Across the world, protests have witnessed the power of music to become a rallying call and a beacon of hope. Chants turn into songs, and songs turn into anthems, all carrying the emotions of the people who might otherwise not have a platform to express themselves. In the past few years, the Iranian protest movement has seen the emergence of some incredible music that reflects the emotions of the people, including the pain, anger, courage, and hope they have managed to express through their songs.
Man Zendeam Hanooz: A Protest Song from Iran’s Resistance Movement
Among the latest additions to the growing list of songs and music emerging from the Iranian protests is the powerful protest song “Man Zendeam Hanooz” (“I Am Still Alive”) by Iranian composer Adib Ghorbani, with lyrics by Vienna-based, Iranian poet Pooyan Moghaddassi.
This song, released in the early part of 2026 and performed by Iranian music students and a choir, has already begun to circulate on the web and among the supporters of the Iranian pro-democracy movement.
The sound of a movement
To fully comprehend the effect of “Man Zendeam Hanooz,” it is necessary to briefly discuss the cultural context in which this piece emerged. Following the death of Mahsa Amini in 2022, Iran is facing one of the largest protest movements in its modern history.
As a result of this protest, which featured slogans such as “Woman, Life, Freedom,” the Iranian people challenged their government and expressed their desire for a change in their social and political systems.
In this context, music emerged as a key component of this protest movement. Perhaps the most famous piece of music to emerge from this protest is “Baraye” by Shervin Hajipour, a piece of music in which a variety of protest slogans were combined into a set of lyrics.
Man Zendeam Hanooz also emerged in this context, as the lyrics of the song are based on the slogans the Iranian people were sharing on social media in the aftermath of the recent internet shutdown. When people regained access to the internet, they started letting friends and family know: “I am still alive.”
“Man Zendeam Hanooz” is a song that is performed in less than two minutes, but its brevity is part of its strength. The title is a powerful phrase, and on the most individual level, it speaks to survival – as thousands of Iranians have faced arrest or worse during the protests. But the phrase is more than that.
It is also a statement that speaks to the collective group as a whole. It is a statement that says even if people as individuals are silenced, they as a whole are still here. They are still alive.
Ghorbani writes on his Soundcloud page: “With the eternal memory of the homeland and dedicated to the noble people of Iran; to the courage that lives and the life and revolution that does not fade away.”
Art under pressure
However, the production of protest music in Iran is not without peril. Artists have been arrested, interrogated, and banned from professional practice. Some artists have opted to produce the protest music anonymously or from exile.
Despite the challenges, protest music is still being produced. This is due to the ease of disseminating the information through the internet, which helps the activists within Iran connect with the Iranian diaspora and the international community.
Thus, the protest music acts as a bridge for the Iranian people, the diaspora, and the international community, which is otherwise divided by the Iranian government’s censorship.
To artists like Ghorbani, the production of such protest music is a statement of intent. It is a statement that the government cannot control art, and that art is a powerful form of protest.
It is precisely because of its simplicity that “Man Zendeam Hanooz” is so compelling. It does not require any complex lyrics or storytelling. It is simply a declaration of existence.
In situations where people are uncertain and afraid, words like these are incredibly empowering. They remind people that resistance is not simply about acts of defiance, but also about determination – the determination to continue speaking, singing, and living, in spite of those who seek to silence them.
Throughout history, protest songs have been a key tool in this kind of resistance. Whether it is civil rights music, anti-war songs, or any other kind of protest music, it gives people a common language to speak in terms of resilience and determination. Ghorbani’s piece is a perfect example of this.
To those outside of Iran, the song “Man Zendeam Hanooz” is a window into the inner workings of the Iranian protest movement. While the headlines tell of conflict, arrests, or political pronouncements, the song represents another level of the protest movement.
Ultimately, the strength of the song is not in the tune itself, but in what the song represents. It represents the fact that in the midst of repression, people continue to make music, to sing, to proclaim their existence.
What an awful year. A genocide continued to unfold in Gaza, over 20 million people are in desperate need of food and medical aid in the DRC, and the war in Sudan, now in its third year, is showing the rest of the world how truly horrific the human species can be – with systematic rape used as a weapon of war and over half a million people on the brink of starvation.
As the rest of the world watches these horrors unfold, the powerful don’t take even the slightest break. While breaking international rule of law, the president of the USA started the year off with a literal bang by doing what that government does best: dropping bombs and kidnapping a head of state. With no rest for the wicked, Trump then threatened to colonise Greenland. And in Iran, two weeks into 2026, thousands of people have been killed, largely by authorities, after protests erupted in the country in December.
The year is off to a rough start.
However, we can’t give up, and we can’t give in. While global media often focuses on the negative, we can’t forget that there are so many people dedicating every ounce of their being to protecting our environment, helping people in need, fighting poachers, reporting the truth under a rain of bombs – the list goes on.
Governments around the world are threatening artists with long, harsh prison sentences – yet they continue to sing; corporations are pressing criminal charges against people for rescuing animals from being murdered – yet they continue to save animals; people are being oppressed for their sexual orientation, colour of their skin, or religious beliefs – yet they continue to march in protest.
From Bulgaria to Nepal to Morocco, young people stood up to old powers and demanded immediate action – calling for better healthcare, more funding towards education, an end to corruption and impunity, and real environmental action.
We should all do what we can. Everything matters, and a thousand small actions amount to a big ball of kindness. In 2025, artists did what they do best: they analysed what was unfolding in front of their empathetic eyes, and they created music. Music that brings awareness, music that fights fascism, music that unifies.
We’ve said it before, and we’ll keep saying it. Protest music never died. There is a plethora of protest musicians out there and plenty of independentmediacovering their work. And for further proof, check out our recently published list of top 40 protest songs of 2025 (a list DJ General Strike narrowed down from over 1,000 songs) and our Selected Protest Music of 2025 Playlist, which holds over 7 hours worth of revolutionary music.
We must stand in solidarity with everyone who is oppressed – whether that be our fellow humans, the animals, or Mother Earth herself. And we’ve got the music to go along with the resistance.
Below are ten examples, a few favourite albums of the friends and collaborators of Shouts.
This is music from the rooftops.
Contributing to this list were Salma Ahmed, Kevin Gosztola, Santiago Campodónico, Mat Ward, and Riley Rowe.
Armageddon In A Summer Dress by Sunny War
Sunny War’s Armageddon in a Summer Dressis one of the beautiful tapestries that were woven this year. War’s album captured many genres through its songs, and these genres were accompanied by diverse stories narrated in every song. She gives you hope and then takes it away, only to give it back again. Her songs about loneliness and poverty feel fitting for the times one finds themselves in. The same can be found in the songs that tried to fight against fascism and the corruption suffocating America.
Armageddon in a Summer Dress is the kind of album that stays with you even if months have passed since you first listened to it. You might catch yourself singing “Bad times, stay away” without realising it. And when everything gets dark in the world around you, you start hoping that War’s words, when she sings “But you did it once before / I know you’ll do it once more,” will come true. Even if nothing changed, War’s masterpiece would be the speck of hope convincing you that it is never too late.
Words by Salma Ahmed, contributing writer for Shouts – Music from the Rooftops! Read her full review of the album here, and more of Salma’s articles can be found here.
Andrija Tokic did such a fabulous job producing, engineering, and mixing this record. It’s full-sounding, and without losing any edge, there’s an effervescence to Sunny War’s music as she provides a working-class soundtrack for late-stage capitalism. Standout track is “Walking Contradiction,” a collaboration with Crass co-founder Steve Ignorant.
The Viagra Boys’ newest album, viagr aboys, is an ironic, beautifully arranged, hilariously self-aware, crude, and profound meditation on contemporary life. Its power as a protest album lies in the band’s ability to point at the inherent absurdity and injustice of the systems that underpin everyday life, and either mock them, portray their consequences, or lament their effects.
Everything from the quick solutions often sold for coping with eating habits (with songs like Pyramid of Heath), to the unfocused and radical subgroups the precarious job market has created (Dirty Boyz), this album has something to say. Moreover, it says it concisely, backed by one of the most focused punk recordings of the decade. viagr aboys, like all great records, enters through the ears but sticks in the brain for what lies underneath the layers.
Words by Santiago Campodónico, contributing writer for Shouts – Music from the Rooftops! More of Santiago’s articles can be found here.
Ül by Mawiza
Since its British birth, metal music has been shaped, led, and seen as an art form of and for European and American crowds. And while artists from Brazil, Japan, or other cultural hubs have broken through the international veil, it’s often seen as a boundary-breaking statement to make metal music if you’re outside the norm of the aforementioned demographic. For example, Mawiza is a metal group based in the Mapuche Nation territory in Chile. They use their indigenous roots and musicalities to make very distinct and powerful music, chanting in their Mapuzungun dialect and riffing in earthy rhythms. With a guest feature by Gojira and praise from the likes of Slipknot to Mastodon, Ül by Mawiza is a stunning example of a protest album, not only for bringing awareness and legitimacy to metal music made by indigenous people, but also for the anti-logging and decolonization messages in certain songs. If your interest is piqued by folk-groove metal like The Hu or Sepultura, enjoy this album, mastered by Alan Douches (Converge, Chelsea Wolfe).
Samora Pinderhughes is a US composer, pianist, vocalist, and multidisciplinary artist who, in collaboration with The Healing Project, a community-engaged arts initiative he leads, released a very special mixtape this year. Black Spring honours the 100 years since the birth of writer and activist James Baldwin, connecting Baldwin’s legacy to contemporary struggles. The work blends poetic piano, electronics, and neo-soul, bringing together musicians, vocalists, and poets from his New York community to create a collective artistic voice.
Words by Halldór Kristínarson, managing editor of Shouts – Music from the Rooftops!
Social Cohesion by Mudrat
I listen to 30 protest albums a month for the monthly political albums round-up I write at greenleft.org.au. A standout for me this year was Social Cohesion, the debut album from Naarm/Melbourne-based punk-hip hop artist Mudrat, who is creating a real stir with his innovative and uncompromising music. This was solidified by seeing him electrify an audience of activists at Rising Tide, a blockade of the world’s biggest coal port in Muloobinba/Newcastle. Check out his earworm “I Hate Rich Cunts”, which has passed 1 million plays on Spotify alone.
Saba Alizadeh’s Temple of Hope is the kind of album that could be enough to carry an artist’s legacy on its shoulders with no backup. The music composition by the Iranian artist takes you to a different world. One that is filled with hope, dreams, loss, and even death. With the protests recently happening in Iran, Templeof Hopefeels like it predicted it ever since it was released. The song To Become a Martyr, One Has to Be Murdered could be played while you are on the edge of your seat, watching a nation rise up. It’s not just Alizadeh’s composition that makes the album one of 2025’s best, but the vocals, carefully chosen and placed in the right songs, are the missing piece of the puzzle. Maybe as the years passed, Iranians will find themselves walking into a new nation that they made become their own temple of hope.
Words by Salma Ahmed, contributing writer for Shouts – Music from the Rooftops! Read more of Salma’s articles can be found here.
They’re Burning the Boats by Bambu
One of my favourite albums of the year is They’re Burning the Boats, by Filipino-American rapper Bambu. The veteran musician has been in the rap game for a minute – and it shows. There’s a layer of maturity and understanding in his lyrics, something that comes with experience. Bambu is a father, and his hope for a more just world for his daughter shines through on this album. He wants to leave a legacy, and he makes sure he spits the truth in every song he makes or is part of. He gets straight to the point and tears down the fascist forces that are trying to divide us all. He takes hard shots with harder rhymes and makes it look easy. With sometimes carnival-sounding beats from Fatgums and each song holding its own, this is one piece I’ve been spinning again and again this year. It makes me want to go out and fight fascists and also stay at home and hold my daughter – all at once.
Words by Halldór Kristínarson, managing editor of Shouts – Music from the Rooftops!
The Film by SUMAC and Moor Mother
The Film is a visceral jaw-dropping concept album constructed like an original motion picture soundtrack. The pairing of a sludge metal band with a bona fide artist like Moor Mother delivers on all fronts. The compositions pound away at you. Is this what it’s like to decolonize your mind? Standout track is “Scene 1,” but it doesn’t really have songs. Each “scene,” and the few tracks in between, have to be heard together to appreciate this statement of artistic freedom.
In the same vein of anti-war films like ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ or ‘Warfare,’ 1914 shines a light on the pain and loss of war to demonstrate an anti-war message through blackened death metal. On the surface, their new album – Viribus Unitis – may appear to glorify the violent battles of WWI, however, the sheer terror and death tolls that are lyrically showcased become a clear warning against continued wars in modern day, and therefore, the perfect protest album, especially considering the band’s Ukrainian origin. Mastered by Tony Lindgren (Enslaved, Leprous), be sure to give this album a listen if you’re into Rotting Christ, Kanonenfieber, or even Type O Negative.
Grit and soul is what you get on Kirby’s new album, Miss Black. After years of working deep inside the music industry, living in New York, the Memphis-born, Mississippi-raised artist went back to her homeland to create her newest work. She describes it as a record “about growing up in Mississippi and understanding how the fight of your ancestors, the love of your family, the blood on the land and the joy of the Sunday choir shaped how you see the world.” And it simply sounds amazing.
Words by Halldór Kristínarson, managing editor of Shouts – Music from the Rooftops!
On his third album, Afro-Portuguese artist Scúru Fitchádu fuses ancestral wisdom with urban revolt, turning memory and militancy into a soundtrack for resistance.
What strength is that?” asked Sérgio Godinho, one of the most important Portuguese singer-songwriters, in 1972, when Portugal was still submerged in the long night of fascism—dragging out the agony of its colonial system, condemning people to an unjust war, and spreading the carnage in massacres like the one that took place that year in Wiriyamu, Mozambique. Those were harsh times, marked by a “dormensia ku korrenti” (dormancy with chains), as Scúru Fitchádu would later write and sing in Nez txada skúru dentu skina na braku fundu (2023), his second album, where he reworked and re-signified the poetics of the guerilla and African liberation movements, placing them in the cold concrete thickets of the contemporary city.
More than 50 years have passed since that distant 1972, though the frictions of that memory remain alive in the present. After all, as we’ve recently witnessed in Portugal, where the racist far-right political party Chega had 22.5 percent in the 2025 elections, the serpent’s egg was never properly incinerated—there it is today, transformed into a hydra with 50 furious heads, ready to crush anyone who dares to resist. There they sit, all of them—sons and grandsons of fascists, colonialists, and repackaged terrorist bombers—now comfortably nestled in the honorable seats of Parliament.
By historical coincidence, Scúru Fitchádu’s third album, Griots i Riots, was released the morning after the 2025 election, a day of hangover and shock for those who grew up believing that fascism belonged to the past tense—that places of repression like Tarrafal, or the political violence of the militias in the street, would remain matters of memory, not future threats looming on the horizon. That historical coincidence, as we said, made this album all the more urgent, a symptom of its own time. Urgent, because it’s impossible to hear the unrelenting shout of “Kema palasio kema” without picturing the pigs who would roast beautifully in that redemptive fire. And symptomatic of our time because to the fifty pigs named in the track “Resistensia,” the album’s final piece, we now need to add at least eight more—and, perhaps, sharpen the blades, load the spit a little heavier, and throw some extra fuel into the blaze.
“What strength is that?” Let’s return to Sérgio Godinho’s question. What strength do we “carry in our arms,” one that “demands only obedience”? What force puts us at “ease with others but at odds with ourselves”? These days, we look around lost, downcast, already tasting blood in our mouths. And still, this music—this immanent fury—cuts through the daze, offering not a manifesto of ready-made ideas, but a concrete possibility: to give rage a sense of collective power.
That possibility emerges from the meeting of griots—whose patient wisdom crosses time and space—and riots, urgent responses to immediate violence, a right to self-defense for those who, to borrow again from the last album’s words, refuse to live as a “bakan kontenti tristi i filiss koitadu / ku se sina la dentu borsu i ku korda na piskoss ben marradu” (content, dumb, sad and happy fool / playing with fate in your pocket and a tight rope around the neck).
Griots i Riots picks up exactly where Nez txada skúru dentu skina na braku fundu left off. In “Treinament,” the final track of that record, it spoke of waking up once again with a purpose—“like a dog with clenched teeth and a sore jaw, red eyes waiting for night to fall.” It called for a “prepared militancy” like a root growing strong, turning to weapons and theory with a precise dilemma: “liberation or death.” Not coincidentally, those are also the first words heard on Griots i Riots, wrapped in the crystalline sound of a kora played by Mbye Ebrima, then immediately disrupted by the distorted low-end frequencies that define Scúru Fitchádu’s sonic world.
Guided by this political mantra, the album is built upon the tension between theory and practice, word and action, body and orality, the city and self-interrogation—conceiving of revolution not as a distant utopia but as a concrete, daily possibility. Not something that will come from palaces, vanguard leaders, or expert commissions, but from the praxis of lived experience, rooted in committed communities.
Knowing there is no revolutionary theory without revolutionary practice, Griots i Riots confronts the hard time of reality with the slow time of ancestral wisdom; it challenges the anesthetized apathy of political and cultural intervention by conjuring a dissension that opens cracks toward another future. This confrontation between times and tensions—between memory and urgency, between word and action—is not just a poetic or political gesture. It’s also the compositional principle structuring the album, shaping its rhythm and breath. We hear it right away in “Griot i Riot,” the intro, where ancestral wisdom, carried by the kora, is layered over and gradually contaminated by sonic grime—punctuated by background screams and urgent vocalizations.
Once the blueprint is set, the strategy follows. “Idukasan i saud,” a fast-paced shout of popular revolt that reworks poetic lines from Sérgio Godinho’s À Queima Roupa (1974), is followed by “Kel karta di alfuria…,” a bass-heavy, reflective track about the traps of false liberations lost in the bourgeois entanglements of the Big House. “Funda na poss,” a visceral blow against pop culture’s submissive posture, is succeeded by “Du ta morrê,” an austere and slow meditation on death and grief. The accelerated precision of “Kema palasio kema” clashes with the poetic delivery and harmonized distortion of “Símia Kodjê”—a track with Conan Osiris, where a fado-tinged voice has never sounded so richly defiled. “Prekariadu,” a battle cry against the suffocating precarity of lives in the urban jungle, gives way to “Caoberdiano Barela,” a moving reinterpretation of Princezito’s classic, reminding us that this is a long story still unfolding. Finally, “Resistensia” closes the album, ensuring we don’t forget the clear identification of the targets: the pigs that squeal, the wolves that howl, the sheep that let their guard down.
By his third record, Scúru Fitchádu has lost neither the searing, rough dissent of Un Kuza Runhu (2020) nor the poetic, ethical, and sonic density of Nez txada skúru dentu skina na braku fundu. In Griots i Riots, we hear the same insubordination, the original impulse, the same grime meant to disrupt the management of a rotten peace. But we also hear an artist who is increasingly a dense and sagacious poet, seeking to expand and master his own language, without ever yielding to the cynical reason of our times. Above all, a creator who writes about his time and his people, attuned to their latent anger, invested in the search for new answers born from everyday struggle. A creator whose music becomes the soundtrack of those who refuse to live in chains, yet who allows himself to explore—in both sound and content—deeper reflections on the human condition, the possibilities of agency, the consciousness of death, and the potential for what’s to come: an ongoing attempt to answer Sérgio Godinho’s question: What strength is this that we carry in our arms? Let us keep asking—and keep fighting. On this side of the barricade, no one will die on their knees.
