear of upsetting funders, employers, boards, or falling foul of the Charities Act. Organisations may also fear that a statement about Palestine, or political action generally, would make their audiences uncomfortable, but let’s flip this assumption: what oppressed person could feel safe interacting with an organisation unwilling to side with victims of such atrocities as the siege of Gaza? When the topic is genocide, we can’t make the room comfortable for everybody, and we must prioritise the victims. Political disengagement benefits the already privileged, and flies in the face of the visions outlined in arts organisations’ Equality, Diversity and Inclusion policies. Regardless of their motivation, when arts executives will not name a genocide, and when they fail to show solidarity with their censored colleagues, we must ask: where will it end?

That arts workers have accepted art as politically neutral is ahistorical and emblematic of a society-wide failure to dismantle seemingly unquestionable assumptions about power and capital. But this attitude is wildly out of touch: the wider music scene does not accept these assumptions.

Art has little direct power, but artists do maintain the power to influence consensus. As we face the simultaneous threats of climate disaster and globally resurgent fascism, we have rarely been more urgently needed. The greatest portion of our influence lies in the context surrounding art, which is controlled by presenters rather than artists, and yet the reaction over Gaza suggests a strategy of silence. Organisations insisting on neutrality willingly relinquish the political potency of art. Artists must make this strategy untenable, through petition, by politicising our work, and, if necessary, by withdrawing our labour.

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