Tag Archives: protest songs

The troubling relevance of Woody Guthrie’s new album, released 58 years after his death

Daniele Curci, Università di Siena

Mural of Woody Guthrie with the text 'THIS LAND IS YOUR LAND' on a brick wall, depicting the influential folk artist playing guitar against a backdrop of trees and cloudy sky.
Woody Guthrie Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Photo by Gorup de Besanez and licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.

A new album by Woody Guthrie (1912–1967), perhaps the most influential US folk artist, was released late last summer. Woody at Home, Vol. 1 & 2 contains songs – some already known, others previously unreleased – the artist recorded from 1951 to 1952 on a tape recorder he received from his publisher. A version of the famous “This Land Is Your Land” (1940), with new verses, is among the tracks.

The release reflects the continuing vitality of Woody Guthrie in the United States. There is an ongoing process of updating and redefining his figure and artistic legacy – one that does not always take into account the singer’s radicalism but sometimes accentuates his patriotism.

The story of “This Land Is Your Land” is a case in point. There are versions of the song containing verses critical of private property, and others without them. The first version of “This Land” became almost an unofficial anthem of the US and, over the years, has been used in various political contexts, sometimes resulting in appropriations and reinterpretations. In 1960, it was played at the Republican national convention that nominated Richard Nixon for president, and in 1988, Republican candidate George H. W. Bush used it in his presidential campaign.

However, Guthrie made his contribution by supporting both the Communist Party and, at different times, president Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal. He borrowed the idea that music could be an important tool of activism from the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) union. In the party, Guthrie saw the ideological cement; in the union, the instrument of mass organization. It was only through union – a term with a double meaning that Guthrie often played upon: union as both labour union and union of the oppressed – that a socialized and unionized world could be achieved.

‘Deportee’

The release of Woody at Home, Vol. 1 & 2 was preceded by the single “Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos),” a song that had long been known, but whose original recording by Guthrie had never been released. The artist wrote it in reference to an event that occurred on January 28, 1948, when a plane carrying Mexican seasonal workers crashed in Los Gatos Canyon, California, killing everyone on board.

This choice was not accidental, as explained by Nora Guthrie – one of the folk singer’s daughters and long-time curator of her father’s political and artistic legacy – in an interview with The Guardian, where she emphasized how his message remains current, given the deportations carried out by the President Donald Trump’s administration.

Woody Guthrie read the account of the tragic plane crash in a newspaper, and was horrified to find that the workers were not referred to by name, but by the pejorative term “deportees”. In their story, he saw parallels with the experiences of the 1930s “Okies” from the state of Oklahoma, impoverished by dust storms and years of socioeconomic crisis, who moved to California in search of a better future. It was a “Goin’ Down The Road,” according to the title of another Guthrie song, in which the word “down” also conveyed the sadness of having to hit the road, with all the uncertainties and hardships that lay ahead, because there was no alternative – indeed, the full title ended with “Feeling Bad”.

The Okies and the Mexican migrant workers faced racism and poverty amid the abundance of the fruit fields. Mexicans found themselves picking fruit that was rotting on the trees – “the crops are all in and the peaches are rotting” – for wages that barely allowed them to survive – “to pay all their money to wade back again”. In “Deportee,” in which these two lyrics appear, Guthrie provocatively asked:

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except “deportees”?

Visions of America and radicalism

“We come with the dust and we go with the wind,” sang Guthrie in “Pastures of Plenty” (1941, and also included in Woody at Home), the anthem he wrote for the migrants of the US southwest, denouncing the indifference and invisibility that enabled the exploitation of workers. In this way, Guthrie measured the gap separating the US’s reality from the fulfillment of its promises and aspirations. For him, tragedies were also a collective issue that allowed him to denounce the way in which a minority (the wealthy capitalists) deprived the majority (the workers) of their rights and well-being.

A somber black and white photograph of a distressed woman with a pensive expression, seated with two children partially visible behind her, conveying themes of hardship and resilience.
This famous photograph taken by photographer Dorothea Lange in California in 1936, titled Migrant Mother, shows Florence Thompson, aged 32, then mother of seven children, who was originally from Oklahoma and had come to the Golden State in search of work. Dorothea Lange/Library of Congress

The artist’s political vision owed much to the fact that he grew up in Oklahoma in the 1920s and 1930s, where the influence of Jeffersonian agrarian populism – the vision of an agrarian republic inspired by president Thomas Jefferson, based on the equitable distribution of land among citizens – remained deeply rooted. It is within this framework that Guthrie’s radicalism, which took shape in the 1930s and 1940s, must be situated. These periods were marked by intense debate over the health of US democracy, when Roosevelt’s New Deal sought to address years of economic crisis and profound social change.

Against racial discrimination

Guthrie’s activism sought to overcome racial discrimination. This was no small feat for the son of a man said to have been a member of the Ku Klux Klan and a fervent anti-communist, who may have taken part in a lynching in 1911.

Moreover, Woody himself, upon arriving in California in the latter half of the 1930s, carried with him a racist legacy reflected in certain songs – such as his performance of the racist version of “Run, Nigger, Run”, a popular song in the South, which he sang on his own radio show in 1937. Afterward, the artist received a letter from a Black listener expressing her deep resentment over the singer’s use of the word “nigger”. Guthrie was so moved that he read the letter on the air and apologized.

He then began a process of questioning himself and what he believed the United States to be, going so far as to denounce segregation and the distortions of the judicial system that protected white people while readily imprisoning Black people. These themes appear in “Buoy Bells from Trenton”, also included in Woody at Home. The song refers to the case of the Trenton Six: in 1948, six Black men from Trenton, New Jersey were convicted of murdering a white man by an all-white jury, despite the testimony of several witnesses who had seen other individuals at the scene of the crime.

“Buoy Bells from Trenton” was probably included on the album because of the interpretation it invites concerning abuses of power and the “New Jim Crow”, an expression that echoes the Jim Crow laws (late 19th century to 1965) that imposed racial segregation in the Southern states. These laws were legitimized by the Supreme Court ruling Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), which established the principle of “separate but equal”, before being abolished by Brown v. Board of Education (1954), the Civil Rights Act (1964) and the Voting Rights Act (1965). Popularized by Michelle Alexander in her book, The New Jim Crow (2010), the contemporary term refers to the system of racial control through penal policies and mass incarceration: in 2022, African Americans made up 32% of convicted state and federal prisoners, even though they represent only 12% of the US population, a figure highlighted by several recent studies.

Guthrie’s song can thus be reread as a critique of persistent racism, both in its institutional forms and in its more diffuse manifestations. Once again, this is an example of the enduring vitality of Woody Guthrie and of how art does not end at the moment of its publication, but becomes a long-term historical phenomenon.


Daniele Curci, PhD Candidate in International and American History, Università di Siena

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

A brief history of Bella Ciao, the anti-fascist Italian song cited in the Charlie Kirk shooting

The band Fiati Sprecati playing ‘Bella Ciao’ in Florence, Italy, on Liberation Day, April 25th 2014. Photo licensed under a Creative Commons CC BY-NC 2.0 license. Find the original photo by Felip1 here.

Justin Mallia, Monash University

Following the assassination of conservative political activist Charlie Kirk, officials reported unspent bullet casings were found at the scene. These were engraved with phrases such as “If you read This, you are GAY Lmao”, “hey fascist! CATCH!” and “O Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Ciao, ciao!”

Bella Ciao (literally, “hello beautiful” or “goodbye beautiful”) is a traditional Italian folk song known for its association with the anti-fascist resistance in Italy during the second world war.

It has since moved beyond its usage as an Italian resistance song, appearing internationally in TV series, video games and TikTok videos.

It’s unclear how the reference on the bullet casings was intended to be read, but here’s what we know about the song, and its ties to the history of Fascism in Italy.

What is Fascism?

Fascism was a political movement conceived in Italy. It came to power for the first time in 1922 with the “March on Rome” of the fascist “Black Shirt” squadrons, led by Benito Mussolini.

The movement reframed the concept of freedom in society as possible only under the rule of a dictator.

Traits included the repression of political opposition, complete control of the media, intense propaganda campaigns and racial laws.

Atrocities were committed, including with military invasions and occupations in Africa in attempts to recreate an Italian empire.

Black and white photo, in front of the colosseum.
Benito Mussolini in Rome in 1922. As he leaves the Colosseum, young people greet him with the Fascist salute. Wikimedia Commons

Fascism in Italy coincided with advancements in the economy and industrialisation. By the 1930s, fascist political movements appeared across Europe including in the United Kingdom, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Poland, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Greece, Yugoslavia, Spain, Portugal, Norway and, most notably, in Germany.

A common misconception today is to equate Fascism and Nazism. Fascism refers to a broad array of often contradictory authoritarian political philosophies. German Nazism falls under the broad banner of fascism, but there was only one Nazism, based in specific theories of racist suprematism.

The definition of fascism has always been ambiguous, but after the demise of the Italian Fascist and German Nazi regimes, it lost much of its political meaning in commonplace use.

In a 1946 article for the Tribune newspaper, George Orwell declared:

the word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies ‘something not desirable’.

Giving examples such as referring to someone who adheres to a strict diet as a “health-fascist”, or someone who advocates for the environment as an “eco-fascist”, in 2013, political theorist Roger Griffin noted:

The term ‘fascism’ continues to be bandied about by those clearly more interested in its seemingly inexhaustible polemical force than in anything resembling historical or political fact.

Some scholars in Fascism, such as Ruth Ben Ghiat, warn against the authoritarian tendencies of leaders including Donald Trump.

But the unwieldy labelling of politicians or commentators operating within democratic systems of government as “Fascist” is misguided. It dilutes the meaning and memory of Fascism.

What is the song Bella Ciao?

Like many traditional songs, the origins of Bella Ciao are not definitively known.

The melody is thought to date back to 1919. The first documentation of the lyrics is from 1953.

Oral traditions trace the origin of the meaning to the Apennine mountains in the Italian region of Emilia. There, during the second world war, anti-fascist fighters with modest resources stood up to the power of the Fascist regime.

The lyrics recount the solemn story of a fighter bidding farewell to his loved one, preparing to sacrifice his life for liberty.

In Italy, the song has become revered as an almost sacred tribute, sung on occasions such as the anniversary of the liberation of the country from Fascist rule in 1945.

In recent years, Bella Ciao has become popular outside of Italy. It featured in the Spanish Netflix series Money Heist (2017) and on the soundtrack of the first person shooter video game Far Cry 6 (2021).

With a catchy tune and innocuous chorus, Bella Ciao has been remixed in dance music, and featured on TikTok videos. These adaptations pay limited or no attention to the political meaning.

But some new uses of the song, while drawing on its uninformed popularity, are politically reinfusing it for purposes different to its original context.

In October 2024, members of the European Parliament on the political left chanted the chorus in response to a speech by Prime Minister of Hungary Viktor Orban.

No formal explanation was given, but here the use of the song can be understood as a loose attempt to indirectly associate Orban with Fascism.

Making meaning

Bella Ciao has developed conflicting meanings, stemming, at least in part, from the many modern meanings and interpretations of Fascism.

We do not know what was intended by inscribing bullet casings with this traditional song, or what the inscriber’s understanding of Fascism and Nazism are.

But by understanding all of these conflicts, we can avoid collapsing the meanings into a single, monolithic phenomenon – and avoid the dangers of trivialisation and misappropriation.

Justin Mallia, PhD Candidate in Art History and Theory, Monash University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Kneecap’s stance on Gaza extends a long history of the Irish supporting other oppressed peoples

Ciara Smart, University of Tasmania

Love them or hate them, there’s no doubt Irish hip-hop trio Kneecap are having a moment.

Their music – delivered in a powerful fusion of English and Irish – is known for its gritty lyrics about party drugs and working-class life in post-Troubles Ireland. More recently, the group has made headlines for its outspoken support for the Palestinian people.

British police have charged member Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh (known by his stage name Mo Chara) with a terrorism offence. Ó hAnnaidh was charged in May, after being accused of displaying a Hezbollah flag at a London concert in November.

But this isn’t the first time an Irish republican group has courted controversy for backing other oppressed peoples. This has been happening for almost two centuries.

Unsanitised and vocal support

Ireland is composed of 32 counties. Twenty-six are in the Republic of Ireland, while six are part of the United Kingdom in Northern Ireland. When the British government withdrew from most of Ireland in 1921, the Irish Free State was largely Catholic, while Northern Ireland was more heavily Protestant. But these divisions are becoming increasingly irrelevant.

While Ireland is still split across two nations, public support for Irish unity remains strong, particularly among citizens of the Republic.

Kneecap’s members are from Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland. They are also fierce republicans, which means they want to see Ireland united as one nation. One of their most popular songs, Get Your Brits Out, calls for the British state’s withdrawal from Northern Ireland.

The group has experienced a meteoric rise in recent years, helped by a semi-autobiographical film released last year.

They have reclaimed the term “Fenian”, often used as an anti-Irish slur. Their decision to rap in Irish is also a cultural milestone, as the language was suppressed in Northern Ireland for most of the 20th century, only achieving official language status in 2022.

Despite being undeniable provocateurs, they claim they aren’t interested in reigniting Catholic-Protestant conflict. They celebrate the similarities between both groups, rather than highlight their differences.

Ó hAnnaidh’s alleged terrorism offence came after he waved a Hezbollah flag at a London gig and chanted “Up Hamas, up Hezbollah”. Both Hamas and Hezbollah are considered terrorist groups in Britain. He will face court on August 20.

Irish-Māori solidarity

Kneecap is carrying on a long tradition of Irish groups who faced controversy for denouncing the oppressive acts of powerful states.

In the 19th century, several Irish nationalist groups expressed solidarity with other colonised peoples, especially Māori in Aotearoa New Zealand. Groups such as the Irish Republican Brotherhood (whose members were called Fenians) arguably saw Māori and Irish as co-victims of a tyrannical state.

Irish nationalist newspapers often wrote sympathetically about the colonisation of New Zealand, and tried to inspire Ireland to resist British subjugation, like Māori seemed to be doing.

A historical depiction of a violent skirmish in a dense forest, showing soldiers in conflict with Māori warriors. The scene captures intense action, with soldiers producing weapons and Māori fighters in a defensive stance amidst foliage.
This painting by Kennett Watkins, The Death of Von Tempsky at Te Ngutu o Te Manu (circa 1893), portrays conflict in 1868 between armed constabulary and Māori forces. Wikimedia

In July 1864, the Fenian newspaper The Irish People stressed British hypocrisy. It wrote, “savages we call [Māori], using the arrogant language of civilisation, but, honestly, they deserve to be characterised by a much better word”.

It also scoffed at the “unconquerable propensity of the Anglo-Saxon to plunder the lands of other people – a propensity which manifests itself most strikingly alike in Ireland and New Zealand”.

Similarly, in December 1868, the nationalist newspaper The Nation contrasted “valiant” Māori with “terrified” British. It sarcastically described Māori as “rebels (men fighting for their own rights on their own soil)” and mocked the British forces as “valiant men who could bully a priest”.

The article finished on a sombre note: “Mere valour will in the end go down before the force of numbers and the cunning of diplomacy”.

Rumours of a secret rebellion

Other Irish leaders, such as the nationalist Michael Davitt, saw inspirational parallels between the nonviolent campaign of Charles Stewart Parnell, the 19th century leader of the Irish Home Rule movement, and Māori leader Te Whiti-o-Rongomai.

In Ireland, Parnell encouraged poor tenant farmers to pause rent payments to their British landlords. In New Zealand, Te Whiti encouraged Māori to dismantle colonially-constructed fences and plough the land for themselves. Both were arrested in 1881 within three weeks of each other.

A historical poster advocating for tenant farmers to refuse rent payments during the Land War in Ireland, emphasizing solidarity and resistance against landlords.
The ‘No Rent Manifesto’ was issued on 18 October 1881, by Parnell and others of the Irish National Land League while in Kilmainham Jail. National Library of Ireland

So strong was the sense of kinship between Irish and Māori that, in the 1860s, there were persistent rumours of a joint Irish-Māori rebellion reported in the media and even New Zealand’s parliament.

In March, 1869, the conservative New Zealand newspaper Daily Southern Cross reported a large number of Māori “have decided on joining the Fenian Brotherhood, and have adopted the green flag as their national emblem”.

Later that year, the paper reported the supposed Fenians told a Māori resistance group that, “like the Maori, they hate the British rule, and are prepared to make common cause […] to overthrow that rule in New Zealand”.

However, these rumours were probably no more than a conspiracy fuelled by racist anti-Irish paranoia.

Actions and outcomes

Any tangible results of cross-cultural sympathy from 19th century Irish nationalists were mixed, at best. My ongoing research shows solidarity with Māori was partly motivated by humanitarian motives, but was also often used to make a point about Ireland.

Identifying with another oppressed peoples within the context of a corrupt empire was a powerful way to argue for improved political recognition within Ireland. Irish nationalists generally didn’t do much other than declare their sympathy.

Kneecap, on the other hand, seems willing to bear the legal and financial consequences of being vocal about human rights abuses in Gaza. Some of their shows have been cancelled, and funding providers have withdrawn.

While curated rebellion can be lucrative in show-business, Kneecap says the controversy following them is a distraction. They insist the world should focus squarely on Gaza instead.

Ciara Smart, PhD Graduand in History, University of Tasmania

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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