Music, Power and Liberty: Sound, Song and Melody as Instruments of Change 9780755695249, 9780755695232

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Notes on Contributors Tarek Abdallah is an Egyptian musician, songwriter and performer (Arab lute), and graduated from The House of the Arab Lute in Cairo with an Award of Excellence in 2005. He obtained a master’s degree in Musicology at Lumière University Lyon 2 in 2009. He is currently a contracted Ph.D. student (researcher) at Lumière University Lyon 2. He recorded his first album “Wasla” in 2014, produced by the French label Buda Musique. Ahmed Aydoun, Ph.D. obtained a doctorate in Economics in 2012 on “The Cultural Industries in Morocco.” As a musicologist, he has written five books on Moroccan music and has hosted and produced many radio programs on multiple topics: European classical music, Arab music, and Moroccan heri­ tage. He has also published over 300 articles. He was successively Professor and Director of the National Music Conservatory in Rabat and Head of Music at the Ministry of Culture. He has also served as Artistic Director of the great anthology of Moroccan music at the National Festival of Popular Arts in Marrakech, and Designer and Artistic Director of the “Mawazine Generation” competition for the new musical scene. Kerim Bouzouita, Ph.D. (University of Paris VIII) is a cultural-political anthropologist and musicologist. In his anthropological work, he discusses the importance of imagination as a power issue. He was formerly a visiting professor at the University of Chicago and the University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris VIII), and he spent three years as Associate Professor at the Higher Institute of Music, Tunis before moving to the Higher School of Digital Economy. Some of his most important works published in the UK, US, Italy

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and France specifically address themes such as cyber-dissent (2011), underground and political identities (2012, 2013), and mass media and political authority (2014). Tia DeNora, Ph.D. is a sociologist at Exeter University where she works with the SocArts Research Group. Her recent books are Music Asylums: Wellbeing Through Music in Everyday Life (2013) and Making Sense of Reality (2014). Fadi El-Abdallah is a Lebanese essayist and poet. His work focuses on issues of law, the arts, and the relations between artistic creations and the social developments of which they are a part. He lives and works in the Netherlands. Joám Evans Pim is Director of the Hawaii-based Center for Global Nonkilling and a farmer by nature. He also teaches Åbo Akademi University’s MA in Peace, Mediation and Conflict Research, in Finland, focusing on nonviolence, nonkilling and peaceful societies. He has done research on the relevance of song as a mechanism to prevent human aggression, having published some of his findings in War, Peace, and Human Nature (2013). Soufiane Feki, Ph.D. has a doctorate in Analytical Musicology from the University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV). He is Lecturer at the University of Sfax Higher Institute of Music (since 2003), and Member of the Research Laboratory in Culture, New Technologies and Development (CUNTIC) at the University of Tunis. He is Research Associate at the Center for Research on Musical Heritage and Languages (PLM), University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV), former Director of the Department of Music and Musicology at the Institut Supérieur of Sfax (2006–8), and General Director of the Center for Arab and Mediterranean Music since November 2013. Edgard Garcia designs and implements the actions of the Association Chroma/Zebrock which has been a cultural operator for popular music for 25 years in Seine Saint-Denis, organizing educational and training programs in music for the youth in the suburbs of Paris. He is also Artistic Advisor for the Fête de l’Humanité, one of the largest annual musical events in Paris,

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and he is the local representative focusing on cultural questions. Early in the 1980s he worked for Show Magazine, a professional monthly publication on recording and music and was the deputy director of Radio TSF, a local radio station. Fakher Hakima, Ph.D. is a lecturer, educational coordinator and Head of the Department of Music and Musicology at the Higher Institute for Music in Sousse, Tunisia. He holds a Ph.D. in Musicology from the University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV). He is also founder of and a saxophonist in the Saxofan group, through which he has entered the field of Arabic music for Big Band as an artistic creator and arranger of musical themes. He is also the author of several scientific articles published in Tunisia and abroad. Daisaku Ikeda is a Buddhist philosopher, peacebuilder, educator, author and poet. He is the third president of the Soka Gakkai lay Buddhist organization and the founding president of Soka Gakkai International (SGI). Ikeda is founder of the Soka (value-creation) schools, a nondenominational school system that includes a university in Tokyo, Japan, and another in California, USA. Since the 1970s he has pursued dialogue with a wide range of individuals around the world. Over 60 of these have been published in book form, with people such as Mikhail Gorbachev, Elise Boulding, Joseph Rotblat and André Malraux. Ikeda is a prolific writer who has published more than 100 works. Hiroyasu Kobayashi is currently President of the Min-On Concert Association. After obtaining a bachelor’s degree in Economics from Nihon University, he was employed by the All Nihon Accounting Foundation in 1965. In 1967 he started working for the Ebi Accounting Office and in 1969 for the Min-On Concert Association. After fulfilling several executive positions, he became its president in 2002. Since 2014 he has been the director of the newly established Min-On Music Research Institute. Victoria Tomoko Okada, Ph.D. in Musicology and Music History from the University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV), is a visiting fellow at the

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Observatoire Musical Français in the same university. Her doctoral thesis was on “Japonisme” on stage in France between 1870 and 1914, and her research focuses on sub-themes such as the relationships between music and fine arts, and between art music and popular music. She is a music critic for several websites specializing in classical music and/or musicology, and also for a Japanese magazine; a translator of books on music and fine arts, including the series “Que sais-je?;” and a member of the Presse Musicale Internationale. María Elisa Pinto García holds a Master of Arts in Peace and Conflict Studies from the Tokyo University of Foreign Studies (Japan) and a B.A. in Government and International Relations from Externado University (Colombia). Her experience and research are related to peacebuilding and the links between art and conflict transformation. Currently, she is the CEO of Prolongar Foundation, which focuses on art-based peacebuilding activities. She is also convener of the Art & Peace Commission of the International Peace Research Association (IPRA). She has presented and published widely on the topic of art and peacebuilding.  Itır Toksöz, Ph.D. is Assistant Professor at the Department of International Relations, Dog˘us¸ University, Istanbul, Turkey. She has also served as President of the European Peace Research Association (EuPRA) since 2012. Her areas of research are: security studies, threat perceptions, civil/military relations, human security and science-technology, and international relations. She also studies and teaches international relations through art and artworks. Nestor Torres studied flute at Mannes School of Music in NYC and the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston. He has recorded 14 CDs to date and has earned four Latin Grammy nominations, one Grammy nomination and one Latin Grammy Award. Equally fluent in jazz, classical and Latin idioms, he has collaborated with Tito Puente, Herbie Hancock, Ricky Martin, Dave Matthews, Kenny Loggins and Gloria Estefan, and performed with The New World, Cleveland and Singapore Symphony Orchestras. He is the recipient of two honorary doctorate degrees.

Foreword Tia DeNora

I am very pleased to write a foreword for this volume, Music, Power and Liberty: Sound, Song and Melody as Instruments of Change. The chapters collected here report on practical activities to promote peace, attunement, mutual engagement and accord. Some of these studies are historical and some (at the time of this writing) deal with events shortly after they occurred. All the work in this book highlights music as an agent of change and an active ingredient in the political firmament. Music has always been understood as the healing and quickening art. From the ancients to the present day, around the world, that idea is put into practice in ways that highlight music’s power. But music’s powers are by no means always for the better. Music is an often-integral part of warfare, torture and, more recently, “psyops” (Rouse n.d.; US Joint Chiefs of Staff 2003). There is no doubt that music has power, that music can be understood to be an active ingredient in social life. What remains less clear is just how music comes to act, when, where, and how. What is it, then, that music “does” in situations of conflict resolution? Music, as Arild Bergh once put it, is not a “magic bullet.” To paraphrase the poet Auden (who was speaking of poetry), music makes nothing happen (Auden n.d.). That said, music affords or lends itself well to the organization of affect and social orientation because, as Bergh observes: (1) music has a low threshold for participation. As Colwyn Trevarthen noted (2011), we can musick even if/when we can’t (yet) manage words. (2) Music can augment or “enhance” action and experience by accompanying, framing, contextualizing, and inflecting. (3) Music is a socially sanctioned place for being emotional

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and showing emotions. (4) Music’s temporal variation can catch and capture our attention and conjoin us through entrainment and attunement processes (Bergh 2011, 373–4) and in ways that are contagious. In short, music can promote empathy and mutual understanding through the ways it engages us, and indeed creates us, socially, biologically and psychologically. These processes are complex, multidirectional and often simultaneous (Clarke et al. 2014). As someone who has worked alongside music therapists now for nearly a decade (DeNora 2013; Ansdell 2014), I have learned that music’s “power” has much to do with the ways it is enfolded into cultural practice. Music has the great advantage of affording ambiguity while simultaneously stirring us up: to borrow a term from Science and Technology studies, music can function as a “boundary object,” meaning different things to different people and yet for all practical purposes being talked about as if those meanings are unified and shared. Music affords, in other words, the kinds of unacknowledged miscommunication that, paradoxically perhaps, facilitate communication and, even at times, communion. We may come together around music for different reasons and take away different experiences and meanings. Yet in doing this, we have come together in relation to music, in that music’s time and in the shared space where it has happened. In this way music can generate what Simon Procter speaks of as “proto-social capital”; it can prime the processes by which people come to bond and find ways of bridging differences (Procter 2011). And so, music “makes nothing happen” but nonetheless making music together, musicking, coming together around music, even just talking about music, can establish common ground and a basis for future experience. That ground in turn provides a platform for (re)performing interrelationship and with it the possibility of change. But the mechanisms by which socio-musical change happens are convoluted, unpredictable. Musicking and musical processes are entangled with so many other things. Take the popular idea, for example, that Beethoven composed “revolutionary” music. In fact, Beethoven’s “revolutionary” music was supported and consumed by Vienna’s oldest aristocrats. Perhaps the most dramatic example can be found in the dedication and first performance of the “Eroica” symphony of 1803. It was initially dedicated to Napoleon but when Napoleon declared himself Emperor, Beethoven re-dedicated the work to Prince Lobkowitz, one of Vienna’s richest and most highly placed aristocrats



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and the symphony was premiered at Lobkowitz’s Vienna palace in a small but splendid, frescoed and gilded room. Thus, while Beethoven’s aristocratic patrons flirted with the idea of liberty (then part of post-Enlightenment culture) Beethoven’s music did not, at this time, foster much in the way of political and economic change; that is, it made “nothing happen” from the point of view of peasants and the then-nascent masses. At the same time, the relations of musical production that Beethoven’s works both helped to create and depended upon did constitute a sort of “liberation” of musicians – one which generated a great deal more “freedom” to operate as freelance professionals, albeit with new risks and constraints posed by an emerging market economy. The image of “revolutionary” music was, in other words, just that – an image. Actual social change – in musical life and elsewhere – was less sweeping and more fine-grained, linked to urban cultural ecologies (and the differences between city cultures) and to networks and socio-economic practices of musical life (DeNora 1995). The point is that music has an impact only when it is appropriated, mobilized and used (this is what is meant by the phrase “doing things with music”). And yet, music is also not a mere instrument or tool – or if it is then that tool makes us as much as we attempt to make things with it. As with the case of Beethoven’s early career, to make music, or to use music to make other things, itself demands things of its makers and users and in ways that reveal consumption to be nothing less than a form of production (Hagen 2012; Hennion 2015). This is a far cry from music as something that “represents” reality. It is a perspective that understands that what is performed through music is nothing less than “us.” As John Blacking once put it, “music is not an escape from reality; it is an adventure into reality” (1973, 28). While music’s reality is multiple, and while music may not “do” much singlehandedly, a growing body of work – practical and academic – clearly shows that doing and thinking together musically can enhance universal human capacities for attunement and empathic understanding. The chapters and case studies collected in this volume show us how this can be so and through this endeavor, they relay the hope that music can do us good. Tia DeNora Exeter, June 2015

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References Ansdell, Gary. 2014. How Music Helps: in Music Therapy and Everyday Life. Farnham: Ashgate. Auden, W. H. “In Memory of W. B. Yeats.” Retrieved April 3, 2014 from: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15544. Bergh, Arild. 2011. “Emotions in Motion: Transforming Conflict with Music,” in Music and the Mind: Essays in Honour of John Sloboda, pp. 363–78. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Blacking, John. 1973. How Musical is Man? Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Clarke, Eric, Tia DeNora and Jonna Vuoskoski. 2014. Music, Empathy, and Cultural Understanding. Final Report. AHRC Cultural Value Programme. DeNora, Tia. 1995. Beethoven and the Construction of Genius. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. ———. 2013. Music Asylums: Wellbeing through Music in Everyday Life. Farnham: Ashgate. Hagen, Trever. 2012. “From Inhibition to Commitment: Configuring the Czech Underground,” Eastbound (January). Retrieved from: http://east bound.eu/2012/hagen. Hennion, Antoine. 2015. The Passion for Music. Trans. M. Rigaud and P. Collier. Farnham: Ashgate. Procter, Simon. 2011. “Reparative Musicing: Thinking on the Usefulness of Social Capital Theory with Music Therapy,” Nordic Journal of Music Therapy Vol. 20, No. 3, 242–62. Rouse, Ed (Major, retired). n.d. “History of PSyOP.” Retrieved from: http:// www.psywarrior.com/psyhist.html%20%20. Trevarthen, Colwyn. 2011. “What is it like to be a person who knows nothing? Defining intersubjective mind of a newborn human being,” Infant and Child Development Vol. 20, No. 1, pp. 119–25. US Joint Chiefs of Staff. 2003. Joint Publication 3-53. “Doctrine for Joint Psychological Operations.” Retrieved from: http://www.iwar.org.uk/psyops/ resources/doctrine/psyop-jp-3-53.pdf.

Prelude Daisaku Ikeda

Allow me to extend my warmest greetings and felicitations on the publication of the book Music, Power and Liberty: Sound, Song and Melody as Instruments of Change. The scholars and specialists who have contributed to this volume come from Europe, Africa, North and South America, and Asia, bringing with them cultural and historical traditions that are as time-honored as they are diverse. This rich tapestry serves as the basis from which to study the role of music as a beacon for society, inspiring hope and courage in the human spirit; to examine the issues and exigencies that must be addressed to achieve an aspir­ ation as old as humanity itself – creating a world that embraces the dignity of human life and happiness for all as paramount concerns. Your work, then, is truly worthy and significant. Romain Rolland, who spent his youth in Paris and taught music history for a time at University of Paris-Sorbonne, described music – which has animated civilizations from the distant past – as “one of the strongest expressions of [the human] soul.” Rolland would also write: “No formula will hold it [music]. It is the song of centuries and the flower of history; its growth pushes upward from the griefs as well as from the joys of humanity.” Although the contributions of music were largely overlooked by conventional studies of history, Rolland was fascinated by the medium’s impact on our lives, believing it stirred people at a profound level in every age and spurred them into action. He spent the final years of his life in occupied France and, despite the constant threat of Nazi arrest, poured himself into completing a biography of Beethoven and his musical genius.

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Rolland lived roughly a century after the age of Beethoven, spending his last days at his home in Vézelay. There, he is said to have endured the thunderous artillery barrages of the invading Nazis that lasted for three successive days and nights, drawing on the sublime melodies of Beethoven’s adagio in Concerto No. 5 in E-flat Major which constantly played in Rolland’s mind in that time. It was the Concerto that the maestro had composed during the chaos and confusion that befell the citizens of Vienna following Napoleon’s invasion and subsequent occupation of their city in the early nineteenth century. Writing of that ordeal, Rolland extolls music’s wondrous capacity – from the inexhaustible strength and conviction it offers in times of adversity and difficult decisions, to the divine inspiration it renders humanity. Rolland, in fact, attributes his greatest personal virtues to his beloved composer: “I have learned more from him than from all the great teachers in my time. The best of myself, I owe to Beethoven.” What inspires an individual from the depths of his soul amid great personal tribulations and awakens him to his virtuous nature, thus setting him upon the path of hope for the future? I contend that it is the arts – or more specifically, music. I referred to this expansive and immeasurable power dwelling within the “hymn to life” in a poem I composed, which I introduced in an address I gave at the Académie des Beaux-Arts of the Institut de France in 1989. Regarding this point, the reminiscences of Dr. Vincent Harding, the American historian who was also a close friend of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., will always remain with me. He related how songs had provided solace and sustenance for those involved in the US civil rights movement: I often think that the power of those songs was in the courage they gave to people. Sometimes people would be in dangerous situations and would be singing, “We are not afraid. We are not afraid.” To be clear, they were not singing that they were not afraid. In fact, they were often trembling with fear, but what they were singing about was their determination to not let fear overcome them. They meant, “We are not going to let fear conquer us. We are not going to let fear stop us.” The encouragement



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that they gave each other through their singing was an important element in the life of the movement and its participants. At the international conference on global visioning which the Toda Institute organized in the Moroccan capital of Rabat in February 2011, Ela Gandhi – the chancellor of the Durban University of Technology and granddaughter of Mahatma Gandhi – shared her experience as a human rights activist in South Africa, a legacy and purpose she assumed from her grandfather. She cited songs and singing for inspiring the courage to persevere in her fight regardless of the persecutions she faced. I believe it is an incontrovertible fact of history that music and songs serve as a force driving people onward in their struggle to win freedom and social reforms. A theme and undercurrent first identified in the French Revolution, this force has also been a factor common to the democratic movements in Central and South America in the latter half of the twentieth century, the revolutions of 1989 in Eastern Europe, as well as to the “Arab Spring” of today. Moreover, music can transcend national borders and cultural differences to connect people from the heart. Sixty years ago, Josei Toda, my mentor in life and second president of the Soka Gakkai, advocated global citizenship in order to realize a world in which people are never persecuted on the basis of their ethnicity or nationality. Toda valued songs because he believed they fostered fellowship among people striving to build a new, better world and that this esprit de corps spurred them on to even greater advances. When Japan was struck by a devastating earthquake and tsunami in March 2011, the efficacy of singing and musical performances in providing comfort for those who lost loved ones, homes and jobs in the calamity, as well as in healing their emotional wounds, was widely reaffirmed. The medium of music awakens people to hope, its emanations stirring us with the conviction that even the bitterest of winters invariably turn to spring. Not only does music brighten the prospect for a better future, it rekindles boundless hope in our lives now, from one moment to the next. Held by many as a quintessential teaching of Buddhism, the Lotus Sutra refers to a bodhisattva who assumes different guises to save those stricken by the harsh realities of society, compelled by a profound sense of compassion.

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Known as Bodhisattva Wonderful Sound, he is said to have been accompan­ied wherever he went by the music of hundreds and thousands of heavenly musicians. Wayne Shorter, an acclaimed jazz musician, shared the following insights in a dialogue that he and I engaged in a few years ago: Music has the power to influence our behavior in daily life. It has the fundamental power to awaken and stir the greatness that lies dormant within today’s society, where there is so much apathy and indifference. Musicians, including myself, have the responsibility to tap into this power. The contributions of music in a world adrift in deepening uncertainty have thus assumed even greater importance now than ever before. It is with this belief that I pray from my heart for the unqualified success of the publication of Music, Power and Liberty. In closing my felicitations, I offer my warmest best wishes to the distinguished contributors to this volume. April 11, 2015 Daisaku Ikeda Founder Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research

Introduction Olivier Urbain and Craig Robertson

The idea for this book emerged from discussions online and in person with musicians, academics and activists concerned, fascinated, and shocked by the political upheavals and changes in the wake of the uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and other countries in the MENA region; what became known as the “Arab Spring” – a series of dramatic changes that have turned life into a living hell for millions of people today. After months of discussions and dialogues between us, coming from Tunisia, Egypt, Lebanon, Morocco and Turkey, from Belgium, France, Spain and the UK, and from Puerto Rico, the US, Colombia and Japan, we decided that the issue was worth investigating through a collection of academic essays. The research question started to revolve around the roles of music in these revolutions, and a first topic was suggested: “Music and Revolution.” The term “revolution” turned out to be problematic, since many do not consider these events to have been revolutionary, or at least, only the beginning of a revolution. The title was later refined to “Music and Liberty” to reflect this. We soon discovered that something was missing, because music has been used both to challenge the status quo and to reinforce it; to afford a feeling of emancipation of oppressed people as well as afford the maintenance of authority. What was really fascinating is how music could be used to enhance power, or liberty, or both, often simultaneously. The result is a collection of 13 chapters which, together, can be condensed into the narrative below. But first let us mention that in her foreword, Tia DeNora wonderfully places this volume into the greater context:

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Music, Power and Liberty As John Blacking once put it, “music is not an escape from reality; it is an adventure into reality” (1973, 28). While music’s reality is multiple, and while music may not “do” much singlehandedly, a growing body of work – practical and academic – clearly shows that doing and thinking together musically can enhance universal human capacities for attunement and empathic understanding. The chapters and case studies collected in this volume show us how this can be so and through this endeavor, they relay the hope that music can do us good.

Two definitions of “power” propel the research in different directions, the power to do something on the one hand, and political power on the other. The first three chapters in the introductory part, Messages from the Field, explore the power of music to inspire, to educate, and to empower. This part highlights a connection between power and music that we can all experience in daily life. Part I explores power as political authority, and how people have used music to resist it in nineteenth-century France, in twentieth-century Egypt, and in twenty-first-century Turkey. Part II focuses on recent events in Tunisia, and discusses how censorship stifled musical creativity under Ben Ali, how music empowered people to topple that regime in order to try to establish a political system that would allow more liberty, how there were brief successes in that direction and how censorship is still threatening freedom of expression today. Part III analyzes more subtle links between political power and music, showing that even when things do not change radically, music plays a role in channeling people’s hopes and aspirations in a nonviolent way. Such is the case in Morocco where access, funding and exposure belong to the state, and in the Mediterranean where song duels are used as a nonviolent outlet for divisive issues. Music cannot change the political structure in these two cases, although it does provide a form of liberty. The last part explores the importance of context when we talk about the power of music for social change. The effectiveness of attempts to overcome traumatic experiences through music in Colombia is dependent on the background of the participants, and research in Bosnia shows that there is no

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guarantee that music promotes social change. The only thing that is sure is that music is intrinsically linked to the social. In conclusion, music cannot be said to be able to ensure that a group of people will either keep the status quo or change the situation when it comes to political power. Things are a bit clearer when it comes to the power of music to empower, inspire and educate. But even when nothing has changed politically, the fact that music and songs have accompanied people’s struggles transforms the nature of these struggles in some dimension. This will need to be researched further, but insights in this volume point to promising directions. The next part of this introduction describes each chapter more in detail.

Messages from the Field This section introduces actual experiences by actors in the musical field expressed in non-academic terms. In Chapter 1, “Personal Thoughts on Global Citizenship,” Nestor Torres illustrates how he decided to place compassion and action at the heart of his musical activities for global citizenship. In Chapter 2, “Zebrock in France: Educating Youth through Musical Diversity,” Edgard Garcia shares how he has run the Zebrock program to help students in the suburbs of Paris feel closer to French culture through French language songs from past decades, with examples of students feeling awakened by the experience. Chapter 3, “From Japan to the World: Music for all People,” is by Hiroyasu Kobayashi. The Japanese Min-On Concert Association that he directs promotes musical activities based on the belief that one-on-one meetings and cultural exchanges between people through music are conducive to peace and understanding.

Part I: Music, Social Change and Power in France, Turkey and Egypt In Chapter 4, “Laughing at the Authorities,” Victoria Tomoko Okada gives examples of French and European music of the eighteenth and nineteenth

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centuries that criticized the authorities. For instance, performances of Verdi’s Nabucco and Auber’s La Muette de Portici started mass movements that led to political change in Italy and Belgium respectively. Chapter 5, “Do You Hear the People Sing?” by Itir Toksöz deals with the musical uprisings in Turkey. The 2013 protests in Gezi Park have generated hundreds of songs. Chapter 6 is entitled “The Egyptian Poetic Musical Tradition of the Revolutionary Song.” Tarek Abdallah and Fadi El-Abdallah describe Arab revolutionary musicians, especially Sayed Darwish and Sheikh Imam. Revolutions and revolutionary songs are not new concepts in Egypt and date at least back to the 1919 uprisings against the British.

Part II: Music and Revolution in Tunisia In Chapter 7, “The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia,” Kerim Bouzouita gives concrete examples of recent revolutionary music in Tunisia, using the national anthem and parodies of Ben Ali such as those by Bendir Man. He discusses how hip-hop artists in particular preceded the revolution and foreshadowed it in their lyrical content. Music served to unify crowds, pay homage to events and martyrs after the fact, and became a symbolic power that a dictator was powerless to remove. Chapter 8, “Music with Extra-Musical Purposes” is by Soufiane Feki. Under Ben Ali, mediocrity and conformity in music were everywhere in order to maintain the status quo, and the author shares his hopes that this will change. Opposition was prevented by lack of funding, and analysis and commentary on music were not possible under Ben Ali. Music was used purely for entertainment; it has the potential to articulate goals and social purpose, which is why it is censored. In Chapter 9, “Musical Expression, Power and Democracy,” Fakher Hakima describes censorship under Ben Ali and the liberation since his departure. He examines the role of music and social relations through the assumption that music reflects the social relations of a society. In the case of Tunisia under Ben Ali, this meant any music deemed threatening or subversive was censored so the musical scene was tightly controlled and therefore harmless and powerless. Some forms of censorship included prevention of access to

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media and internet, favoritism and the lack of a proper independent music industry.

Part III: Bringing Together or Keeping Apart? In Chapter 10, “The Arab Musician and Power,” Ahmed Aydoun mentions Sayed Darwish, Sheikh Imam and rai music in his discussion of how the goals of the state and the goals of musicians are sometimes unified but often at odds; yet the power lies entirely with the state in terms of access, funding and exposure. Chapter 11, “Song Duels as a Framework to Explore Musical Resistance” is by Joám Evans Pim. Song duels in the Mediterranean area allow people to free themselves from violence and to express grievances by non-physical means. It is a local way to keep all disputants still firmly within the community. He echoes DeNora when discussing the space for exploration and play that is serious but not dangerous.

Part IV: Creation of Contextual Belief Systems through Education and Technology Chapter 12, “César López and the Escopetarra” is by María Elisa Pinto García. César López uses the escopetarra (a guitar made from a shotgun) to help people deal with some of the traumas experienced in the conflict in Colombia. People who have experienced the conflict, in actual workshops, respond positively, but those from the cities who listen to his music do not respond as well. This very much illustrates the necessity of context and the specificity of musical applications. Chapter 13, “Musical Processes and Social Change” is by Craig Robertson. The belief that music can promote social change has to do with notions of identity, memory, emotion and belief, which in turn shape behavior. Using an example in Sarajevo, he shows that music is intrinsically linked to the social process underway, whether it be change or the lack of it. We hope that the readers will find the insights presented in these chapters meaningful and stimulating, and that this book is only the starting point of many more explorations of the fascinating links between music, power and liberty.

Chapter 1

Personal Thoughts on Global Citizenship Nestor Torres

Inspired by Josei Toda, the great visionary after whom the Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research is named, I’d like to share some personal thoughts on global citizenship related to the theme of “Music, Power and Liberty.” Peace is such an idealistic thing. We all say we want it, but it’s really just a dream, or so most people think. Especially in our Western society, war and violence are such an intrinsic part of our national and societal fabric, that the very mention of the word “peace” as a real option for the future may be considered dangerous and even subversive. For me, peace is a very personal matter, but not just because of the obvious reasons. In fact, I am blessed to have never experienced war or any kind of armed or physical conflict first hand. Neither have I experienced losing a loved one to war or violence. That said, often my life seems to be in a constant state of turmoil, uncertainty and anxiety as to “what might happen next.” It is a real challenge to experience a sense of personal peace consistently, the kind of inner peace and self-knowledge needed to be a contributive global citizen. Here I would like to quote a few passages from a poem I wrote about these issues.

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Music, Power and Liberty When I hear of the madness That still rages on I think of the horrors The pain and the sorrow I witness the struggle And fear for tomorrow As I imagine the hell Of killing and death It is then I remember My mission, my quest To live and to work For Peace on this Earth But somehow, Today For the sake of world peace First and Foremost I must Make Peace with Myself

I have found that to be at peace with oneself does not mean to be passive. Quite the contrary; it is a fierce and difficult struggle to find harmony within through a continuous process of self-reflection, self-control and selftransformation, what Josei Toda called “human revolution.” I believe this is an integral part of his vision regarding global citizenship. I will now share two very personal experiences and then touch upon the words Music, Power and Liberty. The first experience is about healing through self-transformation. The second one is about taking action based on a sense of mission. Through them, I intend to show how the concept of “Global Citizenship through Human Revolution” as conceived by Josei Toda and expanded upon by Daisaku Ikeda, his disciple and founder of the Toda Institute, has inspired, liberated and empowered me to devote my life and music to peace and the creation of value. By this I mean the capacity to transform any situation into a source of progress



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and fulfillment, and the actual changes that result from these efforts. Finally, I will present a series of key questions that I invite the readers to explore. Concerning the theme of healing, Daisaku Ikeda wrote: From a healed, peaceful heart, humility is born; from humility, a willingness to listen to others is born; from a willingness to listen to others, mutual understanding is born; and from mutual understanding, a peaceful society will be born. Nonviolence is the highest form of humility; it is supreme courage (Ikeda 2005, 62). By 1990 my musical career had taken off. I had three Latin music recordings to my name, I appeared regularly on national US and Hispanic television and was preparing to record my second jazz album, a follow-up to a very successful release in that genre. Then in May of that year, I suffered a near-fatal boating accident that left me with 18 fractures in my ribs, both clavicles broken, a fractured shoulder blade and a collapsed lung. From the concert stage to the intensive care unit, from standing ovations to being at the mercy of strangers’ care, my life as I knew it was crushed. Through the haze of strong pain medication I witnessed patients demanding help and doctors not doing much about it as the nurses – women and men to whom I owe my healing – toiled selflessly and namelessly, taking great care of all patients. I realized that they were the real stars, the ones that deserved standing ovations. From that experience I vowed to make music that would have a healing effect upon all who heard it. Eleven years later, I was nominated for a Latin Grammy. The ceremony was scheduled for September 11, 2001. I was in Los Angeles for the ceremony when the attacks happened in New York. Up until then, this award, and the possibility of winning it, was the focus of all my attention and energy during the weeks leading to it. Needless to say, the images we all saw on TV that day were so shocking that winning the Latin Grammy, or any other award, became meaningless. I felt powerless, at the same time wanting with my whole being to do something that would make a difference, so that events like that would not happen again. It was then that the following declaration echoed in my mind: “If you want to realize peace for all humankind, you must make concrete proposals and

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take the lead translating them into concrete action.” These are the words of Josei Toda (2013). In the wake of this tragedy, I had to do something. I wanted to use my talent in a way that could bring about a change in the lives of those who were so bereft of hope, so devoid of any sense of their own humanity, that they could be capable of committing the kinds of atrocities that took place that fateful morning. Responding to that inner sense of urgency, I went to New York City and visited different places of worship: churches, a synagogue, a Buddhist center, and played my flute where I went. I recorded my improvisations, offering my music as a way to reach out and support all those who could hear it. I also wanted to be a musical conduit to channel whatever was going on in the city at that moment. I simply had to take some concrete action. Eventually quite a few songs were born from the improvisations; I just didn’t know what to do with them. In 2004 I was invited to perform at an event in Florida where the Dalai Lama gave a lecture. For that occasion, I composed and arranged an original piece, entitled “The Lotus Sutra of the Wonderful Law.” It is a world music orchestral piece based on recitations of certain passages of the Lotus Sutra, very much in the same way that Bach, Handel, Beethoven and Verdi took passages of the Bible and created great musical works such as requiems, masses and oratorios. The Lotus Sutra is one of the most important canonical texts of Buddhism. It was written more than 2,000 years ago in praise of the dignity of all life, and became one of the most widely read Buddhist texts throughout Asia. The audience’s positive response to “The Lotus Sutra of the Wonderful Law” was so strong that I was asked to record it. Five years after 9/11, the CD entitled “Dances, Prayers and Meditations for Peace” was released. In addition to the Lotus Sutra piece, some of the songs that were born from the improvisations I had played in New York right after 9/11 were included. Five years after that, on 11/11/11, I presented a concert announcing the establishment of the Nestor Torres Foundation, whose mission is to “Inspire and Empower a Positive Social and Cultural Change through Music, Dialogue and Education.” I named the event “Concert for A New Renaissance.” In it I reprised the CD’s repertoire in a symphonic setting featuring a 90-piece youth symphony orchestra, a 60-piece children’s chorus and dancers from the Thomas Armour Youth Ballet. In so doing, it was my intention to lead young



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artists in setting upon a new course ten years after 9/11, thereby contributing to the transformation of a culture of violence and antagonism into a culture of humanism and peace. All along, I have been aware that this journey must begin with my own human revolution, as a person and as an artist. It is about the transformation of the fundamental darkness within my own life by challenging myself and bringing forth the highest potential that I, and everyone without exception, possess within. This concept of human revolution, popularized and developed by Josei Toda, must begin with my own healing. And this is what music is to me – the ultimate healing agent. Here I would like to quote again from Ikeda concerning “healing.” In his book of essays One by One: The World Is Yours to Change he refers to an exhibition he commissioned entitled “King Ashoka, Mahatma Gandhi and Nehru – Healing Touch” that was held in Japan in 1994. He writes: [But] no theme [healing] goes more to the very heart of nonviolence. For violence is born from a wounded spirit: a spirit burned and blistered by the fire of arrogance; a spirit splintered and frayed by the frustration of powerlessness; a spirit parched with an unquenched thirst for meaning in life; a spirit shriveled and shrunk by feelings of inferiority. The rage that results from injured self-respect, from humiliation, erupts as violence. A culture of violence, which delights in crushing and beating others into submission, spreads throughout society, often amplified by the media (Ikeda 2005, 61–2).

Music, Power and Liberty “Power corrupts, and absolute Power corrupts absolutely” (Acton, 1887). This is a well-known phrase. But what about our own personal power, our life force, our life condition, our personal energy? How do we define it? How do we harness it? How do we use it? What is the co-relation or parallel power struggle dynamics between us and our parents, spouses, bosses, siblings, our children? The answers to these questions must be confronted and resolved if there is to be a real, lasting transformation in the realms of government, politics, corporations, academia, religion and society at large.

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Freedom, liberty, liberté . . . The most perplexing of words. It is quite simple and natural to understand and value freedom within the context of a repressive or totalitarian regime, prison, or in a subjugating personal relationship. The French philosopher Montaigne had his own opinion about liberty. He disliked the strong feelings of romantic love as being detrimental to freedom, and he wrote: “Marriage is like a cage; one sees the birds outside desperate to get in, and those inside desperate to get out” (Montaigne 1595). But what about liberty within the context of our democracy? What about our own liberty of choice in our daily life? When I think of true liberty, I think of discipline and self-mastery; self-control and a strong sense of responsibility. Of course, this is easier said than done, for it is not in thinking about but acting on it that true liberty lies. Liberty to freely manifest the power of our own courage and compassion, to compose a powerful and magnificent Symphony of Joy, to perform countless liberating, rhythmic melodies with our lives in tune with ourselves and in harmony with those around us. To me, this is what true global citizenship is all about. It is a huge task to confront authority and power head on in order to contribute to improved liberty and freedom in one’s society that would involve complex structural changes. To those who do, I offer my deepest respect. Their example motivates me to also confront my fundamental darkness head on, every day. Inspired by Josei Toda and based on my personal experiences, as relayed here, I believe that each individual can contribute to a better society by taking responsibility for their own actions through the means and skills that their own life has afforded them. My medium has been music, which has allowed me to reach people all over the world and share with them a sense of communal healing through self-transformation, mutual appreciation and respect. It is this sense of purpose and mission that fuels my music-making and behavior as an artist, a human being, and as a global citizen.

References Acton, John Emerich Edward Dalberg. 1887. Letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton. For more details see http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/ absolute-power-corrupts-absolutely.html.



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Ikeda, Daisaku. 2005. One by One: The World Is Yours To Change. Sonoma: Dunhill Publishing. Montaigne, Michel de. 1595. Essais. Book III, Ch. 5. Toda, Josei. 2013. “Josei Toda website.” Retrieved December 16, 2013 from: http://www.joseitoda.org/quotations/peace.

Chapter 2

Zebrock in France: Educating Youth through Musical Diversity Edgard Garcia

The purpose of this chapter is to explore the intimate relationship young people have with music, to examine what social function it has for them, and how adults understand it. Based on our experience of more than 20 years working in a Parisian suburb with a group of working-class teens, I will highlight the effectiveness of tools of cultural development which contribute to positive changes in these students’ connection with knowledge and culture, which then leads to the development of richer individual and group behaviors. By “richer,” I mean here everything that allows the individual to bloom and to participate fully in the life of the community and society in which s/he lives. The Zebrock association, of which I am the director, has at the heart of its activities the belief that art and culture are essential to define a new humanity, that can advance and progress based on the radical transcendence beyond forms of alienation such as ignorance and violence. To this end, music seems to be a very effective tool. We often use the slogan “Zebrock cultivates the desire for music.” Considering the large place that music occupies in the lives of hundreds of thousands of young people, and the structuring power that listening to so much music has in shaping their minds – since music functions as an amplifier of the world and carries its markers and its moods – this appetite for music deserves to be nourished with knowledge; it needs to be cultivated.

Zebrock in France: Educating Youth through Musical Diversity 17 The field of popular music is very wide and extremely diverse and, as a result, is a great entry point into youth culture. The challenge facing adults is how to inject intelligence into this desire for music, and how to cultivate young people’s critical thinking skills. Of course, this has to be done without taking out all the fun. This is what I strive to do with Zebrock, especially through cultural activities that we develop in schools in working-class neighborhoods in northeastern Parisian suburbs. The students to whom Zebrock’s activities are offered, in particular Zebrock au Bahut (at school) come from the lower classes, which are particularly marked by social inequality, which in turn generates countless spatial, educational, and cultural inequalities. It goes without saying that no cultural association has the power to remedy all these ills. However, our organization, which is financed by public funds, wishes to join in the fight and this has led us to generate innovative thoughts and practices.

Zebrock au Bahut Born of and encouraged by the public will, for over 20 years Zebrock au Bahut has been an educational cultural program for junior and high school students who participate with their classes in a process centered on French song, inviting students to encounter the texts, melodies, and artists who have greatly influenced artistic creation in their time (some are oldies, others are contemporary), to get to know their contexts and understand their significance. Focusing on la chanson française (lyrics-driven French songs) has allowed for the highlighting and transmission of a crucial cultural heritage, to contribute to cultural diversity and to favor an intimate and rich connection with the French language. Placing the songs in their context allows for an understanding of why they marked their era, how they are its echo, and sometimes how they were able to foresee future trends. Twenty songs are selected, covering the last 50 years, thereby travelling through a history that is certainly musical, but also technological, cultural and human – a history near and dear to their parents’ generation. The songs submitted for the students’ appreciation are carefully chosen by myself and my colleagues for the interest and quality of the writing and composition, the diversity of soundscapes, the richness of character of those who perform these

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songs, and the variety of musical styles. Collected into a beautiful book and on a CD, every year the 20 songs are organized around a theme, for instance “I do what I want” in 2011. This gently provocative title invited students to reflect upon the issues of and the means towards freedom. While adults often stigmatize children, readily accusing them of “doing what they want” or “having minds of their own,” we reuse this formula in a positive way: actually, it is rather a good thing to do what one wants with one’s life, and it is a matter that is so serious that one should stop and think about it for a while. We illustrate this with songs which in different ways and different times have the theme of freedom at the center of their discourse. Our intention here is not to offer a discourse on freedom, since we have neither the time nor the legitimacy to do so. Rather, we are putting forward a proposal for a discussion, with a freedom to be informal that is allowed by the specific medium of music and song. The President of the League of Human Rights signed the editorial which gave strong credibility to our endeavor. The theme gives a direction to the project, links the songs together and inspires discussion topics. In 2012, the theme “A World of Music” highlighted the diversity of a world that we need to protect in solidarity – a world that we want at peace. We added a beautiful music world map, a poster offered to the students, an invitation to embark on a wonderful journey in the world of music. The program asks students to do this work in the context of their regular courses. We feel that any process of acquisition requires individual effort, and this work takes them through eight months of lectures, tutorials, study and parody writing, meetings with artists and attendance of their concerts, various discussions, visits to musical exhibitions in Paris and a final concert where the most insightful works and most committed classes receive awards in a happy and youthful atmosphere. This work is recorded in an electronic class log at: lycee-zebrockaubahut.net. This journey allows students to rally around an emotive object, the song, without bowing to fashion. The purpose remains educational from beginning to end, but it cannot help but be fun. For that matter, we don’t avoid music that’s currently popular and in the news, as short-lived as it may be, and this music also benefits from a new perspective when we analyze it in class and

Zebrock in France: Educating Youth through Musical Diversity 19 bring to light things the students hadn’t noticed. We don’t ask them to love the songs, but we invite them to understand them. There were many surprises. Some songs produce unexpected success, others are understood remarkably well even when their content is difficult. This highlights the fact that young people know a tremendous amount of things, and that we must not hesitate to rely on this knowledge to advance their own understanding of how much they know. In this regard, we regularly take stock of the sharpness of their hearing and encourage them to trust whatever is in their head when we are trying together to understand this or that song. They know much more than they think they do!

Extension of the Program This program is an authoritative voice today and we are being invited to duplicate it in new areas. We have also designed a program on the same principles, called Bienvenue au Bahut (Welcome to the school), which is especially dedicated to classes of foreign students who have just arrived in our country; we propose to welcome them with an armful of poems and a bouquet of songs. In spite of the many issues clouding cultural policies in France today, the recognition that Zebrock au Bahut has gained is encouragement enough to invent new types of programs directed toward our youth. It has given us the confidence and conviction that the challenges posed around issues of culture are very modern, and that they are crucial today. Geared toward a public who very often live in modest circumstances, who do not often encounter works of art, this action has considerable impact on student success in school. Its steps, as mentioned above, contribute to the belief, for the pre-teens concerned, that they have the ability to think for themselves, to give an opinion, and the ability to develop their taste and judgment. Zebrock au Bahut is experienced by the teachers and professionals who guide it through its cycles each year, as a support for innovative pedagogies by which young people can form their critical thinking skills and widen their musical and cultural horizons well beyond the limits set by the entertainment industry. We have often noticed that such music is not called by its name or the name of its creator or performer, but by the name of the brand that used it for an advertising campaign. The packaging of the music is often more important

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than its musical construction, particularly because of the widespread use of music videos. It is therefore important to strengthen the ability of each person to appreciate and choose music.

Political Context and Funding In the French political tradition, the public plays a major role in cultural life. Public funding is important; on the national level the government plans the major ideas, and the local authorities (regions, departments, cities and towns) have a free hand to take part, and do so in a substantial way: approximately 80 percent of funding of cultural activities comes from these local efforts. The area of reference for the activities of Zebrock is Seine-Saint-Denis, a northeastern suburb of Paris that is recognized as having a very proactive policy in cultural matters. Musical life is intense there. Live music is very much appreciated, despite the overall competition from recorded music in all its forms. This is important because while the quantity of music we have access to has exploded we fear that there has been a decrease in the spectrum of music heard and a diminution in the sound quality of the medium. The amount of recorded music is notable; its production and circulation are in part subject to market rules that tend to standardize creation. Marketing strategies wield very subtle power over cultural behavior, notably that of young people long-accustomed to the language and codes of advertising. Public, cultural and educational policies are therefore presented with a sizeable challenge: to promote and share the rich diversity of musical styles and heritages, and to exercise some kind of virtuous counter-power. This diversity is at the heart of the charter for cultural diversity of UNESCO. It states that we need to encourage the plurality of forms, aesthetics and languages. Jazz, symphonic music, the multiple forms of the song, the tango or Sufi songs, as well as rap are productions of the human genius, and being able to encounter them is rewarding.

Cultural and Commercial Context I said earlier that music is the major cultural practice of the French, especially of the young. Listening to music has never been so commonplace and so

Zebrock in France: Educating Youth through Musical Diversity 21 all-pervasive, and composing music has never been so easy. To mention just a few ways in which recorded music is available, we have access to music through the family stereo system, stereos in bedrooms, mp3 players, game consoles, car radios, shopping centers with all their different stores. We need to add smart-phones and computers in all their diverse forms, numerous programs which democratize the sophisticated tools of the trade that only yesterday were inaccessible to all except the musical elite; teenagers are surrounded by music. Music fills their imagination, feeds their discussions, and sometimes even forms their vision of their future ambitions. Moreover, it is not so much music itself, but rather the status granted to success that shapes this behavior, and we all know that a large number of young people are susceptible to this, especially when crisis jeopardizes their prospects for the future. Furthermore, the music business is organized to methodically maintain this attitude by promoting rankings, charts and other attributes of marketing applied to music, and by promoting its performers who ultimately legitimize these practices by their commercial success and the glitz that comes with it. It is a fact that, along with film, the world of song and of the musiques actuelles (current music, a very French expression used to refer to popular music) is the area of culture most susceptible to market influences. The phenomena of fashion and stardom are much more at work here than anywhere else; the norm is imposed on the public regularly, while the product constantly seduces, and indeed, is worshiped. The rate of consumption, its slippery surface, and the lack of depth in its purpose all leave their trace on the sensibility of teens. On the other hand, musiques actuelles provides many young people (11–15 years old) with a way to bond with their peers that is reassuring and comforting, and this positive effect must be taken into account.

Conclusion One lesson that I draw from this work of nearly 25 years is the ability of students to meet with music from a horizon other than that which is familiar. Whether because of their genre, era or content, the pieces of music are foreign objects, and it is precisely this foreignness that encourages students

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to broaden their horizons and thus their knowledge. We do not say “listen to this, it’s better than what you usually listen to,” but “listen to this with me, it’s interesting.” We do not stigmatize what they listen to, because at age 12 or 13, they have just entered and started discovering the world of music. However, it is essential for adults to play their role as transmitters, for the school to be open to non-academic cultural practices, so that the expression of what is sensitive and intimate is encouraged. This is precisely the challenge that Zebrock au Bahut will continue to tackle by going through an important transformation, which is imposed by new habits and new techniques of knowledge transfer, the digital mutation.

Chapter 3

From Japan to the World: Music for all People Hiroyasu Kobayashi

There is virtually no one who seeks war or violence and yet in any time and age wars have been waged and continue to be waged somewhere in the world between nations or groups. Many have suffered from the violence war has caused. Is it really possible for human beings to learn how to get along with one another and coexist in peace or will we continuously be subordinate to leaders who benefit from wars and violence? I’d like to share two anecdotes here with the readers. One is about a Japanese man in his sixties who for a long period had been affected by the scars of a war over territorial possession and was filled with a sense of hostility toward the nation that caused the war. After several years, he happened to go to a concert where that nation’s dance and music was performed. After having watched the performance he came to realize that the artists were simply fellow human beings just like him. The opportunity to see the performance of that nation had dispelled the hostility and prejudice he had long felt. The other anecdote is about a teenage girl who saw a music and dance performance from a country in a continent that was totally foreign to her. The performance inspired her to the extent that she made a resolve to learn more about the country and to be more attentive to news about the country. After that, whenever she came across sad news about the country she wept and when

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it was positive news she felt happy for the people. In other words, having come into contact with the culture of that particular country by watching a performance, she became interested and felt connected with the nation and its people. The performance the two people I just mentioned watched probably lasted only two hours. And yet those two hours had impacted them to the point where they were able to change their mindsets and the preconceptions they had about a certain country. Music, indeed, has an extraordinary power. Fifty-one years ago on February 9 (1961), the Min-On Concert Association’s founder Mr. Daisaku Ikeda (also president of the Soka Gakkai International) had one clear vision in mind. He had hoped to create an effective means for people to be able to mutually understand and respect one another as fellow human beings by transcending differences in ideology, ethnicity or nationalism and thereby contribute to peacebuilding. He concluded that cultural interaction between peoples was indispensable in achieving this dream and that the medium of culture, such as performing and fine arts, can serve to effectively bring people together as art knows no boundaries. While cherishing our identities and their expressions through culture, we can share in and appreciate others’ cultures. In that sense, culture is universal and can be shared by all. Mr. Ikeda, then, strongly felt the need for promoting cultural exchange between countries. Two years later (1963), he founded the Min-On Concert Association – an institution that would focus on providing a platform for bringing people of differing cultures together so they can engage in heart-to-heart interactions through the medium of music and the performing arts which would serve to build peace. Later, the Min-On Concert Association was granted the status of a legally incorporated foundation and in 2013, it marked the 50th year of its founding. Today, the Min-On Concert Association has grown to become one of Japan’s premier cultural foundations. Currently, Min-On sponsors 1,000 concerts and performances annually and is actively engaged in international cultural exchange by inviting artists from around the world to perform in Japan. The concerts and performances cover all genres of music and performing arts from classical to modern and provide the audience with an opportunity to learn about, appreciate and sympathize



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with different cultures. And through such contacts with varying cultures, friendship between peoples of the world has been forged. “Min” of Min-On stands for “the people” or the “general public.” Min-On advocates that ordinary people are the protagonists of the society and of the nation and that it is those very people who foster music and the performing arts. There are two major projects in Min-On’s undertaking. One is our concert project and the other is our cultural promotion project. The concert project involves organizing concerts for people to share in the joy of music and the performing arts which enriches and imparts vigor to the viewers. The project’s other aim is to foster mutual understanding and friendship among the people of different countries, to foster the flourishing of culture, and to contribute to peacebuilding. Since its founding, as of 2011, more than 74,000 concerts covering a wide range of genres had been conducted. Amongst these performances, much emphasis has been placed on the international cultural exchange oriented concerts. Our cultural exchange programs have been conducted with 104 countries and territories (as of 2011). Through these programs, a wide variety of music and performing arts from all corners of the globe were offered to the Japanese people. This year (2012), the “Little Singers,” an Armenian girl’s chorus group will be invited to perform in Japan. Armenia will be the 105th country with which Min-On will have engaged in cultural exchange. As for the cultural promotion aspect of our work, Min-On hosts competitions, promotes projects for youth, engages in international cultural exchange and operates a Music Museum. In 1966, the competition project was launched and competitions for singing, conducting, composing and chamber music were held. Recently, only the conducting competition has been held. In 2012 the 16th Tokyo International Conducting Competition was held and numerous applications from young promising conductors around the world were received by our office. This competition has fostered numerous conductors and is internationally acclaimed as one of the gateways to success. The competition for composing is known as the Min-On Contemporary Music Festival and has been held 20 times so far. With regard to our work which deals with the promotion of music and culture amongst the youth, Min-On provides admission-free concerts at primary, secondary and high schools throughout Japan offering the younger

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generation the opportunity to experience a rich diversity of live music. Some 3,800 schools across Japan have benefited from Min-On’s School Concerts over the last 39 years. In recent years, workshops for children and parents, entitled “Music Experience Workshops,” have been held throughout Japan providing an opportunity for younger children to appreciate music and deepen family ties. Our work to promote music through international cultural exchanges includes admission-free “citizens’ concerts,” symposiums, the International Students Music Festivals in Tokyo, Osaka and Yokohama, and sending Japanese musicians and dancers to perform overseas. Min-On also contributes greatly to the enhancement of culture and music studies through our Music Museum, one of a handful in the world which specializes in musical instruments. These are exhibited permanently and are open to the public admission-free. Apart from the musical instruments exhibit, we also have a music library which stocks scores, books and other items related to music and members of the library may borrow these free of charge. With a stock of 300,000 such items, our Music Museum is known to be one of the largest in scale as a private museum in Japan. The museum aims to contribute to the promotion of academic studies and culture. The finances for our work to promote music and culture is supported by our more than one million sustaining members throughout Japan who pay an annual membership of 500 yen, which happens to be just one coin. On another note, while the phenomenal development of present-day transportation and communication has contributed greatly to delivering and conveying goods and information, Min-On believes that nothing surpasses the one-on-one, face-to-face communication between people. The accumulation of such interaction serves to make our world more friendly and peaceful and also provides a foundation for global peace. We at Min-On will continue to contribute ever more to our global work of cultural exchange by building a significant “spiritual Silk Road”; a stage where different cultures come together and interact with one another. In order to achieve this, we shall continue our efforts and expand them even further as we believe that this will contribute to the establishment of peace and tranquility in the world. We are determined to realize the goal we envision.



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In closing, allow me to share some words of wisdom that encapsulate our founder’s unflinching dedication to building a culture of peace through music. He observes as follows: At present, in economic terms, the world is roughly divided into the industrialized North and the developing South. But this division does not necessarily accurately reflect cultural superiority and inferiority. Among the developing nations are those whose cultural achievements rank among the most important aspects of the heritage of all humanity. In terms, not of economy alone, but of such things as art and literature, the world is astonishingly diverse and much too complex and rich to be divided simply into North and South (Ikeda 1985 Peace Proposal). Finally, he also wrote: True cultural exchanges stimulate mutual respect among peoples of different races and cultural backgrounds and create ties of peace among the hearts of human beings. As its founder, I hope Min-On will further advance its work in cultural and artistic exchanges and in this way set up a milestone on the road to the creation of a world without war (Ibid.).

References Ikeda, Daisaku. 1985. “New Waves of Peace toward the Twenty-first Century.” Peace Proposal. Japan: Soka Gakkai International.

Chapter 4

Laughing at the Authorities Musical Theater Performance and Power in the Nineteenth Century: Opera, Opera Buffa, and Operetta Victoria Tomoko Okada

Introduction In France, the theater has always played an important role, politically and socially. Everything was arranged there, from affairs of state to marriages between middle-class families. It was crucial to have a box in a strategic location at a grand theater to exert any influence whatsoever over one’s peers, and to show one’s power. For authoritarian regimes, the theater has often been a Mecca for performances demonstrating their power. It also served as an excellent tool of propaganda. Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632–87) created the “tragédie lyrique” to glorify Louis XIV, who himself danced in performances, and the genre has long served as a model for the French opera. Napoleon, who believed the Opéra to be of crucial importance, wrote to the superintendent of shows: “Do not examine any new play without my consent” (Lecomte 1912, 132).1 He made use of all the resources the theater provided to show his greatness: in 1807, the opera Le Triomphe de Trajan (The Triumph of Trajan) by Jean-François Le Sueur (1760–1837) even staged a parade of 600 soldiers and 13 horses, accompanied by a

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triumphal chariot in a faithfully recreated setting of the Roman Forum (Barbier 1987, 121). Today, this type of grandiose spectacle can be compared to the opening ceremonies of a worldwide sporting event such as the Olympic Games or the football World Cup: it allows the host country to show its power by displaying its economic, cultural and logistical capabilities, and this is broadcast worldwide by the media. At a time when there was no efficient means of transmitting communication over long distances apart from newspapers, the theater was a perfect place to pass on information by word-of-mouth, bring together large numbers of people from various social classes.2 Consequently, to control public opinion, from the time of the Ancien Régime each French government had enacted laws or decrees granting “privilèges,” more or less prestigious according to the different categories of theaters, which were carefully classified according to their size, seniority, and other criteria by determining the type of performance presented. Napoleon I considerably strengthened this system3 to effectively maintain order. Let us also remember that numerous attempts to assassinate heads of state4 and other important people5 have taken place at theaters, either inside or out. In the nineteenth century, before the complete suppression of privileges in 1864, only four theaters, the Opéra, the OpéraComique, the Théâtre-Français (today officially called Comédie-Française) and the Théâtre-Italien received preferential treatment, which was the right to perform major works (up to five acts) with a large number of characters and a large orchestra. Theaters at fairs and other secondary locations put on shows using the often makeshift resources on hand, and also enjoyed great success despite restrictions. Characterized by their strongly satirical nature, they very often parodied and ridiculed plays performed in the official theaters. Along with the “pure” laughter resulting from the humor of the text and gestures, they contained scathing criticism of the authorities. In addition to signs and howls, often used by theater actors at exhibitions (which were the first forms of opéra comique), here is a non-exhaustive list of some methods that were employed to mock the authorities, with typical examples: • Parody the notion of greatness, and grandiose scenes: La Vestale • Make important people look silly (the king, the nobility, the military); historical or not: Chilpéric



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• Make fun of works performed on official stages: Le petit Faust, L’œil crevé, Les Turcs • Invert social situations, or take people from the lower classes and temporarily place them in the positions of members of high society: La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein • Invent plausible situations, or take reality and place it into a farfetched story line: Les Brigands, La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein • Mask criticism with dramatic visual effects from fantasy or fairy tale: Le Roi Carotte • Give a risqué double meaning to a situation: cabaret songs • Divert attention away from privilege: with many signs and/or banners, screams or cries or even barking without words, etc.

Propaganda Opera and its Parodies during the Era of Napoleon I A careful reading of works performed in secondary theaters allows us to understand the society they originated from, and also the spirit of protest of the people and the relationship between the people and the authorities. Let us consider a few concrete examples. La Vestale (The Vestal Virgin), an opera by Spontini (1774–1851) with libretto by Etienne de Jouy (1764–1846), one of the great successes of the Empire,6 was parodied at the Théâtre du Vaudeville, becoming La Marchande de modes (The Purveyor of Fashion). The original story tells of the adventure in ancient times of a temple priestess responsible for maintaining the sacred flame, who neglected her duty while meeting her lover. The flame went out. This earned her the wrath of the high priestess and she was condemned to death. She was put in prison, but at the last minute a divine thunderbolt struck the altar of the temple and reignited the flame, making the execution of the heroine impossible. The two lovers were reunited. This classical model was of major significance for Napoleon I, who, to address the issue of his legitimacy, tried throughout his reign to link himself with the gods and to identify himself with heroes of old, such as Caesar and Charlemagne. His centralist political system and the neoclassical movement in art (painting, architecture, and other forms.) also used antiquity as their model. Thus one can gauge

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the seriousness of this subject as well as the moral and political message of the opera. In the parody, the heroine, an employee of a fashionable clothing store, is supposed to take care of the shop but fails to fulfill her duties when she goes on a date with her lover. This provokes the anger of the store owner, and she is locked in the attic and sentenced to dry bread and water. Her boyfriend breaks into the store and threatens to set it on fire. The owner accepts the love of the two young people. Thus, we see the popularization of a grandiose situation, making fun of the status of those who are symbolically invested with a divine nature. This may seem trite in our day, but it must have greatly pleased the people to laugh at those with absolute authority and ridicule the protagonists. In addition to this transposition, La Marchande de modes criticizes La Vestale, as seen in this analysis of the opera, straight from the mouth of the shop’s owner: Cold subject, without art, without grace; Cold love and cold audacity; Finally, a piece of ice Built on a little fire. A so-called virgin Sighing do re mi Reveals to us in public Her passion, and so on. Then a son of Bellone appears: Babies her, crowns her; Then a friend lectures her And does nothing but that. A burial vault, some bread and water, Lightning and fog, Four or five fireworks. A burning rag, screaming crowds; And then, from on high, Vesta displaying her burner (Barbier 1995, 90). The shopkeeper, Julie, sings while taking care of the shop alone, in a situation similar to Julia, the priestess of the Vestal:



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The nun is ordered to keep the fire burning: If it goes out, the wretch will not have a chance. She prepares to do her duty but does not dare say out loud, That she has other flames on her mind than the temple fire (Ibid). Like icing on a cake, the last two lines of the parody delighted the audience, intrigued by the audacity of the librettist dealing with the extremely serious subject from the opera. Of this bagatelle that you deigned to welcome, The author who is summoned has no right to applaud. You want him pointed out; in this case you will be told, He is the author of the Opera’s La Vestale (Idem, 92). How can one interpret this freedom granted to the author? One answer would be that as long as the parody did not directly attack the regime and did not openly refer to specific facts or people, it was tolerated and avoided censorship. For instance, La Marchande de modes scrupulously followed the plot of La Vestale, and simply recounted slices of life in a small market and does not constitute criticism of real circumstances or actual people.

Hervé, the Spirit of Derision Hervé (real name Florimond Ronger, 1825–92), creator of the “operetta” genre before Offenbach, produced the frivolous adventures of Chilperic I with Frénégonde and Galswinthe in Chilpéric, created in October 1868 at the Théâtre des Variétés. The Merovingian king (reigning from 561–84) had, they say, a fickle attitude towards women, but posterity has somewhat suppressed his barbaric cruelty and the internal conflicts of his reign. In fact, this king of the Franks first tried to have his second wife Galswinthe killed, as she was physically unappealing. Disappointed by her husband, she wanted to go back to her native Visigoth Kingdom in Hispania but, as he would lose her dowry if he repudiated her, he had her strangled, and was encouraged to do this by his concubine Frédégonde. The queen died in 568 and this assassination caused a long internal war of private vengeance between kings, which lasted from

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570 to 613. Emphasizing Chilperic’s promiscuous nature, despite the brutal and repugnant facts of his actions, made him into a naive, gullible figure; this is proof of the comic virtuosity of the author, who must have known all the details of the story of this clan. Using delightful anachronisms, he ridicules this historical character to excess. “La légende du roi Pharamond – La Chanson de Jambon” (The Legend of King Pharamond – the Song of Ham), sung by Hervé himself, perched on a real horse, was a highlight of the play. One day the great King Pharamond Coming home from the hunt Said: I want to eat some ham Curse the woodcock. At the haunch of a boar You’ll see if I squint Sire, the butcher says to him, Deign to open your mouth . . . Hold on tight, hold on, tight, hold on tight, zounds! My horse prances If you let go of him, Soon I’ll tumble off See what misplaced vanity I’m not strong enough To sing on horseback, I was wrong. This story is well-known, Its subject is interesting Its tune is delightful, We’re happy to hear it It’s about Pharamond, it’s the song It’s the song About ham. By mentioning the favorite food of King Pharamond, Hervé is referring to Napoleon III (and to his incompetence), who also loved ham. What’s more,



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the work is packed with innuendos about the imperial couple: Galswinthe’s Hispanic origin reminds us that Eugénie was Hispanic as well; the double case of love at first sight between Chilperic and Frédégonde in a storm in the forest of the Druids alludes to the meeting between Napoleon II and his favorite Marguerite Bellanger in the woods of Saint-Cloud, also under cloudy skies; while Galswinthe’s sister Brunehaut and her husband Sigebert hatch a plot, the carefree king takes the carriage, another anachronism, to find Frédégonde, the same way the emperor used to visit his mistress; at Chilperic’s court, “everyone is conspiring this year, it’s all the rage” (Cariven-Galharret and Ghesquiere 1992, Dominique, 100–103). Jacques Rouchouse, Hervé’s biographer, then asks: “The hedonism that Power is bathed in lends itself to this almost surreal theater. Isn’t the whole of Napoleonic society, with its reign of adventurers, of exotically bedecked rulers, actually an operetta, huge and monstrous, putting on a show?” (Rouchouse 1994, 231). The parodying of works that were presented on the official scene and that were popular was a form of mockery of the establishment and the music that was promoted by it. Hervé excelled at this exercise, transforming them into burlesque and delirious taradiddles. L’œil crevé (The punctured eye), created in the fall of 1867 at the théâtre des Folies-Dramatiques, is a parody of two famous operas, Weber’s Der Freischütz7 and Rossini’s Guillaume Tell,8 in which an arrow plays a key role. In this “musical farce in three acts,”9 we witness an archery contest during which an arrow pierces the eye of the princess, who continues with her life as if nothing had happened. Serious scenes full of tension at the climax of these two masterpieces are thus turned into moments of extravagant nonsense, especially since they happen in the first act (and thus there are still two whole acts afterwards). A hunter’s chorus is sung as in Freischütz, but amid gallops, waltzes, quadrilles, Tyrolean songs and other popular music. The score includes 22 numbers with choirs and ensembles, and this makes it a true opera. Hervé, a brilliant musical caricaturist, ridicules these two great masterpieces with a very large score. The process is also developed in Le petit Faust, which “secularized”10 Goethe’s myth while caricaturing Gounod’s opera, which had become a triumph from March 1869 at the Imperial Academy of Music. Mephisto is a transvestite, and Faust a teacher for a class of boys and girls (at a time when co-education was far from established); the frivolous Marguerite causes

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everyone to go to the dancing ball of Vergisse-mein-nicht, where old men sing the tenor part of the chorus in three parts, the students the bass part, and the cocottes, the soprano. The composer cleverly inserts musical excerpts from Gounod, so that the audience immediately recognize what part of the original is being parodied. One last example: at the end of the same year, in the same theater, he repeated this by creating Les Turcs, a parody of Racine’s Bajazet that brought it down from the heights of French drama to the rank of burlesque, with a choir of mutes, Turk’s head gallop, and of course, a Turkish March. At the time, colonialism was in full swing (e.g., the Crimean War had strengthened the position of France with the Treaty of Paris in 1856) and exoticism was very fashionable in the fields of fine arts (Orientalism) and literature (e.g., many travel accounts; the novels of Pierre Loti). While it was acceptable to create works ridiculing “the East,” such as Le Cheval de Bronze,11 Ba-ta-clan,12 and Le grand Mogol,13 it nevertheless remained an exceptional practice to take a direct shot at a major dramatic work, and this demonstrated that Hervé was pushing the spirit of parody very far.

Offenbach, Spokesperson for the Revolutionary Protest But the most sarcastic ridicule of the regime is found in the works of Offenbach (1819–80). Among his many successful operas-buffa and operettas, I will mention three. In La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein (The Grand Duchess of Gérolstein), first performed on April 12, 1867 during the World’s Fair, he makes fun of the army and of favoritism. The Grand Duchess promotes Rifleman Fritz to the rank of Supreme Commander within five minutes of meeting him, simply because she likes him. General Boum is as boastful in the demonstration of his strength as he is incompetent in his military operations. The General and Puck, the tutor of the Grand Duchess, have planned a war to entertain her, at which time she finally decides to marry Prince Paul, a complete idiot. The Boum-Puck-Paul trio plans to murder Fritz, who has become unwelcome, in a gloomy room in the palace where, once upon a time, the ancestress of the Grand Duchess had her lover killed: it just goes to show that history repeats itself! At the end of the play, the Grand Duchess removes Fritz’s rank and



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awards the same title to the handsome Baron Grog, the ambassador-negotiator of the marriage, whom she had stubbornly refused to meet until then. But he is a father of four: the Grand Duchess gives the title back to General Boum and decides to be content with what she has. The original title, The Grand Duchess, posed a problem to the censors, who felt the text alluded too obviously to actual events in several small countries, particularly Luxembourg. Fritz was originally supposed to finish the war in 18 days, as was actually the case in the Austro-Prussian war, but the censors ordered this changed and the duration was reduced to four days. After “very many adjustments to details,” the fanciful name Gérolstein was finally added to the title.14 Surprisingly, this quite satirical play delighted all the royal patrons visiting the World’s Fair in Paris; the dressing room of the soprano Hortense Schneider, alias the Grand Duchess, was nicknamed the “passage of princes.” Each country’s leaders found it interesting, especially Bismarck, who wished to annex the small principalities surrounding Prussia and saw in the opera buffa France’s lack of interest in military matters. The satires of the court appealed to him as well, “That’s quite right” he said to Moltke (Kracauer 1994, 284), the general-in-chief of the war of the Duchies, against Austria and against France. We don’t know if this mockery allowed the Prussian to understand the subtle nature of the French military mind; we only know that three years later, Prussia defeated France. Two years after the success of La Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein, MeilhacHalévy-Offenbach attacked the world of finance, this time with Les Brigands (The Bandits). The chief of the bandits, who operated in the border area between Italy and Spain (a border that does not exist, of course), wanted to seize a dowry of three million and other treasures set aside for the marriage of the princess of Grenada and the duke of Mantua. The daughter of the crook takes the place of the princess, and using multiple replacements and disguises, the bandits arrive at the Mantuan palace masquerading as Spanish ambassadors. A hair’s breadth from reaching their goal, the thief learns that the duke’s financial assistant has spent all the treasure on mischief. However, the daughter, having earlier saved the life of the duke, gains his forgiveness and the bandits renounce their activities. According to Jean-Claude Yon, a specialist in the cultural history of the nineteenth century and of the composer,

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“this final conversation is of course nothing but a pirouette of librettists who have created a completely amoral play: in The Bandits theft is presented not as an aberration, but as a principle society is built on” (Yon 2000, 390). In fact, the motto of the bandits is: “one must steal according to one’s position in society” (Act II, Scene 3).15 But the most striking element in this opera buffa is the arrival of the soldiers and the sound of their boots: We are the soldiers The security of households; But, by an unfortunate chance, To the rescue of individuals, We always arrive too late. Society was actually in a constant state of malfunction, putting the common people in danger. In each key situation, the bandits heard “the sound of boots, boots, boots . . .” Premonition or not, this persistent sound did end up frightening people, one year before the Franco-Prussian War. But the whole is presented with such hilarious antics that there is laughter, perhaps to forget the anxiety of future threats . . . Le Roi Carotte (The Carrot King), fairy-opera buffa, created in January 1872 at the Théâtre de la Gaîté, tells the story of the incredible adventures of Prince Fridolin XXIV. He must marry Cunégonde to save his country from economic ruin, but one day is knocked over by vegetables coming up out of the ground, led by Carrot, a very powerful character. To break Carrot’s power, Fridolin had all sorts of adventures, mixed with magic worthy of the most marvelous fairy tales, for example the episode of the magic ring in Naples. Thanks to the help of the Genie, the evil force is vanquished, pushing Carrot and the vegetables back into the ground. Besides the eruption of Vesuvius, a spectacular visual effect the public was very fond of throughout the nineteenth century, there is a great parade of insects – the highlight of the play – a coup organized by the vegetables, a trip to the island of the apes, and other enchantments for the eyes, designed and created by the greatest decorators and costume designers of the time. Within this laughter and delight, the librettist Victorien Sardou hid a great deal of virulent criticism of Napoleon III, symbolized by Fridolin. In the



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first act, the “chief of police and of mysteries” laments: “We will never be a serious government” (1st tableau); the Genie also complains: “It isn’t possible to govern worse, to be surrounded by more imbeciles, or to have more absurd ideas of one’s duty than his!” (2nd tableau) and “wants to depose the sovereign ‘for his own good’ so that exile will be a school and a lesson for him” (Yon 2000, 442). Moreover, the flight of Fridolin after Carrot’s takeover resembles the exile of Napoleon III to England after his fall, but also the flight of Louis XVI and his family during the Revolution (and their arrest at Varennes). As for Fridolin’s advisors, they change sides all the time, shamelessly boasting about their opportunism – the memory of certain marshals of the First Empire being still quite fresh in the minds of the French people. The vegetables emerging from the ground would represent radicals coming out of hiding, vehemently criticized by Sardou: “The play is however so long and so dense that the political intentions of the writer don’t show up well and the public flock to the Gaîté mostly for the beauty of the show and for the music of Offenbach” (Yon 2000, 443.) Siegfried Kracauer (1889–1966), a journalist and film critic who was keenly interested in the phenomena of society, delivered his sociological vision of the operettas of Offenbach in his now classic study, Jacques Offenbach ou le secret du Second Empire. The following excerpts were chosen for their relevance to the theme of this book. Born in a time when the Emperor’s words tended to conceal reality, they (the works of Offenbach) had tried for years to fill in the space left empty by the suppression of this reality. Full of ambiguity, under the dictatorship they served a revolutionary function which consisted of criticizing corruption and the principal authority, and included an existence free from any tiresome constraints under the guise of antics. . . . During a time when the bourgeoisie chose to abstain and the left was condemned to impotence, the operetta of Offenbach resolutely expresses a revolutionary protest. Its laugh pierced the enforced silence and, giving the appearance of entertaining the public, it incited it to opposition. . . . at the same time, it was becoming superfluous as a political instrument for, as soon as the dictatorship stepped back and the leftish opposition advanced,

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Opera and Political Upheaval In addition to these works of entertainment, “serious” operas sometimes acted as triggers for a radical political change. I include two examples, the most famous in the history of music: Nabucco by Verdi (1813–1901) and La Muette de Portici (The Mute Girl of Portici) by Auber (1782–1871). In 1859, the people saw in Verdi the symbol of the struggle for unification and independence in Italy: “Viva V.E.R.D.I. (Vittorio Emanuele Re D’Italia)” they cried. Nabucco, created more than 15 years earlier (1842), is associated with this fight, especially the very famous chorus “Va pensiero,” singing of the freedom of the Hebrews, slaves of the Assyrians, whose situation was similar to the Italians under Austrian oppression. But, in Verdi’s words, the opera contained “nothing, in short, that feeds a nationalist propaganda, and even less so, a republican one” (De Van 1992, 184–5). In La Muette de Portici, the mute heroine, living in eighteenth-century Naples, is in despair after the failure of the Neapolitans’ repeated revolts against the Spanish, and the disappearance of her brother, who had been eaten by his own people, who were convinced of his treachery. She throws herself into the fiery crater of Vesuvius at the end of the opera. When performed in Brussels on August 25, 1830,16 this last scene and the duet “L’amour sacré de la patrie” (Sacred love of country) in the second act inspired a few spectators and spurred their desire to become independent from the Northern Netherlands.17 The duet thus became a kind of political protest song in a movement whose actions gradually gave birth to a popular uprising. This uprising resulted in the separation of the southern part of Holland, leading to the independence of the nation of Belgium on October 4 of the same year. This might be a bold claim, but it is today part of the official history of Belgium and of Europe. Belgium was officially recognized as a new nation on December 26 at the Conference of London.



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In Conclusion This brief overview of satirical opera productions of the nineteenth century shows us how theater played an important role in rallying people’s opinions, either in favor of the established regime (Le Triomphe de Trajan), or to the contrary, conveying more libertarian, even radical ideas, in the hope of change. By the end of the Second Empire, operetta and opera buffa employed mockery, ridicule or sarcasm to varying degrees to denounce various social and institutional failures, as exemplified in many of the works of Offenbach (La grande Duchesse de Gérolstein, Les Brigands). The works would imply a reference to a current event or a specific politician without designating them clearly (Le Roi Carotte), and even Hervé’s essentially musical parodies contained some criticism of the imperial government, as we have seen in Chilpéric. When the authors did not criticize the political situation, they were targeting works presented on official scenes (La Vestale, L’œil crevé, Le Petit Faust, Les Turcs). Some serious operatic songs have become a symbol of political struggles, such as “Va pensiero” and “L’Amour sacré de la patrie.” Today, music continues to convey social, societal and political messages, or rather we could say that people will continue to hear these messages in the musical works. While attendance figures are down for operas and operettas, young people still attend such events as rock concerts (the origins of this genre represented youth opposition to pre-established social values – which is a form of authority – as shown in the movie Seeds of Violence by Richard Brooks, 1955) and technoparties, among many other types of musical events. Even if the style changes, music reflects the spirit of the times and different facets of society, and contributes to the lives of people who live there. In nineteenth-century France, music was part of the mockery and ridicule of authorities that comic plays offered. This was displayed openly at times and discreetly at other times, or directed at what the audience understood as being representative of the authorities. I suggest that this is possibly one of the effective functions of music in human activities.

Notes 1 Letter by Napoleon addressed to Monsieur de Remusat, February 8, 1810, quoted by Lecomte 1912, 132. Concerning the steps that

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2

3

4

5 6 7

Music, Power and Liberty Bonaparte implemented in order to place the Opéra under his direct control and to ensure the loyalty of this institution to his power, see Chaillou 2004. If, before the creation in 1669 of l’Académie de l’Opéra, the audience was made up exclusively of members of the Court, after that date the institution opened to the public of any class who paid for entry. See Nicole Wild, Dictionnaire des théâtres parisiens au XIXe siècle; les théâtres et la musique. Paris: Aux amateurs de livres, 1989. Generally, the boxes were reserved for subscribers (aristocrats, wealthy bourgeois, officials and others), and the “parterre” for the petit-bourgeois audience, while the “poulaillers” were occupied by workers and people from the poorest classes. However, there were many people with free tickets, such as suppliers, hairdressers, actors, authors and composers played at the Opera House, major theater administrators and publicists (Chaillou 2004, 35). Napoleon reestablished by decree on June 8, 1806 the system of “privilege” abolished during the Revolution (such as the permission to open theaters), determined by decree on April 25, 1807 the types of shows to be presented in each theater, and according to article 4 of the decree of July 29, 1807, set the number of authorized establishments at eight, eliminating 11 others. He further granted a prominent place to the Opéra, giving it the exclusive rights to perform works on heroic themes. He thereby made the Opéra a highly strategic institution of the Empire. Napoleon III almost lost his life in an assassination attempt organized by Orsini on January 14, 1858 in front of the Opéra, on Le Peletier Street. The current Opéra Garnier has an entrance that was reserved for Napoleon III, situated on Auber Street on the left side of the building (where today the ticket vendors are). This entrance would have allowed him to enter the theater hall without getting off his vehicle. Created after this assassination attempt, this entrance was never used because the regime fell in 1870, before the inauguration of the building in January 1875. The Duke of Berry was assassinated in 1820 inside the Opéra that was then on de la Loi Street (today Louvois Square). With more than 200 performances, acclaimed by crowned heads visiting Paris, the opera became a benchmark, and was performed all over Europe. Presented in France, in French, for the first time at the Odéon (Théâtre



8 9 10 11

12 13

14 15 16 17

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Français) in 1824, the work has been reprised on many occasions, particularly at the Opéra-Comique in 1835 and the Opéra in 1845. The original German version was created in 1829 at the Théâtre Italien. Created at the Opéra de Paris in 1829. “Musical Farce in Three Acts” is the subtitle of the play L’oeil crevé. The term is used by Jacques Rouchouse, in L’Operette, “Que sais-je?” collection, Paris: PUF, 1999, p. 26. Opéra-comique (1st version) and opéra (2nd version) by Daniel-FrançoisEsprit Auber, first performance at the Opéra-Comique in 1835. It is set in China. “Chinoiserie musicale” by Jacques Offenbach, first performance at the Théâtre des Bouffes Parisiens in 1855. Opéretta by Edmond Audran, created at the Théâtre du Gymnase in Marseille in 1877 then the revised version at the Théâtre de la Gaîté in Paris in 1884. The story takes place in India. National archives, F21 989 (cited in Yon 2000, 344). Yon notes that the censors struck out the word “rank” and replaced it with “position.” The opera was performed for the first time in 1828 in Paris, and had triggered political agitations. It had been banned in Belgium for safety. We must also take into account the fact that the July Revolution in France had already aroused nationalist feelings in Belgium.

References Banu, Georges. 2006. La Scène Surveillée (The Monitored Stage). Arles: Actes Sud. Barbier, Patrick. 1987. La Vie Quotidienne à l’Opéra au Temps de Rossini et de Balzac. Paris 1800–1850 (Daily Life at the Opéra at the time of Rossini and Balzac. Paris 1800–1850). Paris: Hachette. Cabourg, Jean (ed.). 1990. Guide des Opéras de Verdi. Livrets, Analyses, Disco­ graphies (Guide to Verdi’s Operas. Librettos, Analyses, Discographies). Paris: Fayard. Cariven-Galharret, Renée, and Dominique Ghesquiere. 1992. Hervé, un Musicien Paradoxal (1825–1892) (Hervé, a Paradoxical Musician (1825– 1892)). Éditions des Cendres.

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Chaillou, David. 2004. Napoléon et l’Opéra, La Politique sur la Scène, 1810–1815 (Napoleon and the Opéra, Politics on Stage, 1810–1815). Paris: Fayard. Duteurtre, Benoît. 2009. L’opérette en France (The Operetta in France). Paris: Fayard. Hallays-Dabot, Victor. 1970. Histoire de la Censure Théâtrale en France (History of Censorship in the Theater in France). Geneva: Slatline Reprints. Harding, James. 1979. Folies de Paris, the Rise and Fall of French Operetta. London: Chappel & Co./Elm Tree Books. Kaminski, Piotr. 2003. Mille et un Opéras (A Thousand and One Operas). Paris: Fayard. Kracauer, Siegfried. 1994. Jacques Offenbach ou le Secret du Second Empire (Jacques Offenbach or the Secret of the Second Empire). Paris: Gallimard/ Le Promeneur. Translated from the German original by Lucienne Astruc. The passage quoted was translated from this French version by the co-editors. Lacombe, Hervé. 1997. Les Voix de l’opéra Français au XIXe Siècle (Voices of the French Opera in the 19th Century). Paris: Fayard. Lecomte, Louis-Henry. 1912. Napoléon et le monde dramatique. Paris: Daragon. Malherbe, Charles. Auber. Paris: Henri Laurens [towards the end of the nineteenth century, date missing]. Ory, Pascal (ed.). 1997. La Censure en France à l’ère Démocratique (1848–) (Censorship in France during the Democratic Era (1848–)). Brussels: Complexe. Oster, Louis, and Jean Vermeil. 2008. Guide Raisonné et Déraisonnable de l’opérette et de la Comédie Musicale (Rational and Unreasonable Guide to the Operetta and to the Musical Comedy). Paris: Fayard. Rissin, David. 1980. Offenbach ou le Rire en Musique (Offenbach or Laughter in Music). Paris: Fayard. Rouchouse, Jacques and Michel de Maule (eds.). 1994. Hervé, Paris. Rouchouse, Jacques. 1999. L’Opérette, collection “Que Sais-je ?”. Paris: PUF. Van, Gilles de. 1992. Verdi, un Théâtre en Musique (Verdi, A Theater in Music). Paris: Fayard. Vielledent, Sylvie. 2009. 1830 aux Théâtres (1830 in the Theaters). Paris: Honoré Champion. Yon, Jean-Claude. 2000. Offenbach. Paris: Gallimard.



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Further Sources Theater programs: Auber, Daniel-François-Esprit. Fra Diavolo ou l’hôtellerie de Terracine (Fra Diavolo or the Inn of Terracina), Opéra-Comique, January and February 2009. ——. La Muette de Portici (The Mute Girl of Portici), Opéra-Comique, April 2012. Offenbach, Jacques. La Vie Parisienne (Parisian Life), Opéra-Comique, February to April 2002. ——. La Grande-duchesse de Gérolstein (The Grand Duchess of Gérolstein), Théâtre du Châtelet, October and December 2004 / January 2005. ——. Les Brigands (The Bandits), Opéra-Comique, June and July 2011. Verdi, Giuseppe. Un bal masqué (A Masked Ball), Opéra national de Paris, March–April 1995. ——. Nabucco, Opéra national de Paris, October–November 1997. Recordings: Auber, Daniel-François-Esprit. La Muette de Portici, Alfredo Kraus, June Anderson, Jean-Philippe Lafon, Orchestre Philharmonique de MonteCarlo, Ensemble Choral Jean Laforge, Thomas Fulton (direction), 2 CD EMI Classics, réédition 2002, ASIN: B000063XQC. Auber, Daniel-François-Esprit. Les Brigands (The Bandits), 2 CD EMI, 2009, ref: 3951132. Hervé. Chilpéric, ouverture. Retrieved March 21, 2014 from: http://www. youtube.com/watch?v=9s3gyHtBN_4. ——. Chilpéric, Chanson du Jambon. Retrieved March 21, 2014 from: http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD1rdEPJtbk. ——. Le Petit Faust, extrait de la retransmission télévisée sur France 2. Retrieved March 21, 2014 from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZj -1IMUDOI. Offenbach, Jacques. La Grande-duchesse de Gérolstein (The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein), live recording at the Théâtre du Châtelet, 2004–2005, 2CD Virgin, 2005, ref: 54573422; 2 DVD Virgin, 2005, ref: 3102399. ——. La Grande-duchesse de Gérolstein, Felicity Lott, Yan Beuron, François Le Roux, Les Musiciens du Louvre, Chœr des Musiciens du Louvre, Marc

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Minkowski (direction), enregistrement direct au Théâtre du Châtelet, saison 2004–2005, 2 DVD Virgin, 2005, ASIN: B000BU991K. ——. Les Brigands, Valérie Chevalier, Michel Trempont, Jean-Luc Viala, Chœur et Orchestre de l’Opéra de Lyon, Claire Gibault (direction), 1 DVD Opéra de Lyon, 2002, ASIN: B00005UQ8H; Ghislaine Raphanel, Michel Trempont, Chœur et orchestre de l’Opéra de Lyon, John Eliot Gardiner (direction), 2 CD EMI Classics, 1989, ASIN: B000006DDF. Offenbach, Jacques. Le Roi Carotte, Ronde des Chemin de fer. Retrieved March 21, 2014 from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXnK1AEWPy0. Spontini, Gaspare. La Vestale, Karen Huffstodt, Anthony Michaels-Moore, Chœur et Orchestre de la Scala de Milan, Riccardo Muti (direction), 3 CD SONY Classical, 2009, ASIN: B002DU7OOU. Verdi, Giuseppe. Nabucco, Juan Pons, Maria Guleghina, The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, James Levine (direction), 1 DVD Deutsche Grammophon, 2005, ASIN: B0006O9M6S; Matteo Manguerra, Renata Scotto, Philharmonia Orchestra, Ambrosian Opera Chorus, Riccardo Muti (direction), 2 CD EMI Classics, 2010, ASIN: B0036D7Y34.

Chapter 5

“Do You Hear the People Sing?” Music as a Means of Peaceful Protest in Turkey Itır Toksöz

Introduction In June 2013, hundreds of thousands of people poured into the streets of Istanbul, followed by people in other cities of Turkey, when a small number of people, protesting the government’s decision to destroy a park in the heart of Istanbul in order to build a shopping mall, were met with disproportional police brutality. At first the protests were mostly driven by environmental concerns, aiming to protect the park and the trees that were to be cut for the construction, but this soon turned into mass protests against the increasingly authoritarian style of governance of the Justice and Development Party (hereafter JDP),1 the political party in power at that time and the then Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an in particular.2 The protests, which became more and more widespread during the weeks that followed, are known today as the Gezi (Park) Events, named after the park the protests originally aimed to protect. During these events, music was one of the many different forms of artistic practices that were frequently utilized as a means of protest. Music was used as a means of protest by those on the ground in Gezi Park as well as by those who shared the songs they composed and/or the videos they prepared and shared through social media. By the end of June, the number of

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new songs about Gezi Park events shared on social media had reached 136. This was part of the explosion of creativity that took over Gezi Park and social media during the events and their aftermath. This chapter analyzes the content and scope of the lyrics of 132 of these “Gezi songs” by coding the song lyrics and certain other characteristics of the songs such as the genre, language, and subtitles, and some content of the videos used to circulate them. In doing so, the author scrutinizes what issues the songs address, especially relating to the cause of the protests, and the function of the songs. The author claims that, firstly, the songs give us a good summary of the causes which led people to protest. Secondly she argues that it is clear that the songs generated a sense of solidarity, voicing the opinions and feelings of those who created them about the events. But Gezi songs also fulfilled the function of telling the story of what happened in Gezi Park and why it happened in an atmosphere where the mainstream media would not broadcast the events.3 As such, it can be argued that the songs can be treated as mediums of communication in domestic as well as international settings. This communication narrated the events to those who had no access to the news channels which aired the events and also it possibly facilitated the mainten­ance of what Benedict Anderson ([1983], 2006) referred to as an “imagined community” of “çapulcu”4 within the country, among Turks living abroad and among cosmopolites worldwide, especially through the use of information and communication technologies. Just as Eyerman (2002, 446) talks about individuals forming an imagined community of solidarity through music during the American Civil Rights Movement, the author in this chapter will also take the çapulcu as an imagined community. The chapter first takes a look at the role of music in protests, briefly reminds the reader what happened during the Gezi events and then explains the research methodology. The characteristics, content and themes of Gezi songs are then evaluated before the chapter concludes.

Music and Protests Music and politics is a general theme in academic literature that covers a wide range of topics such as the use of music for electoral campaigns or in wars, music and freedom of expression, music and intellectual property



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rights, identity politics and music, music and nationalism, music as a means of torture, music and conflict transformation and music as a means of protest. Within this theme, music as a means of protest is one of the most widely researched topics. The studies on the use of music as a means of political protest cover both the democratic and non-democratic political contexts. Moreover, the geographical scope of the countries and regions covered in the study of protest songs in academic literature is also extremely wide. For Europe, for example, one can find studies that deal with street music, marching bands and popular protest in Northern Ireland (McKay 2007), the cyberpolitics of music in Ukraine’s Orange Revolution (Helbig 2006), protest songs and social mobilization in Poland (Payerhin 2012), a study of the individual and the collective in British anarcho-punk (Cross 2010), how popular music and revolt were related in France, the United States and Britain during the late 1960s (Mitchell 2005) and how rock music was used as a way of “throwing stones at the system” in Serbia during the 1990s (Mijatovic 2008). For Latin America, some examples include a study of the calypsonian as political opposition in the Caribbean, especially in Trinidad and Tobago (Hinds 2010), protest and passion in Mexican-American popular music (Lewis 1992), the “New Songs” as protest music in Latin America (Luft 1996), how popular music was instrumental in writing the history during the student movement of 1968 in Mexico (Marsh 2010) and salsa music as a means to expressive liberation in Latin America (Berrios-Miranda 2004). For Africa, there are studies on the role of music in the resistance against apartheid in South Africa (Schumann 2008), Voelvry Music and Afrikaans Anti-Apartheid Social Protest in the 1980s (Grundlingh 2004) and the history of Shona protest song in Zimbabwe (Kahori 1981). For Asia-Pacific, some of the themes researched were popular music and Muslim Filipino protest (Talusan 2010), music as a rallying point for the masses during political upheavals in Burma (Zaw 2004), how music was used by the freeter5 in Japan as a form of protest (Mori 2005), the use of protest songs in Niua Islands, Tonga (Pond 1990) and how musicians from Beirut react to war and violence (Burkhalter 2011). The scope of the above-mentioned works suggests that the use of music as a means of protest is experienced, acknowledged and studied across time, geographies and political systems. What then, is the function of music in

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political protest/social movements that make its use so widespread across time and space? In his work on calypso music, Hinds (2010, 1) mentions that music can serve as a source of collective memory, have a function of affirmation of identity or be a form of resistance. Hinds (2010, 1–2) refers to the work of Pratt (1990, 4), who suggests that some of the functions of music are “to create spontaneous collective identity,” and “to facilitate the investment of people’s psychological energies,” and the work of Mattern (1998, 15), who suggests that some of the functions of music are “to serve as a record of a civilization or community” and “as historical and political memory,” and “to oppose the exploitation and oppression exercised by dominant elites and members of dominant groups.” Hinds (2010, 3) also refers to Rohlehr (2001, 21) who identifies seven major functions of calypso as “worship, battle, work, celebration, social control, praise and popular narration.” Zaw (2004, 39) sees music as having “provided a rallying point for the masses during political upheavals.” He also suggests that the leaders of the South-East Asian countries such as Suharto of Indonesia and General Ne Win of Burma understood the power of music and appropriated it to serve their needs (Zaw 2004, 39). Music can also fulfill other functions: it allows for the discussion of the undiscussable, as in the case of blues, where the music allowed the black women to discuss “sexual and political desire” (Hobson 2008, 444). It preserves the unpreservable, as in the case of African-Americans, who, far away from their original homelands, found a way to preserve a part of their culture through music (Goffman 2010, 1). Sometimes the music also helps boost pro-democratic forces, such as under the right-wing dictatorships in Latin America during the Cold War years (Luft 1996, 12). Eyerman (2002, 446) reminds us that the American Civil Rights Movement was called the “singing movement.” Martin Luther King Jr. said in 1964 that “much of the power of our Freedom Movement has come from this music” (Adler 2009, 2). Cross (2001, 10) claims that music is “a property of communities, not individuals.” Eyerman (2002, 446) takes this community aspect of music even further and makes reference to the concept of “imagined communities” of Anderson ([1983] 2006), writing about the power of music in bonding of the members of a group who will never meet face to face. Ma’anit (2003, 12) suggests that “political music is essentially a mode of activist communication,” mentioning how Nueva Canción was used in



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Latin America to reach progressive political goals, how aboriginal musicians used songs to criticize the Australian government, how the minjung art movement used songs to empower a student movement in South Korea, how punk developed in New York and then in Britain to influence a whole gener­ ation’s relations with authority and politics or how Daniel Barenboim’s act of playing Wagner challenged Jewish perceptions of Wagner’s music. To show the readers the extent of the role of communication of music, one can point out the case of the Kaluli of Papua New Guinea where music is even seen as a means of communication with the dead (Cross 2001, 3). Sanfeliu (2008, 1) also mentions the function of music as a means of communication, not only among different cultures (intercultural) but also among different gener­ations (intergenerational), alongside other functions of music she identifies as a means of education, participation and unification.

Gezi Events Gezi Park stands in the European part of downtown Istanbul and is one of the last green areas in this part of the city. It is right next to Taksim Square, one of the largest squares in the city, as well as being at the top of Istiklal Street and in the district of Beyog˘lu which is the heart of the arts, entertainment and night life with several theater stages, movie theaters, art galleries, bookstores, bars, restaurants and night clubs. Where the park is today previously stood military barracks, known as Topçu Kıs¸lası, between 1806 and 1909. On September 16, 2011 the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality, led by a mayor from JDP – a political party which embraces a neo-Ottoman identity simultaneously with neoliberal economic policies – had decided to go ahead with the construction of a replica of these barracks where Gezi Park stands, to be used as a hotel and a shopping mall complex. The construction sector has been one of the most booming sectors under JDP rule, becoming one of the major drivers of GDP growth (Karatepe 2013, 2). This decision drew criticism from the opponents of JDP, and it was argued that the boom in the construction sector was leading to problems of urbanization and the fact that it was a major driver of GDP was making the Turkish economy vulnerable. The protests that led to the Gezi Park events started on May 28, 2013 when a small group of people decided to set up tents in the park to voice their

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opposition to the demolition of the park and the construction of a replica of the military barracks. The protests were not major news until May 31, 2013 when the tents were set on fire by security forces at 5 am. The next day, more people came to the square to protest about what had happened and faced severe police brutality which resulted in even more people turning up to the streets to protest. Soon the protests spread across the entire country. The protestors were people from all walks of life, who used social media for coordination. This included right- and left-wing groups as well as a great majority of people not identifying themselves anywhere on the political spectrum.6 It was surprising for many that diverse groups with oftentimes opposing views could unify behind an issue like this. Their methods of protest were very creative, but they were also influenced by similar mass protests in recent years such as the Occupy Movement and the protests during the Arab Spring. Occupation of Gezi Park saw tents being set up as well as a library and medical areas, distribution of free food, a TV channel to broadcast online from the area and a platform for free speech. Ads were published7 and petitions signed, mostly organized via online platforms such as www.change.org. Some workers’ unions such as KESK8 also supported the protests by organizing a strike. Boycotts of certain pro-government businesses and sit-ins were also organized. Police were offered things to eat and they were read to by the protestors as part of the efforts to protest against their brutality. The media which did not broadcast the events were also targeted by the protestors. People called the TV channels to ask for a rebroadcast of the unrelated programs the channels broadcast during the protests as a way of protesting, as well as pledging to boycott certain channels because of their silent attitude during the protests. The protestors who came from all walks of life with different levels of religiosity or lack thereof also joined to observe the religious holy day of Miraç (Mi’raj)9 in solidarity, praying together in occupied areas. Yoga sessions and a watergun fight (as a protest against the pressurized water used by the police against the protestors) were organized. Rival football fan clubs of Istanbul were mobilized in solidarity and acted to draw crowds to the protest areas.10 After the police forcefully cleared the protestors from the park on June 15, the protests did not stop. The day after the police forces dispersed crowds



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from the entire park and its environs, the protestors called for a cessation of resistance on the streets in order not to escalate the violence. Yet the protests evolved into other forms. First came Duran Adam (which means “the standing-man” in Turkish), when a performance artist stood staring for hours at the Turkish flag hanging over the Atatürk Cultural Center in Taksim Square next to Gezi Park on June 17, an action that was then copied by thousands of men and women in following days across the country. It was observed that some of the standing men and women were also reading. Another type of protest was leaving the newspapers covering the event lying in public places so that the people in a metro or bus or on a bench could also have a chance to read about the events that unfolded. The protestors declared the rest of the public parks of the country as meeting areas where public forums were held for weeks to discuss the state of the nation. The protestors also organized “Earthly Tables” to break the fast during the month of Ramadan in the streets as a way of showing solidarity. The use of arts was perhaps the most striking way to protest. The protest areas were rich with graffiti. There were artistic activities within occupied areas, such as film shows, public concerts, photography exhibitions and art workshops for small children. These art practices spilled over into and were re-shared through social media as well. The fact that the original standing man was a performance artist also shows the role art and artists played in the protests. Moreover, within a matter of a few weeks, there were more than 100 songs composed and put online about the protests. These songs are the data that set up the basis of this research.

Methodology The data was easily accessible through the website of Çapulcu S¸arkılar (Çapulcu Songs 2015) by Çapulcu. The site was taken as the basis to create a database for the analysis as it provided the most comprehensive list of Gezi Songs available. The website listed 136 songs, along with their audio files, during the month of July (2013), yet by January 2014, the number of songs listed had gone up to 147. Some of the song lyrics could not be located and proved to be too difficult to transcribe from recordings, thus they were not taken into account. A few other songs found on YouTube or other sources not

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in the list mentioned above were also added. This resulted in a database of 132 songs on which the following analysis is based. The original sharing of most of these songs was carried out by videos through video-sharing websites such as YouTube and Dailymotion. Therefore the videos of these songs posted on YouTube were given priority and were supplemented by the audio files from the aforementioned website when no relevant video was found.11 Despite the ease of data collection, there were multiple challenges to the researcher. Firstly, it was possible to come across multiple videos of one song on YouTube. In this case, if it could be identified, the video shared by the original artist was taken into account. In cases where such identification was not possible, one of the videos was randomly chosen. A second challenge was how to code the lyrics of the songs. Although there are opinions on the (un)importance of lyrics in protest songs in academic literature, this research values and uses them as an important source of data. Lyrics can be seen as the most important component of the protest songs as “words are concrete, they refer to specific things” (Platoff 2005, 250). Moore (2009, 9) touches on the impact of readings of music’s political messages on performance and argues that except for the opera and texted music (music with lyrics), it has proven difficult to understand this impact (Moore 2009, 9). Thus the lyrics here have great value for the research. With a few exceptions, almost all of the Gezi Songs have words. This makes them more easily politically attributable. Yet the words without the tunes would not be perceived as they are without the music since “[M]usic that is often central to a social movement also relies on emotion. Music speaks to the emotions better than pictures or words” (Dobson 2001). While the lyrics were oftentimes either provided as subtitles in the videos or were given as a text on the webpage under the video, the ones which were not readily available on the internet were first written down by the author and then coded, which is a time-consuming method for such data gathering and sometimes hard to decipher due to the fact that some of the lyrics could not be fully understood. A third challenge was the visual language of the videos. Since the songs are shared through social media on the internet via videos, they should actually be thought of as three-dimensional, comprising music, lyrics and videos. Gezi Songs were not distributed or marketed through the mainstream music



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industry but through the internet and social media. That is understandable as it is easier and faster to share a song online, especially in cases where songs are produced by mostly amateurs. Some are even the musicking of people sharing their experience online. Moreover, the mainstream media was silent/silenced during the events. There are several music TV channels broadcasting in Turkey yet the songs/videos studied here were mostly not aired on these channels as the events were taking place. The few TV stations which were close to the political opposition such as Ulusal TV and Halk TV aired videos of some of these songs. The music industry probably shied away from producing them due to fears of being politicized and getting involved in the polarized politics of the country. YouTube seems to have functioned as an archive for the songs (Thorson et al. 2013, 21), allowing the footage, hence the events, to be accessible and be repeated even after the events were over. Since the medium through which these songs are shared/distributed is the videos, it would be impossible not to consider them in the overall analysis. Yet coding these videos takes longer than coding their lyrics due, to the richness of the material. Also, the footage of the events shown in the great majority of the videos all reflects similar themes as they all portray the same events. For these reasons they were not fully coded and were instead subject to only a general analysis. On the other hand, one of the challenges of doing research with song lyrics is the fluidity and vagueness of the language they often contain due to the poetic qualities of the lyrics. The Gezi songs are surprisingly direct, leaving less room for ambiguity – which facilitates the coding process for the researcher. In an article in the New York Times, Staples (2003) suggested that corporate radio kills protest music as radio stations are less inclined to broadcast politically charged songs these days. In that sense, not being subject to the demands of the music industry can actually make the songs more authentic and genuine, with direct messages. In the coding of the songs, certain themes were considered which can be categorized in three major groups. The first set of themes dealt with Gezi Park and environmentalism, trying to understand the environmental concerns of the protestors. In this set, the keywords searched in the lyrics were “Gezi Park,” “environment” and “trees,” all coded under “Gezi Park” to determine to what extent environmental sensitivities were behind the onset of the events.

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The second set of themes searched dealt with police brutality, scrutinizing the impact of police brutality on the spread of the events. The keywords in this category were: “police brutality,” “pepper gas” and “TOMA.”12 The last and final set of themes concerned the governance style of the then Prime Minister and the politics of the ruling party at that time as perceived by the protestors, questioning to what extent the policies and style of the government set the background for the protests. The keywords searched in this category were “the Prime Minister” or “Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an,” “authority-authoritarian,” “neoliberalism,” “foreign policy,” “media” and “corruption.” These keywords were both searched and coded directly as the words themselves and also as similar narratives which talk about the same keyword. For example, when a song talks about banned things in the country, this was categorized under the key “Authority.” Even if certain lyrics did not clearly contain the title or the name of the Prime Minister but made sure that the listeners understood that it was indeed talking about the Prime Minister, the song was coded under “Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an.” A less careful coding was carried out on the videos and the general characteristics of the songs, for example looking at whether or not the video contained footage from the events or other references such as penguins as mascots of the protests, or pots and pans. For the general characteristics of the songs, each song was coded for its language, genre, whether it was an original piece or a cover, and whether it contained subtitles and, if so, what language the subtitles were in.

Gezi Songs – Characteristics The Gezi songs can be seen as a collection that includes: • New songs composed about Gezi Park events during the month of June 2013, • Songs composed previously but now dedicated to Gezi Park, • Covers of famous (mostly rock and folk) songs with lyrics adapted to Gezi Park events. These songs are also referred to as Çapulcu songs (2015). The Turkish Prime



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Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an called the protestors “çapulcu” (looter) during a speech on June 2, 2013: We cannot just watch some çapulcu inciting our people. . . . Yes, we will also build a mosque. I do not need permission for this; neither from the head of the Republican People’s Party (CHP) nor from a few çapulcu. I got permission from the fifty percent of the citizens who elected us as the governing party.13 When the Prime Minister described the protestors as “çapulcu,” the protestors turned around its original meaning, “looters,” and created an identity out of it along with the neologism “chapulling,” which entered the English language with the meaning of “fighting for your rights.”14 By the same token, when the TV channel CNN Turk broadcast a documentary on penguins instead of reporting about the events under heavy government pressure, the protestors adopted the penguins as a mascot. Also, these were seen as examples of “unproportional intelligence,” a term used by the çapulcu to describe the witty language and creative approaches accompanying the peaceful activities of resistance, in response to the unproportional use of force by the police forces. As such, the Çapulcu songs (2015) are often highly spirited, full of hope and filled with countless examples of humor. The people who wanted to join the protests but could not do so for whatever reason were encouraged to play the pots and pans by hitting them with kitchen utensils in their homes and to honk their cars’ horns around 9 pm every evening, in a spirit of “chapulling,” adding to the soundscapes of the Gezi events. These sounds were sometimes also used as part of the songs.15 People joining the protests from their apartments or cars by playing pots and pans showed that the protests were larger than just the people present in the park. Although one may not consider this practice as music at first glance, it was indeed music and the fact that the playing of pots and pans was the basis of at least one song and that some of the songs contained the sounds of pots and pans being played in the background is proof that the practice of sound making was seen as part of the musical scene.16

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The first striking feature of Gezi songs would be that most of the Gezi songs were not by already known artists. Among the 132 songs, only eight performers (Duman, Nazan Öncel, Timur/Hazal Selçuk, Alpay, Ezginin Günlüg˘ü, Fazıl-Say/Cem Adrian, Kardes¸ Türküler, Joan Baez) were already celebrities. The rest are mostly newly composed songs by amateur musicians. In some cases it is even hard to locate names of performers or creators. There are also some cover songs which amateur musicians put out there with adapted lyrics on Gezi Park events. Many of these musicians do not seem to have aimed at using music as a tool to become famous. Another common feature of the songs, also mentioned earlier, is that they are mostly shared as videos through social media and mostly originally published on YouTube. Out of 132 songs, only nine songs did not have a video and were only available on the Çapulcu S¸arkılar (Çapulcu Songs 2015) website in audio format. The concept of videos has been taken broadly here and a video may include live pictures or be in the form of a PowerPoint presentation of several pictures or even a single picture related to the events. The videos add a visual language to the songs where the visual elements amplify the lyrics, underline or highlight certain themes that are already in the lyrics, such as pepper gas or police brutality, or where the visual elements add to the lyrics contained in the songs. Seventy-two of the 123 songs with videos have footage of either still or live pictures from the events. There are several possible reasons why this is so: the accessibility and ease of use of this footage for those who prepare the videos and share them through social media; the ease of use of new technologies contained in smart phones and computers empowering their users in terms of sharing what they witness; and an oppressive political atmosphere where the mainstream media did not broadcast these events so that anything that appeared on social media was regarded as news and the videos were treated as a medium of getting and spreading news of the events.17 So a song may not talk about police brutality but the video footage obviously shows it. Except for the visuals of penguins in the video, the visual language of the videos was not coded. However one can then imagine that there are songs which may not include police brutality or Gezi Park in their lyrics, but where the visuals show them. In this case, the figures stated in our analysis as to how many songs refer to police brutality or the Gezi Park would be higher.



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Songs are predominantly in Turkish (108 songs), and some in English (21), with three of the songs being both in Turkish and in English. There is one song sung partly in Kurdish and partly in Turkish and another song sung in Greek. Thirty-seven songs overall have subtitles, 15 of them in English. So if you add the number of English songs to those with English subtitles, 36 out of 132 songs were able to reach English-speaking audiences. Some of the songs also have subtitles in Turkish, due to the fact that they were sung in a foreign language. However there are also a few songs with Turkish subtitles which are already sung in Turkish and this is possibly because the artists wanted to make sure that the lyrics were properly understood. The fact that translation of songs is seen as important can be seen as an effort to reach larger audiences, which would to some extent support the idea that these songs and videos served as a means of communication, especially aiming at international audiences. In one anecdote it was reported to the author that when a person left a comment under a video stating that he did not speak Turkish and asked for translation, a few days later the translation was added to the page.18 Some songs are covers of world-famous songs such as “Every Breath You Take” by Sting adapted as “Chapulation Song – We’ll be Watching You” by Çag˘layan Yıldız; “Imagine” by John Lennon adapted as “Chapulling in Peace” by Erdi Uçar; “Another Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd adapted as “We Don’t Need No Gas Bombs” by Ayse Deniz; “Do You Hear the People Sing?” from the musical “Les Misérables” adapted as “Duyuyor Musun Bizi?”(Do You Hear Us?) by Choir of Çapulcu; “Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode adapted as “Enjoy the Teargas” by Rebel K; “Get Lucky” by Daft Punk adapted as “Yas¸ar Giderdik Beraber” (We Would Just Keep on Living Together) by Ozan Atak. These covers of well-known songs, in particular the international ones, can be seen as contributing to the aim of expanding the audience, since people would pick up the melodies even if they did not understand the lyrics. John Lennon’s “Imagine” seems to be a favorite choice. In addition to the abovementioned cover version of the song, one can see the famous protest singer Joan Baez’s video where she sings “Imagine” for Gezi Park. The German pianist Davide Martello, who gave a concert in Gezi Park on June 13, also took this song into his repertoire for his Gezi Park performance. While these internationally famous songs may have helped the events become more visible for international audiences, another trend of making

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covers of Turkish traditional folk songs with adapted lyrics may have had the same effect domestically. Examples of such covers would include Bog˘aziçi Caz Korosu singing “Çapulcu Musun?” (Are You Çapulcu?), which was originally the folk song “Entarisi Ala Benziyor” (Her Dress is Like Red) and “Çapulcular Oldu Mu?” (Have the Çapulcu Ripened?) which was originally “Kızılcıklar Oldu mu?” (Has the Raspberry Ripened?); “Çapulcu Türküsü” (The Ballad of Çapulcu) which is originally “Hey Onbes¸li Onbes¸li” (Hey Fifteener Fifteener), “Oy Oy Recebum” (Oh oh My Recep) sung by Marsis, originally “Oy Oy Eminem” (Oh Oh Eminen), “Fas¸ist Og˘lan” (Fascist Boy) sung by Ali Avni Cirik, originally “S¸eker Og˘lan” (Sugar Boy), “Kesik Çayır” (Cut Grass) by the same original name, sung with adapted lyrics by the students of Hacettepe University or “Toma S¸arkısı” (The Toma Song), sung by METU Classical Turkish Music Society, originally “Kaleden Top Atarlar” (They Fire Cannonballs from the Castle), “Angara’nın Gazları” (Gases of Ankara), originally “Ankara’nın Kızları” (Girls of Ankara), among others. There are four main genres across the Gezi songs. Most frequently met are rock songs (including pop-rock, punk rock and Anatolian rock19), rap/hip-hop songs, Turkish folk songs and what we will call here songs of the left. There are also a limited number of disco-techno songs, a few jazz and blues songs and only one classical music piece, performed by an orchestra of several musicians playing in different orchestras of Istanbul who retitled themselves as the Gezi Philharmonic (Ivanoff 2013). The piece the Gezi Philharmonic chose to perform was “Köçekçe,” by the Turkish classical music composer Ulvi Cemal Erkin, one of the composers known as the Turkish Five, who were identified with the early Republican era through the use of Turkish folk music motifs in Western classical music.20 The choice of this piece can be interpreted as a response to the government, under which artists and institutions with early Republican principles and progressive ideals have been under attack.21 Under the JDP government movie theaters were closed down, state funding was cut to ballet, opera and theater, some artist members of the councils with decision-making powers on the repertoires of municipal theatre companies were replaced by appointed officials, and cartoonists were sued for criticizing the Prime Minister. Although they are few in number, the fact that some foreign artists also prepared and posted songs in videos on Gezi events is important. The



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most well-known among them was Joan Baez, mentioned above. Another song called “Resistanbul” comes from Elena Faidra and Periklis Tsoukalas, recorded at Cultural Center of Anatolia-Bridge in Thessaloniki, Greece. The “Revolution Song” posted on YouTube by Anonymous-Occupy Gezi also tried to draw attention to the events in Istanbul as the song finishes with “stop, hey what’s that sound everybody look Istanbul now.” Another interesting song comes from Catalonia, Spain, entitled “Stay With Me” and published on YouTube by Catalonia Music Works. The video consists of the lyrics of the song in both English and Turkish, with the lyrics in Catalonian placed under the video on the webpage. “Kiss in Taksim Square” by Chinawoman (the stage name of Canadian artist Michelle Gurevich) is also another example in this regard. Apart from the video posted by the artist herself on YouTube, the song is reposted in four more different video versions. Besidos & Friends, featuring Dubioza Kolektiv from Bosnia and Herzegovina who sings a cover of “Killing in the Name of . . .” by Rage Against the Machine, adds a Balkan sound to the list of Gezi songs from outside of Turkey by foreign artists. The foreign artists were not the only ones from outside Turkey who chose to sing songs and create and post videos on the Gezi Park events. Turks living abroad also performed several songs where they live and posted them on YouTube. Kent Coda & Elektro Hafız sang “Dün Aks¸am I˙stanbullu Oldum” (I Became an Istanbulite Yesterday Night) during the Edelweisspiratenfestival in Friedenspark, Cologne, Germany whereas there were two other groups, Almancı22 Support Gezi/Duisburg Women’s Choir and another group from the Netherlands who shared cover songs they sang on YouTube as well as the video of a flashmob held in Stockholm, Sweden. On the other side of the Atlantic, Çapulcus of New York sang “S¸imdi I˙stanbul’da Olmak Vardı” (Wishing We Were in Istanbul Now) referring to all the Turks in various different countries who would like to be in Istanbul as the events were unfolding. Çapulcus of Boston and Deniz Özçelik from Berklee College of Music sang “Gezi Parkı I˙çinde Vurdular Beni” (They Shot me in Gezi Park), the cover of a famous wartime folk song from the Gallipoli Campaign in World War I, “Çanakkale I˙çinde Vurdular Beni” (They Shot me in Çanakkale). Another striking point is the existence of what one might call videos of “musicking.” The term comes from Christopher Small, who has defined musicking in his book of the same title as follows:

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Music, Power and Liberty To musick is to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance, whether by performing, by listening, by rehearsing or practicing, by providing material for performance (what is called composing), or by dancing. We might at times even extend its meaning to what the person is doing who takes the tickets at the door or the hefty men who shift the piano and the drums or the roadies who set up the instruments and carry out the sound checks or the cleaners who clean up after everyone else has gone. They, too, are all contributing to the nature of the event that is a musical performance. (Small 1998, 8).

Songs created by amateur musicians as well as songs of music choirs from universities and amateur musical choirs, even a children’s choir, were recorded in their home or school environments, showing the performers in their daily settings, but still joining the movement, passing along their message. Songs by Turks living abroad were also mostly videos of musicking where people gathered together in parks or as choirs of Turks living abroad. The database contained 21 musicking songs, and five of them were performed in Gezi Park. Finally, one should not forget those who can be seen as only having contributed through the remaking of videos of the songs on Gezi Park which are already out there. It is through their work that the number of videos of the same song multiplied. While their identity is not easily traceable, the role they played in boosting the visibility of the songs is another feature of the songs.

Gezi Songs – Content and Themes Many analysts suggested that although the triggering event may have been the destruction of the park and the cutting of the trees, the protests grew because of police brutality against the background of the increasingly authoritarian governing style of the JDP government, which may also be called the underlying causes. The database of this chapter confirms this since 59 of the songs refer to Gezi Park, 48 refer to police brutality, 65 refer to pepper gas and 21 refer to TOMA. If one also takes into account the fact that 72 of the



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songs have some sort of visual footage from the events in Gezi Park, the scenes of police brutality, pepper gas and pressurized water attacks are the most general themes found in the songs. On the issue of the authoritarian governance style, 42 songs refer directly to Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an and 43 songs touch on the symbols of some sort of oppression and authoritarian tendency. Twenty-six songs address the corrupt nature of the government and 17 refer to the media being unreliable and biased in favor of the government. Forty-two songs refer to the concept of “çapulcu,” indicating that the protestors internalized the identity of “çapulcu” in a very short timeframe. The rest of the keywords searched for, such as neoliberalism, urbanization and foreign policy did not yield a high number of repetitions. The examples below provide some clue as to the language, directness and the rationale behind the lyrics. The first set of examples highlights the causes of the events and the second set of examples shows how the songs were used as a medium of communication. The first example on the reasons for the events is a song by the group Kardes¸ Türküler, “Tencere Tava Havası” (Sound of Pots and Pans):23 enough with inconsistent remarks and bans enough with headstrong decrees and commands oh my oh my, we’ve had enough of my oh my, we’re really fed up What arrogance! What hatred! Come slowly slowly, the ground is wet They couldn’t sell their shadows so they sold the forests they knocked down, closed down cinemas and squares covered in shopping malls I don’t feel like crossing this bridge what happened to our city? It’s packed with hormone-injected buildings . . . A cover song with adapted lyrics “Enjoy the Tear Gas” by Rebel K24 (adapted

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from Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence”) is effective in explaining the causes of discontent with the Prime Minister: Don’t you remember those good times we had? You remember that balcony? We were under the moonlight. You told me that you had changed. You told me that you weren’t the man you used to be. You weren’t against secularism any more. You promised me a more advanced democracy. You were gonna take me to Paris, to Brussels . . . And I wouldn’t need a visa no more? And I believed you. But you know, it’s OK. I’d rather stay in beautiful Istanbul. Lovely Bosphorus . . . Shiny Taksim . . . But I never wanted a trip to Damascus! I understand.  You take good care of our house. I’m grateful. You bring home money. You take me out to the shopping mall.  And we drink “ayran” together. But you never mow the lawn. And you cut our lovely trees in the backyard. Also, once in a while I want to go out with my friends and have a drink    or two. But you never let me . . . You call me boozy. You call me sponge. You call my father drunk . . . That father who built our lovely house out of a wreck And that father brought prosperity to our house.  He told: “Peace at home; Peace in the world” But you’re fighting with your neighbor  who used to be your best friend



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Sorry Tayyip. I want a divorce . . . People have spoken now you will listen we’ll teach you democracy stop your autocracy . . . This passage is perhaps one of the richest of all the songs analyzed in giving us clues about the disquiet the protestors felt towards the government. It was when JDP was elected a second time in 2007 that the Prime Minister Erdog˘an made his famous balcony speech where he promised the whole nation that he would be everybody’s Prime Minister. Turkey’s goal of becoming a full member of the EU was still supported by the government at the time, hence the reference to the European capitals such as Paris and Brussels in the song. Then the singer talks about how the government started to interfere in the private lives of the citizens by exemplifying the Prime Minister’s stand on the issue of alcohol.25 He critically referred to the fact that the Prime Minister indirectly referred to Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey, and his right arm, comrade in arms I˙smet I˙nönü – also the first two Presidents of the Turkish Republic – as boozers.26 Moreover the song touches on the issue of the failure of the “zero-problems policy”27 of the JDP when Turkey stood against the Assad regime in Syria, who was on very good terms with the Prime Minister. Another song, “Yandı Bitti Kül Oldu” (It Burnt, Finished, Became Ash) by Ispanak (Spinach),28 possibly touches the balcony speech without directly saying so by the lyrics: he backpedalled on his promise he was able to pronounce every lie I am dizzy due to the lie . . . I got angry at this system One particular song directly addresses why people are in Gezi Park and protesting. Özbi sings his rap song “Asi” (Rebel)29 in a video clip portraying a

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protestor who is held at gunpoint by an unidentified person. He first addresses this unidentified person and then states: Do not flinch, pull the trigger. Anyway the press silenced by money will make you look like right. Don’t be afraid, your hand should not shake, when the medal you win makes you rich you can feed the poor, your sins will be forgiven, don’t be afraid, your houris will not drop from 7 to 6, the mullahs that you believe in will find an excuse. Know why you are here. I rejected the existence of the government because it insulted my freedom, it twinkled to monarchy, dictated its every word, it intended to kill me while it took revenge from some others. I ran to the street because they always lied and I heard, I became the evil and they became the good ones. I shouted for my freedom, they labeled me an anarchist. I am not under the domination of anyone, I am free, I’ll be an anarchist if I want or I’d be “The People.” I am the King of myself, so shoot me, do not flinch, do not even wait for a second Hey, I am going to the resistance, a bag, a fabric mask in my cache Hey I woke up and am walking, police stops me with a TOMA Hey I am uprising, my expressions are free on my face Hey, I see my freedom, I am alone yet I am too many in this fight . . . “Chapulation Song,”30 which is a cover with adapted lyrics of “Every Breath You Take” by Sting performed by Çag˘layan Yıldız, address some of the issues such as the biased media which have broadcast heavy and uncritical coverage of the Prime Minister ever since he won the elections in 2002: Since you’ve won, I’ve been lost without a trace I watch TV at night, I can only see your face I zap around but it’s you they can’t replace I feel so bored and I long for your sweet mace I keep calling RT, RT please . . .



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The cover “Angara’nın Gazları” (Gases of Ankara)31 by an anonymous performer also talks about the corrupt nature of the government. We built it, you sold it, is there any public good left? Angara’s gases, çapulcu rebels when did you become a partisan that you do not show the parks? You did not care about children, young or old people, you threw the gas Don’t you have a fear of God? You always sold the country . . . “‘Parti’siz Parti” (Party Without a Party)32 is a song which addresses similar issues of unplanned urbanization, corruption and police brutality with references to tearing eyes and getting wet, hinting at the pepper gas and water cannons of TOMAs: Gezi is not a carpark, it is a treepark Gezi is not for engines, it is for breathing Allah Allah33 What good is a military barrack in the middle of a city? The power which destroys the shadow that it cannot sell It takes intelligence to be human It takes courage to be free this is a party without a party Come run, come run Your eyes may tear up you can even get wet, come run don’t stop run . . . The song lyrics also exemplify how the musicians want to spread the word to the rest of the world about what is going on inside the country. The song “Çapulin” by T.C. Efem34 has the lyrics: Planet earth, please listen spread the word and the wisdom everybody is fighting right now my whole country is bleeding right now

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all we want is freedom of speech all we want is freedom of each day and night, they shooting us down police brutality, they shooting us down . . . As for the role of the songs as a means of communication, the song which inspired the title of this chapter, “Do You Hear the People Sing?” is another example. It is one of the most famous songs from the musical “Les Misérables.” It is also known as “The People’s Song” and is easily recognized by international audiences. The Çapulcu Choir sings it in both English and Turkish with literally translated lyrics. Another song with an international reference was “Exit Plan” by the Free Licks. The song, which has very simple and repetitive lyrics asking if one has an “exit plan,” ends with the voice of Christiane Amanpour from CNN International saying “you’ve got to stop, the show is over,” a statement she made during her live interview on June 11 with Ibrahim Kalın, Chief Advisor to the Turkish PM, to cut him off. The video of the same song continues with the display of six articles from the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) on right to life, to freedom and security, to a fair trial, freedom of expression, freedom of conscience and religion, and freedom to travel. “Uyanıs¸a Gezi” (Trip to Awakening) by Duvarın Arkasından has two video versions. One of the videos consists of fragments from the 1966 short film “Chromophobia” by the Belgian director Raoul Servais. The film depicts the loss of color in an occupied city and the fight against the depression it brings.35 Although one may not understand the lyrics, the video is clear in the struggle between peaceful and authoritarian forces. These international references surely make the videos more visible to international eyes. The same can be said about the 72 videos with footage from the Gezi events. A similar interest in getting the message across seems to be one of the major themes of the song “Benimle Kal” (Stay with Me) sung by a Spanish group from Catalonia:36 Keep the faith, our hands are powerful I˙zmir, Ankara, my love Istanbul, my love Istanbul



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I can hear your voice I can hear your voice saying to me Stay with me . . . . . . It’s the sound of Detroit, Soweto, Barcelona’s voice, comes the ghetto It’s the right to fight for freedom We took Taksim . . . The song “Everyday I’m Chapulling,” a cover of “Every Day I’m Shuffling” performed by an anonymous artist, had an explanation on the page under the video on YouTube of what it means to be çapulcu, and then explained in parenthesis that a YouTube user asked him for this explanation to make the video more understandable to universal audiences. Finally, although the research focus of this chapter was the Gezi songs, the use of music in Gezi events was not limited to these songs. Apart from the Gezi songs, there were other instances of the use of music in support of Gezi Park protests. As stated before, Gezi Park was home to several different musical performances: Bog˘aziçi Jazz Choir, Gezi Philharmonic, Çapulcular Choir, Gezi Park Brass Band, an anonymous percussion band, Siya Siyaband, as well as the pianist Davide Martello (aka Klavierkunst).37 Davide Martello’s story is especially interesting. While he was in Sofia, Bulgaria pursuing his aim of playing his piano in every capital of the world, after seeing the police brutality in Istanbul, he decided to come and play at Gezi Park. He gave a concert of 13 hours on June 13, 2013. Yet he got caught in tear gas himself during the clearing of the protestors from the Park by the police on June 16, and had to run away, leaving his piano on the spot. His piano was taken away by the state authorities and returned to him two days later.38 As well as musical performances held at Gezi Park to support the protests, there was also at least one instance of a concert being canceled: the Turkish pop-star Tarkan canceled his concert to be held in Izmir on June 5, 2013 during the events as a way of supporting the protests.39 While the events were underway, Istanbul was hosting the 41st International Music Festival.40 During the festival, world-famous French cellist Gautier Capuçon reappeared on stage for an encore wearing a t-shirt that said #DirenGezi (#ResistGezi). Also, during the same festival, Alpaslan Ertüngealp, the Turkish Conductor of the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie-Bremen appeared in a t-shirt with a peace sign on its back as he was leading the encore.41

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On August 4, 2013, Istanbul hosted famous rock star, former Pink Floyd member Roger Waters as part of his The Wall tour. During the concert a big wall was built next to the stage where pictures of human rights activists, victims of terror and wars were projected. Among the pictures were the Gezi protestors, Ethem Sarısülük, Ali I˙smail Korkmaz, Abdullah Cömert, Mehmet Ayvalıtas¸, and police officer Mustafa Sarı, who lost their lives during the Gezi Park protests.42 On July 7, 2013, a festival entitled “1st Traditional Gazdanadam (Gasman) Festival” was organized in Kadıköy, a large district of Istanbul on the Anatolian side of the city. The concert was organized by newspapers from the political left in Turkey such as soL, Yurt, Aydınlık and Cumhuriyet as well as TV and radio stations such as Ulusal Kanal, Cem TV, Halk TV, Cem Radio and Yön Radio. Similarly another concert entitled Adalet ve Barıs¸ Konseri (the Justice and Peace Concert) was held in the same place on September 15, 2013 where several known musicians such as Yeni Türkü, Hayko Cepkin, Kardes¸ Türküler, Bulutsuzluk Özlemi and Grup Yorum took the stage. This concert was organized by the participants in district forums. Both events proved to be more than concerts and turned into protests against the government.

Conclusion Overall, the songs are very clear about why the Gezi Park events occurred, as the keywords relating to the triggering event of the demolition of the park and the cutting of the trees, the immediate cause of police brutality, and on the underlying cause of the increasingly authoritarian governing style of the JDP government are widely present in Gezi songs. The narratives on these issues are clear and direct. The research also focused on one of the functions of music in social protests – the function of communication. It is evident that at least some of the songs, by their sheer choice by the artist, by the way they were shared, by the languages and subtitles used, by the universal references they contained aimed at communication across borders. At the same time, the choice of Turkish subtitles, the reappropriation of Turkish folk songs which can be easily and widely recognized by the Turkish public into Çapulcu songs (2015) through adaptation of lyrics communicated the messages of the protestors to the Turkish audiences.



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The songs possibly also contributed to the emergence of an imagined community, both among protestors in Turkey and the cosmopolites across borders. All çapulcu would not meet face to face, and they may even come from different and sometimes even opposing political viewpoints, but they would still imagine and identify themselves as the çapulcu. The internet, as the milieu where this community met, even if the individual members would not meet, is also noteworthy given Eyerman’s view that “the development of the internet has revolutionized social and cultural movements” (Eyerman 2002, 449). One could add to this political movements as well. In this sense the internet replaced print capitalism43 in the global world and facilitates the construction of an imagined community beyond the borders of a single state whose citizens share a language. While the language would still be important in the creation of such a community, the fact that more people use foreign languages today and technology is there to provide an alternative means of communication via the visuals or translations expands the geography of imagined communities. Songs by Turks living abroad and the songs of foreign musicians can be seen as examples in this regard. Eyerman also points out the importance of face-to-face contact, suggesting that the core of the collective identification and identity formation is the collective experience (Eyerman 2002, 449). Since music is known as a medium to help identity formation, the experience of several musical performances on site in Gezi Park should not be surprising and should be read as more than the idea that the protestors are just having fun. This identity formation around music must have been perceived as a threat by state authorities, since the members of the music group Praksis who were playing music during the protests in the Mediterranean province of Mersin were later taken to court accused of “keeping the group dynamic” by playing the guitar and “motivat[ing] the group” by playing percussion (Bas¸ka Haber, 2013). Although there is no other example of musicians being prosecuted for their songs or music-making, one wonders whether the fact that some songs were shared without the name of the artist or using nicknames so that the musicians could not be properly identified were a priori self-defense mechanisms. The 132 songs analyzed for this research as well as the above-mentioned uses of music as part of the protests prove once again the active role music plays in protests. Music surely contributes to democracy by facilitating freedom of expression. It does so only through peaceful means. Because Gezi

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songs were written in a very short time span, they may seem to be more valid within a certain social/historical context. However they also contain universal messages as a result of the discomfort they voice in the society, which is also displayed through the use of music in protest settings in other countries. It would be beneficial to carry out research on the similarities and differences between the Gezi songs and the songs of the Arab Spring, Occupy Movement which came before it, the protests in Brazil which took place almost simultaneously with the Gezi protests and the protests in Thailand and Ukraine which came after the Gezi events. Such a comparative study may enlighten us about the role of music in political protests in particular and in expanding the sphere of freedom of expression at the beginning of the twenty-first century. While this paper tackled the concept of the imagined community, bolstered domestically and internationally through the use of music as a communication tool, recent research shows that the existence of domestic dissent/ protest movements in different countries may even affect interstate behaviors, drawing leaders of countries with opposed takes on foreign policy issues closer together, as Baev (2014) argues in the case of current Turkish–Russian relations. This chapter does not directly scrutinize interstate relations, yet through further potential comparative studies mentioned above on the role of music in protest movements, one can also research how the use of music in protest movements may bring people from different polities closer together in a larger/transnational imagined community of cosmopolites.

Notes 1 2

3

JDP is the English acronym for AKP (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi). It has been in power in Turkey since 2002. Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an was elected the President of Turkey in the Presidential elections of August 10, 2014. This election was the first time the President had been directly elected by the people; before the President would be indirectly elected by the Turkish Grand National Assembly. Many of the media companies in Turkey are owned today by names close to government circles. Therefore the events were not broadcast on state TV and on other private media outlets, especially on TV channels that were owned by supporters of JDP.

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A term which was appropriated and adopted by the protestors after Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an labeled them as such. It means “looter.” See explanation later in the chapter. 5 Freeter is a word mixed from the words Free or Freelance in English and Arbeiter in German, referring to the large number of young Japanese who are either employed in part-time or freelance jobs or who are unemployed. 6 For a detailed study of who the Gezi Park protestors are see Konda 2013. 7 One ad is especially noteworthy here: A full-page ad was published in the New York Times on June 7, 2013 and the money was crowdsourced from 2,653 people. 8 Kamu Emekçileri Sendikaları Konfederasyonu (Confederation of Public Workers’ Unions). 9 Lailat al Mir’aj is a holy night in Islam celebrating the night journey of Prophet Muhammad to heaven. 10 For a summary of how the events unfolded see Hurriyet Daily News 2013a: “Timeline of Gezi Park Protests,” http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/ timeline-of-gezi-park-protests-.aspx?pageID=238&nID=48321&News CatID=341. 11 Some other songs are also available on sites such as http://gezimusic. tumblr.com/. 12 TOMA is short for Toplumsal Olaylara Müdahale Aracı (Vehicle for Intervention Against Social Events). 13 See Catalayud 2013. 14 “Chapulling: Turkish Protestors Spread the Edgy Word,” The Express Tribune, 8 June 2013, http://tribune.com.pk/story/560640/ chapulling-turkish-protesters-spread-the-edgy-word/. 15 The origins of pot-banging as a means of protest can be found in cacerolazos (pot-banging sessions) in Chile as early as the 1970s against the Allende regime. It is noteworthy that those who used the methods were right-wing, whereas today the practice is more commonly used by left-leaning political currents. For more information on cacerolazos, see Pousadela 2012, 14–15. 16 See Attali’s (1985) book entitled Noise: The Political Economy of Music, which discusses at length the politics of noise/sound versus music, for further information. The work suggests that music is an ordering of

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18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26

27

Music, Power and Liberty noise and whatever is accepted to be music demonstrates an acceptance of certain social norms. The noise of pots and pans is challenging to the status quo and, as such, had not formed itself into a social norm yet, although some groups create music, and therefore order, using the soundworld of the pots and pans. See Thorson 2013 for a detailed analysis of the role of YouTube and Twitter on the use of footage from the events, sharing of videos and more during the Occupy Movement. Personal conversation with Craig Robertson, Nov. 13, 2013. Bangkok, Thailand. Anatolian rock is a genre specific to Turkey where the music contains rock and Turkish folk music elements. For more information on Ulvi Cemal Erkin, see http://www.ulvicemalerkin.com/biography.htm. For an analysis of the cultural policies of AKP, see Birkiye 2009. Turks who work in Germany are called Almancı (Germaners) in daily language in Turkish. See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-kbuS-anD4. See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Op4t0EfeXA. In April 2013, the Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an declared non-alcoholic “ayran” (a mixture of yoghurt, water and salt) to be the national drink (Özkaya 2013), which provoked strong reactions from the public. The national drink in Turkey is regarded as rakı, a kind of anisette liquor similar to ouzo in Greece or pastis in France. In a speech during the party group meeting on August 28, 2013, while talking about the alcohol sales ban after 10 pm, the PM said: “so the law passed by two boozers is respectable for you but the law ordered by religion has to be rejected?” The two boozers he mentions were interpreted . . as being Atatürk and Ismet Inönü, since in 1926 the ban on alcohol . . was lifted when Atatürk was the President and Ismet Inönü the Prime Minister. See OdaTV 2013, retrieved on July 13, 2015: http://odatv. com/n.php?n=o-iki-ayyas-ataturk-ve-inonu-mu--2805131200. “Zero-problems policy” is a term coined by Turkish Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu, who is also a professor of International Relations, in his book Stratejik Derinlik (Strategic Depth) published in 2001. The



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policy became the cornerstone of AKP’s foreign policy, which was geared towards solving problems with neighboring countries. 28 Listen to the song at http://capulcular.bandcamp.com/track/ispanak-yandbitti-k-l-oldu. 29 See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkxJg0AOKx0. 30 See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28nINJ2TPSY&oref=http %3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D28nINJ2TPSY&has_verified=1. 31 See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeomJDUCYRo. 32 Posted by a user named Batuhan Özer on YouTube, see video at https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=f314dWrNChU. 33 Used as an expression of surprise and curiosity here. 34 See video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKFj3dMA4N8. 35 See film at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-auBeFd0qnI. 36 Listen to the song at http://capulcular.bandcamp.com/track/katalonyadanselam-taksim-benimle-kal-stay-with-me-quedat-amb-mi. 37 For more information on Davide Martello, see http://www.klavierkunst. com/. 38 See Werman 2013. 39 See Istanbul Gazette 2013. 40 Organized by IKSV, Istanbul Kültür ve Sanat Vakfı (Istanbul Culture and Arts Foundation). 41 See Tamer 2013. 42 Hurriyet Daily News 2013b. 43 Print capitalism is a term coined by Benedict Anderson in his book Imagined Communities. Capitalist businessmen print books in the vernacular of the nation and thus make them more available to the public in a language understandable to them, which plays a role in forging the imagined community of that nation.

References Adler, David R. 2009. “Jazz and Protest: A Reappraisal,” Z Word. April 2009. Anderson, Benedict. [1983] 2006. Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London and New York: Verso.

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Attali, Jacques. 1985. Noise: The Political Economy of Music. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Baev, Pavel K. 2014. “Russia and Turkey Find a Common Cause in Confronting the Specter of Revolution.” Turkish Policy Quarterly. Vol. 12, No. 4. Winter 2014. pp. 45–53. Bas¸ka, Haber. 2013. “Mersin Gezi Davası: Praksis Grubu ‘Müzik Yaparak Toplulug˘u Dinamik Tutmak’ tan Yargılanıyor” (Mersin Gezi Case: Group Praksis is being Prosecuted for “Keeping the Community Dynamic by Making Music”). November 23, 2013. Retrieved December 15, 2013 from: http:// www.baskahaber.org/2013/11/mersin-gezi-davas-praksis-grubu-muzik.html. Berrios-Miranda, Marisol. 2004. “Salsa Music as Expressive Liberation,” Centro Journal Vol. 16, No. 2, 159–73. Birkiye, Selen Korad. 2009. “Changes in the Cultural Policies of Turkey and the AKP’s Impact on Social Engineering and Theatre,” International Journal of Cultural Policy Vol. 15, No. 3. Burkhalter, Thomas. 2011. “Between Art and Art’s Sake and Musical Protest: How Musicians from Beirut React to War and Violence,” Popular Music and Society. Vol. 34, No. 1, 55–77. Calatayud, Jose Miguel. 2013. “‘Just a few looters’: Turkish PM Erdog˘an dismisses protests as thousands occupy Istanbul’s Taksim Square,” The Independent, June 2, 2013. Retrieved June 5, 2013 from: http://www.independent. co.uk/news/world/europe/just-a-few-looters-turkish-pm-erdogan-dismissesprotests-as-thousands-occupy-istanbuls-taksim-square-8641336.html. Çapulcu S¸arkılar (Çapulcu Songs). 2015. Retrieved May 19, 2015 from: http://capulcular.bandcamp.com/. Cross, Ian. 2001. “Music, Cognition, Culture and Evolution,” Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences Vol. 930, 28–42. Cross, Rich. 2010. “‘There is no authority but yourself’ – the individual and the collective in British Anarcho-Punk,” Music and Politics Vol. 4, No. 2 (Summer). Davutog˘lu, Ahmet. 2001. Stratejik Derinlik (Strategic Depth). Istanbul: Küre Yayınları. Dobson, Charles. 2001. “Social Movements: A Summary of What Works,” Citizenshandbook.org. Retrieved from: http://www.citizenshandbook.org/ movements.pdf The Express Tribune. 2013. “Chapulling: Turkish Protestors Spread the Edgy



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Word,” June 8, 2013. Retrieved August 25, 2013 from: http://tribune.com. pk/story/560640/chapulling-turkish-protesters-spread-the-edgy-word/. Eyerman, Ron. 2002. “Music in Movement: Cultural Politics and Old and New Social Movements,” Qualitative Sociology Vol. 25, No. 3, 443–58. Goffman, Ethan. 2010. “From the Blues to Hip Hop: How African American Music Changed U.S. Culture and Moved the World,” Discovery Guides, Proquest November 2010. Grundlingh, Albert. 2004. “‘Rocking the Boat’ in South Africa? Voelvry Music and Afrikaans Anti-Apartheid Social Protest in the 1980s,” International Journal of African Historical Studies Vol. 37, No. 3. Helbig, Adriana. 2006. “The Cyberpolitics of Music in Ukraine’s 2004 Orange Revolution,” Current Musicology No. 82 (Fall). Hinds, David. 2010. “A Mailman to Make Government Understand: The Calypsonian (Chalkdust) as Political opposition in the Caribbean,” Music and Politics No. 2 (Summer). Hobson, Janell. 2008. “Everybody’s Protest Song: Music as Social Protest in the Performances of Marian Anderson and Billie Holiday,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society Vol. 33, No. 21. Hurriyet Daily News. 2013a. “Timeline of Gezi Park Protests,” June 6, 2013. Retrieved July 8, 2015 from: http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/ timeline-of-gezi-park-protests-.aspx?pageID=238&nID=48321&NewsC atID=341. ——. 2013b. “Roger Waters shows solidarity with Gezi Park victims in Istanbul concert.” August 5, 2013. Retrieved July 8, 2015 from: http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/Default.aspx?pageID=238&nid=52030. Istanbul Gazette. 2013. “Turkish Pop-Star Tarkan Cancels I˙zmir Concert in Support of Gezi.” June 5, 2013. Retrieved August 25, 2013 from: http:// istanbulgazette.com/turkish-pop-star-tarkan-cancels-izmir-concert-insupport-of-gezi-protestors/2013/06/05/. Ivanoff, Alexandra. 2013. Music Journalist for the daily Today’s Zaman and Time Out Istanbul, Andante and AKOB Magazines. Personal Conversation on August 16, 2013. Istanbul, Turkey. Kahori, G.P. 1981. “The History of the Shona Protest Song: A Preliminary Study,” Zambezia Vol. 9, No. 2, 79–101. Karatepe, Ismail Dog˘a. 2013. “Islamists, State and Bourgeoisie: The Construction Industry in Turkey,” World Economics Association Conferences,

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2013 Neoliberalism in Turkey: A Balance Sheet of Three Decades 2013, No. 4: 28 October–24 November. Retrieved November 25, 2014 from: http:// turkeyconference2013.worldeconomicsassociation.org/wp-content/ uploads/Karatepe_wea_application.pdf. Konda. 2013. Gezi Parkı Aras¸tırması: Kimler, Neden Oradalar ve Ne I˙stiyorlar? (Gezi Park Survey: Who are They, Why are They There and What do They Want?). June 6–7, 2013. Konda Aras¸tırma ve Danıs¸manlık. Lewis, George H. 1992. “La Pistola y el Corazon. Protest and Passion in Mexican-American Popular Music,” The Journal of Popular Culture Vol. 26, No. 1, 51–68. Luft, Murray. 1996. “Latin American Protest Music – What Happened to ‘The New Songs?’”, Bulletin de Musique Folklorique Canadienne Vol. 30, No. 3. Ma’Anit, Adam. 2003. “Politics with Soul,” New Internationalist Vol. 359. Marsh, Hazel. 2010. “‘Writing Our History in Songs,’ Judith Reyes, Popular Music and the Student Movement of 1968,” Bulletin of Latin American Research Vol. 29, 144–59. Martello, David. http://www.klavierkunst.com/. Retrieved August 15, 2013. Mattern, Max. 1998. Acting in Concert: Music, Community and Political Action. Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. McKay, George. 2007. “‘A Soundtrack to the Insurrection’: Street Music, Marching Bands and Popular Protest,” Parallax. Special Issue: Inchoate Cartographies Vol. 13, No. 1. Mijatovic, Brana. 2008. “”Throwing Stones at the System”: Rock Music in Serbia during the 1990s,” Music and Politics Vol. 2, No. 2 (Summer). Mitchell, Stuart. 2005. “‘You Say You Want a Revolution?’: Popular Music and Revolt in France, The United States and Britain During the late 1960s,” Historia Actual Online No. 8, 7–18. Moore, Christopher. 2009. “Music and Politics, Performance and the Paradigm of Historical Contextualism,” Music and Politics Vol. 4, No. 1. Mori, Yoshitaka. 2005. “Culture=Politics: The Emergence of New Cultural Forms of Protest in the Age of Freeter,” Inter-Asia Cultural Studies Vol. 6, No. 1. Music for Gezi. 2013. http://gezimusic.tumblr.com/. Retrieved August 10, 2013. . . OdaTV 2013. “O Iki “Ayyas¸” Atatürk ve Inönü mü?” (Are These Two



“Do You Hear the People Sing?” 81 . “Boozers” Atatürk and Inönü?) at OdaTV http://odatv.com/n.php?n=oiki-ayyas-ataturk-ve-inonu-mu--2805131200 accessed on July 13, 2015. Özkaya, Sefa. 2013. “Milli I˙çkimiz Ayran” (Our National Drink is Ayran). Hurriyet. April 27. Retrieved February 24, 2014 from: http://www.hurriyet.com.tr/gundem/23146841.asp. Payerhin, Marek. 2012. “Singing Out of Pain: Protest Songs and Social Mobilization,” The Polish Review Vol. 57, No. 1, 5–31. Platoff, John. 2005. “John Lennon, ‘Revolution’ and the Politics of Musical Reception,” The Journal of Musicology Vol. 22, No. 2, 241–67. Pond, Wendy. 1990. “Wry Comment from the Outback: Songs of Protest from Niua Islands, Tonga,” Oral Tradition Vol. 5, Nos. 2–3, 205–18. Pousadela, Ines M. 2012. “Student Protest, Social Mobilization and Political Representation in Chile,” IPSA Paperroom. Retrieved April 3, 2014 from: http://paperroom.ipsa.org/papers/paper_11698.pdf. Pratt, Ray. 1990. Rhythm and Resistance: Explorations in the Political Uses of Popular Music. New York: Praeger Publishers. Robertson, Craig. 2013. Ph.D. in Music Sociology. Personal Conversation. November 13, 2013. Bangkok, Thailand. Rohlehr, Gordon. 2001. “The Calypsonian as Artist: Freedom and Responsibility,” Small Axe Vol. 9, 1–26. Sanfeliu, Alba. 2008. “Music and Peace.” Paper presented at study group Applied Musicology, at Conference Historical and Emerging Approaches to Applied Ethnomusicology, Ljubljana, Slovenia, July 9–13, 2008. Schumann, Anne. 2008. “The Beat that Beat Apartheid: The Role of Music in the Resistance against Apartheid in South Africa,” Wiener Zeitschrift für Kritische Afrikastudien Vol. 14, No. 8, 17–39. Small, Christopher. 1998. Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening (Music Culture). Lebanon, NH: Wesleyan Press. Staples, Brent. 2003. “The Trouble with Corporate Radio: The Day the Protest Music Died,” New York Times, February 20, 2003. Retrieved August 23, 2013 from: http://www.nytimes.com/2003/02/20/opinion/editorialobserver-trouble-with-corporate-radio-day-protest-music-died.html. Talusan, Mary. 2010. “From Rebel Songs to Moro Songs: Popular Music and Muslim Filipino Protest,” Humanities Diliman Vol. 7, No. 1 (January– June), 85–110. Tamer, Meral. 2013. “Direnis¸çiler Gezi’yi Neden Terk Etmiyor?,” Milliyet,

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June 16. Retrieved November 15, 2014 from: http://www.milliyet.com. tr/direnisciler-gezi-yi-neden-terk/ekonomi/ydetay/1723523/default.htm. Thorson, Kjerstin et al. 2013. “YouTube, Twitter and the Occupy Movement,” Information, Communication and Society Special Issue, Vol. 16, No. 3, 1–31. Ulvi Cemal Erkin Official Website. Biography of Ulvi Cemal Erkin. Retrieved November 25, 2014 from: http://www.ulvicemalerkin.com/biography.html. Werman, Marco. 2013. “Why German Musician Davide Martello Played his Grand Piano in the Middle of Taksim Square During the Protests.” June 19, 2013. Retrieved August 25, 2013 from: http://pri.org/ stories/2013-06-19/why-german-musician-davide-martello-played-hisgrand-piano-middle-taksim-square. Zaw, Aung. 2004. “Burma: Music under Siege,” in Korpe, Marie (ed.). Shoot the Singer: Music Censorship Today. London and New York: Zed Books. Quoted Songs / Videos Anonymous. “Angara’nın Gazları” (Gases of Ankara). http://www.youtube. com/watch?v=LeomJDUCYRo. Anonymous. “Benimle Kal” (Stay with Me). http://capulcular.bandcamp. com/track/katalonyadan-selam-taksim-benimle-kal-stay-with-mequedat-amb-mi. Anonymous. “‘Parti’siz Parti”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeomJ DUCYRo. Efem, T.C. “Çapulin”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKFj3dMA4N8. Ispanak (Spinach). “Yandı Bitti Kül Oldu” (It Burnt, Finished, Became Ash). http://capulcular.bandcamp.com/track/ispanak-yand-bitti-k-l-oldu. Özbi. “Asi” (Rebel). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkxJg0AOKx0. Rebel K. “Enjoy the Tear Gas”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Op4t0E feXA. Türküler, Kardes¸. “Tencere Tava Havası” (Sound of Pots and Pans). http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-kbuS-anD4. Yıldız, Çag˘layan. “Chapulation Song”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28 nINJ2TPSY&oref=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3F v%3D28nINJ2TPSY&has_verified=1.

Chapter 6

The Egyptian Poetic Musical Tradition of the Revolutionary Song Towards a Conceptualization Tarek Abdallah and Fadi El-Abdallah

The idea of this chapter began with an observation: the three great periods of revolt, social unrest, and revolution in Egypt from the 1910s to the present were each accompanied, even preceded, by a revolutionary song. After further research it appeared quite appropriate to elevate the revolutionary song to the rank of a true Egyptian poetic musical tradition. Without, however, forgetting the contributions of new styles of music used in protest songs, we will attempt to highlight and conceptualize the particular contribution of classical Arab music in the development of this type of song, and the way this musical tradition perfectly accompanies the revolutionary poetic contributions. This analysis will be both literal and musicological, working from a selective body of works covering the period 1918–2011, which includes the output of the current generation of Egyptian musicians that have chosen to maintain this tradition, notably, the oudists/lutists. The three great periods of unrest mentioned above are:

1918–1923 The period of what is called the avant-garde project of revolutionary song

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designed by the duo Badi’ Khayri (1893–1966) and the great Alexandrian poet and composer Sayed Darwish (1892–1923), who was called “the people’s artist.” These years coincide with the emergence and hatching of union movements, the nationalist and feminist movements, and were marked by the 1919 revolution against the British occupation that put an end to the monarchy, and to the century-and-a-half-long dynastic reign of Mohamed Ali Pasha. This new sense of nationalism was accompanied by the emergence of a new national singing style, which was an attempt to distance the movement from the previous classical style that was erroneously associated with the Ottoman period (Vigreux 1991, 4). Before the time of Sayed Darwish, there were two types of nationalist song: military marches, and poems that were sung to the same type of music as love poems, with only the content being different. The songs of Sayed Darwish had thus successfully freed nationalist sentiments from military music. At the same time, they introduced a new musical phrasing that was short and energetic. These songs were melodic while still respectful of the complexity involved in using maqams (the system of melodic modes used in traditional Arabic music) to sing nationalistic and revolutionary content that was written in a vernacular dialect. Thus, these songs distinguished themselves in three ways: by the use of the vernacular dialect, by the musical composition that uses the maqams without having the tarab (emotional effect sometimes involving ecstasy and trance) as its purpose, and by the bright and melodious rhythms that kept clear of the rigidity of military marches. This amazing mixture allowed Sayed Darwish’s songs to enjoy immediate success and to be memorized by the public who transmitted them throughout Egypt, even before they were recorded by record companies.

1967–1977 From the time of Egypt’s serious defeat during the Arab–Israeli conflict in 1967 until the 1977 revolt against President Sadat, also called “the bread revolt,” there was a reinventing of the revolutionary song project by such artists as Sheikh Imam and Ahmed Fouad Negm, who spent long periods in Nasser and Sadat’s prisons.1 Frédéric Lagrange has already underlined this fact:

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The chaotic association between blind singer Sheikh Imam (1918–95) and the poet of dialect Ahmed Fouad Negm (1929) is only more remarkable. Claiming descent from Sayed Darwish–Badi’ Khayri and Zakariyya Ahmed Bayram al-Tunsi, these two artists proposed protest songs, both ironic and torn by the political compromises of Egypt after the defeat of 1967 and the infitah of Sadat. The sensual and rebellious poetry of Negm is part of a long tradition of the Egyptian libel [satirical and critical texts], but the novelty was to consider this register as suitable to be sung and not merely read, thereby reviving the vein of operettas and taqtûqa-s of the twenties in a more militant perspective (Lagrange 1996, 138: Translated by the editors).

2000–2011 With the arrival of independent groups and scenes, and new media channels, an update of the revolutionary project became possible thanks to young artists well-trained in both the Egyptian tradition of learned singing and by this type of revolutionary song, the leaders being the Alexandrian singersongwriter Hazem Shahine (born in 1978), and the singer-songwriter Mustafa Said (born in 1983). Arabic songs in the preceding 20 years had become soulless reproductions of the spirit of commercial and pop songs, world music, Spanish songs and others. Arrangements were taking more and more prominence, as well as the visual production of video clips, while the importance of the singer and composer was declining rapidly. The number of maqams used fell drastically, as well as the complexity of musical phrases or the structure of the songs. Hazem Shahine and Mustafa Said, independently from each other, broke with this atmosphere by not relying on arrangement, on electrified instruments or on videos. They relied primarily on voice and the oud, Shahine drawing on the bright melodies of Sayed Darwish and Said making use of the vocal and instrumental techniques of the previous school (dating to before Sayed Darwish), putting the techniques of the tarab at the service of a revolutionary poetic content.

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Although these songs are from three different historical and socio-political contexts, they fit perfectly into the same lineage in terms of their content, their purposes, and their ties with classical and popular musical traditions in Egypt. It is also remarkable that these Egyptian revolutionary artists all position themselves outside the privileged circle of those in power and in opposition to the commercial music dominant at the time.

Tradition and Revolution – What is the Connection? Let’s be clear that in its absolute sense, tradition is an intention and a memory or collective consciousness. According to Jean Pépin (2005, 2): [T]radition does not limit itself, indeed, to the preservation or the transmission of past glories: throughout the course of history it integrates new systems by adapting them to old systems. Its nature is neither simply pedagogical nor purely ideological: it also appears as dialectical and ontological. Tradition makes new what was; it is not limited to making a culture known, because it identifies itself with the very life of a community. Jean During (1994, 33), makes a distinction between two types of musical tradition; namely, a customary, artisanal, mimetic, or repetitive tradition versus a sapiential, scholarly, artistic, or high tradition. In the context of a replicative tradition, if creation is accomplished by the cloning of a transmitted body of knowledge, the nature of a initiatory musical tradition is precisely this: to transmit to the initiated, in addition to a patrimonial corpus, the knowledge and know-how which will allow him to reformulate parts of this body of work and to produce something new in accordance with the inherited models and their implicit norms, the new achievements being called to become in turn models which are then added to the continuously renewed body of work (Feki and Abou Mrad 2007, 88). More specifically, the very essence of classical and traditional musical art in Egypt incorporates a spirit of freedom to use the inherited musical corpus,

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a freedom controlled by aesthetic rules but which is the condition for any interpretation. It is expected that the interpreter surprise us by the innov­ation of his art and not by his faithfulness to the origin. This is how simple songs from the mid-nineteenth century were enriched, becoming adwar (the plural form of dawr, a semi-composed vocal form derived from classical Egyptian tradition) with their complex, elaborate structure. It is by being faithful to this spirit of freedom, and so of the “betrayal” of the inherited musical corpus, that revolutionary art was born. Rather than a blind, frenzied appeal for revolution, revolutionary musical art, therefore, would call for a tradition favoring a musical production working in tandem with a poetic content that shares the same concerns; that is, mobilization. A creative artistic production proposing an alternative model and carrying an up-to-date socio-political message is rebelling against all established powers, whether they be political, institutional, or critical. In other words, it is an art which must break with the dominant aesthetic that reflects the powers-that-be, without, however, disorienting the listener who must, rather, identify with these songs and make them his own. This paradox is especially fascinating when we remember, again, that it is the very essence of classical Egyptian tradition to accentuate innovation – to celebrate the free, liberating creativity of each artist.

The Development of the Egyptian Musical Scene The developments leading to a restructuring of the music scene in Egypt during the period 1910–30 are many, including the creation of a classical music (court music) with connotations of elitism and characterized as “old” since the 1930s. Take for example the severe criticism of an article published in 1926 in the magazine Rose al-Yûsîf (Feb. 1, 1926, 15; Quoted in Lagrange 1996, 122–3): Oriental music still carries old rags that musicians refuse to remove . . . The strangest thing is that the defenders of Egyptian music, who should work to polish and advance it, prefer to go back to the time of Hâmûlî and of ‘Uthmân. If you are unfortunate enough to

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Music, Power and Liberty attend one of their parties, you will only hear “Ô mon âme, que ta chance revienne” (O my soul, let your good luck come back), and other songs of the same type that we already have heard many times, which have bored us many times, and had already bored our fathers and grandfathers.

There is also the significant presence of Western music and European forms of expression, at least in large cities: schools of military music, opera, and lyric theater. Indeed, the history of Egyptian music between 1880 and 1930 is always inseparable from that of musical theater, which was undeniably influenced by military music and the music hall: this is one of the major factors in the upheaval in Egyptian music, especially from the point of view of form and aesthetics (Racy 1976 and Lagrange 1994, 133–267).

Power and Aesthetics As Frédéric Lagrange pointed out: Lyricists, singers, the Institute of Music, and the national radio set the rules of what would be allowed to be sung during the 1930s. While the record industry had imposed its own aesthetic choices for nearly two decades, under reformist pressure it lost its right to oversee music as well as song texts (Lagrange 1994, 445). After the sudden arrival of the music industry in 1903 and up until the 1930s, the dominant aesthetic was in large part dictated by record companies and their trade policies: “The music industry is also the engine of a veritable social transformation, turning music upside down both in its institutions and in its execution” (Lagrange 1996, 102). By replacing the traditional musician’s guild while still playing a major role in funding musical theater, companies completely controlled musical life.

The Role of Musical Theater Lagrange (1994, 230) also noted that “for the generation born at the end of the eighteenth century, operetta was the art of the future.” Let us remember

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that the classical musical tradition in Egypt at that time only recognized romantic love as its theme and the tarab as the only aesthetic approach, thus great vocal abilities and extensive training were necessary. In fact, nationalism and patriotism were expressed using texts with double meanings, and usually were basically an exaltation of great men.2 Vigreux (1991, 10) wrote: Let’s just say that theater calls for greater expressiveness, or if you prefer, more realism. Expressiveness in the service of a specific text sticking to a plot and to the development of a story when traditional song was requiring expressiveness to go through vocal virtuosity on a text often poor in meaning full of clichés (for instance dawr or a neo-muwashshah), and therefore decontextualized. So, expressiveness was paramount in the vocal virtuosity of the soloist (Ibid). The attempts of Salâma Higâzî (1852–1917), a pioneer in musical theater and the first to adapt classical Egyptian music3 to the theater, are the best illustrations of this4 (Lagrange 1996, 81–2). The emergence of this theatrical and musical tradition in the life of Egyptian music, and the works stemming from this are all the result of social, political, and ideological actions: the physical, political, economic, and social changes which Egypt experienced from the reign of Viceroy Ismâ’îl (1863–79) until the revolution of 1919 (Lagrange 1994, 22, 63). The oppression carried out on the Egyptian people took many forms: besides the Turkish oligarchy in power, we must also include economic supervision in 1878; political supervision in 1882, and World War I, which resulted in a stronger British presence (Ibid); and the establishment of censorship on works played and sung in public from 1914. The appearance of the revolutionary song on the Egyptian music scene during the 1910s is closely linked, on the one hand, to the history of musical theater (1880–1930), which was the only form of expression at that time to allow this type of song, and on the other hand, to the development of the nationalist movement born during the last decades of the eighteenth century, which was marked by vibrant intellectual activity. To this are also added oppression by the Turkish oligarchy in power over Egypt, and

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colonization, without however forgetting the role of catalyst played by World War I. It is during this time of change that Sayed Darwish appeared on the music scene, first establishing his reputation in the field of classical music, then in musical theater. The extraordinary composer-prodigy was driven by a strong national feeling, corresponding to Egyptians’ hopes for independence following the war, and with the increased strength of a class of Egyptians of aristocratic origins, assisted by an emerging urban middle class. A native of Alexandria, the Sheikh then met his match in Cairo, the poet Badi’ Khayri. Together they were to make an enormous contribution, writing hundreds of songs in less than six years, mostly for the theater, although some of them were recorded by record companies after their theatrical success. We must note here the major, noble role of the great violinist Sâmi alShawâ in making the works of Sayed Darwish known both to the general public and to the record industry. Shawâ, by his own account (al-Qasas 1966, 55–8), was convinced of and enthusiastic about the great talent of this artist from their first meeting until he decided to accompany him musically, thus risking his reputation,5 in a series of public concerts6 in Alexandria in 1913, and even called in the great kanun player Ibrâhîm al’aryyân (1889–1953) to form a trio. According to Shawâ, the reputation of Sayed Darwish surpassed all other Alexandrian singers, having touched a wide audience of every social class with his new compositions (in the classical style). His arrival in Cairo sparked the jealousy of Daoud Hosni (1871–1937) and Ibrahîm al-Qabânnî (1854–1927), who blamed Sâmi al-Shawâ for having brought in this competitor.7 “Despite the dazzling reputation acquired by Sayed Darwish in so short a time,8 the music industry completely ignored him, in spite of all my efforts to encourage them to make a contract with him” (al-Qasas 1966, 57). Shawâ suggested to the owner of Baidaphone that he give to Darwish the nine records remaining in his contract with them, but Botrous Baida refused under the pretext that Darwish’s voice was of poor quality. Shawâ then offered to finance this production, and Baida finally accepted. Although Baidaphone launched Darwish’s works along with 300 other records by well-known singers of the period, they were once again a splendid success.

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The Revolutionary Project of Khayri and Darwish Working in Tandem According to Frédéric Lagrange, in modern Arab musicology, the icon Sayed Darwish9 symbolizes progress, modernity, and the appearance of a type of “Eastern music,” music of the Pachas and of the elite, still steeped in the Arab–Ottoman mold, to the notion of “Egyptian music,” the first figuralist expression of the soul of a people and its nationalistic demands. Under this snap judgment is hidden an ideological reading of history which misrepresents the original, experimental approach of this artist (Lagrange 1994, 231–2). As for Mohammed Abdel Wahhab, he considers Sayed Darwish to be a revolution in himself (Abdel Wahhab 2007, 90). Returning to the revolutionary project, the theatrical tunes and the taqtuqas written by Badi’ Khayri and composed by Sayed Darwish represent at the same time the avant garde nature of the project and a significant part of a body of knowledge in perpetual evolution. The revolutionary project of Khayri and Darwish working together, from a political, aesthetic, and technical point of view, represents a true break with the prevailing musical production at the time. Khayri revolutionized the content of songs, taking them out of the eternal realm of love, and dealt with topics such as farcical situations in cities and villages, the complaints of different kinds of workers, the particular accents of communities in the South, the North, of Europeans, or Syrians living in Egypt. It was a veritable staging of the song texts. The innovation of Darwish resides in both the introduction of group singing and in melodies which, though easy for the public to memorize, still had a complex structure. They evoke the dangers of drugs, colonialism, confessional unity and other issues. The play “Renne,” dated October 1919, is a “monologue” which condemns the use of cocaine.10 This made perfect sense, writes Lagrange, analyzing the text and work in their context: This monologue contains the draft of a socializing critique that is hardly found in the texts of the tandem Badi’ Khayri / Sayed

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Music, Power and Liberty Darwish. The message is clear: this imported drug leads to madness, destroys the nostrils, and whoever wants it is willing to risk the prison of Abu Za’bal . . . “it goes in white and comes out black.” . . . The real culprit is the government, implicitly accused of complicity in letting the drug cross the borders. It represents a danger to the nation: “ha nemût meyya wara meyya / we will die by the hundreds.” In the context of agitation in which the play was presented, it is the British occupation . . . which is necessarily the subject of these oracular lines (Lagrange 1994, 437–8).

Two requirements are imposed by the form “monologue.” First, the song must be a solo; secondly, there can be no repetition. However, when the speech is addressed to maslhat-algamârik (customs), the singing becomes collective in responsorial with few repetitions at the end, which has a humorous intent: “mother, please bring me to the mental asylum / my nose has grown a little longer.” Similarly, an unexpected modal shift was introduced by inserting a gins/genre (a tetrachord) bayyatî placed on the fifth of another bayyatî which appeared in the melody. This change is also accompanied by a rhythmic change. Besides their aesthetic effects, rhythmic and modal changes in Darwish aim, on the one hand, to draw the attention of the audience to a new level of meaning in the text, and on the other hand, to enrich the melody, by means other than the melismatic ornamentation (which is very difficult to reproduce for singers who were not educated in the spirit of the tarab, which required long training and a natural disposition). Let us here point out that most of these songs were designed for comedy actors who were able to sing, and not for full-fledged singers. The modal and rhythmic changes are quick, simple and effective, and they are one of the characteristics of Darwish’s “experimental” work for the theater. In another song for the theater on hashishomanes “el-tohfagyya” (which means hashish smokers) we find the same thing. It is a collective song in which hashish smokers speak about themselves. It is composed of three symmetrical couplets in rast fashion, with an end where the registry changes radically, with a joke about a kind of oath to abandon the “goza” (waterpipe to smoke hashish, and it also means wife) if Egypt needs them: Egypt needs an awakened “community.” Once again, to demarcate the registry change at

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the end, Darwish introduced an even more radical transition by going into an agam/major mode on the fourth of the above-mentioned mode, coupled with an interpretation that approximates that of a patriotic song. Even more impressive is the return to the original mode and the joke. The melody suddenly changes to a major mode on the rhythm of a military march, when the lyrics announce the solemn commitment of the tohfagyiya to defend their homeland and abandon the kif if necessary. However, in fact, Darwish is poking fun at this commitment, first through the lyrics that announce a divorce with the goza (which sounds like the feminine form of goz, meaning husband), and then leaving this solemn and serious commitment to go towards a maqam rast with a prolonged and ornamented ending of the musical phrase, which has the effect of evoking the feeling of a lazy and drugged kind of tarab. Darwish’s purpose here is of course to express his contempt for this attitude behind a commitment that is essentially ephemeral and untrue, even though it sounded solemn. Denominational union is mentioned in a patriotic song quite well known today: “Arise, Egyptian, Egypt calls you” and sometimes in so-called trade songs, like the song of the “workers.” The message is always the same: there are no more Copts, Jews, and Muslims, there are only Egyptians. [F]or Badi’ Khayri, the failure of the national movement before 1919 is due to confessional sectarianism, hatched by the English that he did not mention by name and dismisses with a contemptuous dôl [meaning “those people” to avoid naming them] . . . The control of economic activity by foreigners is denounced in the third stanza: “in the land of the Nile, you have to pay the water by cubic millimeter to a company owned by a European or Levantine sir.” We even noticed an indirect attack against the Saures company that operated streetcars in Cairo, here put in the hands of one Teryanti (a comical name, vaguely Greek sounding). But it is the attitude of the local bourgeoisie that is at the basis of the plunder of the national wealth. We are very close here to a break with the Wafd, the party of the rich nationalist bourgeois . . . The conclusion of this song also disclaims any commitment to the path of class struggle: the religious union must be complemented by social consensus (Lagrange 1994, 443).

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As a last example, “the song of the civil servants” gives a day-to-day description of the social unrest in 1919. The text refers to the strike led by civil servants in response to the deportation of Sa’d Zaglûl in March 1919. It also alludes to the first demonstration in which women took part, an exceptional event ushering in the beginning of the feminist movement. It is also a striking example of the scripting of Khayri’s texts as well as the caricature and humor which characterize them. Poignant and script-like, its caricature-like aspect is reflected in the composition and the musical interpretation. The Egyptian writer Yihyya Haqî rightly reported that in Sayed Darwish’s theatrical music, “the Egyptian genius of caricature appeared neither in painting, nor in literature, nor in sculpture, but in an unexpected place – in music” (Zaki 1992, 45). The melody, while simple, closely follows the rules of classical composition, particularly in terms of modal transitions. These classical roots are a constant with Sayed Darwish because absolute fidelity to the tradition would not have allowed the project to succeed, as it would be impossible for large numbers of the people to “identify with” and “own” the song, or simply to memorize the long melodic phrases of a qasida or a dawr. If there was a split, it was with, on one hand, the dogmas patronized by the Institute of Eastern Music, and on the other hand, with the aesthetic choices imposed by record companies for at least two decades, but never with the music understood by the people and produced for them. So it is with German musicologist Curt Sachs, who in his report on Egyptian music dating from 1931, ignored all styles not authorized by the Institute of Eastern Music. “Doctor [Sachs] ignored musical theater, which embodied modern progress in the field of singing and differs from the traditional and the usual . . .” wrote the composer Daoud Hosni in reaction to this report (Zaki 1992, 231).

The Reinvention of Tradition by Sheikh Imam Far from praising the power or singing the glory of Nasser or Sadat, as did the famous singers of the time, Sheikh Imam took refuge in an uncompromising criticism of soldiers – of their vices, their ways of thinking, and their complete acceptance of the dictatorship. His most well-known poet, Ahmed Fouad Negm, gave him searing texts, while others such as Nagib Sourour or Nagib Shihâb Ed-Dîne among others, gave him more formal, complex poetic texts.

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Sheikh Imam and his poets embraced an even more radical project than that of Sayed Darwish, a project of change not only for Egyptian society, but for Arab society as well. Their works were a radical break with the music and singing of their era, which was characterized by a larger role being given to the composer, the drastic limitation of passages of musical improvisation, the growing importance of orchestration, and the growth of the instrumental ensemble. The stars of that time benefited equally from all the tools of publicity: television, radio, and film (see below). Faced with this huge machine of musical production, of the lowering of standards of singers’ vocal abilities, and of standardization of Western orchestral styles, an old blind singer, with the poet and his audience as choir, established an aesthetic in a position of total rejection of the system, using percussion and an oud/lute (an instrument actually missing from some important schools of musical training of the period). The Sheikh was, wrote Lagrange, simply accompanied by his lute and a percussionist, as for a party between amateurs, . . . manages to move his songs of protest across the country and the Middle East without ever obtaining from the censors the right to release a commercial cassette and without ever going on the air. . . . his compositions break out of the mould imposed on music and are paired with poetry, doing so without useless repetition and without an easy tarab (Lagrange 1996, 138). Sheikh Imam thus drew from the classical tradition he came from, and created compositions rich in modal and rhythmic changes, using long, asymmetrical rhymes from classical tradition. He also drew from the tradition of Sayed Darwish himself, from religious music, from rhythms of everyday, popular celebrations; all this in order to maintain, deepen, and develop a musical world throwing together the mutrib (soloist), the clown, the story-teller, the stand-up comedian, the mime, and the actor, playing the role of different types of people targeted by irony, caricature, and parody. In this way, Sheikh Imam used his vocal prowess and his limited technique of the oud, to set out an aesthetic which was poor in “sound effects,” but extremely rich in impro­ visation and with a profound knowledge of Arab modal forms, joining the

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techniques of mawwal (improvised song) and traditional improvisation with the liveliness of popular music and with the pervasive laughter of his audience who enjoyed and appreciated his abilities as an actor-singer of chilling irony. Again, then, in this example we can see this break with the powers of his time, aesthetically and politically, leaning on musical tradition (classical or popular) to guarantee a wide audience, and resistance to the system of music production existing at that time, dominated by radio, television, and film. To gain a larger audience in Egypt and beyond, Sheikh Imam’s talent as an improviser, as a true mutrib, relied then on a technology underutilized at that time; that is, cassette tapes, copied and shared illegally. This also explains the difference in scale between the output of Sheikh Imam, who was able to record his long improvisations that people could listen to while at the same time they were able to reproduce his short satires, while Sayed Darwish only had at his disposal the memory of the public and short-playing records subjected to censorship and to the wishes of the record companies.

Affirmation of the Traditional Revolutionary Song Hazem Shahine and Mustafa Said are probably the best representatives of the tradition of the Egyptian revolutionary song. They are masters of the lute, trained in the classical style, which determined the style of their playing and singing. This aesthetic is at odds with the music of their era, as represented by Amr Diâb and Muhammed Munîr, both Eastern-style pop singers. Their experimentation is still developing, but we find in Hazem Shahine an aesthetic similar to that of Sheikh Imam, with, however, great attention given to choral and theatrical polyphonic music, while the vocal ability of Mustafa Said allows him to draw more from styles derived from the classical school of the Nahda (the Renaissance). Hazem began his career as a composer in 2005–6, basing himself on the poems of three generations of the same family: the great poet Fouad Haddad, his son Amin and the latter’s son, Ahmed Haddad. If the songs of the group Eskenderella,11 composed by Hazem, are fairly well known today, it is because they are reminiscent of the songs of Darwish and Imam, deeply rooted in the

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collective memory. It is noteworthy that this type of song makes up the lion’s share of the work of Hazem. On February 8, 2011, three days before the departure of Mubarak, on the screen of the BBC Arabic service, Mustafa Said, accompanied by the poet Ahmed Fouad Negm, sang on his oud the poem of Tamim el-Barghouthi: “ya masr Hanit we banit.” It is a text that promises victory in the near future: it is a matter of days, calling for, among other things, mobilization: one who stays at home is therefore a traitor. With this work, and this is confirmed by a second one also with Tamim el-Barghouthi, composed a few months later, Mustafa placed himself quite consciously in the framework of the revolutionary project. In their protest songs against Mubarak and the official regime in Egypt, Hazem Shahine and Mustafa Said both used innovative ways to distribute their music. Thus, they did not benefit from the production companies which spend enormous sums on videos for their stars; neither did they profit from film or from state-run radio or television. In contrast, their output was distributed and became known through concerts in isolated cultural venues, and was spread mainly through social networks on the internet, Facebook, and music forums, as well as on YouTube. This afforded them great success and a direct relationship with the masses, who in 2011 rose up in revolt against the government in power.

Conclusion In conclusion, or rather as a preliminary conclusion to invite further research on the topic, we will note that, despite a number of recent attempts to create Egyptian revolutionary songs, characterized by richness in form and inspir­ ation, there remains only one tradition of revolutionary song – a tradition which has existed in Egypt for a little less than a century. This traditional revolutionary song springs from the Egyptian collective memory, but takes different forms according to its performers and writers, depending on their era. Thus, a direction such as that of Sayed Darwish does not rule out the classical dawr’s compositions, but favors short melodies that are easy to memorize. Moreover, the split during Sheikh Imam’s time required a distancing from the Western aesthetic model where orchestration and composition had the

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lion’s share of attention, at the expense of improvisation and of the tarab. Finally, with Hazem Shahine and Mustafa Said, this break occurs through a reinvention of their classical heritage, either by scripting the texts in a scholarly composition sung collectively on the part of Shahine, or by Mustafa’s vocal abilities as a soloist. Therefore, the revolutionary song is constantly being constructed within the framework of this tradition of a triple break: political, aesthetic, and technical. Revolutionary artists position themselves outside of the privileged circle of those in power; and unlike the prevailing commercial music of the time, they find themselves exiled from production circuits and from the money invested in the area of music, thus pushing them to explore the capabilities of new technologies of their time – which does not fail to influence their style. However, behind this triple break, there is continuity, a faithfulness to musical tradition – classical and popular, religious and secular – which has allowed this revolutionary creation, on more than one occasion, to resonate within the population, and thus to fulfill the role it was assigned: to mobilize and educate.

Notes 1

2

3

Nasser (1918–70) was president from 1956 until his death. Sadat (1918–81) was president from 1970 until his death. Sheikh Imam (1918–95) was born the same year as the two presidents. Paradoxically, the revolution of 1952 participated heavily in the creation of a poetic-musical tradition of propaganda glorifying Nasser, Sadat, then Mubarak; at any rate, this deserves a separate study. Let us remember that the traditional concert characteristic of the Egyptian school of Abduh al-Hamuli (1843–1901) configured around the macrostructure of the wala. According to Nidaa, this is a necessary process based on a given macro mode and playing out according to a dialectical ternary plan, in phases differing in gender, meter, and precomposition/ improvisation opposition: (1) instrumental precomposition (dulab, basraf, sama’i) and vocal precomposition (muwassa) in moderate meter; (2) instrumental (taqsim) and vocal cantillations (on the mawwal vernacular poem or the classical qaida), consisting of non-metered improvisation of utterances modeled on standard modal forms and on verbal meter (dawr and

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cantillation of the qaida on the wada), made up of alternating responses of improvised statements and precomposed phrases. 4 Salâma Higâzî gave an extremely rare model for the classical school when he sang a threnody on the occasion of the death of the young nationalist lawyer Moustâfa Kamil in 1907. 5 Shawâ tells that on the day of his trip between Cairo and Alexandria to prepare for his concerts, he met Mûstafa Bey Redâ (president of the Eastern Music Club), who spoke to him ironically, saying, “have you lost your mind, Sâmî, working for someone worthless like him?” He answered him, “he is a great and talented artist,” and asked him to listen to him so he could judge for himself (al-Qasas 1966, 55–8). 6 The program comprised an instrumental prelude composed by Sâmî al-Shawâ and the dawr “ana ‘ishiqt” that Darwish composed between the time he learned Shawâ had agreed to accompany him and the date of the concerts. 7 They took this arrival (wrongly) as a declaration of war. 8 The term used is “in a few months.” 9 According to the same author, Frédéric Lagrange (1994), “the life of Sayyid Darwîsh is one of the meteoric trajectories in music history, whose influence and memory are beyond the scope of his musical production. Dead at the beginning of a dazzling career, practically unknown by the public during his life and mythologized by his profession upon his death, the name of the singer and songwriter from Alexandria has too often eclipsed the reputation of his predecessors, and even more iron­ ically, his own.” Musiciens et poètes en Egypte au temps de la Nahda, doctoral thesis, Paris, University of Paris-Sorbonne (Paris VIII), Saint-Denis, pp. 231–2. 10 Cocaine was widely used by artists of the post-war era, including Sayed Darwish, and paradoxically, it is probably the cause of his early death. 11 Eskenderella is the first independent group in Alexandria since the 1970s. It was created in 2000 by Tarek Abdallah and Hazem Shahine. The basic repertory of the group is made of the songs of Darwish and Imam. It gave numerous concerts in Alexandria during the period 2000–4. It was in Cairo in 2005 that Hazem re-created the group, gradually including his own songs.

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References Abdel Wahhab, Mohammed. 2007. Rihlati, al-awraq al-hassa giddan. Commentary by Faruq Guwida. Cairo: Dar a-s-Seruq. Aboumrad, Nidaa. 2004. “Vocal and Instrumental Forms of the Classical Musical Tradition from the Renaissance of the Arab Orient,” Book of Traditional Music No. 17, 183–215. Geneva: Workshops of Ethnomusicology. During, Jean. 1994. Quelque chose se passe. Le sens de la tradition dans l’Orient musical. Lagrasse: Verdier. The English text in this volume is a translation from the French by the co-editors. Feki, Soufiane, and Nidaa Abou Mrad. 2007. “Problems of Typology and Terminology Inherent in the Musicological Approach to Arab Musical Practices and Repertoire,” Journal of Musical Traditions of the Arab and Mediterranean World-RTMMAM, No. 1, Baabda, Edition of the Antonine University, 77–92. Lagrange, Frédéric. 1994. Musicians and Poets in Egypt during the Time of Nahda. Doctoral Thesis. Paris: University of Paris VIII, Saint-Denis. ——. 1996. Musiques d’Egypte. Musique du Monde, Paris: Cité de la Musique; Arles: Actes Sud, 122–3. He quotes the newspaper Rose al-Yûsîf, Feb. 1, 1926: 15. Pépin, Jean. 2005. “Tradition,” Encyclopedia Universalis. Retrieved December 27, 2009 from: http://universalis.bibliothequenomade.univ-lyon2.fr/ encyclopedie/tradition/. al-Qasas, Fouad. 1966. “Mozakrat Samî As-Sawâ,” Ash-Sharq al-Aousat. Racy, Ali Jihad. 1976. “Record Industry and Egyptian Music: 1904–1932,” Ethnomusicology Vol. 20, No. 1, 23–48. Vigreux, Philippe. 1991.“Centralité de la musique égyptienne” (Centrality of Egyptian Music), Egypte/Monde arabe, CEDEJ. Retrieved April 14, 2015 from: http://ema.revues.org/1157. The translation of this passage into English was made by the co-editors of this volume. Zaki, ‘Abd Al-Hamïd, Tawfïk. 1992. As-Sayyed Darwïsh fi ‘ïd mïladoh alMa’wï (Sayed Darwish, His Hundredth Birthday). Cairo: Dar al-M’arif.

Chapter 7

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia Kerim Bouzouita

Since December 2010, the world has watched the Arab revolutions via the mass media. The role of music, and art more broadly, in these political upheavals is undoubtedly subject to many debates. Yet, the focus on now well-known artists who came to prominence during the protests obscures the much deeper and more conflicted role of music in the wider protests, no more so than in Tunisia. This article explores the inner political practices of the Tunisian underground music in its prehistory vis-à-vis the revolution and during the most important protests. It highlights the connection between music and the social web and discusses the implications of that dynamic while raising larger questions about the nature of social relationships, identities and new practices of power in what I term the “new public cyberspace.” Culture broadly, and music in particular, has long played an important role in human struggles, from the mundane acts of resistance of the slave songs to the revolutionary anthems of mass, popular uprisings (Collective 2007). In the case of Tunisia, however, there is not a strong tradition of protest music to inspire the present generation of political artists. This lack of a strong tradition of protest music, as exists in Egypt, for example, has increased the level of debate over its role in the Tunisian revolution. Opinions fluctuate between two extreme positions when it comes to evaluating music’s role in the historic events of late 2010 and early 2011 – between those who

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believe in “the music of the revolution” and those who are convinced that music had no effect whatsoever on the unfolding of events in the birthplace of the so-called Arab Spring, or in any other Arab uprising for that matter (Bouzouita 2013). These differing camps nevertheless agree on the existence of revolutionary music (Ibid.). Beneath this apparent agreement the processes and contributions are increasingly complex in the revolutionary context. In this article, I explore the depths of the Tunisian counterculture in an attempt to bring clarity and establish ground for thoughts that contribute to the debate on the various implications of music on revolutionary processes. At the same time, I raise questions about the broader stakes involved in the production of identities and of new practices of power.

The Roots of the Tunisian Revolution The first issue that we must address before discussing the role of revolutionary music is to recognize the deeper roots of the revolution in Tunisia and not merely the 2008 protests in the mining town of Gafsa. Instead, it is necessary to go back far earlier in history, to the colonial period that ended with Tunisian independence from France in 1956, and continued with various social, economic, and political struggles in the newly independent country in the ensuing decades. Therefore, we must revise the media’s dating of the Tunisian revolution to before the popular uprisings of December 17, 2010 to January 14, 2011 that the mass media depicted as the “Tunisian revolution” or the “Arab Spring,” and include earlier instantiations of revolutionary movements sharing the same values (economic and social rights, freedom and dignity), such as the left and extreme left views of the Perspectivist movement during the 1960s and the 1970s. These movements started in Tunisia inside student circles. At that time, the one and only students’ union, the General Union of Tunisian Students (UGET), was led by students close to the “Destourian” regime of Habib Bourguiba, although students from various leftist movements started to impose themselves as leaders in the 1960s. The declining popularity of Bourguiba after the Bizerte (Bizerta) crisis in 1961 (in which Tunisians revolted against the ongoing presence of French military forces in the strategically located port) and the hardening of the regime after

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 105 the attempted conspiracy against President Bourguiba in 1962 led to the banning of the Tunisian Communist Party (Abis 2004). These events were part of the broader setting for revolutionary activities in the mid- to late 1960s. The 1960s created the ideological foundation for a leftist critique of state policies that would be one of the hallmarks of the contemporary Arab uprisings, creating a discourse that was repeated in good measure in the Gafsa uprisings of 2008. That peaceful movement was repressed by the authorities and resulted in several deaths, hundreds of arrests, documented cases of torture, and harsh prison sentences for various personalities involved such as the ten-year sentence handed down to union leader Adnan El Hajji and the six-year sentence handed down to journalist Fahem Boukadous (US Department of State 2009). If we agree that it is also the processes, not simply the apotheoses and the results, that are the foundation for a successful revolution, then studying music becomes doubly important: it carries dissident values that contribute to undermining the dominant regime while also reflecting the momentous changes still taking place.

Music and Repression In Tunisia, when it comes to music, political censorship manifested itself in different ways of intervening before or after the production of artistic expressions in order to orient or alter the message. For example, censorship immediately operated in the shadow of the new, independent and modern Tunisian state. Salah Khemissi, a pioneering composer of humorous songs, was forbidden to sing in public and forced to become a coal transporter solely because he critiqued men in power before and after independence (1956) (Dhaoui 2006). Satirical artists were targeted because their lyrics were deemed to be subversive. Radio professionals remember the memorandums posted in the offices and studios of radio and television stations that forbade the promotion or broadcast of Mezwed, a popular music form that was deemed “too vulgar” by the Bourguiba regime (1956–87) and, as a result, was banned from Tunisian audiovisual culture. During the Ben Ali period (1987–2011), the government used several methods to censor music. For example, there were multiple structures under the patronage of the Ministry of Culture, such as the regional delegations that were responsible

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for monitoring local musical performances in public spaces. They could ban any cultural production, including music, which they deemed unfavorable to the regime. These prohibition practices also operated across all levels of the media system. Censorship also occurred in the programming of official festivals, including those of Carthage and Hammamet, under the guidance of the department of culture. Their programming was the result of political choices and arbitration that designated which artists would benefit from the generous remuneration given for creativity and interpretation at these festivals. The system was persistent and continued till the end of the regime. In 2010, musicologist Mourad Sakli was designated as the director of the Festival of Carthage, but was relieved of his position after three months for ignoring the system’s regulations (Kapitalis 2013). What is remarkable when we explore the programming of these festivals is the absence of engaged songs or textual songs, and the absence of musical genres popular with young people, such as heavy metal, rap, and satirical songs (Bouzouita 2013, 267). By these programming choices, the regime exercised an aesthetic and economic censorship by privileging artists who did not disturb the system, while sending a strong message to all Tunisian artists: “If you want to make a living with your music, don’t disturb” (Bouzouita 2011). Tunisian artists were also exposed to cyber-censorship, as the Ben Ali regime would regularly comb the list of internet enemies created by Reporters Sans Frontieres. Concretely, the Facebook and MySpace pages of artists such as Bendir Man and Armada Bizerta were simply inaccessible in Tunisia, as were most parts of video-sharing websites and international newspaper websites; all these state interventions were based on the logic of controlling information. Nevertheless, these measures did not stop “politically incorrect” artists from attaining a certain popularity. In fact, their pages, while censored in Tunisia, had tens of thousands of subscribers each before the fall of the regime (Bouzouita 2013, 268).

Factors Favoring the Emergence of Dissent Music The Tunisian revolution suddenly placed young artists at the forefront of national and international media. Some of them had gone from being obscure artists to the “voices of the revolution,” a term that the foreign mass media

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 107 promoted (Perrin 2013). Even after it had appeared for several weeks on radio and television shows, it was not always easy for the public to grasp what constituted the essence of “the music of the Tunisian revolution” (Perrin 2013). In fact, since January 2011, Tunisia has supported an improbable melting pot of dissenting artists, marginal artists, and even former sycophants who were still singing the praises of the dictator only a few weeks before the popular uprising. Indeed, before the uprising most artists were apolitical. Approximately 30 pop singers and rappers had even become regulars at the official events of the regime, such as the festivities of November 7, the anniversary of the military coup installing Ben Ali as head of government in 1987 (Bouzouita 2013, 355). On the other hand, there also are several dozen rap crews, such as Armada Bizerta, rock bands such as Yram, and folk and reggae artists, such as Bendir Man and Gultrah Soundsystem, all of whom had chosen to dissent before 2011 (Bouzouita 2013, 277). Journalists awkwardly mixed all of the above under the label of revolutionary music because radio and television show hosts before January 14, 2011 were totally ignorant of the existence of the underground music scene or the causes and conditions of its formation. The dissenting artists had always existed in a more or less underground or popular manner in Tunisia, and their artistic practice remained confined to the secretive terrestrial and cyber underground. However, since 2007, we have noticed that through the internet, there has been a real shift in the production and diffusion of this dissenting music that always had been an alternative to the music tolerated and sponsored by the “system.” Concerts were very rare and subject to authorization by the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of the Interior. CDs were impossible to distribute because of censorship. Thus, the internet naturally became a circle of development for dissident music. If we look closely at the causes of this development, we notice several factors. Perhaps the most important, paradoxically, was the digitalization policy of Tunisia and its “internetization” sponsored by the dictator Ben Ali. From 1999, the government aimed to offer all Tunisians access to affordable and efficient telecommunication services, notably through its tenth economic development plan. Consequently, in 2007 more than 12.5 percent of Tunisian households had internet access. That number was higher in 2010/11 when we consider that the total number of Tunisian internet users was four million,

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which is nearly 40 percent of the entire population. And if the internet is a preferred and sometimes sole means for the diffusion of dissenting music, a particular site has been a means of promotion: Facebook. In fact, the site that became public in September 2006 saw the number of Tunisian users explode between 2007 and 2011, culminating at 3.3 million active users watched by the “cyber-police” of the regime through several legal and illegal structures, such as the Tunisian Internet Agency, the National Internet Security Agency and the Minister of Interior Cyber-service.1 Despite the willingness of the regime to control access to the internet, a part of it remained uncontrollable and helps us to understand the development of the underground cyber-scene. Although the common and academic discourses often agree on the decline of sociability and the reduction of public space (Putnam 2000), it seems that Tunisian public space has been enriched by the advent of the World Wide Web. A dimension of the internet that is becoming increasingly important and is constituted of individuals, networks, linked websites, and unlimited sharing, contributed to a huge enlargement of the public space in a country while physical public space was occupied by the regime. This revolution in the public space is not a simple extension of the media space we know and in which a limited number of media distil “authorized” culture. In this new public space, there are no postmen or intermediaries. Everyone has been and can become the media by going public and by broadcasting their own lives, opinions and beliefs. To understand the specificity of this public cyberspace, we can use the conceptualization of Nicolas Vanbremeersch, who theorized three distinct territories that overlap partially. These areas are structured by the dominant purpose of each space: documentary web, information web, and social web. What interests us in particular in exploring the implications of the web in the rise of Tunisian revolutionary music is the social web. Exploring this social web, we can model it as a galaxy whose content is not made available by journalists and information or culture experts transmitting content in horizontal ways (Vanbremeersch 2009). This galaxy links users directly to each other. It responds to the logic of meetings, exchanges, sharing and conversations. This logic is encouraged by the nature of the web, its simplicity and its technology hyperlink. In fact, the social web boosts the exchange of underground ideas and music by allowing permanent, direct access.

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 109 In the case of Tunisia, since late 2007 an immeasurable amount of content has been released to the internet by the underground protagonists, and this contributed to the “Facebookization” of Tunisians. Indeed, according to Alexa (provider of global web metrics),2 Facebook is also the most browsed site in Tunisia. In this new cyberspace, dissenting artists such as Bendir Man were able to gain greater popularity due to their talent and their fan page, to the point where Bendir Man accumulated over 150,000 subscribers, which is a little more than mainstream artists like the French singer Francis Cabrel, or even the German chancellor, Angela Merkel. Before 2011, the government tried to prevent this growing popularity by censoring the Facebook fan pages and the MySpace of these kinds of artist and intimidating them. For example, Bendir Man recalls: In 2010, I was forced into a police car on Paris Avenue (in downtown Tunis). They took me to the police station and they released me after a few minutes without even talking to me. They did this operation again five times the same day! (Bendir Man 2013) During that time, the regime had come to see Bendir Man as an opponent, but perhaps he was better known among the people than all Tunisian political opponents. How could that happen? The answer is linked to the socialization potential of the social web. In this connection, American sociologist Mark Granovetter defines “the strength of the relationship as a linear combination of time, the emotional intensity, the intimacy and reciprocal services that characterize this link” (Granovetter 1973, 1360). After having demonstrated that strong social links are only “bridges;” that is, they do not allow groups of disjointed individuals to interconnect, he deduced that information that circulates by strong links might remain confined inside a small group. Instead, it would be weak links that allow information to flow into larger networks, from group to group. Therefore, it is the weak links that provide people with the information or, here, the dissenting music, not available in their circle of strong links. The internet represents an alternative media scene, a meeting place between artists and the public, but that is insufficient to explain the growth of Tunisian underground music. While it partially explains the diffusion of that music, we must take into account the new production mechanisms that are harder to quantify: the development of the “Do It Yourself” culture. Rap

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music production, for example, which was limited to a handful of purists and a couple of hundred songs in the first half of the 2000s, reached an impressive rhythm of production in the second half of the decade. Daily, new songs are shared through fan pages of rappers and special webpages with hundreds of thousands of subscribers. That is largely due to the democratization of the means of production, such as recording equipment, home studios, and free musical software. On this subject, Ahmed Galai, the beat maker for the rap group Armada Bizerta, remembers: We recorded our first songs in 2006 with a headset and the free software Fruity Loops in my parents’ kitchen. At the time, we didn’t have the means to pay for recording sessions in a professional studio (Galai 2011). The democratic means of production explain the growth of production, while the internet, and alternative media, explain the diffusion of the underground, but it does not explain the subversive and dissenting foundation of the music. The exogenous factor of the political and social climate in Tunisia that progressively deteriorated up to the uprisings in the mining region in 2008 was essential. That uprising, which announced the revolution, was repressed bloodily by Ben Ali’s regime. For an entire generation of cyber-activists, this event was the red line that the regime should never have crossed. Most of the bloggers at the time had participated in the campaign of “bloody blog” in solidarity with the people of Redeyef in Gafsa, where the mining protests took place (Tunisie Blogs). Proximity between protestors, artists and cyber-activists played an important role in their common political position in reaction to this event and inspired that same year songs like “Redeyef” by Bendir Man and “Labess” by Badiaa Bouhrizi, alias Neyssatou, both of whom denounced the cruelty of the repression and an unbearable dictatorship.

The Themes of Dissenting Music Without attempting to be exhaustive, in the same line of dissent as Bendir Man and Badiaa Bouhrizi, the most active and remarkable dissenting artists

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 111 were the rappers in the wider diaspora, such as Ferid El Extranjero from Spain, who wrote the 2007 song, “Abed Fi Tarkina,” which denounced the social crisis and police brutality. The success of that song alerted the Tunisian authorities and pushed them to the point where they organized a roundup aimed at the rappers. In an attempt to discover the real identity of the song’s composer, they detained rappers and forced them to rap the lyrics, attempting to use voice recognition software to identify the guilty party. That event marked certain rappers like the pioneer Balti, who put the event to music in the song “Matloumounich” (Don’t Hold It Against Me), which apologized for him having chosen to maintain a low profile while other rappers were becoming more radical. From Italy the unclassifiable Karkadan joined Extranjero in the ranks of “artistic commandos,” as he denounced police violence by recollecting the day officers came to arrest him, in his song “Zok Omm Akkinnhar” (Cursed Be That Day). Diasporic and local rappers performed the role of societal “scouts” well, serving as mirrors of social demands and watchdogs monitoring the violations of human rights. However, even if it happened on a few occasions that dissident artists played at the headquarters of the opposition leftist party Ettajdid, activism and “artivism” were never close and did not act together. In addition to the generational gap, some artists found the discourse of the opposition too demagogic and its methods ineffective to want to contribute their own music to it (Bouzouita 2011). That same year (2007), from north Tunisia, the four rappers of Armada Bizerta produced their first prophetic single, simply titled “Revolution.” The title did not go unnoticed and the Tunisian “political police” (Directorate of State Security, Central Directorate for General Intelligence, and seven other entities) lost no time in attempting to intimidate the group by approaching them at their workplace and threatening reprisals. The pressure was in vain. The crew continued to produce its music despite censorship of its MySpace page, releasing “Resistance,” another anti-regime song in 2010 that denounced the dictatorship. Indeed, “The Sound of Freedom” was the name of their small record label and community, which was formed with another of the leading rappers from Bizerte,3 the group Lak3y. The Lak3y group itself defied the dictatorship in September 2010 with an even more

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provocative song, titled “Touche pas à ma Tunisie” (Don’t Touch My Tunisia), and featuring the Armada Bizerta crew: Don’t touch my Tunisia, leave the floor to Freedom. We are rapping for freedom. Tunisian people must resist. Nothing    will stop us (Lak3y, featuring Armada Bizerta) In Tunis, DJ Costa, another rap pioneer, addressed a major concern to the Tunisians and to foreign embassies: the Trabelsi family, which the US ambassador himself had compared to the mafia in the Wikileaks cables. DJ Costa attacked the “reigning family” in his song “Mafia Royale,” denouncing nepotism and oligarchy installed by the president’s family and that of his wife Leila Trabelsi. This inspired a young rapper in Sfax (30 km south of Tunis), Hamada Ben Amor, better known under the stage name El Général, to address himself to the dictator on equal footing in “Rais Lebled.” The production of this song led to his arrest in January 2011, an action that turned this hitherto completely unknown young rapper into a symbol of resistance to oppression. During the popular uprisings between December 17, 2010 and January 14, 2011, other artists, outraged by the brutality of a regime on the offensive, joined the ranks of dissidents, including Weld el 15 and L’Imbattable, in condemning the brutal repression of demonstrations by Ben Ali’s security apparatus. Life is a grave and we are buried alive Watching humiliation and more. Here, you have two choices: being snake [a cop in Tunisian slang]   or rat. The Mafia when it swallows does not mince like anaconda. When they are hungry, they have no mercy and do not care about    starving the people (DJ Costa, “Mafia Royale,” 2008) The arrest of El Général did not seem to have discouraged rappers. I have collected more than 100 revolutionary tracks produced by 70 different artists

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 113 during the popular uprising (Bouzouita 2011, 252). Textual analysis reveals a new political stance. This time, artists no longer wanted to negotiate their human rights with the regime, and nor did they just denounce oppression. Now, they wanted the fall of the regime, and they used a vocabulary that was remarkably direct, with a profusion of words like “go” and “flee.” This time, the message was clear. The break with the political activists was gaping. Most of the political opponents of Ben Ali were still in the process of negotiating with him on the eve of his departure. When we explore the texts from different dissenting artists, we notice that the themes are identical to the demands in the streets during the popular uprisings. The texts denounce police brutality, corruption, the lack of individual liberties, the absence of future prospects, nepotism, and the “mafia-like state” (Semmar 2010). In other words, artists were the mavericks, placed on the front lines, openly expressing and with uncovered faces the hidden unease of an entire society. For example, the song “Tahchi Fih” by rapper Mos Anif Moussa illustrates that general unease, while calling on the people to rise up and “take control of their future,” as in the song “Huitième Jour” by the band Neshez. They lie, they lie, they lie, they lie, they lie, they lie. Many people, in fact, lead people astray. Like the journalist of La Presse [Tunisian newspaper], he lies. Administrations are lying here. Come back tomorrow or the day after. They lie. Blue jeans and veil, she lies. The presenter of the news, she lies. They will find us jobs? There is nothing, just words, they lie (Mos Anif Moussa, “Tahchi Fih,” 2010)

Slogan Music Aside from dissenting music, another category of revolutionary chants was remarkable due to its symbiotic function in accompanying and galvanizing the crowds during protests and sit-ins between December 2010 and February 2011. Slogan music affected the mood of crowds with its messages, melodies, and often short and repetitive rhymes. Among these songs, the most popular

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one, which web users often described as “the song of the revolution” (Soolouk 2012), undoubtedly is “Mahla el Gaada al Mayya” sung by Khalil, a young man who came from his native Regueb to Tunis. That hymn was sung daily by thousands of demonstrators coming from all parts of Tunisia, uniting them with music from north to south. Since 2011, Khalil has returned to Regueb, becoming anonymous in the crowd again. How beautiful is the Tunisian revolution, it unites everyone! I will return, I will return through the mountains to my country where    people of my generation are needed to become mighty men (Khalil, “Mahla el Gaada al Mayya,” 2011)

Homage Music If dissenting music preceded the fall of the regime, and if slogan music accompanied the uprisings, a last category, which we can label as “homage music,” paid tribute to the revolution, singing about it after the January 14, 2011 fall of the regime. I was able to gather and date over 100 songs in this last category (Bouzouita 2011). The main themes, which differ remarkably from dissenting music, include homage to the wounded and martyrs of the revolution, and hymns to liberty and fraternity: Transmission interrupted . . . The people are avenged and we burned you. We showed the world that Tunisia is not a coward and cannot be   humiliated (Emino, “Lotfi Abdelli, Dégage,” 2011)

The Identities Machine When we think of a country, we often think of territory, its economy, or its culture. The simple mention of the word Italy, for example, awakens in the collective memory Pavarotti, the Coliseum, Donatello, the taste of bruschetta. Similarly, when we think of Japan, we think of performance, poetry, computers, Manga, sushi, or the Hagakure. All of these associations constitute

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 115 what I will try to conceptualize as “symbolic territory.” This is a territory charged with meanings, which has an existence just as real as the physical territory in the collective conscience. In a way, the physical territory would be solely geometric shapes, trees, rocks, and buildings if it were not charged by the meanings of the symbolic territory. For example, the Eiffel Tower would be only a geometric shape of metal beams if it did not symbolize a tremendous effort, technical genius, or romanticism. In Tunisia, certain material objects were seized by the regime. For example, the national flag essentially reflected an adherence to Ben Ali’s political party or regime, and not an adherence to a nation or community of citizens. Non-material objects were not spared. In fact, among all the works from the musical patrimony of Tunisia, one song always accompanied the dictator/president in all his audiovisual or physical appearances and at each party-state event. That music was “Humat al Hima” (Defenders of the Homeland), the Tunisian national anthem. Here I refer to the Tunisian revised national anthem of 1987, for the regime’s intelligence services hastened, only five days after Ben Ali’s “medical” coup d’état, to modify the text of the first official anthem of 1958 because it referred to the deposed President Habib Bourguiba in glorifying verses, “We face the fire with Habib’s spirit, the leader of the homeland . . .” The lyrics were completely revised to erase 31 years of Bourguibism from collective memory (Bouzouita 2011, 381). The new anthem, played throughout Ben Ali’s reign, was charged with meaning. It became a symbol of the new established power. Certain political prisoners were forced to listen to it daily, while their jailors would call them “enemies of the homeland” (Bouzouita and Mekki 2011). “Humat al Hima” became an integral part of the regime’s discourse, one of its discursive objects. Considered together, the object and the meaning constitute a symbol and, no matter the culture, symbols systematically are organized under a specific discourse (Clarke 1976, 267). However, since 2002 Tunisian artists have been rearranging this anthem and not interpreting it in the way in which it had been composed and arranged by the musical services of the establishment. For example, Neshez rearranged it in a psychedelic version with acoustic guitar; Jazz N’Chebbi played a bilingual version;4 and Firas Louati did this rap version:

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These rearrangements essentially created an alternate identity and marked the desire for an alternative common future, while insisting on an attachment to Tunisian territory and history. Playing the official hymn would have given the regime a certain legitimacy. Modifying it was a way of saying that we were also Tunisians, but that we refused the regime’s values, noted Altair, composer and musician in Jazz N’Chebbi (Altair 2011). It is in this sense that we can say that underground protagonists trans­gressed the laws of the established order. By appropriating and recontextualizing the anthem, they diverted its conventional uses and invented new subversive ones. This assault against the syntactic power of the regime on daily cultural cyber-life is a total revolution of the object. This symbolic diversion, or voluntary deformation, was here a form of political warfare. This battle between different discourses, the different definitions and meanings at the core of an ideology, is first and foremost a fight for meaning – a fight for the appropriation of symbols. To cite the previous example of the Tunisian flag, we notice that this object potentially has two meanings, a legitimate and an illegitimate one. Artists whom the regime wanted to dominate have diverted this object and given it clandestine meanings, meanings that expressed in code a form of resistance to the established order. Umberto Eco might describe this phenomenon as a fight to reappropriate and reinterpret symbols. He describes it by using the term “semiotic guerrilla” (Hebdige 1979). Tunisian artists have transgressed the laws of the established order by reclaiming and re-contextualizing the object “national anthem” and by diverting its conventional function and giving it a new one. Bendir Man, the rappers, and other underground artists promoted a countercultural style, opening up to the world of objects new and secretly subversive meanings. The meaning of countercultural style thus became an anthropological marker of difference and the expression of a common alternative identity transformed by a common willingness. A total objective of the revolution was to conduct this assault against the semantic power of the regime on daily life. This symbolic diversion, this voluntary distortion, here

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 117 was employed for a political, martial, and territorial goal. Artists took ownership of the map in order to retake the territory. From that moment, we ought not to be surprised that on January 25, 2011, the first day of the Egyptian revolution, protesters in Tahrir Square sang “Humat al Hima,” or again in Morocco, where the uprisings of February 20, which ended with a revision of the constitution, were accompanied with “La Volonte de Vivre” by Aboul-Qacem Echebbi.5 From this poem, which survived through the decades and was at the heart of the discourse of the Tunisian national independence movement, were taken four lines, the only ones systematically to be quoted in all transformed versions of the Tunisian national anthem produced by underground artists: If one day the people want to live, the future is forced to obey. Darkness is forced to dissipate. Chains are forced to break (Aboul-Qacem Echebbi, “The Will to Live,” 1933)

Conclusion During the dictatorship era in Tunisia, music became an important cultural protection against the anesthesia desired by the regime. Many young artists, targeted by censorship, never stopped working and never complied with suggestions and directives to change their music’s message and style, even though they were not labelled as revolutionary or political artists. While no analyst or government saw the uprisings coming, and while we still affirm that the common characteristic of revolutions is that they are unpredictable, thus preventing scholars from envisioning new possible societies, we can affirm that the one thing that could surprise us is that oppressed people never do end up revolting. If we had listened to the young oracles of the Tunisian underground, we certainly would have heard the groundswell announcing an international geopolitical earthquake. This underground is a space enlivened by individuals, driven by social logic. A complex universe and potentially infinite, it is a fleeting and permeable sphere, abounding with ideas and messages that circulate and collide in order to grow. Sometimes it serves as a witness to daily life secretly or

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publicly. Sometimes it discovers the processes and stresses that cross through the social body while redesigning it and making our community of thinkers discover new powers and musical liberties, such as changing the meaning of symbols.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

See ATI: Agence Tunnisienne d’internet at www.ati.tn/fr. See http://www.alexa.com/. Bizerte is the port town that was the site of the most important post­ colonial insurrection, and which forced out the French navy in 1961. See Bouzouita, Kerim at: www.pouvoirmusique.com. Ibid.

References Abderrahmane, Semmar. 2010. “Wikileaks: La Dynastie Ben Ali ou la Quasimafia qui Dirige la Tunisie,” Nawaat. Retrieved April 4, 2014 from: http:// nawaat.org/portail/2010/12/08/wikileaks-la-dynastie-ben-ali-ou-la-quasimafia-qui-dirige-la-tunisie/. Abis, Sébastien. 2004. L’affaire de Bizerte: Une Crise dans les Relations FrancoTunisiennes. Paris: Sud éditions. Altair. 2011. Author interview with Altair, Tunis, Tunisia. Anonymous. 2013. “Mourad Sakli directeur du festival de Carthage,” Kapitalis. Retrieved April 1, 2014 from: http://www.kapitalis.com/ culture/17229-tunisie-culture-mourad-sakli-pourrait-demissionner-dufestival-de-carthage.html. Anonymous. 2013. “Emel Mathlouthi Voix de la Révolution du Jasmin,” Radio Canada, June. Retrieved April 4, 2014 from: http://ici.radio-canada. ca/emissions/medium_large/2011-2012/chronique.asp?idChronique =298156. ATI: Agence Tunnisienne d’internet. 2011. Retrieved April 1, 2014 from: www.ati.tn/fr. Bendir Man. 2013. Author interview with Bendir Man, Tunis, Tunisia. Bouzouita, Kerim. 2011. Author interview with Malex (Armada Bizerta crew), Bizerta, Tunisia, March 2011.

The Power of Music and the Identities of Dissent in Tunisia 119 ———. 2013. “Mainstream & Underground: Anthropologie des Dominations et Résistance Musicales.” Ph.D. Thesis. University Paris VIII. Bouzouita, Kerim, and Mekki Thameur. 2011. Memory at Risk. Tunis: Labo’Démocratique. Clarke, John. 1976. “The Skinhead and the Magical Recovery of Working Class Community,” in Hall, Stuart. Resistance through Rituals. London: Hutchinson. Collective. 2007. Cahiers d‘Ethnomusicologie Identités Musicales. Genève: Infolio. Dhaoui, Skander. 2006. Author interview with Skander Dhaoui, cinema and amateur music historian, Tunis, Tunisia. Galai, Ahmed. 2011. Author interview with Ahmed Galai, Bizerta, Tunisia. Granovetter Mark. 1973. “The Strength of Weak Ties,” The American Journal of Sociology Vol. 78, 1360–80. Hebdige, Dick. 1979. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Routledge. Kapitalis. 2013. “Mourad Sakli directeur du festival de Carthage,” Kapitalis, March 28, 2013. Retrieved April 4, 2014 from: http://www.kapitalis. com/culture/15273-mourad-sakli-directeur-du-festival-international-decarthage.html. Perrin, Catherine. 2013. “Emel Mathlouthi Voix de la Révolution du Jasmin,” Radio Canada, June 2013. Retrieved April 1, 2014 from: http:// www.radio-canada.ca/emissions/medium_large/2012-2013/chronique. asp?idChronique=298156. Putnam, Robert. D. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon and Schuster. Soolouk. 2012. “Musique de la Révolution ou Révolution dans la Musique?,” in Yakayaka, January 14. Tunis: Yaka Editions. Tunisie Blogs: http://tn-blogs.com. US Department of State. 2009. “2008 Human Rights Practices: Tunisia.” Retrieved May 6, 2015 from: http://www.state.gov/j/drl/rls/hrrpt/2008/ nea/119128.htm. Vanbremeersch, Nicolas. 2009. De la démocratie numérique. Paris: Seuil.

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Further Sources Aboul-Qacem Echebbi, “The Will to Live”, 1933. DJ Costa, “Mafia Royale”, 2008. Emino, “Lotfi Abdelli, Dégage”, 2011. Firas Louati, “Idha Chaabou Yayman”, 2009. Khalil, “Mahla al Gaada al Mayya”, 2011. Lak3y, featuring Armada Bizerta. Mos Anif Moussa, “Tahchi Fih”, 2010.

Chapter 8

Music with Extra-Musical Purposes Soufiane Feki That singing and music have always served as a source of fighting spirit, breathing life into the impulse letting us conquer freedom and transform society, seems to me an established fact from the time of the French Revolution, demonstrated by democratic movements or Revolutions which have sprung up in Eastern Europe or even nearer to us, in the Arab Spring (Daisaku Ikeda in this volume).

The topic of the links between music, power and liberty is crucial today, with the prevailing political climate in the Arab world, and the wind of freedom sweeping over the Arab peoples, who for decades were crushed under the yoke of dictatorial regimes.1 I have chosen to structure my text around three ideas: The first topic relates to the question of freedom in the act of musical creation and looks at music as an object of meaning; the second raises the question of the instrumental­ ization of music for political reasons or purposes of identity; the third and last reflection touches on the idea of the freedom to make music and the concept of protest music.

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Music: The Freedom to Create and the Power of Meaning In Europe in the eighteenth century, the musician/composer was like a craftsman subject to an employer (the Church or the monarchy), composing on commission. Such was the case, for example, with Johann Sebastian Bach, Mozart, and Haydn. As Alier mentions:  The professional musician at that time could not in any case be crowned with the romantic aureole that would later transform for the public eye the great composers into true geniuses and give their work an immutable and imperishable character (Alier 1990, 6). But with Beethoven and the Romantics of the nineteenth century, the musician was no longer simply an artisan composing on demand, whose production could be reduced to a simple technique (so to speak); from that point on, the musician was a genius, dependent upon an unpredictable inspiration. From the nineteenth century, then, a new status of music was born, an emancipated kind of music which does not only seek to please a certain group of people, or to satisfy their need for light entertainment. Music aims to become an end in itself and finds its power as a structure that can unnerve or frighten, for it is more than simply something beautiful. The freedom music offers allows us to go beyond ordinary ideas, to break formal rules, to transcend reason, and sometimes to verge on the absurd (Dufour 2005, 22). However, the expressiveness of the work and its significance still remain subject to the text and the context, especially dramaturgically speaking, as some of Wagner’s and Bruckner’s works can attest. Even in a much earlier period, “Theorists claimed that the only way to make musical notes meaningful was to accompany them with words. Music with text was thus able to attain levels of meaning unknown in purely instrumental music” (Goehr 2007, 458). It is therefore difficult to speak of a power of significance characteristic of music outside the musical-musicological realm, whose language proves inaccessible to non-musicians. The emancipation of music from a state of servitude in relation to a text or a poem or a scene from theater does not necessarily mean that we are



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speaking of a pure, independent music as from a formalistic point of view. In this context, some philosophers or Romantic musicians (such as Hanslick or Brahms) have argued that music is a self-sufficient form of art, sui generis, especially when music is purely instrumental. “Music’s type of beauty is specific to music. By that, we mean a kind of independent beauty, not needing to take its essence from outside, and existing only in sounds and their artistic combinations” (Hanslick [1854] 1986, 93). But our objection to those who advocate for the total autonomy of music could be that too much freedom may result in its being void of meaning. Adorno rejected the pure constructivism of the twentieth century and considered that technical criteria are not sufficient by themselves to allow the formulation of an aesthetic judgment. Indeed, before the advent of semiotics, the study of music’s symbolism belonged to the realm of aesthetics. Today we generally accept that music can indeed generate images and convey, like language, ideas and messages. This type of study is closely related to exegesis and subject to the cultural, aesthetic and psychological subjectivity of the researcher. This is why it is hardly possible to build a hermeneutics that would be able to fix the musical units and the ideas and behaviors they engender in the listener. When it comes to music, symbols have many meanings, because while listening to music the meaning it has for us and the feelings it evokes in us are numerous, varied and confused (Nattiez 1975, 26). In his book Regarder, Ecouter, Lire, Lévi-Strauss cites an interesting discussion between Wagner and Rossini where the latter would have said: “Who then, in a raging orchestra, could clarify the differences between the description of a storm, a riot, a fire? . . .” (Lévi-Strauss 1993, 91). Unlike the linguistic sign which is arbitrary (Saussure), the symbol is a sign which is characterized by an analog connection between the symbolizing and the symbolized. The presence of a scale containing the double augmented second in Western classical works has always been synonymous with “the exotic” and with Orientalism for the Western listener (Bartoli 2000, 61). To illustrate the use of a scale containing two augmented seconds in some classical works, for instance of the Romantic era, we can cite Franz Liszt in his “Hungarian Rhapsody No. 3 in Bb major”:

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Figure 1. Franz Liszt, “Hungarian Rhapsody No. 3 in Bb major,” published in 1853 (measures 21–2). However, even if music has tremendous power to evoke and to act on our minds and feelings, its symbolism remains unfinished. On the one hand there is the undeniable presence of evocation, but on the other, there is the impossibility to use it; that is to say, to express it verbally in a univocal way (Molino 1975, 45). A formalistic perspective calls for pure music, which is self-sufficient and whose meaning and content can be nothing but musical. This indicates the transcendental nature of musical meaning whose purity goes beyond any ordinary content, mundane or representational; music is thus the sublime expression of the infinite. Ernst Krenek maintains that purely instrumental music requires a certain type of listening, independent from any superficial reference to a verbalized content (it is worth noting that this Austrian composer of the twentieth century was forced into exile to the USA after the Nazis designated him a degenerate artist, because he enriched his music with rhythms and melodies from African-American blues). Pure music advocates the rejection of any kind of servitude, whether it is social (for example, the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries’ allegiance to the church or to the court against the bourgeois institution and its concept of the concert hall) or it is related to other forms of artistic expression (language arts, theater, visual arts, etc.). Music came long before our spoken language, which, according to Henri Bergson, “is unmusical and continually clips and fixes what is mobile” (Bergson [1888], in 1970). Music fertilizes the imagination and can lead those who practice it to free themselves from the constraints of reality. It has always dazzled philosophers and romantics, who often placed it above reason



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and understanding, thus recognizing the power of ineffable and inexpressible feelings. Wagner wrote: “Music expresses the highest truth in a language that reason does not understand” (Goehr 2007, 464). This refers particularly to instrumental music because once contingent upon a text, it gives up a large part of its expressive, signifying power. Appealing for purity in music offered the musician two advantages. On the one hand, this justified a necessary focus on compositional technique (an important trend during the first half of the twentieth century). On the other hand, the invocation of pure music proved to be a more strategic response for musicians wanting to avoid the highly politicized constraints of censorship (which was widespread during the past two centuries). It was safer for a musician to say that his work was devoid of any extra-musical meaning; it was dangerous to emphasize the socially persuasive, expressive force of music. Instrumental music was and still is a place of freedom where the composer enjoys freedom of expression without having to be concerned with the conventions of society; in this way meaning is assigned to music, a meaning sometimes only the composer can decode. It is only later, after an in-depth analysis of the life of the composer being studied; that is, after an analysis of the poietic process of the work, that we might find meaning in it.

Music for Political and Identity Purposes I now turn to the second theme of my chapter, that of the use of music for political or identity purposes. I think it is worth emphasizing that the universality of a musical phenomenon needs to be considered from two different points of view. On the one hand, universality is found in the fact that local manifestations of this musical phenomenon, expressed in many different ways (and underpinned by various musical systems) can still be universally understandable and appreciated by those who live outside their original sphere. In other words, human beings are always, in theory, capable of understanding the music of the other (Higgins 2012). In today’s context of globalization and mass distribution, all listeners, be they Tunisian or Chinese, are able to revel in listening to a musical style to which they are not accustomed. This phenomenon is partly explained by the universals that characterize almost all musical expressions (Feki 2010, 49–52).

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On the other hand, the desire to affirm one’s difference from the other through musical expression can also be seen as a universal characteristic of musical practice: “The universality of music lies rather in the fact that everywhere it indicates a strong potential to characterize groups of people who like to feel they are different, for a variety of historical and anthropological reasons” (Keller 2007, 1150). Music, therefore, has the power to bring people together and to contribute to bringing peace to the world, certainly, but it is also the direct expression of a way to be individualistic which, itself, is an expression of a particular situation in space and time and of a specific historical experience; thus in a way it is a kind of distinguishing activity. All musical performances articulate the values of a particular social group in one way or another. As an important component of identity, music resists any attempts to standardize it. Even the most formalized and standardized music in the world, what is called classical music in the West, absorbs the musical colors of a region, depending on where one is – in the countries of Eastern, Central, or Southern Europe, Central or South America. Over the centuries, composers were shaped by combining their classical heritage and the local musical heri­ tage (see the works of Anton Dvorák, Béla Bartók, George Gershwin, etc.). The fact that music is stamped with a cultural or even a national seal has led politicians to see it as a means to differentiate themselves from other social or ethnic (or even political) entities, or in other cases to assert their hegemony over the “Other.” It was thus used for purposes that are totally external and foreign to it, as was the case, for example, during the Napoleonic campaign in Egypt, when local people first discovered opera and symphonies. Several Egyptian musicians (from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries) were fascinated by orchestras from Europe and by the musical and lyric forms they discovered. Egyptian monarchs encouraged the establishment of schools of military and classical music, modeled after those in Europe. From that time to the present, a battle has raged between those attempting to Westernize and the conservative forces that see a threat to their cultural and civilizational identity in these alien forms. The first International Congress of Arab Music was held in Cairo, Egypt, in 1932, and Tunisia sent a delegation. Tunisia was still a French Colony (Tunisia achieved independence from France in 1956), and it is in this context



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that the Rashidia Institute was established in 1934 (Nooshin 196). Its goal is to “preserve the national musical heritage” because it was said to be endangered by the advance of schools providing education in Western music. This was a reaction against the tendency of Western colonial powers to dominate the local culture. Music can thus become an important carrier of culture and can be both text and pretext to impose One’s culture on the Other, or conversely, to protect One’s culture against the malicious intentions of the Other. During the 1970s and 1980s and until the fall of the Soviet Union, a feeling of extreme nationalism prevailed throughout the world; countries that emerged after decolonization and the collapse of the USSR used all means possible to assert their singularity. Music was again manipulated for political purposes – it underwent folklorization. The concept of folklorization is to hybridize several local musical practices in a sort of concentrated national cultural identity. The folklore group also incorporates dancers, and is performed on stages all over the world as a sort of postcard conveying the distinctive features of the country. Music can play a crucial and sometimes dangerous role, it can become the mark of a political regime or ideological current, it can be used to stir minds and intensify feelings for or against someone or something. This quality has obviously not escaped politicians. Totalitarian, despotic regimes do not like their artists to be free. By virtue of its symbolic system, art is fundamentally free, and only artists possess the key to decoding it, which causes great fear on the part of enemies of freedom. The best way to stifle musicians’ creativity (especially for “la musique engagée,” music with a commitment to a cause) is to cut off their means of subsistence; in other words to make them slaves of the political regime. With the advent of the Weimar Republic in 1919, the opening of Germany to exogenous forms of musical expression (and art in general) was in fashion. The trend was to move away from national romanticism in favor of new musical forms such as dodecaphonism and jazz. The ultra-conservative nationalist currents, however, quickly gained ground and advocated a return to the neoclassical, and also the neo-Wagnerian, styles. Nazism gradually settled in and Germany experienced a wave of denigration against musicians from several progressive circles. Some of them were forced into exile, such as Ernst Krenek and Arnold Schoenberg (Schoenberg 1958, 139). Music at that time experienced a

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cultural-ethnic cleansing stigmatizing any artist who did not fit into the mold imposed by the Nazi regime that promoted a healthy art and a music that could be called romantic again. As Roncigli wrote: “In 1933 the Nazis blacklisted a list of degenerate musicians, among whom we find Schoenberg, nicknamed the rootless charlatan . . . whoever consumes it will be killed by it” (Roncigli 2006, 18). As a result thousands of musicians were eventually exiled. Any attempt to find new elements for a new musical language was simply banned, and the impressionist or dodecaphonic aesthetic, for example, was rejected outright. At the same time, the Nazi regime enlisted excellent composers and musicians, requiring them to produce works of quality that were modern, but free of all traces of certain influences, in particular American influences. They had to work in accordance with the forms set by censorship. Another example is American society in the early twentieth century, marked by a capitalist system amid racial stratification, in which any musical expression from the black population was oppressed by white power. The authentic black music, which sings sex, poverty, derision, protest, political engagement, was ruthlessly hounded and suppressed by the American society that has only allowed atrophied forms of it to survive – passive acceptance, redeeming mysticism or simple resignation (Dufourt 1991, 73). There are many other examples, just as significant, in many Arab countries and throughout the world, where censorship cares little about the creative drive of its artists. Everything must be formatted and institutionalized, to increase control over any musical creation or production. Funding must be centralized and must come from the seat of power. In many countries, such as Tunisia, the Ministry of Culture manages the money and decrees where it should go and who should benefit. This has a negative impact on the development of the profession of artist-musician, especially on musical creativity and composition usually resistant to any conformity. Left with having to choose between exercising their passion freely or being subjected to servitude, musicians increasingly choose to practice a sort of dilettantism (or semi-professional status) or to combine it with another professional activity, allowing them to meet their needs and those of their families, while remaining free from blackmail.



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As such, institutions of totalitarian regimes tend towards a type of conformity that cripples musicians. Either these regimes take the formalistic claims of the musicians too seriously, or they transform their music into simple entertainment – a consumer product. Subject to such political and social conformity, music has no choice but to limit itself to its notes or simply to be pleasing to the ear. Thus in neither case is it a real threat to the political powers which have historically supported maintaining the status quo. As Dufourt wrote: “The Ancien Regime demanded an art to the glory of the social order. Capitalist society uses music to defend the status quo and prevent any frontal attack against the economic and social order” (Dufourt 1991, 72).

Music between Censorship and Political Demands There is no doubt that Tunisia during the Ben Ali era experienced a period of mediocrity in music as never before. With the pursuit of musical creation sterile or virtually nonexistent; and confronted with a system of subsidies that promoted easy imitation and a product providing meaningless entertainment, thoughtful, salutary musical creations were marginalized. On television and at festivals (subject to state subsidies) the musical genres most widely circulated were either songs known as “variety songs,” or what are often called “popular songs.” The most common subjects in these songs were normally the plight of lovers, or illegal immigrants expelled from Europe lamenting their fate. The protest song was deliberately excluded from any public forum, and there was no music of freedom speaking out about the real problems of society. Effective methods of censorship which are the prerogative of despotic regimes such as Ben Ali’s in Tunisia, led individuals into a state of obedience and gave rise to the even more daunting phenomenon of self-censorship (Milgram’s agentic state). For Tunisian artists, their only choice was to glean the crumbs in their space of freedom, which was shrinking smaller day by day. The Tunisian revolution of January 14, 2011 first inspired rappers whose works became more and more bitingly critical and less consensual towards the regime. It was the return of the protest song, believed extinct since the 1990s when groups of musicians sang for the union of Arab countries and for a free Palestine. But this time we no longer had a repertoire of text songs glorifying

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the freedom of expression and freedom itself; the message is vindictive and its style completely undiluted. Free of the constraints of an authority requiring them to show their credentials under penalty of censorship, and seeing their rights scorned, Tunisian rappers like El Général have dared to talk about oppression, injustice and misery. They have helped to keep the flame of the revolution burning, thanks to different virtual spaces (including Twitter and Facebook) which have become unexpected platforms for diffusion; in this way the music has been cathartic. Much is expected of this new generation of musicians, who do not suffer from symptoms of self-censorship as did their elders. Paradoxically, censorship has very often stimulated musical trends through expressing protest or commitment to a cause. In Tunisia, the rapper Weld el 15 attracted the wrath of the authorities after airing the clip of his song “El boulisyya Kleb” (cops are dogs). He was sentenced to a suspended sentence in July 2013, but this did not prevent him from continuing to perform songs denouncing the corruption that plagues the police community, and this earned him a second conviction and jail time (Libération 2013). Denouncing power and its abuses can be costly not only for journalists but also for rap musicians. The risk of a return of censorship has also come from religious extremism, including the so-called “Salafi” currents that clearly call to purge the education of our children from all artistic content. Here again, self-censorship threatens all forms of musical expression, and this would mean that music will have to reclaim spaces and minds again. Tunisian musicians of all genres will have to manage this area of freedom by advocating the programming of various new festivals and musical events in the country. If I may share my personal opinion here, they should work to establish a tradition of listening and contemplation of the musical message, whether or not it has a verbal base. While opening up to multiculturalism, I believe they should tap into their musical cultural heritage, rich with many confluences, and at the same time avoid the old clichés and stereotypes of “Western” protest music. In the free world music releases passions and loosens the tongues of those on the margins of freedom. In a world in the process of becoming free, music has its role to play, as is the case today in the Arab world. Such was the case in France in the 1980s and 1990s, which saw the proliferation of musical



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currents of protest making demands by using various styles like rap, rock and pop. Groups of rappers used music to defend the rights of the people and of the citizens they felt had been cheated by the socio-political system in place. When music becomes free, musicians will be autonomous and will make good use of musical forms while articulating social objectives using the given aesthetics to propose an alternative. Music also raises the consciousness of citizens who aspire to democracy and freedom because of its power to pene­ trate minds. Jean Molino (anthropologist and musicologist) points out that musical experience provokes both emotional and cognitive reactions in these citizens, accompanied by many symbolic references involving all prior experiences and knowledge of the subject (2009). Soon the fervor of the revolution will diminish and the status quo will try to make a comeback; musicians will always seek new sounds and new ways, and music lovers will always seek out new genres. Even in its most abstract and purest state, music is only a reflection of the mind of the person who made it – and of the ideas that torment the musician. Ideally, with a free spirit, and if they can create without any form of censorship, musicians can be the witnesses of the lived experience of an entire society: “[For Adorno] far from being only linked to itself and its non-representative representation, far from offering only a pure and logical solution to a well-posed problem, the constituent determinations of musical form include the tensions and social contradictions of their time” (Dufourt 1991, 54).

Note 1

Unfortunately, in the period between the writing of this paper and its publication, the winds of war and violence have transformed several countries in the Arab world into living hells.

References Alier, Bernard. 1990. “La musique baroque jusqu’à Purcell,” Roger Favre (dir.), Encyclopédie des grands maîtres de la musique, Vol. 1. Paris: ParisHachette et Salvat Sae.

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Bartoli, Jean-Pierre. 2000. “Proposition pour une définition de l’exotisme musical et pour une application en musique de la notion d’isotopie sémantique,” Musurgia Vol. 7, No. 2, 61. Bergson, Henri. 1970. Essai sur les données immédiates de la conscience, 1888. Paris: paru aux éditions PUF. Dufour, Eric. 2005. L’esthétique musicale de Nietzsche. Lille: Septentrion. Dufourt, Hugues. 1991. Musique, pouvoir, écriture. Paris: Christian Bourgois. The passage in English in this chapter is a translation from the French by the co-editors of this volume. Feki, Soufiane. 2010. “Universals in Music: Music as a Communicational Space,” in Urbain, Olivier and Felicity Laurence (eds.). Music and Solidarity: Questions of Universality, Consciousness, and Connection, Coll. Peace and Policy, Vol. 15. New Jersey: TODA Institute. Goehr, Lydia. 2007. “Le concept de musique en Europe,” Nattiez Jean-Jacques (dir.), Musiques: une encyclopédie pour le 20e siècle, Vol. 5, 455–74. Hanslick, Eduard. 1854. Vom Musikalisch-Schönen. Elin Beitrag zur Revision des Aesthetik der Tonkunst, Leipzig, Weugel; translated into French as Du beau dans la musique: essai de réforme de l’esthétique musicale, Paris: Christian Bourgois, 1986. Higgins, Lee. 2012. Community Music: In Theory and In Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ikeda, Daisaku. 2012. Message adressé aux participants à la conférence tenue à Paris le 3 et 4 février 2012 autour du thème “Musique, pouvoir et liberté.” Keller, Marcello Sorce. 2007. “Présentation et affirmation de l’identité dans les musiques occidentales et non occidentales,” Nattiez Jean-Jacques (dir.), Musiques: une encyclopédie pour le 20e siècle, Vol. 5, 1127–53. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1993. Regarder, Ecouter, Lire. Paris: Plon. Libération. July 3 and September 2, 2013: www.Liberation.fr. Liszt, Franz. 1972. Piano Works: Hungarian Rhapsodies, Vol. 1. Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest. Milgram, Stanley. 1974. Obedience to Authority: An Experimental View, CalmannLévy (ed.), translated into French by Molinié Emy as La Soumission à l'autorité: Un point de vue expérimental. Molino, Jean. 1975. “Fait musical et sémiologie de la musique,” Musique en jeu, No. 17.



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———. 2009. E singe musicien. Sémiologie et anthropologie de la musique, Arles: Actes Sud/INA. Nattiez, Jean Jacques. 1975. Fondements d’une sémiologie de la musique. Paris: UGE. Nooshin, Laudan (ed.). 2009. Music and the Play of Power in the Middle East, North Africa and Central Asia. Surrey: Ashgate. Roncigli, Audrey. 2006. Musicien sous le IIIe Reich, Mémoire de master, Didier Franchfort (dir.), Université Nancy 2. Schoenberg, Arnold. 1958. Briefe. Mayence: Schott’s Söhne.

Chapter 9

Musical Expression, Power and Democracy Fakher Hakima One can only be an artist if one is first a citizen. Freedom and dignity are indivisible. There is no difference between our artistic freedom, and the freedom of others. (Naceur ben Chikh1)

Introduction Russian writer Leo Tolstoy defined art as “the human activity by which a person can, voluntarily and through external signs, communicate to others the sensations and feelings that he himself is feeling” (Tolstoy 1918). He adds that “as soon as spectators or listeners experience the feelings that the author is expressing, there is a work of art” (Ibid.). In other words, without expression, there would be no art. Art is also defined as a way of thinking. For example, beauty, for Hegel, is defined as the perceptible, empiric manifestation of the Idea and also as the highest element of thought and of Being.2 Agreeing with Tolstoy and Hegel describing art as expression and as thought, I will state that any form of artistic creation must be supported by a socio-political system promoting freedom of expression. Any artistic activity created in a geopolitical system described as a dictatorship3 needs to



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be considered carefully, and in this context, the example of Tunisia speaks for itself. In fact, since the fall of Ben Ali’s regime, questions about the impact of his dictatorship on freedom of artistic expression have been the subject of a public and media-centered debate. This recent debate on art and politics is without a doubt the result of a new, post-dictatorial socio-political context. The current situation in several countries in the Mediterranean region marked by popular uprisings has raised these types of questions and debate. Indeed, the first three Arab uprisings (Tunisia, Egypt and Syria) which I call “Arab Revolutions”4 have had a real impact on artists from all backgrounds, and on intellectuals involved in the fields of art and culture. The latter are still debating the question of the relationship between the political and the artistic. Some Tunisian researchers, artists, and musicologists denigrate a large number of artistic creations produced during the era of Ben Ali, and bring the process of artistic creativity itself into question. They support their argument by showing the absence of any freedom of expression in every artistic act created during those extremely difficult years. The oppression was all-pervading. Furthermore, since January 14, 2011, a new wave of previously censored musicians have been taking center stage in the media, while others have changed their “strategy,” saying they had been required to follow the will of the authorities; still others, known as the “loudspeakers” of the authorities, have silently left the artistic landscape.5 This finding raises several questions concerning the relationship between art and politics, such as: 1. Can political decisions really impact artistic creation? 2. When, how, and why does a dictatorship guide artistic creation? 3. If we are able to confirm a causal relationship between artistic creation and political action, how can we prove it in relation to the art of music – a type of art where its verbal message interferes with its nonverbal message? 4. In other words, how does meaning emerge in music? And what about the semiotic content of a musical repertoire said to be pro-political, anti-political or apolitical? It is in this context that my remarks will fit. This chapter is an attempt to analyze the political issues and decisions in Tunisia and their effect on the

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music scene and on the popularity of certain musical genres and styles. In other words, I will try to put forward the hypothesis of a causal relationship between the political landscape of a dictatorship and a musical landscape deprived of its freedom of musical expression. It should be noted that this causal relationship is usually rather obvious with types of artistic expression such as the arts of theater, film, and poetry. Their expressive content is generally made up of material and/or verbal6 components, which are easily deciphered and interpreted. However, in the art of music, this task becomes relatively uncertain and problematic, and it is due to the very nature of its expressiveness and its material content (sound) that the verbal interferes with the nonverbal. This reflection thus takes an objective look at these questions by showing how and when the political, with its structures, actions, and strategies can affect musical expression and alter the homogeneous evolution of its language. This chapter is organized into three main themes: first, I expose the sociological aspect of politics on the one hand and of music on the other. I have reserved the second section for a theoretical approach to musical expression. As for the third, it will pair the theory mentioned above with empirical data gathered from various artists7 and so will expose the tools and methods that were used to mute musical expression during the time of Ben Ali.

Politics and Music as Social Facts I will now outline musical activities and political action in their social context, in order to understand how the socio-political can affect music. Music has often been defined as a social act8 (Small, Blacking, DeNora, among others) and as a reflection of social relationships. In this regard I must emphasize that the body of research carried out up till now and classified in the field of musicology presents a richly varied list of studies in musical anthropology, ethnomusicology, even in archaeo-musicology; in short, it is a multidisciplinary collection that illustrates this systematic and historical link between musical practices and societies. In other words, they provide an understanding of the history of a society and an analysis of its music. Political sociology focuses on the study of social relationships of a political nature. This subject is about power, authority, command, and government,



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in all human societies.9 It is based on this referential aspect of social relations characterizing both the political and the musical that I am developing my arguments. For its part, music allows individuals to have a wider perception of their cultural identity, as it is usually linked to traditions, habits, functionality, codes and social rules and it is therefore by definition the carrier of a set of values, both ethical and aesthetic. This wealth of functional and affective social values I consider mysterious has, since the dawn of time, made music an indispensable instrument for power. Of course, we never questioned the origin of this power, but it was always assumed to have been acquired since everyone who holds power tries to rally artists and musicians and bring them into their camp. I consider the art of music as indicative of social and political processes, seeing that it contributes to bringing about an experience of sharing, accompanies celebrations and rites, unifies groups, contributes to their mobilization, and also can incite violence and fighting. According to Plato and Aristotle, a citizen’s membership in the City is measured relative to his artistic involvement. Historical references confirm that until the end of the fifth century bce in Greece, music had an educational function; it was necessary to control its use for political unity and for training citizens within the City (Aristotle in Donegani 2004). Also, in his writings in the Republic10 Plato expresses the necessity to control music, and make it serve courage and virtue by excluding its nostalgic, weakening effects (Plato 1991). Politicians have long understood that a musical campaign is the most mobilizing way to spread an ideology and promote a political strategy. For example, concerning the case of Tunisian music during the second half of the twentieth century, a historical reading of its evolution clearly shows two great eras with reference to two completely different cultural and political strategies: after independence (1956) and after November 7, 1987, the date of the coup d’état. Each era is significant in the evolution of Tunisian music. In my opinion, these political decisions greatly influenced the development of the music we know today, in the early twenty-first century. Egyptians also remember quite well a whole generation of musicians (songwriters, composers, and performers) and the public who showed an uneven enthusiasm for popular music after the Free Officers revolution in 1952. This

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enthusiasm is now considered exaggerated, because it was the fruit of a cultural strategy with political purposes, adhering to the nationalistic ideology of the leader Gamal Abdel Nasser. The political history of various governments has shown in a general way that the political has had an impact on the musical. However, it is not clear which one puts the other at its service: the politician or the musician? Is it the former who profits from the latter to propagate a political ideology and enjoy a popular power base, or is it the latter who profits from the advantages and favors (media attention, financial support) allowed by the former to achieve popularity and easy success? An example of this opportunistic approach to the relationship between politician and musician, the musical landscape in Tunisia witnessed the mobil­ ization of Tunisian artists11 during Ben Ali’s numerous electoral campaigns, to influence the Tunisian population to participate in the dictator’s elections. After the revolution, a large number of these same artists composed and sang about the revolution. This is a behavior that leads us to ask many questions about this opportunistic relationship between politicians and musicians. In concluding this brief “politico-musical” approach I want to emphasize that the social and functional nature of music has for centuries made it a means to support political and ideological purposes. A careful reading of history clearly shows that this art is the most sought after to unify groups and contribute to their mobilization; however, it seems to lack any semantic or verbal capacity (except in the lyrics) to support political ideologies. This is why, without a doubt, the relationship between music and politics is a complex, complicated one. Why is music so important for the political sphere even though it has no verbal message to convey and is made only of sounds and rhythms? It is a paradox that I will try to clarify, and this essentially begins with the analysis of what is called “musical expressiveness.”

What is Musical Expression? Speaking of expressiveness in music requires reflections in a multidisciplinary context which includes semiology, musicology, ethnomusicology, linguistics, aesthetics, psychology, even neuropsychology. Indeed, musical expressiveness is a very complex process, for unlike other artistic expressions,12 it involves the



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interference between the verbal and the nonverbal. In other words, musical “meaning” is not concerned with understanding or intellect, but rather with emotion, memory, and the unconscious. Moreover, with some composers, the act of communicating and/or expressing takes shape in an increasingly complex integration of disparate materials. This explains why in music, perception is both holistic (the whole) and elemental (details and fragments) in terms of differentiation and development. Add to this that the interpretation and reinterpretation of a musical work over time makes its expressive aspect more and more complex. Indeed, unlike the visual arts, for example, where a work is produced once and for all, a musical work is situated in time. That said, each interpretation suggests a new expressiveness. Here I would like to present different approaches that can be used to study and understand musical expressiveness.

A Semiotic Approach The most generalized approach is one that considers all artistic expression as a system of signs and codes. Logically, every sign has a sense that seeks to communicate a meaning. Moreover, semiology aims to study the oppositions and complementarities between sign and meaning in any form of language or expression. I reference the theory of basic structures which compares sonorous expression to spoken language. This theory considers the structures and elements of every sonorous expression as part of a common linguistic background, which allows consciousness of a meaning particular to a socio-cultural context. These days, musicologists specializing in musical analysis draw from an entire “lexicon” to implement a musical “syntax.” Making an analogy with the language–speech relationship, the analyst Heinrich Schenker, for example, considers musical notes (musical signs) as phonemes, which represent the syntactic units of music. The musical language then becomes a composition of musical phrases both syntagmatic (units are organized in a specific order and system) and paradigmatic (units can be exchanged with other units within the same overall structure), characterized by their “logical” addition between the phrases that precede and follow them. It should be noted that for generations and up until today, musicologists have been looking for a “musical grammar.” In this way, they propose that there is

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a logic and a sequencing for understanding any compositional reasoning. This reasoning explains the relationship between the sign/signifier and the code/ meaning – in brief, a conventional linguistic system that gives expression to the nonverbal in music.

A Socio-cultural Approach From a “socio-musicological”13 point of view, expressiveness is a social process. Mediation is intimately linked to the interpretation of the receiver. Musical expression in its socio-cultural context provides a certain stability of communication because it is based on a systematic codification shared by an entire “music community.” Based on a socio-musical consensus,14 each individual recognizes sounds, melodies and impressions of the tones of instruments with relatively the same cognition, or rather, with the same reaction. And here I must emphasize that the choice of the term “reaction” instead of “cognition” or “comprehension” or even “reasoning” is intentional, for the perception of music is a more complex act than consciousness; it is more related to psychology than to reasoning. It should be noted that this psychological state can also be shared by an ethnic group, and alludes to a collective psychological state – a method that allows a musical act to have a certain stability of meaning and expression. In other words, this approach allows us to explore why certain groups of people recognize and identify with, and react positively or negatively to, certain types of music more readily than others.

A Textual-musical Approach This is the simplest and least relative approach because it refers to the verbal content of the lyrics of songs carried by music, which is considered to be the surface structure of any musical creation. Indeed, analyses of musical expressiveness (primarily for song repertoires) begin systematically with the verbal content of the lyrics. This makes the sense/signifier relationship more obvious and thus easier to decipher. Understanding songs by referring to their lyrics or the poems they carry makes their musical expression more accessible, and ensures they are perceived as having almost the same meaning by different subjects and with the same cognition. I emphasize the use of the term



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“cognition,” because when referring to a verbal meaning of a musical creation we are able to confirm a cognitive perception of the musical work. Moreover, this textual-musical approach to expressiveness refers equally to potential ideologies and declarations of performers. In this case the understanding of the sense/signifier relationship calls for textual-musical signs such as the referential aesthetic of the performer, his political, trade union, social, or even racial affiliation. This approach allows one to use the traditional methods of linguistic analysis applied to any texts. In concluding this discussion of various approaches to musical expression, it should be remembered that we are always looking for codification of this process. There is still no consensus concerning how music actually expresses anything, and what it expresses. For instance, Jean-Marie Donegani, in his research on musical language between expressiveness and truth, supports this complex aspect of musical expression: “Not referring to any image in the world, music reveals something of the world, free of any referential baggage, its language depends, however, on what it is not” (Donegani 2004, 6). Theoretically, the three approaches previously proposed are rather simple but implementing them to confirm our hypothesis (seeking to prove the relationship between musical expression and democracy) seems a large task and is beyond the scope of this paper. In addition, I am convinced that, unlike cinema, theater, and poetry with their clearly verbal expressive message, music is the most complex art to analyze in order to illustrate and confirm the impact of the “scarcity” of freedom of expression on the process of artistic creativity in a dictatorship; for this reason the scope of the next section has been limited to a textual-musical approach. I will focus on the interference between music and politics in terms of the submissiveness of the verbal content. This act essentially passes through what is called censorship. To censor is to block expression. It is for this reason that I chose this element and will show that the musical dictatorship at the time of Ben Ali is a prime example of it.

Under Ben Ali: 23 Years of Censorship Censorship is defined in the online MacMillan dictionary as “the process of removing parts of books, movies, letters, etc. that are considered inappropriate

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for moral, religious, or political reasons.” In other words, it is a type of evaluation imposed in order to allow, prevent or limit access to publication and dissemination (journalistic, media and the public). But should art be subject to censorship, and can we really evaluate artistic creation? Can we even talk about the possibility of an objective assessment of an artistic creation, when its origin is the subjective sensitivity of a human being? My answer is decidedly no, for we cannot in any case judge “the subjective objectively,” because we are dealing here with feelings and the need to express oneself. Consequently, I believe that the censorship of artistic creation is comparable to the moral and intellectual imprisonment of the artist. Indeed, I consider that depriving the artist of his freedom of artistic expression is more tragic than depriving him of his physical liberty. In fact, the Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw linked censorship with murder, when he said: “Assassination is the extreme form of censorship” (Shaw, n.d.). In the case of Tunisia, we can confirm that the power of Ben Ali made censorship a very effective tool to control artists. Under Ben Ali, censorship was legalized, and there was a law requiring disclosure of all artistic works for inspection prior to any type of distribution. This was carried out by a commission under the authority of the Ministry of Culture. It oversaw all artistic works “applying for a visa” for access to media coverage and inclusion in programming at festivals and cultural events, both subsidized and private.15 The censorship board had three criteria for censoring or approving artistic work:

Content of the Lyrics When artistic expression contains a verbal message, the task of censorship is simply the exclusion of all artistic work that contains words that can be interpreted as criticizing the policies and decisions of Ben Ali, or as encouraging social protest, or any comments concerning the image and prestige of the dictator.16

Ideology of the Performer Here the content of the artistic work is no longer the object of evaluation for broadcasting, but the sanctioning becomes systematic for a list of artists



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considered as objectors. Censorship is thus carried out in terms of performers’ political and union affiliations. The Tunisian public still remembers the names of many artists and musicians who were excluded from the artistic scene for their stance on trade unions, or because they clearly stated their political affiliation to someone other than Ben Ali. This type of censorship was applied as well when artists took positions on international conflicts which differed from those held by the government, such as the Israeli–Palestinian conflict or the war in Iraq. In other words, the authorities tried everything they could to make the Tunisian musician17 into an artist who does not think. But for a committed artist, music is an art that requires critical thinking. The committed musician is a combination – a creative citizen and also a civil servant resistant to political authorities. The committed musician is a protesting conscience. It should be noted that in a democratic system, the authorities would place the ideologies of artists and intellectuals in the category of political debate. This was not the case in Tunisia, probably because, firstly, committed artists were marginalized and secondly, there was no real political debate since there was only one party dominating the political landscape.

The Musical Genre An exploration of the musical landscape in Tunisia shows us that there are genres which have been systematically censored. Censorship boards regularly block musical genres classified as politically committed and/or that reference ideological and social protest.18 To our knowledge, during the 23 years of the dictatorship, the Tunisian public never attended a show featuring protest music, whether televised or performed at a cultural event or as part of a state and/or private festival. Even for the few groups (such as al-ba’th al mousiqi, al hamaem al bidh, etc.) that survived despite being totally censored, their opportunities for performing were limited to academic settings. Systematic censorship by musical genre also affected hip-hop and rap, which were classified as protest music since they encourage revolution and revolt against oppression and tackle issues of social injustice. Even with the worldwide popularity of these musical genres, the censorship boards of the Ben Ali regime never allowed them to be broadcast. I would like to state here that

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no rapper was issued a media pass or authorized to broadcast in state and/or private concert venues under the regime.

Instruments of Censorship To support this policy of censorship and optimize its results, the authorities put in place a system that can be shown to consist of three main tools: the media presence, the control of virtual (online) spaces, and the policy of subsidies.

Media Presence A free media landscape can be seen as fertile ground for free musical expression. The Ben Ali regime understood quite well that to channel freedom of expression in its various forms (artistic, political, social, trade union, etc.), it must control all media outlets (newspapers, radio, television and even websites). Indeed, for 23 years the Ben Ali regime controlled all the media and transformed them into “loudspeakers” of its policies. Even private radio and television, which began to emerge during the regime, are considered to be from the same faction as the dictator, because the regime did not authorize any private media groups until they had guaranteed their loyalty.19 As far as the field of music is concerned, our interviews with several artists confirm that access to private and state Tunisian media was clearly restricted to the same individuals. Some musicians, especially those who were excluded from the music scene during the reign of Ben Ali, told us that in order to buy broadcasting rights, even for an advertisement on a private channel, it was necessary to have the support and blessings of the authorities and their associates. Other musicians have confirmed to us that access to state-run recording studios was reserved for musicians offering a repertoire of patriotic music which glorified the holder of power, or a repertoire of magic and glamor. Moreover, some musicians say that this policy of favoritism by the media caused corruption in the field of the media; they explain that the very hosts who are now trying to promote new artists of the revolution, previously exercised censorship and favored artists who had the blessings of those in power.20 The situation of the media in Tunisia proves to be an unfavorable environment for freedom of expression. Obviously, the media must be the avenue of diffusion for any artistic creation, and the platform for free expression. The case



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of the Tunisian media system remains exceptional, since during the time of Ben Ali it was transformed from a public service into an instrument of the State.

Censorship of Virtual Expression After numerous political and economic decisions which favored the popularization of the internet and information technology, the regime of Ben Ali realized that by maneuvering in these virtual environments, Tunisians could integrate a new system of values and a new mode of expression and freedom. So, he began to strictly censor many sites and blocked everything he found threatening to the stability of his power. This censorship was legalized by a public entity called the Tunisian Internet Agency. This agency applied the same criteria used for censorship in real space, but in this case to censor freedom of artistic expression in virtual spaces. Tunisian citizens remember the infamous message “404 not found” derisively nicknamed “Ammar 404.” Ben Ali’s regime also created the ANSI (National Agency for Computer Security) supposedly for logistical purposes of security; in reality it was a very effective tool for censoring and controlling expression on the internet. It is well known that the agency organized annual competitions and challenges to select the best engineers and the best hackers and subsequently recruited them as cyber police.21 Despite this practice, thanks to connections via proxy, it is noteworthy that during the revolution several artists were able to avoid censorship and to exploit this new field of artistic expression. A classic example of this freedom of musical expression on the part of an artist is the rapper Bayram Kirani, alias Bendir Man, who became one of the heroes of the Tunisian revolution. His satirical songs of protest and revolution gave courage to the people. Today he has more than 150,000 fans on MySpace and nearly 100,000 friends on Facebook.22 From this we realize that the dictatorship of Ben Ali may have succeeded in censoring traditional areas of expression (stage, theater, newspapers, television, radio) but failed to silence freedom of expression in the virtual world. Incidentally, the loosening of internet censorship to allow some freedom of expression was one of the talking points raised by Ben Ali during his last speech on January 13, 2011 to calm young rebels in the streets, but it was too late.

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It is important to note that today, Tunisian sociologists confirm that the social network Facebook played a vital role in the fall of Ben Ali, as it created a new community – a Tunisian revolutionary community – with all its components (artists, intellectuals, academics, workers, young, old, men, women, etc.) and values (solidarity, culture, ideological reference, etc.) in the virtual world. This community changed abruptly, within three weeks, into a real society that expressed itself in the celebrated slogan, shouted in French: “dégage!” (get out!).

Withholding Subsidies Subsidies are allocations by the State for certain artistic productions. These subsidies take several forms: full support of the cost of producing an art project or programming in festivals and events funded by the Ministry of Culture. Sometimes these subsidies are in the form of contests and prizes. The awarding of these subsidies is always handled by the Ministry of Culture or its branches at the regional level. At first glance, subsidies for artistic creation seem to be a gesture which favors artistic development. However, some artists find this practice to be a double-edged sword, especially when the subsidy is allocated according to political criteria. In the field of music, this policy of subsidies has always been challenged both by intellectuals and by musicians who have not benefited from this advantage. Our interviews with some of these musicians have confirmed that this debate is due to a policy of favoritism and political clientelism for artists who were pro Ben Ali, and they refer to it as a second, “kinder” face of censorship. These same artists explain that the allocation of subsidies was never according to objective criteria, although they were supposedly awarded by apparently independent commissions. Some musicians have told us that these commissions’ decisions were usually simply formalities, as they had already been made by the Ministry in favor of the “loudspeakers” for the administration of Ben Ali. Some musicians even mention corruption within the system of the Ministry of Culture and its commissions. In addition, some musicologists question the policy of subsidies and consider it unfavorable for cultural and musical development. According to them, subsidies result in dependent musicians and impede any potential for creativity. Proponents of this idea bring up the (supposedly) Chinese proverb:



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“Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; show him how to catch fish, and you feed him for a lifetime” (Phrases, 2014). These artists confirm that this policy of subsidies, sustained by the absence of a true cultural industry, played an important role in the domestication of musicians and the marginalization of true artists. For 23 years, this policy of subsidies encouraged the idea of the division of Tunisian musicians as either children of the system who were always favored, or marginalized artists who were always censored. Our findings in the field have shown that for 23 years, almost the same individuals dominated the music scene and enjoyed nearly 80 percent of the subsidies provided for the music industry. To summarize this policy of censorship,23 it is necessary to tally its direct and indirect impact on the musical landscape of Tunisia. After the revolution, many of the musicians and musicologists speak of a deterioration of musical taste and explain that the practice of censorship was so firm that domesticated musicians practiced self-censorship even after the revolution. Nowadays, we observe a passion for musical genres of a more commercial nature, and we realize that a new musical culture based on quick profits and musical compositions for the consumption of consumers is being established. In addition, other musicologists tell of the consequences of this censorship on the history of music in Tunisia. It is increasingly evident that this censorship distorted the reality of our musical landscape. It is difficult to estimate how many composers and performers were direct or indirect victims of the dictatorial regime of Ben Ali, so there will certainly be missing links in the history of Tunisian music. From another point of view, we must look at the policy of censorship as a practice that altered the homogeneous evolution of music. I believe that creation (as a symbol of life and of movement) must be built on diversity, and even on conflict. Competition between musicians from different aesthetic orientations and different stylistic frames of reference should not result in the end of all differences, but in its dynamic arrangement in the musical landscape in order to arrive at a stage of superior understanding. Censorship of this view eventually destroys any form of competition and diversity, creating a policy of graduated exclusion which clearly alters the development of the evolution of music in Tunisia.

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Conclusion After this exploration of the artistic landscape in Tunisia before the revolution of January 14, 2011, I think the answer to the question “is there a relationship between music and democracy” can only be a resounding “yes.” Indeed, we can see one aspect of this relationship highlighted through the fragility of the systems, the laws and the structures that are supposed to be the guarantors of freedom of expression, such as: • • • •

Dependence on the judiciary. Dependence on the media. Marginalization of the social and economic status of the artist. Non-application of the UDHR (Universal Declaration of Human Rights).

In other words, in the absence of these four dimensions combined, it would be very difficult to speak of truly free artistic creation. To better illustrate this point, I ask: can we speak of a true artistic creation of an artist who asks for charity and state subsidies? Certainly not. Indeed, during this discussion we have shown that subsidies were a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they were used to control artistic production, and on the other hand, to create the clan of the “artist loudspeakers of the state.” This strategy was put to good use by Ben Ali to domesticate artists for 23 years. Moreover, can we speak of a true artistic creation of artists who have no place to show and/or present their works? Of course not.24 The analysis of the example of Tunisia has shown that the regime of Ben Ali had a system of control, censorship and sanctions even on virtual spaces. Also, can we speak of true artistic creation when an artist could be imprisoned and sued at any time for criticizing the government? Interviews and data that we have obtained from a few artists have confirmed that the Ben Ali regime harassed artists who criticized his policies and those who were associated with his opponents. It is noteworthy that our interviews with Tunisian artists reveal many other points that need to be developed and contribute indirectly to the “incarcer­ation” of artistic and musical expression. Most of our interlocutors deplore the social and economic status of the Tunisian musician who has always been marginalized. They confirm that the improvement of this



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status should guarantee a minimum income in order for artists to live with dignity and therefore allow them to create and express themselves freely. In addition, our contacts require the establishment of a cultural industry and the decentralization of culture in order to allow artists to effectively participate in artistic life. Other artists contest the piracy organized by the state (radio, television, shops) and they demand the enforcement of artistic copyrights. They also regret the politicization of artists’ trade unions during the time of Ben Ali. I must admit that the situation of the artist in Tunisia at the time of writing (September 2013) is becoming increasingly chaotic. Certainly, before the revolution of January 14, 2011, artists had demanded improved social and economic status, deplored the awarding of subsidies based on political affiliation and criticized the centralization and monopolization of cultural activities. Now, with this new “elected” government, these artists challenge the very “muscular” and aggressive25 reactions (such as jail terms without court orders) to artists who dare to criticize the poor performance of some ministers who have been appointed for their political affiliations and not for their skills, to discuss the legitimacy of the government or tackle “forbidden” topics. Finally, after years of revolution, Tunisian artists are asking further questions with great concern: are we facing a new and crueler dictatorship? Why is it that the status of the art and the artist has been increasingly deteriorating since the revolution? Is it due to the fragility of the government or because of its very special vision of the concept of the democratic state? Answers to these questions remain elusive in what remains a turbulent time and place.

Notes 1 Tunisian painter and journalist, professor of Art Science and Technology at the University of Manouba. 2 See a definition of “Art” at: http://www.antiseche.com/fp/art.php. 3 Etymologically speaking, the dictator is the one who speaks and the one who dictates while others comply. 4 It is not by chance that there were revolutions in these three neighboring countries: Tunisia, next Egypt, and then Libya, since they share almost the same social, political, economic, and artistic landscape.

150 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15

16

17 18

Music, Power and Liberty We have chosen to not mention names, out of respect for the artists, and also not to resort to the categorical classification of Tunisian artists. An expressive message of a work of art usually consists of an affective content and a material and/or verbal content. We had the opportunity to interview them. In this, John Blacking explains that music “being organized of sound, [it] expresses aspects of the experiences of individuals in society” (Blacking 1980, 101). This view is supported in France by important individuals such as Georges Vedel and Georges Burdeau. In a dialogue between Socrates (Greek philosopher) and Glaucon (disciple, brother of Plato). Out of courtesy, we have chosen to not give names. Whose expression is necessarily verbal or nonverbal. Sociology of music. As an example of this social consensus, I can cite the maqam saba, in traditional Arabic music, for example, which reflects an atmosphere of nostalgia and sadness. Also, for musical instruments, the ney for example is an instrument evocative of the mystical and divine sense, unlike the instrument zorna (mizmar), an instrument evocative of feasting and joy. Indeed, each individual from Arab-Muslim society recognizes the sounds of the maqam and the evocation of the timbres of the instruments with almost the same cognition, and perceives them with the same reaction. As an example of this kind of censorship, I can note that an entire musical repertoire praising former President Bourguiba was excluded. In addition, censorship affected even excerpts from the repertoire of traditional music, with lyrics which could be interpreted as mocking Ben Ali; the most common example is the song “Ezzine Hedha Lwach” (Why This Beauty?) referring to Ben Ali. It should be noted that this commission was suspended after the revo­ lution and replaced by a commission of classification according to categories of distribution. One wonders if this was by design or by irresponsibility. After the revolution, these musical genres were classified as underground music.



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19 State-controlled and private under state protection. Station licenses (radio and television) were managed by private intermediaries of the “royal family.” 20 NB: These words cannot be generalized in any way, and we have reported the words of the artists and musicians interviewed as they were stated. 21 Informants with fake profiles who join discussions with internet users, computer specialists who send messages to block, hack or damage systems. 22 Statistics from January 25, 2012. 23 In its different forms and with its various tools. 24 Especially because artistic creation is a social act by definition and therefore requires a transmitter (the artist) and a receiver (the public/society). 25 Owners of TV channels were put in jail, new CEOs of radio and TV public institutions were appointed for their political affiliation and not for their abilities, and artists (rappers, movie makers, poets, actors) who had expressed themselves freely were sued.

References Aristotle. Politics, Book VIII, chaps. 5 and 6. Cited in Donegani Jean-Marie, “Music and Politics: Musical Language between Expressivity and Truth” (“Musique et politique: le langage musical entre expressivité et vérité”) Political Reasons (Raisons politiques), Vol. 2, No. 14 (2004), 5. “Art.” Retrieved December 2, 2015 from: http://www.antiseche.com/fp/art. php Blacking, John. [1973] 1980. Le sens musical (Musical meaning). Translated from English by Eric and Marika Blondel. Paris: Editions de Minuit. Donegani, Jean-Marie, “Music and Politics: Musical Language between Expressiveness and Truth” in Raisons politiques 2004/2 (number 14). Presses de Sciences Po. Retrieved on July 28, 2015 from: http://www. cairn-int.info/article-E_RAI_014_0005--music-and-politics-the-languageof-music.htm. MacMillan Online Dictionary. Definition of “Censorship.” Retrieved May 6, 2015 from: http://www.macmillandictionary.com/us/dictionary/american/ censorship.

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Phrases. 2014. The Phrase Finder. Retrieved December 2, 2014 from: http:// www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/give-a-man-a-fish.html Plato. 1991 [1968]. The Republic, 424 b–c; Laws, 659e–60a, 812a–d. Edited and translated by Allan Bloom. 2nd edn. New York: Basic Books. Shaw, George Bernard. “Assassination is the extreme form of censorship” (n.d.). Columbia World of Quotations. Retrieved December 2, 2014 from: Dictionary.com website: http://quotes.dictionary.com/ Assassination_is_the_extreme_form_of_censorship. Tolstoy, Leo. 1918. What is art? (Qu’est-ce que l’art?). Edited and translated by Toeder de Wyzewa. Paris: La Bibliothèque russe et slave.

Chapter 10

The Arab Musician and Power Reflections on a Mixed Relationship Ahmed Aydoun

That music has power over people appears to be a universal truth. It has the ability to use gestures, sounds and lyrical expressions, and in addition, it can master sound. This is why music has always been courted by power, whether it is political, religious, or economic. In former times musicians were always able to choose between a position of comfort (in the service of the prince or a temple official) or of freedom, which might come with the risk of poverty or marginalization. Today, the situation is similar, and we can add the power of business as one more option for those choosing comfort. It is well known that many artists comply with the demands of their producers and often make concessions contrary to their own artistic vision. In “normal” times, the primary function of the Arab musician was to entertain the people or to glorify the powers that be. Crises have decided otherwise: the Arab world, which has experienced one disappointment after another, has seen several styles of protest songs appear. These different types have characteristics which differ from one period to the next. The Arab Spring did not only raise hopes and reveal the hidden conflicts of a central, despotic power: all life forces whether involved or not with the old era are found at the center of the questioning. The most evident ideological

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instruments of power had to do with communication in all its forms (i.e. radio, television, print media), but also song. Therefore, I am going to examine in turn the different manifestations of protest songs in the Arab world, before giving a qualified opinion on the scope of artistic commitment, and analyzing the meaning of slogans which arose during the demonstrations of the Arab Spring. But first, a little clarification is necessary concerning the status of the musician. The social status of the Arab musician is ambiguous: on the one hand, he is worshiped by the public when he is performing; on the other hand, he must repeatedly face the suspicion which surrounds his “occupation” in a society where the debate on the legality of music is not yet settled. This frailty of the status of the musician determines his actions and subjugates the majority of musicians. Some artists also draw from it the strength to protest, which is just as paradoxical, despite the fact that the weight of tradition does not favor major aesthetic change; Arab music, and in particular Arab song, has changed its nature very little since the end of the nineteenth century. Political circumstances have brought about the rise of artists committed to social change: Sayed Darwish and Sheikh Imam in Egypt, Houcine Slaoui and Nass el Ghiwane in Morocco, Marcel Khalife in Lebanon, rap from the Maghreb and its role in the Tunisian revolution in particular. These are only a few examples among so many others that illustrate the protest song in Arab countries. I will now briefly highlight four important “moments” in the development of protest song.

Four Moments in the Development of the Arab Protest Song First Moment Sayed Darwish (1892–1923) was a very famous singer-songwriter. He is considered the father of the modern Egyptian song, and the one who spoke for the poor and the marginalized. By integrating singing theater, he was able to deal with satirical subjects and to fan the flames of patriotism, antagonizing both the royal power and the English colonizer at the same time. Despite the fact that he could compete in virtuosity with his peers, Sayed Darwish understood that in order to spread, a song should be simple and easy to sing along with. This is the case with “Bilâdi” (My country) which would

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be used again four decades after his death to become the national anthem of Egypt. Rehabilitation or recovery? In any case, every generation still knows him as “the artist of the people.”

Second Moment During the 1960s, another voice was raised in Cairo to protest against injustice and loss of freedom. A loyal follower of Sayed Darwish, Sheikh Imam (1918–95) was a committed singer-songwriter from a poor family, blind from birth. This double handicap did not prevent him from mastering the basics of Arab music. Already in 1962, his encounter with the poet Ahmed Fouad Negm prepared him to make song a weapon against despotism. The duo illustrates this after the defeat of 1967 with a satirical, denunciatory style. This earned them several stays in jail. Even though the recordings were of poor quality, and despite censorship, their songs quickly spread beyond Egyptian borders. Musically speaking, Sheikh Imam accompanied himself on his lute alone; he liked to keep a strong connection to the traditional modality all Arabs identified with. On the poetical side it was the revolutionary road which would be borrowed: in it the people will find the expression of their anger and their pain, while at the same time it contains a magnificent use of lyrical symbolism. One of the songs, which were used to open all of Sheikh Imam’s concerts, says: When the sun drowns in a sea of mist, When a wave of night breaks on the world, When sight passes from eyes and hearts, When you lose your way as in a labyrinth, You who wander and who search and who understand, You no longer have any guide other than the eyes of words.

Third Moment Almost at the same time, and under the same conditions, a now-legendary group became important in Morocco: Nass el Ghiwane. This group came from a working-class neighborhood; its artistic conscience was forged by contact with the theater from the second half of the 1960s. For this group, each song was a victory over doublespeak and the triumph of hints and allusions: by relying on its heritage and the secular wisdom of the

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people, the group continued to unequivocally condemn injustice, inequality, corruption, broken friendships, and betrayed love during the 1970s. The members of the group refused to be exploited by any political power or any partisan ideologies – they called themselves carriers of the word of the people, expressing their pain and irony. I’m sorry for the men who have disappeared/ Homes are easy to rebuild/ I cry for the sick and hungry children/ Trees are easy to replant/ If the soil is dry and the mint withers/ The least among us knows how to give them life. When they appeared at the beginning of the 1970s, the group was on the fringes of the establishment and cultivated their fame among young people in Morocco, in the Maghreb region, and in the diaspora in Western Europe. Later, starting in the 1980s, it got bogged down in repetition; the founding members left after the death of Boujmie, the illness of Batma, and the separation of Paco. Only Omar Essayed and Allal continued to run the show, partnering with young musicians from their school. They are no longer the same; time has passed them by.

Fourth Moment Rap and urban music quickly won over the large cities of Morocco. Using rough language from the streets (Darija), Moroccan rappers deliver messages of political and social protest, hoping for a better Morocco, and regularly condemn corruption, misery, unemployment, and other troubling problems. In this way rap, seeming new, original, and expressive, quickly captured the interest of a large number of young people. In 2003, a rapper named “Awdellil” became known on the internet for three songs in Darija: “Rawdaw,” “Messaoud,” and “Samia we Ighalia.” For the first time in the history of Moroccan rap, we have songs which break taboos and create a realistic picture of Moroccan society. The surprising popularity of Awdellil has encouraged a large number of Moroccan rappers to abandon English and to rap using only Darija. In 2004, Moroccan rap exploded on the scene with artists like Don Bigg with his album Mgharba Tal Lmout and H-Kayne with Issawa Style, which

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encourages Moroccan youth to claim ownership of this style of music which became very popular at this time, thanks to media coverage and organized concerts. In the Maghreb area, rap has been associated with the Arab Spring through the Tunisian experience: in a music video broadcast across the internet, 22-year-old Hamada Ben Amor called out to the head of state, Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, “President, your people are dead.” The singer was arrested and then released three days later. Distributed over social media sites on the internet, this music was shared quickly and managed to circumvent official channels of speech. What, then, are the general musical characteristics of the Arab version of the “protest song”? • The first common element is the simplicity of the melody.1 • The use of short poetic meter (hazaj, mutaqarib, khabab . . .) or the shortening of medium and long meters. • The use of ascending fourths.2 • The use of reprises and repetition. • The frequent use of binary rhythms (except for a few parodies of dance rhythms). • The tendency for group singing and interaction with the public. During the Arab Spring, a slogan was chanted at demonstrations in Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, and Syria, and all over the Arab world: “acha’b yorîd isqât annidâm” (the people want the regime to fall) using a recurring rhythm which references the poetic meter of the mutaqarib and the song of life created by the Tunisian poet Aboul-Qacem Echebbi (1909–34). Here it is necessary to diverge slightly in order to show how music, rhythm, poetry and liberty all merged together in the form of chants that can be used during demonstrations, focusing on this slogan. The revolutionary slogan which was the leitmotiv of the demonstrators is structured rhythmically in two parts. The first consists of an anacrusis followed by a strongly accented downbeat and by the repetition of this formula, that being two binary measures each with a rising eighth note and a quarter note at the first beat and a quarter rest. This repeated formula corresponds to

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the first two words (people, want), separated by a quarter rest, as if to confirm the strength of the statement. The second consists of an attached phrase both conclusive and informative (what the people want is the regime to fall), that being a rising eighth note followed by a legato quarter note, two eighth notes, and a quarter note: Figure 2. The Slogan of the Arab Spring: “The People Want the Regime to Fall.”

The slogan’s indirect reference resembles the theme introduced by the great Tunisian poet Echebbi, who in the 1930s wrote “The will of life.” The first lines of the poem can be translated as: “if the people, one day, demand their freedom, destiny can only grant them this wish; night will become day and the chains will break.” This poem of liberation would be a part of all demonstrations – of students and of the working-class – during the 1960s and 1970s. It also is supported by the energetic, binary rhythm of the march: Figure 3. The poem of Aboul-Qacem Echebbi (1909–34): “If the People One Day Want Their Freedom, Their Destiny Will Be to Be Free.”

Again, it is this poem which reveals to us the profound rhythmic nature of the slogan “the people want the regime to fall.” It is a meter whose use is anchored in the Arab poetic tradition, and which always has a kinetic function (caravan,

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march, various processions . . .). It is the mutaqarib formed by four repetitions of the configuration of the root “fa’oulon”: Figure 4. The Poetic Meter: “mutaqarib.”

Nevertheless, music cannot be legitimized simply by being used by the revolution. We must understand that as we recognize the power music has, the musician must bear the weight that this potential places upon him. As a consequence of his rather low status, the Arab musician is vulnerable and suffers in any economic or political crisis. Music is the first area affected (cancellation of festivals, closing of concert halls, etc.). This is why the vast majority of singers show apparent complicity with the political regime in place, at the risk of being the first to be criticized during revolutions or major crises. Even the great Oum Keltoum was criticized after 1967, his detractors considering him an “opiate of the Arab people.” Tahrir Square was off-limits to the singer Tamer Hosni, and some Tunisian singers protested against the inclusion of Lotfi Bouchenaq in the program of the festival of Carthage, considering him a protégé of the old regime. This is the reflection of a Manichean vision that refuses to see the musical composition itself as an element of social progress, of happiness deserved. Otherwise most of the works in the history of music should fall by the wayside. And whereas the revolutionary moments value the protest song, long-term history recognizes only the works that are distinguished by their artistic value. This seriously puts into question again the status of music and of the musician in Arab society: here music, if it is not banned and illegal, is always manipulated by the authorities (and sometimes by the anti-establishment), it serves as much as entertainment as a force to mobilize the masses. In one way or another, the power of the music itself dissolves and crumbles according to political vicissitudes.

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The uprising is only the detonator, the beginning of a revolutionary cycle that can take years. The revolution in the Arab countries is to be built through a social project, a vision of culture. If music helps to stimulate reflection, or to release energy, if it contributes to the formation of people and raises their culture, it will have fulfilled its mission. The debate would then shift to the aesthetic choices of each society and each period in relation to the nature of the political regime; despotic governments will tend to format the people for a type of music that distracts them more than it instructs them, especially as the diffusion of artistic culture may lead to a greater demand for quality. In this context again, good music can thwart political power.

Notes 1

2

Rap music often appears to contradict this property, and this can be explained for two reasons. First, rap music in general does not have a melody in the conventional sense of the term, involving a scale that refers to a known musical mode. Second, rap songs are not meant to be sung together in large groups, but only listened to, because of the complexity of the utterance and flow. By the same token, certain styles of protest songs are more concerned about the message they deliver, and therefore there is a tendency to use a more simple musical discourse to ensure that the content of the lyrics will be clearly understood. The ascending fourth, especially when it is used at the beginning of a musical phrase in a vocal melody, is seen as an impetus, the expression of a force that promises to be overwhelming. All famous Arab melodies that have the vocation of involving the masses in revolutionary songs use this trick.

References Abourabi, Yousra. 2013. “Tout le Monde Dehors. L’emergence d’une Nouvelle Scène des Musiques Urbaines Dans le Monde Arabe,” Revue Averroes, No. 6 (Mars). Collard, Rebecca. 2012. “Protest Songs of the Arab Revolution,” Rolling Stone Review, January 8.

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Daoudi, Bouziane. 2000. Le Raï. Paris: Edition J’ai lu. Darwich, Hassan. 1990. Min Ajli Abi Sayyed Darwich (Pour Mon Père Sayed Darwich). Le Caire: GEBO. Sadiq, Abdelhai. 2006. “Nass el Ghiwane, Protest Song au Maroc.” Marrakech: Édition El Watania. Tenaille, Franck. 2002. “Le Raï. De la Bâtardise à la Reconnaissance Internationale, Cité de la Musique,” Actes Sud.

Chapter 11

Song Duels as a Framework to Explore Musical Resistance Challenging Oppression and Tackling Conflict in the Mediterranean Joám Evans Pim

Introduction Song duels are a widespread institution that serve to prevent potentially lethal physical aggression through the peaceful management and resolution of conflicts. Present all around the world,1 song duels are improvised dialogues where competing arguments match each other in a sung poetic challenge. Rather than physical aggression that can result in killing or serious injury, disputes are settled through a ritualized mechanism wherein participants display their most clever lyrics in a defined and controlled context with rules that promote restraint and an audience that guarantees their enforcement. Relatively speaking, song duels have been more common in settings where institutionalized agents for dispute settlement are not present or play a small role. Where interdependence and kinship links are the norm, conflicts can pose a significant threat to the whole community. Offences (usually related to hostility, greed, jealousy, laziness, thievery, pretentiousness, immodesty and sexual access) “could make existence within the community impossible” as “the accused would find his position [impossible] as the known committer of a serious offense, and the rest of the community would find intolerable their

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position as implicit accusers and witnesses to his guilt” (Eckert and Newmark 1980, 198). Conflict resolution through song duels aims at keeping both the accused and the accuser within the community, while other forms imply the suppression of the other through exile, murder or social exclusion. Cultural norms regarding song duels often establish that the result of the challenge is binding and the overseeing social group presses for reconciliation among the parties. Even if quarrels could arise along age lines, gender roles or tribal or territorial membership, song duels have also been recurrently used for the open critique of political and administrative institutions, especially in those settings where freedom of speech is limited. This article explores the use of song duels as a tool to challenge social and political oppression, focusing on the Mediterranean. Song duels are certainly a widespread phenomenon across the Mediterranean Basin, a wide area brought together not only in geographical terms but also through cultural commonalities. Academic literature provides a wealth of examples from a diversity of peoples throughout the region, including Palestine (Yaqub 2007; Sbait 1993), Lebanon (Haydar 1989), Turkey (Erdener 1995; Reinhard and Pinto 1989; Hickman 1989; Glazer 1976; Dundes et al. 1970), Greece (Herzfeld 1988), the Balkans (Lockwood 1983, 31; Sugarman 1988, 36; Foley 1991), Italy (Pagliai and Bocast 2005; Pagliai 2010), Malta (McLeod and Herndon 1975; Herndon and McLeod 1972; Fsadni 1993; Ciantar 2000; Watson 2011), the Mediterranean coast of Iberia (Campo Tejedor 2006; Ayats 2007), and the Berber peoples (Aulestia 1995). Beyond this area, canonical anthropological literature on song duels paid considerable attention to a series of particular cases such as the Inuit or the Tiv. Hoebel and Adamson (1941) described the song duels of the Inuit as a juridical instrument to “settle disputes and restore normal relations between estranged members of the community.” Among the Inuit, the main goal was not restitution but rather psychological satisfaction and relief through a form that privileges the means of a pleasurable public competition. Hoebel and Adamson continued to discuss this issue in their 1954 essay The Law of Primitive Man: A Study in Comparative Legal Dynamics, explaining the nature of the “song-duel complex” as a “substitute for violence to close issues of dispute without recourse to steps that may lead to feud.” All these approaches defended the interpretation of song

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duels as a mechanism for nonkilling conflict and dispute management and resolution. The dialogical nature of traditional song duels has re-emerged into a new form of musical language which is becoming equally global. As with its traditional precedent, hip-hop is recurrently used to critique political and administrative institutions, serving as a powerful tool particularly in contexts of oppression where freedom is often limited and persecuted. The common display of clever lyrics, creates a space of ambiguity where the boundaries between praise and insult, humor and seriousness are blurred and which allows and encourages veiled critique that would be unthinkable in other forms of expression. In this text the relationship between traditional song duel practices and the recent role of hip-hop during the Arab Spring is considered. Reframed from the perspective of Bakhtinian dialogism, both genres can constitute spaces for deep transformation in contexts of oppression challenging existing social relationships and structures. In this sense, and using Hakim Bey’s concept of Temporary Autonomous Zone, both song duels and contemporary hip-hop seem to operate as a socio-political tactic that eludes formal structures of control from the state apparatus. This is mainly because music can generate fictions that operate under different conventions, by rules different from those of the wider social settings and that are derived from poièsis or the play space of the mind, following Huizinga’s (2002 [1949]) definition of music as a form of “play,” or “make-believe” experience. These spaces of liminality bring about the ability to deal with serious issues in a playful manner that excludes violence. Schneider and Nelson (2008, 47) provide examples of how hip-hop can effectively “offer both a refuge from violence and a chance for dialogue” in a wide variety of settings, from Sudanese refugee camps in Cairo, to the streets of Gaza and the West Bank. Having seen evidence of how musicking – to use Small’s (1998) expression – can become a nonviolent catalyzer for change in contexts of oppression, the question remains whether the ability of traditional song duels as an institution that served to prevent potentially lethal physical aggression through the nonkilling management and resolution of conflicts can be restored to keep revolutions nonviolent and build post-revolutionary nonkilling societies through the restoration of positive social relationships.

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Song Duels as Temporary Autonomous Zones To describe the nature of song duel amidst oppression we will turn to Hakim Bey’s concept of Temporary Autonomous Zone, or TAZ, which even if nonacademic in nature may prove useful in explaining the social contexts in which the Arab Spring revolts germinated. Bey (2003) presents the TAZ as a socio-political tactic that creates spatial and temporal interstices that elude formal structures of control, allowing freedom to flourish. TAZ participants are responsible for the construction of momentary refuges from the controlling mechanisms of enclaving societies and states, allowing for the appearance of non-hierarchical social relationships. In contrast with the permanent vocation of conventional revolutionary practices or land-based utopian communities, TAZ dissolve and disperse themselves “only to reappear in another place and time, essentially unchanged and continuing where they left off” (Niman 2010, 326). TAZ are spaces of liminality which do not seek permanency, as established structures are seen to diminish improvised creativity – which in turn is the main source of empowerment, freeing individuals from the control mechanism imposed by permanent structures. In the titular section of his The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Bey actually designates one of the chapters “Music as an Organizational Principle,” arguing for “the concept of music as revolutionary social change.” Music, especially if composed or performed in temporary or improvised settings, cannot be controlled and can become a powerful tool for personal and collective transformation. Huizinga (2002 [1949]) conceived music as a form of “play,” a “makebelieve” experience placed outside everyday life, circumscribed in time and space and carried out in accordance with a set of rules, and fostering group relationships sometimes beyond those of ordinary experience. Music can generate a fiction or autonomous world which can be ruled and operates with different conventions from those which are imposed in wider controlled societal settings, derived from poièsis or the play space of the mind. Song duels involve a physical dimension of competition but also a related metacommunicative context that makes them “serious yet not dangerous,” as the possibilities for injury are excluded or greatly minimized while only status and esteem are at stake.

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This ritualized atmosphere of control is, according to Abrahams (1962), the primary tool for the duel rhetoric, as the constraints imposed by rules and context allow for a space of liminality where issues that could easily lead to potentially lethal physical aggression or political repression are dealt with in a playful manner. Following Yaqub (2007), these liminal and dialogic spaces are key for the emergence of periods of cummunitas, when “relations among people are no longer defined by the separateness and hierarchy that mark the structures of society, but rather by an intense feeling of unity and equality among members of the participating group” (Yaqub 2007, 160). This context of general ambiguity where the boundaries of play and seriousness, praise and insult, humor and seriousness, are blurred is where critique of deviant behaviors and social structures is permitted and encouraged. This is especially evident both in Bohannan’s accounts of the Tiv song duels, where truth and fantasy coexisted in an ambiguous equilibrium, and among the Inuit, where “participants are constrained at all times to behave as if all statements in the duel are ironic,” since if guilt and accusation were to be publicly declared the community would no longer be able to continue to function after the duel (Eckert and Newmark 1980, 202). Demonstrations of anger – acting as if insults were not ironic – would simply give oneself away, leading to three transgressions: (1) acknowledging the possible truth of the insult, (2) bringing the event into the real world and thus precipitating overt conflict and (3) not performing properly in the speech event and thus declaring oneself a poor participant and an outsider to the community (Eckert and Newmark 1980, 204–5). Reframed from the perspective of Bakhtinian dialogism, Yaqub (2007, 153) considers song duels as a deeply transformative event, affecting “the nature of relationships and social structures” in a framework where the agonistic character of disputes is not exclusively conflict-oriented and competitive but also consensual and cooperative. As Briggs (2000, 113) explains, “since people were not singled out as ‘bad people’ in the social drama, they were neither isolated nor humiliated by being made the focus of critical attention but rather were kept integrated in the community.”

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This is the reason why duels mainly take place at liminal times such as weddings or among liminal groups – this is the case of the duels among Turkish male adolescents, where insult duels offer a form of sanctuary where participants “are freed from personal responsibility for the acts [they] are engaged in” (Labov 1972, 168). This place of liminality was achieved through isolation of song duels, framed in a safe temporary context characterized by ambiguity that secludes overt conflict from everyday life (Eckert and Newmark 1980). In fact, this resonates with common features of song duels in other places where an interplay takes place between “individualistic and community needs, creative urges with societal controls, conflict with cooperation and festivity with hostility” in an ambiguous setting where friends or kin are also adversaries, singing but arguing, joking but attacking (Eckert and Newmark 1980, 208–9). As Brenneis (1978, 281) puts it: “Play and purpose are inextricably linked in verbal dueling. Only the gamelike and playful definition of the duel makes it possible; insult unrestrained by traditional practice could be deadly serious” (emphasis added). In fact, in some traditional societies, physical aggression actually degrades and humiliates the aggressor and not the victim. As Herzfeld (1988, 143) explains in relation to Cretan mandinadha: “Often, a clever verse riposte serves to restrain physical violence. To respond with a knife or fist would demean the assailant by suggesting that he was incapable of responding with some witty line of his own.”

Song Duels in Times of Change Everyone has his own way of fighting, and my weapon is art! (Milad Faraway, Libyan musician) Yaqub’s (2007) essay on song duels at Palestinian weddings (sahrah) and their wider Arab context also provides an account of how traditional dueling practices underwent radical transformation under changing political and economic contexts. Typical performances associated with weddings and other public celebrations would feature two or more singers who would compete following an established set of rules regarding rhyme, meter, form and musical melody (Yaqub 2007, 8). Duels take place at the groom’s celebration

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on the eve of the wedding (sahrah) and on the wedding day as part of the procession (zaffah). As in other song duels performed throughout the Arab world, some recurrent topics in these disputes were sexual rivalry, grazing rights, ancestry, appearance and tribal affiliation (Yaqub 2007, 38, 39), while a set of traditional values (for instance, generosity, nobility, courage, fidelity) are repeatedly praised (Ibid., 161). Yaqub explains how song duels are effective in reducing violence in various forms: It directs conflict that could have exploded on the physical plane to the verbal, and circumscribes the potential of the verbal conflict through the use of poetic rather than referential language. Furthermore, it not only diffuses the violence through this redirection but actually transforms the potentially divisive conflict into a community-building act of co-creation that draws together not just the two quarrelling men, but their respective families and communities as well (Ibid., 38). Comparing traditional and contemporary forms of song dueling in Palestine, Yaqub observed how the exchange of insults and boasts had been displaced. Yaqub interprets wedding eve celebrations as a liminal event where the established social hierarchies and norms were disrupted to allow a more open dialogue. But in the current context of cultural and political threat from the Israeli state, these celebrations have been transformed into an occasion to reaffirm “those Palestinian structures which continue to exist” (Yaqub 2007, 161) while challenging occupation. As state oppression is felt more closely, song duels tend to shift from focusing on the resolution of a community’s “internal” issues to tackling those resulting from clashes with the overarching political system. This is a major shift in the actors of traditional song dueling, as the direct and familiar opponent shifts towards a partially intangible and sometimes perceived as omnipresent and omnipotent actor: the state. Today, Palestinian hip-hop groups such as Dam or G-Town continue to see their music as part of the Arab poetic tradition, but also as a way to “express their frustration but also their ideals for a better future” (Schneider and Nelson 2008, 47). In this case, internet-based technologies and social media have not only become a powerful ally for wide dissemination and to

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establish dialogue with large audiences but actually a “matter of survival”: “When roadblocks prevent members of hip-hop groups, such as Ramallah Underground and Dam, from reaching the recording studio, they record at home and send the clip via Skype to the studio, where the others cut the final recording ‘with’ them” (Ibid.). In spite of the power of the State apparatus, music can find breaches in the margins and erect Temporary Autonomous Zones that operate as Bedouin camps, easily dismantled and moved to reappear elsewhere while safekeeping their norms and ideas. It is clear that in traditional song duels the overseeing audience is as important as the direct opponent – it is left to the audience to decide on the result of the dispute – but in the new setting, where the external omnipresent opponent – a repressive regime – is challenged “in absentia,” the audience becomes the primary target of the message while the authorities are expected to react later (through censorship, detentions or administrative fines). Mathias’s (1976) work on Sardinian song duels is a good example. Considering the small-scale Sardinian village societies and the mistrust for governmental agents, mechanisms for social control stay mainly in the informal arena, emphasizing values and qualities stressed in the traditional code of behavior such as honor, virility, strength, honesty, truthfulness, hard work, intelligence, village allegiance and opposition to state and power agents and institutions (the Padrone, the Carabiniere, etc.). La Gara Poetica becomes a restatement of pastoral social norms and ideas “accomplished through symbolic interaction, which inhibits eruption into open hostility” and contains aggression (Mathias 1976, 504). Beyond personal and village disputes, “La Gara Poetica provides a medium of expression through which the shepherd may rail against authority figures and against bad treatment and social injustice” (Ibid., 502). Even if cases such as the Palestinian sahrah evidence the disintegration of traditional societies within the larger modern state apparatus, this changing scenario also brought a shift in the uses and settings of song duel practices, sometimes replaced by other institutional frameworks for dispute resolution such as the state judicial system. Rather than being relegated to inevitable disappearance, song duels are persistently reinventing themselves – redrawing the contexts for their occurrence and the formal aspects of performances themselves.

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A Spring of Song Many chose the microphone, the chalk or the brush over the guns and bullets to sing about a better world and have their fans imagine a better world. And when state guns and bullets threatened them, they still opted for the microphone and the brush (Skalli 2011). The role of hip-hop in the Arab Spring has been recognized across the media while some argued that it could have been a key catalyzer, together with the social media, for the uprisings in Egypt, Libya, Syria, Tunisia, Morocco, Bahrain and the West Bank. The Moroccan Nayda (“wake up”) movement with rappers such as H-Kayne, Zanka Flow, Hoba Hoba Spirit, and Bigg is just one of the scenarios where the civic engagement through music of a largely disaffected youth has been cooking up in the past decade – even though in this case the state cleverly neutralized it by providing legitimization, with precedents such as Rabah in civil war Algeria or Da Arab MCs in Palestine (Skalli 2011). In Tunisia, Hamada Ben Amor, popularly known as El Général, was an early critical voice that preceded the uprisings that were to put an end to Ben Ali’s rule, spreading revolt through the Arab world. His now famous “Rais Lebled” (To the President) launched on November 7 to mark the 23rd anniversary of Ben Ali’s accession to power, and other pieces such as “Tounes Bladna” (Tunisia Our Country) quickly traveled the region echoing in Cairo’s Tahrir Square and Bahrain (Bohn 2011). Libya was also hit by hip-hop long before violence broke out, with groups such as Music Masters, led by Milad Faraway, Revolution Beat or Ibn Thabit. Artists such as Faraway clearly understand music as an instrument for freedom: “Everyone has his own way of fighting, and my weapon is art!” Even the Arab Diaspora joined in with artists such as Syrian-American Omar Offendum (Omar Chakaki) or Iraqi-Canadian The Narcicyst (Yassin Alsalman) (Dotson-Renta 2011). As with traditional improvised music, the combination of hip-hop and internet technologies that allow for wide dissemination of songs close to realtime allowed music to follow and even set the pace of revolution. In Egypt for example, Adel Eissa (from Arabian Knightz) recorded the song “Rebel” on the night of January 27 (two days after protests started at Tahrir Square, in Cairo), and it soon became viral through social networks. The same took place

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with Mohamed El-Deeb (MC Deeb) “Masrah Deeb” launched on February 3 (President Mubarak resigned a week later). Hip-hop also kept to the song duel tradition of maintaining double meanings, accusing without accusing, insulting without insulting, always close to the fine line between fictional humor and full-blown critique. El Deeb explained how this kind of rhetoric had enabled hip-hop to become a music of struggle amidst oppression: “I would actually use other names. I would say ‘them’ or ‘the big guys’, I would never say ‘government’, I would never say ‘Mubarak’” (in Hebblethwaite 2011). Like many other musicians, Tunisian El Général explained that “The suffering of the people made me speak. And I chose rap to do this” (in Bohn 2011). Rap and hip-hop, as traditional song duels, challenged classical (mainly “Western”) definitions of political participation and activism, effectively creating “autonomous zones” in the gaps of liminality. As Skalli (2011) explains, across the Arab world youth were not to be found within established (State) political institutions but in the latter’s margins: This is where they have been comfortable doing their own politics. Youth were in dialogue with their political establishment, their leaders and their policies. They communicated with them and about them in old media and within new spaces. They took advantage of the newer technologies and outperformed the system in the art of overcoming censorship and surveillance (Skalli 2011). The subversive nature of hip-hop as a genre and its global popularity as a medium for social and political expression among the youth, the marginalized and the dissident is not something that regimes were unaware of. Throughout the Arab world state authorities have not only monitored and censored this (re)emerging channel long before the 2011 uprisings but even “intervened to promote some sub-styles and sideline others, in an attempt to press-gang the genre to disparate political ends” (Aidi 2011, 26). This is in fact very similar to the way authorities attempted to control song duels in the past, subverting their original intent. As Bowen (1989, 27) explains in the case of Indonesian Gayo poetic duels, an example from the other side of the world, while traditional duels were carried out with the expected outcome of preventing and managing conflicts and reaching agreements and compromises that would

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guarantee the continuation of relations and exchanges among different villages and groups, the new forms of duel exacerbated a static irresolvable rivalry between political or religious factions, following the dominant logic of the state. The divergence between popular and state-sponsored hip-hop in the Arab world is no different in essence. Even if many have presented hip-hop as a foreign (namely American) product, the genre is actually connected to the lyric and dialectical roots of Arab song dueling, and in fact, contemporary musical styles such as rap or hip-hop are historically rooted in duel practices as “sounding” or “playing the dozens,” (Bo Diddley’s 1959 “Say Man” is often pointed out as a precursor to hip-hop), which in turn are part of the African song duel traditions (Abrahams 1962; Chimezie 1976; Lefever 1981). In the United States “sounding” and “dozens” were used in the past to cope with racist oppression and segregation, very much as hip-hop is used in the present under persistent marginal­ization and exclusion. The connections have long been established around the Mediterranean. In Spain, hip-hop has been used effectively to facilitate the revival of traditional song duel practices, proving that this traditional strategy for managing conflict can also be successful in new contexts such as schools (Barros 2002).2 To some extent, social media and even radio talk-shows, as Briggs (2000) argues, also recreate the settings of traditional song dueling, having many common characteristics such as publicity, ambiguity, and a key role of the audience, allowing “people to confront without confronting and to respond without responding” (Briggs 2000, 121). As in song duels, social media applications such as Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, blogs or even radio talk shows embed and isolate conflict in a formal ritualized context of referential ambiguity where an audience is “giving (imagined) support; providing (imagined) sanctions; creating safe distance between potential opponents; and, through all of the above, controlling antagonism and preventing actual conflict” (Ibid.). Skalli (2011) explains that it is this common element between music and social media that has made them perfect channels among the youth in oppressive states to allow them to be “calling for change, embracing change and willing to pay the price of change.” The data on usage alone is significant: Neither fear nor censorship succeeded in muzzling their free imagination, sense of creativity or spirit of initiative. Between 2000 and

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2007, the number of internet users in Morocco and Algeria, for instance, increased by 4,500% and 3,740% respectively, placing Morocco ahead of any other country in the Middle East in terms of Internet adoption. Mobile phone subscribers reached 73 and 77% of the population in Libya and Tunisia respectively. All the while, leaders dismissed these broader trends as apolitical and obsessed about few bloggers who dared use the words “politics,” “opposition,” “corruption” or any other word that puts the state’s censoring machine in motion (Skalli 2011).

Final Remarks This chapter has sought to present the recent examples of musical resistance and political activism in the “Arab Spring” in the light of the traditions and aesthetics of song duels. Song duels, a significant feature of the Mediterranean musical ethos, are not only related genealogically to hip-hop and rap music, a form that played a considerable role during the 2010–11 protests and demonstrations, but also through common internal logics that may provide new insights on how music is becoming increasingly important in the arena of political struggle against state oppression. The view presented in this chapter is that music in the context of social revolution operates as a form of collective ritual that shares similar features with song duels. From an anthropological perspective, Arnold van Gennep (2010 [1909]) described in The Rites of Passage how social rituals could be distinguished in three phases: preliminal rites (rites of separation from a previous world), liminal rites (executed during the transitional stage) and postliminal rites (rites of incorporation into a new world). The first phase involves symbolic behavior that detaches the individual or group “from an earlier fixed point in the social structure” (Turner 1969, 94), creating segregated spaces from everyday life. The second phase, liminality, is characterized by ambiguity – what van Gennep and Turner called “threshold” characters. The final phase is that of reincorporation, coming back to society under a new form. Very frequently rites imply a symbolic death or killing and rebirth in the hands of the community. According to Turner (1969, 95), “Liminal entities are neither here nor there; they are betwixt and between the positions assigned and arrayed by

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law, custom, convention, and ceremony.” This ambiguous and intermediate position has also been explained in psychotherapeutic terms (Malinowski 1954), as ritual helps to confront anxiety, providing support and self-esteem and simultaneously establishing a form of social order through the collective reinforcement of a set of norms and values, together with empathy and group solidarity. The creation of liminal settings for individual and social transitions mitigates social friction that could lead to potentially lethal violence and critical fractures in otherwise intimately interdependent social groups. Watson (2011) adequately frames Maltese spirtu pront within Gennep’s and Turner’s understanding of ritual, as song duels often take place in a purposely created temporal and contextual frame (what could be called the TAZ) which is symbolically separated from normal societal settings (1st phase); they are characterized by a liminal logic of ambiguity, such as in Huizinga’s “makebelieve” experience, where the boundaries between play and seriousness, joking and accusation, are intentionally blurred (2nd phase); and the reconciliation and reintegration of contending parties and individuals is actively sought by the participant and supervising community. Even though song duel practices around the world usually take place as an oral confrontation between individuals in small communities, serving as a tool for conflict management and resolution, in this chapter several instances of frequent use of dueling as a tool to rail against an often impersonal state party are presented (such as Palestine or Sardinia). These tightly knit autonomous communities, with very little interference from external actors, have almost become something of the past under the overwhelming presence of the state and its agents; it is understandable that confrontation with the authorities has become increasingly more acute than internal conflicts in many of these social groups. In this context, a redirection and adaptation of the song duel logic has taken place to transform music into a useful tool for protest in unequal power relationships. If, until their inclusion in the modern state after the French Revolution, the communities around the Mediterranean – especially rural ones – virtually operated as “permanent autonomous zones,”3 the incremental presence of the state during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries created the necessity of establishing “temporal autonomous zones,” liminal settings under the blanket of music and social ritual, to express critique and challenge

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authority and oppression – using “music as revolutionary social change,” to quote Bey’s definition. The recent revolutionary wave under the umbrella of the Arab Spring4 exemplified to a certain extent how music can evade formal structures of control to create, perform and reproduce transformative social rituals.

Notes 1 2 3 4

For a comparative survey, see Evans Pim 2013. Also visit ORAL at www.regueifa.org. See, for example, Bourdieu 1958; and for a deeper explanation, Rodrigo Mora 2011. The Arab Spring can also be linked to other contemporary movements around the world, such as the Occupy Movement, the Spanish 15-M Movement, or the Portuguese “Geração à Rasca” (Twelfth of March anti-austerity movement) – significantly, sparked by Deolinda’s “Parva que sou” [trans. “How stupid I am”] song and “A luta é alegria” [trans. “Struggle is joy”] by Homens da Luta.

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Lockwood, Yvonne R. 1983. Text and Context: Folksong in a Bosnian Muslim Village. Columbus: Slavica Publishers. Malinowski, Bronisław. 1954. Magic, Science and Religion. Garden City: Doubleday Anchor Books. Mathias, Elizabeth. 1976. “La Gara Poetica: Sardinian Shepherds’ Verbal Dueling and the Expression of Male Values in an Agro-Pastoral Society,” Ethos Vol. 4, No. 4, 483–507. McLeod, Norma and Marcia Herndon. 1975. “The Bormliza: Maltese Folksong Style and Women,” Journal of American Folklore Vol. 88, 81–100. Niman, Michael I. 2010. “You Can’t Be Nonviolent Without Violence. The Rainbow Family’s Nonkilling Nomadic Utopia and its Survival of Persistent State Violence,” in Evans Pim, Joám, (ed.). 2010. Nonkilling Societies. Honolulu: Center for Global Nonkilling, 325–39. Pagliai, Valentina. 2009. “The Art of Dueling with Words: Toward a New Understanding of Verbal Duels across the World,” Oral Tradition Vol. 24, No. 1, 61–88. ———. 2010. “Conflict, Cooperation, and Facework in Contrasto Verbal Duels,” Journal of Linguistic Anthropology Vol. 20, No.1, 87–100. Pagliai, Valentina and Brooke S. Bocast. 2005. “Singing Gender: Contested Discourses of Womanhood in Tuscan-Italian Verbal Art,” Pragmatics Journal Vol. 15, No. 4, 437–58. Reinhard, U., and T. de Oliveria Pinto. 1989. Sanger und Poeten mit der Laute: Tarkische Aqik und Ozan. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Rodrigo Mora, Félix. 2011. La Democracia y el Triunfo del Estado. Morata de Tajuña: Manuscritos. Sbait, Dirgham H. 1993. “Debate in the Improvised-Sung Poetry of the Palestinians,” Asian Folklore Studies Vol. 52, No. 1, 93–117. Schneider, Cynthia and Kristina Nelson. 2008. Mightier than the Sword: Arts and Culture in the US–Muslim World Relationship. Washington: Brookings Institution. Skalli, Loubna Hanna. 2011. “Youth, Media and the Art of Protest in North Africa,” Jadaliyya, June 27. Retrieved July 1, 2012 from: www. jadaliyya.com/pages/index/1976/youth-media-and-the-art-of-protest-innorth-africa.

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Small, Christopher. 1998. Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. Sugarman, Jane C. 1988. “Making Muabet: The Social Basis of Singing among Prespa Albanian Men,” Selected Reports in Ethnomusicology, 7. Turner, Victor W. 1969. The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure. New York: Aldine de Gruyter. Watson, Krysten. 2011. “Song Duels: Conflict as a Positive Force.” Master’s Thesis, Graduate College of Bowling Green, May. Yaqub, Nadia G. 2007. Pens, Swords, and the Springs of Art: The Oral Poetry Dueling of Palestinian Weddings in Galilee. Leiden: BRILL.

Chapter 12

César López and the Escopetarra The Power of Communication in Music-based Conflict Transformation Initiatives María Elisa Pinto García

Introduction The concept of conflict transformation emerged as a perspective that challenges certain assumptions of conflict resolution and conflict management (Lederach 2003). The idea of transformation does not entail the elimination or control of conflict, and rather regards conflict as a natural source of change, which is reflected in the transformation of attitudes, assumptions and behaviors, among other elements. This transformation may be attained through a number of methods and approaches, which include music as an activity that involves emotional and cognitive elements. This article aims to explain how attitudinal change may occur through music-based initiatives and campaigns which seek this transformation using persuasive messages. In particular, this research examines the work of César López with the “escopetarra,” a shotgun turned into a guitar invented by him. César López is a Colombian musician and peace activist who has participated in various peace projects in Colombia. He named this symbolic musical instrument by linking the Spanish words “escopeta” (shotgun) and “guitarra” (guitar) and widely plays the escopetarra within his peace projects and workshops, as a symbol of peace. In addition, López and the luthier Alberto Paredes

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have built several escopetarras that have been given to musicians, peace activists and institutions around the world. By understanding why music-based conflict transformation initiatives may be effective in order to change people’s attitudes and behaviors, and what the variables of their communicative power may be, we will be able to design music-based approaches that address specific attitudinal changes, facilitating conflict transformation processes. Therefore, this study seeks to respond to the following questions: to what extent is César López able to effectively communicate with his audiences to persuade them and achieve a change in their attitudes and behavior? Is he able to persuade them or not, and why? And also, what role does music play, if any, in this? Colombia has faced an intense, violent conflict since the 1980s, with the presence of guerrillas,1 paramilitary groups, drug dealers and criminal bands. From 1985 until July 2013 166,069 civilians were killed (GMH 2013, 32).2 Moreover, Colombia registers one of the highest numbers of internally displaced people (IDPs) in the world: although the government claimed that there were 3.9 million IDPs up until October 2011, the NGO Codhes registered almost 5.5 million IDPs during the period 1985–2011 (Codhes 2011). Colombia also has one of the highest numbers of landmine and unexploded ordnances victims in the world: 10,607 up to October 2013. In 2003, after the signature of the “Santa Fe de Ralito Agreement,” the Colombian government started a Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration process with the paramilitary groups. The “Justice and Peace Law” – law 975 of 2005 – was enacted as the main legal framework of this process, setting the legal dispositions for the reintegration of ex-combatants and the fulfillment of victims’ rights to know the truth, to find justice, and to be awarded reparations. Within this broad context, César López works with victims and ex-combatants of the Colombian conflict through workshops that involve dialogue, exchanges of experience, and music.

Methodology This study used a qualitative approach mainly based on ethnographic methods. Concerning the work of César López, a review of secondary sources was conducted, as well as an informal interview with the musician. Regarding

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his audiences, data were initially collected through a focal group exercise organized in Bogotá, Colombia, on December 19, 2011, with 15 IDPs who participated in a workshop led by César López using the escopetarra. The exercise focused on gaining insight into the reactions of the participants, as well as their opinion regarding the escopetarra itself, César López as a peace activist, and the fact of using music as a tool during the workshop (see Appendix 1). In addition, an online survey was conducted in January 2012 in order to examine the thoughts and opinions regarding César López and the escopetarra after watching a video of him playing this instrument in front of an audience.3 The survey, which aimed to examine the impact of the escopetarra in terms of attitudinal and behavioral change towards the Colombian conflict (see Appendix 2), was distributed among people of high and medium income level, who were not victims of the internal conflict (with one single exception). The purpose of collecting data through these different methods was to analyze the reactions of the two audiences to which César López mainly addresses his work. On the one hand, he concentrates on an audience of people who are either related to the armed conflict (victims and ex-combatants) or live in vulnerable conditions. The usual method of reaching these people is through workshops or small concerts, like the one attended by those in this study. The second audience, by contrast, is composed of Colombians who have not experienced the conflict directly, who reside in urban areas or abroad, and might be indifferent to the conflict. This second audience knows about César López and the escopetarra mostly through the media.

Theoretical Framework In his book Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation across Cultures, John Paul Lederach suggests a framework for conflict transformation. Throughout the chapter “A Framework for Building Peace,” he explores the meaning and scope of the word transformation within the theory and practice of peacebuilding, placing emphasis on the descriptive and prescriptive nature of the concept. Transformation not only describes the dynamics of conflict; it also makes reference to the main purpose of peacebuilding, which essentially consists in transforming relationships and seeking systemic change, in order to increase

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justice, reduce violence, and promote social and individual empowerment, forgiveness and reconciliation (Lederach 1995, 23). Transformation provides a language that more adequately approximates the nature of conflict and how it works and underscores the goals and purposes of the field . . . It describes more accurately the impact of conflict on the patterns of communication, expression, and perception. Transformation suggests a dynamic understanding that conflict can move in destructive or constructive directions, but proposes an effort to maximize the achievement of constructive, mutually beneficial processes and outcomes (Lederach 1995, 18–19). In addition, he emphasizes the contribution that nonviolent resistance and advocacy make to conflict transformation endeavors. Nonviolent advocacy raises awareness of basic interests and needs in a society, and seeks to shake out the state of silence and conformism to achieve social transformation and justice through peaceful means (Lederach 1995, 14–15). This change and awareness may be reflected in a transformation of attitudes, assumptions and behaviors of individuals towards different aspects of the conflict, such as the relationship with the former enemy, with the victims, with their own community, and with the conflict itself. Acknowledging the role that nonviolent advocacy may play in conflict transformation, this study examines an instrument frequently used in political activism, yet understudied in the literature: music. Several well-known artists have used music to raise awareness or support some social movement; John Lennon, Bob Marley, Mercedes Sosa and Rubén Blades are some examples of this. Additionally, many social movements or nonviolent advocacy groups have used music as an instrument to achieve different goals. Music may be instrumentalized to communicate internally and externally, to attract more participants to the movement, to connect emotionally, to influence certain audiences, and to mobilize resources, among other things (Adams 2002, 27). Some of the small number of authors who have turned their attention to the link between music and conflict transformation highlight music’s capacity to trigger emotional expressions. These may lead to processes of personal or communal healing, as well as expressions of sympathy4 between former enemies

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or other parties that were just indifferent to each other (Abi-Ezzi 2008; Baily 1999; Beckles 2009; Bergh 2008; Cohen 2005 and 2008; Epskamp 1999; Lederach 2005; Pouligny 2003; Robertson 2010; Sanfeliu 2010; Shank and Schirch 2008; The Institute of Democracy and Human Rights and CERI 2008; Urbain et al. 2008; Zelizer 2003 and 2007). Music may also transform or foster relationships through people performing music together (Baily 1999; Bergh 2008; Cohen 2005; Robertson 2010). In some cases, this collective activity may lead to the construction or discovery of new shared identities, which entails a change of attitudes, assumptions and behaviors regarding the other. Drum workshops in Africa, for example, have helped former enemies to discover their common humanity, or to endow each other with a new identity: instead of thinking about the other as a prosecutor, victim or survivor, enemies start seeing each other as drummers, equal members of a group of people making music (Cohen 2005, 14). In other cases, the collective performance strengthens cultural identities that are at risk of being forgotten (Baily 1999), or celebrates the encounter of cultural diversity (Bergh 2008; Robertson 2010). Hence, music’s capacity to transform relationships, attitudes and behaviors within musicians and their audiences is recognized by the literature. However, the variables that influence audiences in order to produce effective changes continue to be an understudied topic. In general, the literature pays little attention to music’s effect on listeners, assuming that the musical meaning is translated to receptors without any transformation in the communication process. Abi-Ezzi, Bergh, and Cohen have begun to explore this space between what is intended and what is received, highlighting how the discourse behind music, the level of involvement during the performance, and the values and emotional predispositions of listeners are all factors that influence the way music is perceived and may generate changes (Abi-Ezzi 2008; Bergh 2008; Cohen 2008). However, these authors remain as exceptions in the literature and more research is needed in this direction.

Music and the Power of Communication In this chapter, it will be assumed that art in general and music in particular are means of communication.5 In this sense, it is particularly helpful to turn

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the attention towards literature on strategic communication, a perspective that approaches the gap between what is intended and what is perceived by the audience through several criteria. The literature on strategic communication acknowledges the double power that communication entails. As Rafael Alberto Pérez explains, on the one hand, communication induces political and economic changes based on entrepreneurial/political/institutional goals; on the other hand, it may give rise to situations where some actors gain a dominant position while others obtain a less favorable one (Pérez 2008, 449). Recalling what Lederach stated about conflict transformation, this last statement could be regarded as a way to achieve conflict transformation when a “weak” actor gains a better position thanks to the power of communication, transforming unequal relationships towards more constructive ones. It may also be a way to maximize the achievement of constructive, mutually beneficial processes and outcomes, and a contribution to nonviolent advocacy and its aim to raise awareness and achieve social transformation through peaceful means. Once this power is recognized, it is important to channel it into what is intended (the goals) and what is received (interpretation), leading to the expected behavioral and attitudinal change in the target audience. There are four variables that need to be carefully considered in order to build a communication strategy (Pérez 2008, 454): 1. The selection of the audience, which includes a characterization of their values, beliefs, assumptions and behaviors, to really understand who they are. 2. The selection of the key message; in other words, what will be communicated. 3. The selection of the strategy by which the message will be sent (means), including the channels and the content proposal (picture, video, radio, graphics, music, etc.) 4. Time: The selection of the time and frequency of the message (when and how often the message will be sent). As mentioned above, music-based activities in conflict transformation scenarios aim to influence and persuade an audience to raise awareness and

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transform relationships towards peace. This is also the aim of César López and the symbolic instrument called the escopetarra, a case study that offers useful inputs in the task of transforming relationships, attitudes, assumptions and behaviors in a society through music and art, as outlined in the following section.

César López and the Escopetarra César López is a well-known musician who was nominated in 2006 as a “Nonviolence messenger” by the United Nations. From this time on, he created and led a project called “Generation of Nonviolence,” an initiative that brought together young artists committed to peacebuilding in several regions of Colombia. He has also developed a high number of workshops throughout Colombia with vulnerable communities, victims and ex-combatants for almost ten years. From these exercises, he created the album “Toda Bala es Perdida”6 composed of 16 songs about peacebuilding and his most pressing concerns about the internal conflict in the country. The idea of the escopetarra came to López after seeing a soldier holding a rifle like a guitar, in 2003, when he built the first one. In 2006, after the Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) process with the paramilitary groups, he received, from Colombia’s peace Commissioner’s office, 12 AK-47 assault rifles that were handed over during the disarmament by the ex-combatants. With this material, the artist built additional escopetarras that were given to high-profile musicians and organizations, and kept one of the instruments for his own concerts and workshops. When asked about his work, César López explained that “he wants to be the voice of those who have no voice”; he wants to bring stories from one place to the other so people learn from each other, change their perception of the conflict, and do something about it. However, he wants to raise awareness not only about the conflict, but also about stories of transformation, reconciliation and peace that he has witnessed or heard during his work. In sum, he pursues two different purposes: to raise the awareness of those who are indifferent to the conflict and to convey a message of hope and empowerment to those who have suffered the consequences of war or live in vulnerable conditions (López 2010).

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A Workshop with César López In this section, I will describe the workshop led by César López in December 2011 in which 15 IDPs participated and which is one of the ethnographic methods employed in this study to analyze the power of communication of the escopetarra. He began the activity with the introduction of the participants, encouraging people to go beyond their names and tell more about themselves. With background music played by the artist on a standard guitar, the participants shared important information regarding their lives, their memories, their thoughts and also their feelings about their recent history. In general, it can be stated that it was a cathartic experience mediated by background music. After listening to the stories of the victims, César López took out the instrument from its case, showed it to the participants and narrated its story: the AK-47 assault rifle employed in building his escopetarra belonged to a cargo of weapons that was sold to the FARC guerrillas in a very peculiar way: they were dropped by parachute from the sky in the jungle in the southern part of the country. Since it was rumored that the weapons could have a chip that could be detected, the guerrillas decided to abandon them and they were taken by paramilitary groups. Finally, in 2006 a member of the southern block of these paramilitary groups decided to disarm and demobilize, and handed over his weapon which was transformed into the escopetarra that López was holding in his hands. From that moment on, César López played some songs, using the escopetarra from time to time while telling stories he had collected during his work as peace activist. He also shared some of his thoughts about the escopetarra as a symbol of peace and transformation: “the escopetarra represents the victory of the good things over the negative ones . . . if the weapon can change, then certainly human beings can change.” He also stated: “There was a time when a teacher, after seeing the instrument, told me ‘A man needs one single finger to kill a person, but uses ten fingers, his brain and his heart to communicate emotions and play a guitar.’”7 He also recalled the DDR context that preceded the instrument: The escopetarra is in my hands because a former soldier, a living human being who decided to disarm himself, who decided to transform

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his life, handed over the rifle in the context of a peace process. The transformation can be clearly seen through this instrument: before, the combatant and his gun were a source of fear, of intimidation, of pain. Nowadays, he is a man with another plan for his life, maybe a family, maybe a small enterprise; and the rifle now shoots musical notes instead of bullets, and gives life instead of death.8 During the workshop, López also encouraged participants to share not only their thoughts but also their feelings towards the escopetarra. Many of them were frightened, since the experience reminded them about their history as residents of conflict-affected areas. Many others were surprised when they realized it was a guitar and not a gun. Either way, it was definitely an instrument that caught their attention and elicited many reactions. In the end, he persuaded the participants to talk about their thoughts and plans for the future while promoting a message of empowerment and hope. In general, it was a space mediated by his music and the escopetarra where people expressed their emotions, shared thoughts regarding the symbol, released their feelings and emotions,9 but also received the message of the escopetarra effectively, as explained below.

The Persuasion of the Escopetarra It is important to reiterate that César López mainly focuses his work with the escopetarra upon two audiences and contexts. The first audience includes people in vulnerable situations, most of them directly affected by the conflict. They get in contact with the escopetarra through workshops led by the musician, who says that his overall goal is “to be the voice of those who have no voice” and bring a message of hope, empowerment and reconciliation. The second audience is composed of Colombians who have not experienced the conflict directly, who reside in urban areas or abroad, and may be indifferent to the conflict because they have not suffered from it directly. Most of them have heard of César López and the escopetarra through the media. Through the workshop, it was clear that César López was able to persuade this audience to a considerable extent and achieve his communication goals.

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The victims of the conflict who participated in the exercise felt represented by him and perceived the escopetarra and its message in a very positive way. These are some of the comments made by the participants during the focus group exercise carried out after the workshop: • “To us, the escopetarra represents those old days full of sadness and fear, but at the same time, it represents a beautiful transformation”; • “The escopetarra is a symbol of peace”; • “César López encourages us to look forward into the future instead of going back into the past”; • “We feel represented by him”; • “Sometimes one believes that when there is a mistake people cannot change, that things will continue this way, but look at that transformation! A youth, a child, an adult can change.”10 In addition, when participants were asked their opinions regarding the escopetarra, they took ownership of the story and conveyed messages similar to those recounted by the musician: “if the weapon can change, then people’s life can change.” In sum, he basically succeeded in delivering his message of transformation, empowerment, hope and reconciliation, as well as being the voice of those who have no voice (the victims), since they felt represented by the musician, his songs and his message. Regarding the second audience, a number of online articles about César López and videos uploaded on YouTube were reviewed and it was observed that a significant percentage of the public’s comments were negative, rejected the initiative, questioned its originality, and mocked the escopetarra.11 As a matter of fact, one of the most important columnists in Colombia, Daniel Samper Ospina, has written three articles making fun of the instrument and the initiative.12 In addition, an online survey was conducted, addressed to people of high and medium income levels not related to the internal conflict. In the survey, a video where César López performs with the escopetarra was shown, since tele­ vision, radio and the internet are the most frequent means employed by the artist to reach out to these people. The survey was answered by 35 individuals. For the purpose of the analysis, it is important to recall López’s goals

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regarding this audience: he wants to send an alert to, and raise the awareness of, those who are indifferent to the conflict and who have not experienced its consequences directly. He wants to change their perception about their role in Colombian society so that people may feel motivated to take more responsibility. The results of the online survey indicated that almost 40 percent of the people have negative or skeptical ideas about the escopetarra, while 60 percent gave a positive opinion about it. These are some of the positive statements: • “A symbol for our country: reawakening from darkness” • “It is one of the most outstanding ideas that a citizen has had with the purpose of changing the conflict perception” • “It brings a message of transformation and change. It is better understood in concert” In contrast, these are some of the negative opinions: • “It is really sad to see how we have ended up with this kind of campaigns” • “It is pathetic” • “I have doubts about its impact” • “It is violent, in one way or another he is saying that guns are worth something” (Online Survey, January 2012) In other words, the analysis suggests that César López is partially successful in communicating with this second audience and achieving a change in their attitudes, assumptions and behaviors towards the internal armed conflict. Although the majority of the people in the survey acknowledged his message of awareness regarding the conflict, and felt connected with his message of peace, a substantial percentage rejected the escopetarra and his music, doubted its impact, or did not understand its meaning. Finally, only one person out of 39 affirmed that her/his perception of the Colombian conflict changed after watching the performance with the escopetarra. To understand the reasons behind such a significant difference between the first audience and the second audience the literature on communication

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constitutes a particularly useful tool. As mentioned above, if we aim to persuade certain audiences through music-based peacebuilding activities; that is, if we want to channel the power of communication towards our objectives, we need to take into account the four basic variables of any communication strategy: audience, message, means, and time. With the first audience, composed of victims and ex-combatants, but also of people in vulnerable situations, César López employs a very effective channel to reach them: the workshops/concerts. Since he begins the workshop by listening to their personal stories, thoughts and feelings, he is able to connect with the audience in a more profound and personal way; in other words, he has more information about the audience he is reaching out to and can use it to develop a better way to address them. Second, he explains in detail the history behind the escopetarra and the meaning of the symbol, clarifying the message of conflict transformation and reconciliation he aims to convey through his invention. Regarding the means, the message is communicated through words and music, which enable a cognitive and emotional connection with the audience and therefore enhance the power to communicate his message. In contrast, the second audience barely knows about the story behind the instrument. Although it is very important to highlight the disarmament and demobilization of the previous owner of the escopetarra, in order to better explain its symbolic transformation, many people ignore this detail. There are two videos with long interviews with César López where he actually tells the story and explains the message of the escopetarra. However, there is no website where the instrument is explained, or even a song that actually carries its message. That may also cause the confusion between his instrument and the guitar of Peter Tosh, a reggae singer of the 1970s. This musician was given a custom-built guitar in the shape of an M16 rifle by a fan, which he used in several public appearances. Although the instrument is not made from a rifle but only has its shape, several people on the internet, and even one of the respondents to the online survey, criticized Lopez’s work by questioning its originality.13 In addition, it is important to acknowledge that Colombia is a country that has faced a protracted conflict and people are bored of art expressions that illustrate violence, such as the large number of Colombian films (and even Hollywood movies) related to drugs and war. This may also be an important

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factor that is preventing César López’s escopetarra from reaching the second audience, because it may be neither attractive nor interesting; therefore, the way the information is presented becomes crucial. The attractiveness of many art initiatives actually lies in the story behind them. People like and react to stories or music that connects with their beliefs, emotions, memory and identity, as argued by Craig Robertson in this volume. The power of the escopetarra, as with many other symbols, is based on the story that it represents: a story of transformation, the victory of positive things over hateful ones, a story of reconciliation. If the story is not told, the symbol may be misinterpreted, misunderstood or criticized and may not lead to conflict transformation. In other words, the escopetarra of César López, as a conflict transformation project, would better achieve its goals if the power of communication of music-based conflict transformation initiatives were acknowledged. As this is also a nonviolent advocacy project, which seeks to raise awareness in Colombian society and inspire solidarity and empathy with victims and ex-combatants, it is crucial to reach all of López’s audiences in a more effective way. As mentioned in the theoretical framework, music may be a potential means to attract more participants to a social movement; to connect emotionally and influence the audience; to mobilize resources; to promote personal or communal healing, as well as expressions of sympathy between former enemies; and to celebrate the encounter of cultural diversity. The variables that come into play to influence these audiences in order to attain effective changes relate to the power of communication and how we can channel it for conflict transformation. By understanding the audience with their beliefs, emotions, memory and identity features; the specific conflict transformation message; and the best time and frequency to deliver it, we can create more persuasive music-based conflict transformation activities, leading to the expected behavioral and attitudinal change in the target audience.

Conclusion The analysis of the escopetarra initiative through the lenses of communication reveals some of the variables that determine the effectiveness of music-based

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initiatives within conflict transformation scenarios. An effective campaign or message with music needs to consider the characteristics of the audience, the message to be sent, the means through which the message is delivered, and the time and frequency of the message. Neglecting any or all of these issues may lead to ineffective strategies or unwanted effects that prevent the endeavor from contributing to a constructive transformation towards peace. As referred to in the theoretical framework, music-based initiatives have the potential to transform relationships and change the attitudes, assumptions and behaviors of their target audiences. However, when their power of communication is not strategically channeled towards what is intended in terms of peacebuilding, there is a risk of failure and of people perceiving these experiences as “just another peace campaign.”

Appendix 1: Focus Group Guidelines 1. Did you previously know César López? 2. What do you think about the escopetarra? What does this instrument represent for you? 3. What emotions and feelings did you feel when you heard the escopetarra? 4. What reflection did César López’s song lyrics generate in you? 5. Do you feel represented by his lyrics? 6. Do you believe this kind of workshop would be the same with a regular guitar? 7. Do you think this workshop would be the same if it were done without music? 8. Do artists like César López have power in society?

Appendix 2: Online Survey Questions 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

City where you live Occupation What is your social income level?14 Have you been a victim of the Colombian conflict? Do you know César López?

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6. We invite you to watch the following 3-minute video (http://www.you tube.com/watch?v=ROCla9dvxxg) and answer the following questions: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

In a short sentence describe what the video transmits to you. What elements of the video did you think were more important? What is your opinion about the escopetarra? Would you go to a César López concert? After listening to this song, did your perception of the Colombian conflict change in any way?

Notes 1 Currently, there are two guerrilla groups: the FARC-EP – Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia-Ejército del Pueblo (in English, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia-People’s Army) and the ELN – Ejército de Liberación Nacional (in English, National Liberation Army). 2 This number does not include the 11,238 civil victims documented by the Historical Memory Group (GMH) during the period 1958–84, and the war casualties, which amount to 44,787 (GMH 2013, 32). 3 To watch the video, please see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROC la9dvxxg. This video was selected because the escopetarra’s sound is clearly heard and the instrument is plainly visible. Although there are other videos where César López is performing with the instrument, he appears within broader orchestras or scenarios where the escopetarra is not the leading instrument. 4 Halper and Weinstein outline the limitations of sympathy in relation to empathy in the sense that “it is limited to the moment of emotional resonance.” However, they acknowledge that sympathy facilitates the recognition of the other as an emotional being and also entails leaving aside a “dominant mood of resentment,” which are both positive steps to change relationships between opposing parties (Halper and Weinstein 2004, 574). 5 It is important to highlight that some authors do not conceive music as a means of communication. Some musicologists argue that there is

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no meaning found within musical experience other than the musical material itself (Adorno 1976 and Neubauer 1999, among others). 6 In Spanish, “stray bullet” is expressed as “lost bullet.” The album is named “Every bullet is lost,” meaning that all bullets are worthless while taking the expression of “lost bullet.” In English the translation “Every bullet is a stray bullet” clearly does not reflect the sense of the album title. 7 César López, focus group exercise, December 2011. 8 Ibid. 9 One of the participants even sang a song that he had composed regarding his personal history, with tears in his eyes. 10 Focus group exercise, December 2011. 11 This review was conducted up until September 2011. The following videos and articles were reviewed: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAqZPHteu6w; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEGhzKDoUtY&feature=related; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAvb8JDYXBg&feature=relmfu; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROCla9dvxxg; http://www.elespectador.com/entretenimiento/arteygente/articulo293627-escopetarra-de-cesar-lopez-se-exhibira-el-museo-gandhi; http:// www.semana.com/opinion/patriotico-oso-colombiano/119487-3.aspx; 12 These are the three articles referred to: Samper Ospina, January 2009; December 2009; and January 2010, Revista Semana; see references for titles and web addresses. 13 To see the guitar given to Peter Tosh, see: http://jahblemmuzik.tumblr. com/post/4258135668/the-hunt-for-peter-tosh-s-m16-guitar. Retrieved November 2011. 14 Socio-economic strata: a tool of the Colombian government (Ley 142 de 1994, Artículo 102) to classify real estate properties in accordance with the classification of the national statistical service (DANE) that evaluates the real estate unit based on poverty levels, public services, location, indigenous population and others. This classification determines the level of taxation, the fees of public services (water, energy, phone and gas), access to free health services, fees at public universities, access to poverty alleviation programs, etc. In most cases estratos 1 and 2 get subsidies from the upper estratos 4, 5 and 6.

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References Abi-Ezzi, Karen. 2008. “Music as Discourse of Resistance: The Case of Gilad Atzmon,” in Urbain, Olivier (ed.). 2008. Music and Conflict Transformation: Harmonies and Dissonances in Geopolitics, London: I.B.Tauris. Adams, Jaqueline. 2002. “Art in Social Movements: Shantytown Women’s Protest in Pinochet’s Chile,” Sociological Forum Vol. 17, No. 1 (March), 21–56. Adorno, Theodor Weisengrund. 1976. Introduction to the Sociology of Music. Translated by E. B. Ashton. New York: Seabury. Baily, John. 1999. “Music and Refugee Lives: Afghans in Eastern Iran and California,” Forced Migration Review 6. Retrieved March 14, 2012 from: http://www.fmreview.org/FMRpdfs/FMR06/fmr603.pdf. Beckles-Willson, Rachel. 2009. “Whose Utopia? Perspectives on the WestEastern Divan Orchestra,” Music and Politics Vol. 3, No. 2. Retrieved October 15, 2011 from: http://www.music.ucsb.edu/projects/musicandpolitics/archive/2009-2/beckles_willson.pdf. Bergh, Arild. 2008. “Everlasting Love: The Sustainability of Top-down vs Bottom-up Approaches to Music and Conflict Transformation,” in Kagan, S., and V. Kirchberg (eds.). 2008. Sustainability: A New Frontier for the Arts and Cultures, Frankfurt: Higher Education for Sustainability VAS, 351–82. Bergh, Arild, and John Sloboda. 2010. “Music and Art in Conflict Transformation: A Review,” Music and Arts in Action No. 2, 3–17. Retrieved October 15, 2010 from: http://musicandartsinaction.net/index. php/maia/article/view/conflicttransformation/45. Codhes. 2012. “Codhes Informa: ¿Desplazamiento Creciente y Crisis Humanitaria Invisibilizada?,” Boletín Informativo de la Consultoría para los Derechos Humanos y el Desplazamiento No. 79, Bogotá, Quito, Marzo. Retrieved July 15, 2012 from: http://reliefweb.int/sites/reliefweb.int/ files/resources/Informe%20Completo_101.pdf. Cohen, Cynthia. 2005. “Creative Approaches to Reconciliation,” in Fitzduff, Mari and Christopher E. Stout (eds.). The Psychology of Resolving Global Conflicts: From War to Peace. Westport, CT: Greenwood Publishing Group Inc. Retrieved April 5, 2012 from: http://db.cimtech.brandeis.edu/ethics/ pdfs/publications/Creative_Approaches.pdf.

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———. 2008. “Music: A Universal Language?”, in Urbain, Olivier (ed.). 2010. Music and Conflict Transformation: Harmonies and Dissonances in Geopolitics, London: I.B.Tauris, 26–39. Epskamp, Kees. 1999. “Introduction: Healing Divided Societies,” in People Building Peace, 35 Inspiring Stories from Around the World, a publication of the European Center for Conflict Prevention in cooperation with IFOR and the Coexistence Initiative of State of the World Forum, 286–292. Escola de Cultura de Pau. Artes y Paz. Retrieved October 15, 2010 from: http://escolapau.uab.cat/castellano/programas/articulos.php. GMH. 2013. ¡BASTA YA! Colombia: Memorias de Guerra y Dignidad. Bogotá: Imprenta Nacional. Halpern, Jodi, and Harvey M. Weinstein. 2004. “Rehumanizing the Other: Empathy and Reconciliation,” Human Rights Quarterly Vol. 26, No. 3, 561–83. The Institute of Democracy and Human Rights and CERI–Sciences Po/ CNRS. 2008. “El Teatro y la Transformación de Conflictos en el Perú.” Retrieved November 20, 2010 from: http://www.ceri-sciencespo.com/ themes/re-imaginingpeace/va/resources/enquetes/theatre_perou.pdf. Lederach, John Paul. 1995. Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation across Cultures. New York: Syracuse University Press. ———. 2003. The Little Book of Conflict Transformation. Intercourse, PA: Good Books. Abridged version at: http://www.beyondintractability.org/ bi-essay/transformation. ———. 2005. The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace. New York: Oxford University Press. López, César. 2010. Informal interview, June 22. Neubeuar, John. 1999. “Overtones of Culture,” Comparative Literature Vol. 51, No. 3 (Summer), 243–54. Pérez, Rafael Alberto. 2008. Estrategias de Comunicación. Madrid: Ariel Comunicación, 4a Edición. Pouligny, Béatrice. 2003. “Understanding Situations of Post-Mass Crime by Mobilizing Different Forms of Cultural Endeavors,” contribution presented at the 19th IPSA World Congress, Durban, July 1. Retrieved October 18, 2010 from: http://www.ceri-sciencespo.com/themes/reimaginingpeace/va/resources/understanding_beatrice.pdf.

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Robertson, Craig. 2010. “Music and Conflict Transformation in Bosnia: Constructing and Reconstructing the Normal,” Music and Arts in Action No. 2, 38–55. Retrieved May 24, 2012 from: http://musicandartsinaction.net/index.php/maia/article/view/conflicttransformationbosnia. Samper Ospina, Daniel. 2009. “El Patriótico oso de Ser Colombiano,” Revista Semana, January 11. Retrieved November 15, 2011 from: http://www. semana.com/opinion/patriotico-oso-colombiano/119487-3.aspx. ———. 2009. “La Absurda Caravana de Herbin Hoyos,” Revista Semana, December 12. Retrieved November 15, 2011 from: http://www.semana. com/opinion/absurda-caravana-herbin-hoyos/132539-3.aspx. ———. 2010. “Contra la Hermana República,” Revista Semana, January 9. Retrieved November 15, 2011 from: http://www.semana.com/ opinion/contra-hermana-republica/133442-3.aspx. Sanfeliu, Alba. 2010. “La Música y los Derechos Humanos,” Escola de Cultura de Pau. Retrieved November 28, 2011 from: http://escolapau.uab.cat/ img/programas/musica/07musica001e.pdf. Shank, Michael, and Lisa Schirch. 2008. “Strategic Arts-Based Peacebuilding,” Peace & Change Journal Vol. 33, No. 2. Retrieved February 2, 2009 from: http://www.michaelshank.net/publications/pcartspeacebuilding.html. Urbain, Olivier (ed.). 2008. Music and Conflict Transformation: Harmonies and Dissonances in Geopolitics. London: I.B.Tauris. Zelizer, Craig. 2003. “The Role of Artistic Processes in Peacebuilding in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” Peace & Conflict Studies Vol. 10, No. 2, 62–75. Retrieved July 2, 2012 from: http://shss.nova.edu/pcs/journalsPDF/ V10N2.pdf. ———. 2007. “Integrating Community Arts and Conflict Resolution: Lessons and Challenges from the Field.” Retrieved February 2, 2009 from: http://www.communityarts.net/readingroom/archivefiles/2007/06/ integrating_com.php.

Chapter 13

Musical Processes and Social Change Reflexive Relationships with Identity, Memory, Emotion and Beliefs Craig Robertson

Music for Better or for Worse? Music is often touted as having mysterious or almost magical properties that can bring together otherwise conflicting parties into some form of harmoni­ous relationships, but upon closer inspection, many of the examples used to such ends are either less successful than assumed or have ultimately ended up exacerbating the situation. The use of music as torture in Guantanamo Bay, for example, is well documented; but can music be used in a positive manner for social change? The answer to this question is perhaps surprisingly elusive and the primary reason for this is that the question presupposes that the outcome of an application of music must either be positive or negative, when recent research has shown that music is an amoral aesthetic process that can simultaneously be experienced as positive, negative or indifferent. There is evidence that suggests that music does have unique properties that enables it to connect to more aspects of human experience than other social activities, but how these experiences result in behavior that is viewed as positive or negative is beyond the power of music itself. Thus, music itself does not directly afford behavior, as posited by DeNora (2000), but it affords change or consolidation of a range of human experiences from identity and memory to emotion and belief. Furthermore, it is the interplay between music and these



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aspects that ultimately can lead to personal and social change. This chapter will first briefly examine some existing music and social change projects in this light followed by some findings from two research projects that I have been involved with. Finally, I will suggest a way in which to understand the social process of music and its connection to social change. The West-Eastern Divan Orchestra is a world-renowned classical orchestra led by the famous conductor and pianist Daniel Barenboim. The orchestra, founded by the Israeli Barenboim and his close friend, the Palestinian philosopher Edward Said, comprises young Israeli and Palestinian musicians and the original purport was to demonstrate how citizens from these two conflicting nations can cooperate and create beautiful and moving music together instead of death and destruction. The fame and the narrative make for wonderful copy for media outlets around the world but it is decidedly less clear just how this project has affected the conflict between Israel and Palestine, or even the lives of those involved outside of the orchestra itself. Rachel Beckles-Willson has pointed out that the daily experience of the orchestra participants varies little after the orchestra disbands and they return to their respective homes (Beckles-Willson 2009). Furthermore, they did not alter their behaviors and attitudes to the other once removed from the artifices of the orchestral structures. Barenboim and Said believed that starting such a project and providing the experience of working together for a common goal would ultimately result in a growing acceptance on a larger scale. Beckles-Willson, along with William D. Hart, have argued that Edward Said himself wrote and spoke about music in the same terms as religious experience and feeling, which is ironic given Said’s aversion to religious practices in his humanistic philosophy (Hart 2000). In other words, the founders of the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra believed that such a project would successfully and positively transform, or begin to transform, the wider conflict between Israel and Palestine and they based this belief on their own personal past experiences of music and the memories of how that felt to them and the non-nationalistic connections they felt with those they perceived to share these experiences with. The fact that the conflict has continued unabated has not stopped the wider public continuing to believe that this is not only possible but that it has actually occurred. Barenboim’s being awarded the Westphalia Peace Prize (Axelrod 2010) and the Dresden Peace Prize (Barenboim 2011) as well as

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being nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize (Lipman 2011) is illustrative of this point. Hip-hop, by contrast, emerged organically as a cultural movement from the Jamaican and Puerto Rican communities in the neglected neighborhoods of New York in the late 1970s. Combining the Latin rhythms with reggae sound-clash culture, hip-hop came to represent communities that suffered under official “benign neglect” and became an alternative to gang warfare for frustration and anger using rap battles, dance battles and competitive graffiti. Initially it appeared as if this was a true use of art for social cohesion as neighborhood violence lessened and cooperation and respect increased. It was truly a grassroots movement as well, with no support from any official body (Chang 2005; Rabaka 2012). Despite this positive beginning, however, hip-hop has since been heavily commercialized on the one hand (Ro 1996; Perry 2004), while actively promoting violence (Ro 1996), sexism (Ibrahim 2012) and homophobia (Potter 1995; Mitchell 2001) on the other. Hip-hop has since spread throughout the world through the internet and satellite tele­ vision and was popularly seen as connected to the uprisings in 2011 in North Africa, yet it is clear that it is not strictly peaceful and positive with calls for uprisings and revolution (Mahajan 2012; Crothers 2013). The attempt to inform, motivate and mobilize an angry youth culture in these areas may be considered justified but it is not necessarily peaceful or promoting a wider social cohesion. Music that helps to bind a social group together through an expression of shared identity is often viewed as a positive result of active musicking, but as with the revolutionary hip-hop in North Africa, music was used during the “troubles” in Northern Ireland as both a cohesive force and as an antagonism. Throughout the troubles in Northern Ireland, music was largely used by both Catholics and Protestants as a means of demonstrating identity and clearly demarcating the boundaries between in and out groups. The use of marching bands was largely territorial as well and in some cases aggressive expansionism, since the invasion of sounds became a precursor to physical invasion of neighborhoods (Jarman 1997; Cecil 1997; Rolston 1999). Interestingly, the origins of the music held dear by both sides has a common root and to the untrained ear there is very little obvious difference in the musical expressions except for the lyrics (Cooper 2010).



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There has been no shortage of music and arts initiatives in Sarajevo and wider Bosnia-Herzegovina in recent years, yet there is scant evidence that any of them have produced much positive change. Those projects initiated by NGOs or other outside interests are well versed in the reporting of progress, largely motivated by acquiring enough funding to continue working (Bergh 2010; Robertson 2010; Deacon and Stubbs 1998). Local grassroots projects on the other hand are under-reported, with one of the most successful of these being the interreligious Pontanima choir which will be discussed in more detail below.

Belief in the Power of Music As well as attempting to utilize musical material for positive social change purposes, the common characteristic that these examples share is the belief that such an endeavor should be successful. The fact that this belief is still strong demonstrates that this characteristic is the reason why these projects continue despite evidence suggesting that they are not wholly successful. The nature of this belief, therefore, needs to be understood in order to better steer such projects in the future. There is much evidence to support the notion that beliefs form the basis for human action and behavior within arts sociology (Acord et al. 2010; Bergh 2010; Barnes 2000; Weber 1991), psychology (Tversky and Kahneman 1974; Johnson-Laird and Oatley 2008) and organizational behavior researchers (Moorman and Miner 1998). While these examples refer to belief as understanding, cognition and perception and behavior as action, decision and judgment, for the purposes of this chapter I will refer to belief and behavior, meaning the beliefs that someone has about themselves and the world in which they exist at any given time greatly influences their behavior, or their decisions and judgments about how they should act. Furthermore, combining evidence from sociology and psychology it becomes apparent that belief systems are reflexively related to notions of memory, identity and emotion and often have very little to do with empirical reality. This is particularly evident in areas of great conflict or trauma, such as in Northern Ireland where conflicting Catholics and Protestants have much more in common with each other than they have with either Ireland or the United Kingdom (Davis 2003,

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17–36; Cooper 2009, 27; Doherty 2000). Their belief system is based on their sense of self and where the boundaries lie has been built up over time and hardened by past experiences that conjure up great pain and emotion to such a degree that they cannot see their commonalities. Finally, individual beliefs are largely shared with the social groups they identify with (Bourdieu 1999; Bar-Tal 2000). Music’s own connections with the experience of identity, memory and emotion therefore potentially affect belief systems and only indirectly influence behavior. The fact that the belief in the power of music proliferates despite evidence that it does not have this direct power illustrates that it is this belief in the power of music that is key to its potential in conflict transformation settings, not just the musical material and experience itself. Interestingly, many conflict transformation practitioners also believe that their work has the best chance for success when identities, memories, emotions and beliefs are taken into account. Third-party intervention theory is largely based upon a neutral outsider attempting to understand how the sides in conflict view themselves, what negative and traumatic memories they possess about the perceived “other,” how they feel over time and how this has affected their beliefs about the context, themselves and the “other” (Bar-Tal 1998; Mach 1993; Long and Brecke 2003; Welz 2010). If this can be achieved then it may be possible to educate the sides about each other’s stories, and this type of understanding is considered crucial for a lasting, positive transformation of the conflict.

Music as an Amoral Process The process of active musicking is not inherently positive, which is perhaps why so much confusion has arisen over the purpose and application of music. Indeed, there is a much greater body of research and evidence that demonstrates how music can be and has been used for negative purposes than for peaceful ones (Jovanovic 2005; Cusick 2006; Cloonan and Johnson 2002; Kronja 2004). The strong relationships between music, identity, memory, belief and emotion have long been understood and manipulated by world leaders with a vested interest in controlling population behaviors (Cloonan and Johnson 2002). Musical properties have also been harnessed for more positive purposes, which is especially apparent in the field of music therapy,



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especially with the socially minded community music therapy, as pioneered by the Nordoff Robbins music therapy school of thought (Pavlicevic and Ansdell 2004). There is much anthropological and sociological evidence that suggests that music plays a significant role in the social cohesion of any particular social group (Eyerman and Jamison 1998; Small 1987), although it can also strengthen the borders between in/out groups, thus affording possible future conflict. Music has, on the other hand, also been used for torture, as was the case in Guantanamo (Cusick 2006), and oppression, as with turbo folk during the Bosnian war (Jovanovic 2005; Kronja 2004). Music is often considered to be entertainment and entertainment is often considered to be a positive or benign experience and activity yet when autocratic regimes use entertainment to distract a population from darker or more critical thoughts it takes on a more sinister edge. One rare example of music being used socially with a measurable positive outcome is the interreligious Pontanima choir, based in Sarajevo. Using a combination of ethnographic interviews, discourse analysis and action research, I researched Pontanima and its connection to conflict transformation over a period of 18 months as part of doctoral thesis on music and conflict transformation at the University of Exeter, UK. Pontanima, whose name is derived from the Latin for “Bridge of Souls,” is an interreligious choir in Sarajevo that was formed in 1996, shortly after the Dayton Accord ended the outright hostilities of the Bosnian war. Now part of the Face to Face Interreligious Service, an interreligious peace and understanding organization, Pontanima was first conceived of as a choir for the Franciscan church St Anthony’s of Padua by the priest there, Fra Ivo Marcovi´c. St Anthony’s had a lively music program and respected choir prior to the Bosnian war and Marcovi´c wished to replace some of the recent horror with the joy of music and a sense of normality. With the help of musical director Josip “Pepe” Katavi´c, also a Catholic, they quickly realized that within the devastated community there were simply not enough Catholic singers left in Sarajevo to make a decent choir. On this tenuous auspice they opened the choir auditions to all faiths. The response was overwhelmingly positive and the choir quickly became populated with a fairly even distribution of members who identify themselves as ethnic Serbian Orthodox, Croat Catholics and Bosniak Muslims as well as a sizable minority of mixed families or other religious affiliations. It was immediately noticeable

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to Marcovi´c that something extraordinary had just occurred: despite the best attempts of nationalistic manipulation to stir up sectarian hatred amongst the population in Sarajevo and throughout Bosnia, there were many people from all faiths and backgrounds who simply wanted to get on peacefully with their lives. Furthermore, in the absence of a stable government, job security or savings, people desired something to help them feel normal. Pontanima was first and foremost a musical project that helped heal the traumas felt by its members, yet Marcovi´c envisioned something grander, which is affectionately referred to by the choristers as “the mission”: Pontanima shall only sing liturgical music from the three main faiths in the region that had been at war, with the inclusion of Jewish liturgical music as a homage to the significant Jewish population that had been killed or expelled during World War II. They will only perform in places of worship or religious schools (they are not permitted to perform in mosques), mainly in Bosnia, especially in places with a history of extreme trauma. Marcovi´c wished to replace traumatic memories and emotions associated with other cultures with benign and even pleasant musical memories. As the project developed, both those within the choir and the audiences for whom they performed began to confirm other memories separate from the war. Prior to war Bosnians, along with the rest of Tito’s Yugoslavia, were encouraged to inter-marry between religions and relocate around Yugoslavia ignoring traditional ethnic and religious geographies. As a result, many within the choir reported childhood memories of hearing the music from the other cultures on a regular basis. Some remembered not only having friends from all of the religions, but that they would often participate in their friends’ religious rituals and holidays. The current Pontanima program is simultaneously antagonistic by confronting painful memories, a reminder of more peaceful times, as well as an illustration of how this may be possible again in the future. Their mission is to sing the liturgical music of these three traditions as well as that of Jewish liturgy in places of worship, again, from these three traditions, in order to show the audiences that there is nothing to fear from the cultures and religions themselves, to help a traumatized public remember a time when these musics were heard together and to imagine a future where the three traditions could live in equality and harmony.



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Pontanima as Process Nexus One of the primary reasons why music conflict projects have little demonstrable effect on the actual conflict situation is that the criteria are based on targets and outcomes rather than observing the process (Jennings and Baldwin 2010). Music, conflict, memories, emotions, identities and beliefs are all in constant ever-changing motion and a snapshot of any one state is unlikely to give an adequate understanding of the situation, how it is changing or improving or worsening (see Figure 5). Furthermore, many of these projects are run by professional musicians who have a vested interest in surviving whilst performing the duties of their profession and if they can apply their skills to a noble cause and get paid for it, so much the better. It is in their interest to report results in the best possible light in order to attract further funding. It is for this reason that in project reports usually only obtain data from the organizers and the facilitators (Jennings and Baldwin 2010). With this in mind, it is now worth examining briefly how Pontanima fits into the above reflexive model. Figure 5. The musical behavioral influence model.

Identity

Memory

Music

Emotion

Behavior

Belief

The choristers in Pontanima often commented that they believed that religion was less important than being “good” and being “Bosnian” and that they felt

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connected to this belief through the ongoing experiences of active musicking with the choir. Furthermore these beliefs were demonstrated to non-members through their performances. Both the internal group beliefs and the external demonstration of these beliefs, which in turn affected their audiences to some degree, were further strengthened and reinforced through repeated performances. With each successful performance, members have reported a sense of satisfaction and other positive emotions which further reinforced their sense of group identity through creating a strong positive memory with positive emotions that strengthened their belief in their own abilities but also that the music was having a positive effect on the audiences. Unfortunately, I did not have direct access to audience data but based on reports from the members, audiences seemed to remember certain types of religious music that they associated with the cultures of the perceived enemy during the war, which gave rise to negative emotions. For example, during one performance at a Catholic church shortly after the war ended where they included Orthodox songs and arrangements of Muslim ilahije, as was usual, Marcovi´c received death threats. This response may have been unfortunate but not unexpected within the context of the reflexive model, since Orthodox and Muslim music would have been immediately recognizable to the Catholic audience and raw, painful and angry emotions would have been stirred as they remembered all too clearly real and imagined atrocities committed against them by those groups. Simultaneously, they had memories of hearing this same music prior to the war and these memories were not necessarily negative. The clashing emotions brought upon by the music’s highlighting of two separate memories created a form of cognitive dissonance, which is a key state, if an uncomfortable one, for cognitive change, or a change in belief (Festinger 1957). Repeated exposure to these performances over time began to replace painful traumatic memories with more benign ones. Finally, the same audience that had originally made the threats came to accept the choir and its work and the members have reported that audiences told them they now understood that these separate cultures need not necessarily be enemies any more, despite all that happened in the past. Without more direct audience data it is difficult to gauge impact but there are some observable positive changes that have taken place since Pontanima began its mission. Within the choir itself there were many who



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were fearful about performing in the Serbian province of Republika Srpska, since it was paramilitaries from that region who laid siege to Sarajevo and other places during the war. Even those of Serbian descent were uneasy about these concerts. After performing there a number of times, however, the same observed results in the audiences were notable within the choir, as they were no longer fearful. Indeed, Pontanima now collaborates with choirs within both Republika Srpska and Serbia itself. This would have been unthinkable even ten years ago. By and large, Bosnian audiences have now accepted the concept and aims of Pontanima when they perform around the country, which is a significant improvement over receiving death threats. It is still difficult to measure audience behavior beyond the performances, although choristers have reported that audiences comprise a combination of regular ritual attendees and classical choir fans. That in itself illustrates the limitations of Pontanima’s success as they are unlikely to affect the majority of the national population as they are not church or mosque attendees or they do not appreciate classical choral music. This was confirmed by an unscientific poll I conducted during my research in Sarajevo: over a period of two years I asked dozens of waiters, hotel staff and shopkeepers around Sarajevo if they knew about Pontanima and none had ever heard of the choir. Finally, this fits in with the reflexive model which suggests that one needs to have an emotional and memory connection to music if it is to affect one’s identity and beliefs.

Out in the Open – Arts and Social Change in the MENA Region Another project I was lucky enough to be involved in was the Out in the Open – Arts and Social Change in the MENA Region project co-conducted by the British Council and the Post-Conflict Reconstruction and Development Unit (University of York) with the assistance of the Goethe Institute. The project investigated the role of the arts during the dramatic social change events in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya and Morocco that started at the end of 2010. During this time over 100 interviews were conducted with artists, musicians, curators, promoters, presenters, institutions, politicians and activists. The resultant data is too large to go into detail here, but below I will briefly present some findings from the Egyptian context followed by an example of how these findings fit into the reflexive model.

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Egyptian Findings The film “Microphone,” which was released nearly a year prior to the uprisings in Tahrir Square, could have provided a clue to events to come for those who were paying attention. Following the youth in Cairo as they engage with hip-hop culture in terms of music, dance and street art, the film depicts restlessness, lack of employment or hope, and anger against Mubarak and the regime (Taher 2010; Eskandar 2011; Taher and Eskandar 2011; Kaseem 2012; BBC 2012). Hip-hop music increasingly was critical of the regime, although the music was only generally heard in secret as there was no official outlet for hip-hop on radio, TV or live performances. This did not prevent young hip-hop fans from connecting not only to the wider diaspora of Egyptians abroad, but also the hip-hop diaspora of disaffected youth worldwide. The relative ease with which hip-hop can be produced with affordable equipment and simple musical material accelerated this growth. Traditional music was often heard during the protests in Tahrir Square, such as Eskenderella and El Tanbura. In both cases, their music predated the current regime and there was a sense that they were trying to reclaim what it meant to be Egyptian from a regime that they felt no longer, if ever, represented them. In the case of El Tanbura, they had resurrected music that had been used originally to protest against imperialism during the Suez crisis and in support of nationalism. Now, the music was again supporting nationalism, but a form of nationalism that was more grassroots. Westernized popular music was often heard on popular outlets during the regime and this was viewed by many interviewees as an attempt to appease the masses with easy, pleasant distractions. Brown and Volgsten’s collection on music and manipulation certainly supports this theory (Brown and Volgsten 2006). There is a common belief that the machinery of the popular music industry encouraged musicians to produce this form of music with the promise of income and fame. There is little to distinguish this form of music from its Western counterparts except that the lyrics were usually (although not exclusively) in Arabic and the melodic lines would be Western but with traditional Arabic melismas at the end of phrases. While this continued during the protests, some popular musicians began to include lyrics that were critical of the regime and some began to sing in English



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to address the wider world, being well aware of the media attention this would produce. Unsurprisingly, keen marketers worldwide immediately sensed profit to be made and began to capitalize on “revolutionary art” coming out of Egypt. This manifested itself in the forms of curated displays of graffiti and other art referencing the uprisings (Batty 2012) and concert tours including some of the musicians already mentioned (Barbican 2011; North Central College 2012; The University of Sheffield 2012). This is problematic for several reasons: the turning of the social process of music and social change into a commodity prevents the music from continuing to maintain a positive force in its original context. It also provides a market for a certain form of art, so that other artists in Egypt who were not originally using their art for social change began to produce art purely for this market. Once this has occurred it becomes increasingly difficult to separate what art is being used for social change and what has been produced purely for the market and thereby eliminating further social change potential. The enormous bureaucracy of the Ministry of Culture in Egypt remained largely intact after the fall of Mubarak and it continues to exercise institutional censorship and does little to support new artists or art forms. As a result independent civil society networks have been developed but these have thus far been replicating past problems by developing strict inclusion criteria, which again exclude the majority of budding artists in the country. One very interesting development in Egypt which is under-reported has been the development of the shaabi scene. Traditionally associated with belly-dancing and working-class marriage rituals, shaabi has found a new lease of life in the post-Mubarak streets of Cairo by hybridizing itself with hip-hop and other Western dance musics. New shaabi performances occur in the streets with makeshift stages and PAs and attract large crowds. With lyrics that are critical of the new regime under the military juntas (Morayef 2012), this is a classic example of how hybridized music has enabled the identities of a people who felt connected to traditional shaabi music to feel connected to the wider world via hip-hop, which increased their collective confidence and emboldened them to use this platform to be critical of the army.

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Egyptian Process Below are two examples within the Egyptian context and how they can be explained using the reflexive model:

Traditional Song The traditional music heard around Tahrir Square as performed by El Tanbura and Eskenderella predated the regime of the time, by years in the case of the former and by centuries in the case of the latter. Audiences would have known this and responded with a collective memory as such, which in effect served as a reminder to the listeners that they were Egyptian people long before Mubarak ruled them and that they would continue to be so long after Mubarak’s rule ends. The resultant common emotion was one of pride, which in turn led to the strengthening of a collective belief that they belonged to Egyptian society and that this society was not dependent on the rule of Mubarak. A strong connection to an emotional memory of national identity that did not include the regime at the time helped to embolden a popular uprising.

Hip-hop Hip-hop is comparatively new, by contrast, especially in the region. Nevertheless, with increased exposure to international hip-hop through satellite television and the internet, disenfranchised youth found something they could identify with. When some regional hip-hop artists began to speak out publicly through their songs against oppressive regimes, such as Arabian Knightz in Cairo, memories connecting hip-hop to the fight against social injustice were quickly formed. This connected an international diasporic and sometimes virtual identity of young, angry and articulate men (there are currently very few women hip-hop artists in the Arab world). This combination of solidarity and raw emotion led to a determination to act. Given their lack of opportunities in society, their action was manifested in their lyrical performances conducted in front of live audiences as well as for videos which were distributed through online channels and YouTube. The performances and videos both embodied their identity, emotions and memories and transmitted



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them worldwide but also consolidated the boundaries of their in-group which added to their sense of solidarity.

Summary The theory that music is reflexively related to notions of identity, emotion, memory and belief and that it is the belief in the power of music that motivates behavioral change in musical settings goes some way to explain two aspects of existent third-party musical interventions: third-party musical interventions validate their actions upon specific goals or outcomes and the level of interaction within the activities themselves and are therefore ill-suited to explain how ongoing musical activity can affect a society over time; secondly, third-party musical interventions often involve outside musicians with little or no consultation with the participants’ musical identities, memories or emotions associated with them. Conversely, this process nexus can begin to explain the small but significant observable positive changes instigated by the Pontanima choir, as well as explaining some of their shortcomings. As a grassroots community music group involved with memory-laden emotionally charged music entwined with religious identity, it was inevitable that the beliefs of those within the choir were affected, changed or strengthened depending on temporality and context. The ongoing repetition of singing their mission over time has worked to consolidate these beliefs and continues to inform their behavior. There is circumstantial evidence to suggest that this was also the case for their audiences. A more detailed examination of events and processes in the MENA region is required to better understand the role of music and the arts in the recent events there, but an initial look shows that music connects people to their sense of collective identities in the past as well as the present; to those in their immediate vicinity as well as those connected internationally through online activity. Add the strong emotional involvement of those who felt they had little to lose under the Mubarak regime, and the result was a strengthened feeling that is further associated with the music of the time. It is logical to presuppose that future iterations of this same music would invoke the memories of the 2011 uprisings strongly and foreground these memories in the future present.

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Conclusion Music is an amoral force that can influence the behavior of individuals and social groups through its reflexive relationships with memory, emotion, identity and belief. It is not the musical material or even the experience itself that affords behavior management and change, but it is the belief that music will and does change behavior that affords a variety of human action, both positive and negative. Music also connects the personal with the social – both real and imagined, through affecting the belief that what one experiences is surely shared by others in similar perceived situations and histories. In effect, this can lead to a shared belief about how a particular music is felt amongst the group and help to strengthen the perceived identities within that group. Nevertheless, this bond of shared belief tends to be strong enough to influence collective behavior which explains somewhat how and why music has more often than not been successfully applied for negative purposes rather than peaceful and positive ones. It also goes some way to explain why and how groups of humans can be convinced of the need to torture and distress their fellow human beings in extreme situations such as the Bosnian war. Given the amoral nature of music and its procedural links to memory, emotion, identity and belief, there does not appear to be any reason why music cannot be utilized systematically for more positive purposes; the key is to understand in any given context what music(s) connect to what identities, what emotions does this evoke and how has this changed over time, if at all. Once this has been understood and mapped out, it should become clear just how music has thus far influenced any particular group’s trajectory of beliefs over a period of time and perhaps begin to suggest ways in which music can be used to influence future positive social change.

References Acord, Sophia, Krzys Acord, and Tia DeNora. 2008. “Culture and the Arts: From Art Worlds to Arts-in-Action,” The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science Vol. 619, No. 1, September, 223–37. Axelrod, Toby. 2010. “Conductor Barenboim Awarded German Peace Prize,” JTA, November 1. Retrieved August 31, 2012 from: http://www.jta.



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Index Reference to notes are indicated by n. 9/11 attacks 11, 12–13 “Abed Fi Tarkina” (El Extranjero) 111 aborigines 53 advertising 19–20 adwars 87 Africa 51, 174 African-Americans 52 Algeria 172 Almancı Support Gezi/Duisburg Women’s Choir 63 Amanpour, Christiane 70 American Civil Rights Movement xvi–xvii, 50, 52 “Angara’nın Gazları” (Gases of Ankara) 69 “Another Brick in the Wall” (Pink Floyd) 61 ANSI (National Agency for Computer Security) 145 Arab musicians 156, 161–2

Arab Spring xvii, 1, 54, 74, 103, 104 and hip-hop 172–4 and protest songs 155–6, 158–9, 161–2 Arabian Knightz 216 Arab–Israeli conflict 84 “Arise, Egyptian, Egypt calls you” 93 Aristotle 137 Arkasından, Duvarın 70 Armada Bizerta 106, 107, 110, 111, 112 Armenia 25 art 55, 62, 134–5, 215 al’aryyân, Ibrâhîm 90 “Asi” (Rebel) 67–8 al-Assad, Bashar 67 Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal 67 Australia 53 Austria 39 authorities 32–3, 34, 35–43

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Awdellil 158 Ayvalıtas¸, Mehmet 72 Bach, Johann Sebastian 122 Baez, Joan 61, 63 Bahrain 172 Baida, Botrous 90 Balkans, the 165 Balti 111 Barenboim, Daniel 53, 205–6 el-Barghouthi, Tamim 97 Beethoven, Ludwig van xii–xiii, xv–xvi, 122 behavior 207, 208, 211, 217, 218 Beirut 51 Belgium 42, 45n17 belief 207–8, 211–12, 217, 218 Ben Ali, Zine El Abidine 2, 105, 106, 107, 110, 113 and art 135, 138 and censorship 129, 141–2, 143–4, 147, 148, 149 and the internet 145–6 and the media 144–5 and national anthem 115 Ben Amor, Hamada see El Général “Benimle Kal” (Stay with Me) 70–1 Berber people 165 Besidos & Friends 63 Bienvenue au Bahut 19 Bigg, Don 158, 172 “Bilâdi” (Darwish) 156–7 Bismarck, Otto von 39 Blades, Rubén 188 blues music 52, 62, 124

Bodhisattva Wonderful Sound xviii Bosnia-Herzegovina 2–3, 63, 207, 209–10, 211–13, 218 Bouchenaq, Lotfi 161 Bouhrizi, Badiaa 110 Boukadous, Fahem 105 Bourguiba, Habib 104–5, 115, 150n15 boycotts 54 Brahms, Johannes 123 branding 19–20 Brazil 74 Brigands, Les (Offenbach) 39–40, 43 Britain see Great Britain British Council 213 Bruckner, Anton 122 Buddhism 12 Burma 51, 52 calypso music 51, 52 Capuçon, Gautier 71 çapulcu 50, 55, 58–9, 65, 71, 73 “Çapulin” 69–70 Caribbean, the 51 cartoonists 62 cassette tapes 96 Catalonia (Spain) 63, 70 CDs 107 censorship 2, 39, 128 and Egypt 89, 215 and Tunisia 105–6, 107, 109, 117, 129, 130, 141–4, 145, 147, 148 Cepkin, Hayko 72

Index “Chapulation Song” 68 “chapulling” 59 Chilpéric (Hervé) 35–7, 43 “Chromophobia” (film) 70 “citizens’ concerts” 26 classical music 62, 90, 122–5, 126 Cold War 52 Colombia 2, 185–7, 191–8 colonialism 38, 89–90, 126–7 Cömert, Abdullah 72 communication 53, 72–3, 156 and strategic 189–90, 195–8 competitions 25 composers 122–4, 126, 127–8 concerts 24–5, 26, 215 and Gezi Park 71–2 and Tunisia 107 conducting 25 conflict transformation 185–6, 187–91, 192–8, 208–11 and Sarajevo 209 copyright 149 corruption 113, 144, 146 counterculture 116–17 cover songs 61, 62 culture 24, 25–7, 52, 103 and France 20 and music 127 and Tunisia 105–6 Da Arab MCs 172 Dailymotion 56 Dalai Lama 12 Dam 170, 171 Darija 158

227

Darwish, Sayed 84, 85, 90–4, 95, 96, 97 and protest songs 156–7 democracy 148 Diâb, Amr 96 DJ Costa 112 “Do You Hear the People Sing?” (Les Misérables) 61, 70 dodecaphonism 127, 128 drugs 91–2, 99n10 drum workshops 189 Duran Adam 55 “Earthly Tables” 55 Echebbi, Aboul-Qacem 117, 159, 160–1 Ed-Dîne, Nagib Shihâb 94 education 2, 3, 137; see also Zebrock au Bahut Efem, T.C. 69–70 Egypt 1, 2, 83–6, 91–4, 96–8, 117 and art 213–15 and classical music 126 and hip-hop 172–3, 216–17 and protest songs 156–7 and revolution 137–8 and tradition 86–91, 94–6 Eissa, Adel 172 “El boulisyya Kleb” (Weld el 15) 130 El-Deeb, Mohamed 173 El Extranjero, Ferid 111 El Général 112, 130, 159, 172, 173 El Hajji, Adnan 105

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El Tanbura 214, 216 emotion 207, 208, 211, 217, 218 “Enjoy the Silence” (Depeche Mode) 61, 66 “Enjoy the Tear Gas” (Rebel K) 65–7 environmental protest 57 Erdog˘an, Recep Tayyip 49, 58–9, 65, 66–7 Erkin, Ulvi Cemal 62 Ertüngealp, Alpaslan 71–2 escopetarra 185–6, 187, 191, 192–8 Eskenderella 96, 99n11, 214, 216 Ettajdid Party 111 Eugénie, Empress 37 European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) 70 European Union (EU) 67 “Every Breath You Take” (Sting) 61, 68 “Everyday I’m Chapulling” 71 “Exit Plan” (Free Licks) 70 Face to Face Interreligious Service 209 Facebook 97, 106, 108, 109, 130 and Tunisia 145–6 Faidra, Elena 63 Faraway, Milad 172 feminism 94 festivals 106 film 95, 96, 97, 136 folk music 62, 63, 72–3, 107 folklorization 127 France 2, 16, 17–22, 51 and opera 31–42, 43

and protest 130–1 and Tunisia 104, 126–7 freedom 14, 18 and expression 134–5, 136, 148 and music 122–5, 130–1 French Revolution xvii, 44n3 Gafsa uprising (Tunisia) 104, 105, 110–11 Galai, Ahmed 110 Gandhi, Ela xvii General Union of Tunisian Students (UGET) 104 “Generation of Nonviolence” 191 genres 143–4, 147 Germany 63, 127–8 “Get Lucky” (Daft Punk) 61 Gezi Park Events 49–50, 53–5, 72–4 and methodology 55–8 and song characteristics 58–64 and song content and theme 64–72 Goethe Institute 213 graffiti 55, 215 Grande-Duchesse de Gérolstein, La (Offenbach) 38–9, 43 Great Britain 51, 84, 89 Greece 165 Grup Yorum 72 G-Town 170 Guantanamo Bay 204, 209 Haddad, Ahmed 96 Haddad, Fouad 96

Index Hanslick, Eduard 123 Harding, Vincent xvi Haydn, Joseph 122 healing 11, 13 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 134 Hervé 35–8, 43 Higâzî, Salâma 89 hip-hop music 62, 143, 166, 170–1 and Arab Spring 172–4 and Egypt 214–15, 216–17 and origins 206 H-Kayne 158, 172 Hoba Hoba Spirit 172 homage music 114 Hosni, Daoud 90, 94 Hosni, Tamer 161 “Huitième Jour” (Neshez) 113 human revolution 13 “Humat al Hima” (Defenders of the Homeland) 115–16, 117 Iberia 165 Ibn Thabit 172 identity 206, 207–8, 211, 217, 218 and music 52, 125, 126, 137 and Tunisia 116 and Turkey 73 IDPs see internally displaced people Ikeda, Daisaku 10, 11, 13, 24, 27 “Imagine” (Lennon) 61 Imam, Sheikh 84–5, 94–6, 97–8 and protest songs 156, 157 improvisation 96

229

Indonesia 52, 173–4 inequality 17 . . Inönü, Ismet 67 Institute of Eastern Music 94 internally displaced people (IDPs) 186, 187, 192 International Congress of Arab Music 126–7 International Students Music Festivals 26 internet 107–10, 145–6; see also social media Inuit people 165, 168 Iraq 143 Ismâ’îl, Viceroy 89 Ispanak 67 Israel 143, 205 Istanbul see Gezi Park Events Italy 42, 165 Japan xvii, 24–7, 51 jazz music 62, 127 Jazz N’Chebbi 115, 116 Jews 53, 210 Justice and Development Party (JDP) 49, 53, 62, 64 Kalın, Ibrahim 70 Kardes¸ Türküler 65, 72 Karkadan 111 Katavi´c, Josip “Pepe” 209 Keltoum, Oum 161 Kent Coda & Elektro Hafız 63 keywords 57–8, 65 Khalife, Marcel 156

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Khalil 114 Khayri, Badi’ 84, 85, 90, 91–2, 93–4 Khemissi, Salah 105 “Killing in the Name of …” (Rage Against the Machine) 63 King, Martin Luther, Jr. 52 “Kiss in Taksim Square” (Chinawoman) 63 “Köçekçe” (Erkin) 62 Kolektiv, Dubioza 63 . Korkmaz, Ali Ismail 72 Kracauer, Siegfried 41 Krenek, Ernst 124, 127 “Labess” (Bouhrizi) 110 Lak3y 111–12 language 61, 73, 214–15 Latin America 51, 52–3 Le Sueur, Jean-François 31 Lebanon 165 left-wing movements 104–5 Lennon, John 61, 188 liberty 14, 113 Libya 1, 172 L’Imbattable 112 Liszt, Franz 123–4 “Little Singers” 25 Lobkowitz, Prince xii–xiii López, César 185–7, 191–8 Lotus Sutra xvii–xviii, 12 Louati, Firas 115–16 Louis XIV, King of France 31 Louis XVI, King of France 41 Lully, Jean-Baptiste 31

lyrics 50, 56, 57, 140–1, 214 and censorship 142 and Gezi Park 65–71 “Mafia Royale” (DJ Costa) 112 “Mahla el Gaada al Mayya” (Khalil) 114 Malta 165, 176 Man, Bendir 106, 107, 110 and counterculture 116 and social media 109, 145 maqams 84, 85, 93, 150n14 Marchande de modes, La 33–5 Marcovi´c, Fra Ivo 209–10, 212 Marley, Bob 188 Martello, Davide 61, 71 “Masrah Deeb” (El-Deeb) 173 “Matloumounich” (Don’t Hold It Against Me) (Balti) 111 media, the 54, 57, 72 and Tunisia 106–7, 144–5 see also social media memory 207, 208, 210, 211, 212, 217, 218 and identity 52 MENA region 1, 213, 217 Mexico 51 Mezwed 105 “Microphone” (film) 214 military music 84, 88 Minister of Interior Cyber-service (Tunisia) 108 Ministry of Culture (Egypt) 215 Ministry of Culture (Tunisia) 105–6, 107, 128, 142, 146

Index minjung art movement 53 Min-On Concert Association 24–7 Min-On Contemporary Music Festival 25 Mohamed Ali Pasha 84 Moltke, Helmuth von 39 monologues 91–2 Montaigne, Michel de 14 Morocco 2, 117 and hip-hop 172 and protest songs 157–9 Moussa, Mos Anif 113 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 122 Mubarak, Hosni 97, 173, 214, 215, 216 Muette de Portici, La (Auber) 42 Munîr, Muhammed 96 “Music Experience Workshops” 26 music hall 88 music industry 21, 57 and Egypt 88, 90, 94, 96 and Tunisia 144 Music Masters 172 Music Museum 26 music therapy 208–9 musical expression 138–41 musical instruments 150n14; see also escopetarra musical theater 88–9, 90 musicking 63–4, 166, 208 MySpace 106, 109 Nabucco (Verdi) 42 Napoleon Bonaparte xii, xvi, 44n3 and theater 31–2, 33–4

231

Napoleon III 35–6, 40–1, 44n4 Narcicyst, The 172 Nass el Ghiwane 156, 157–8 Nasser, Gamal Abdel 84, 94, 138 national anthems 115–16, 117, 157 national flags 115, 116 National Internet Security Agency 108 nationalism 84, 89, 90–1, 93, 127, 214 Nayda movement 172 Nazism 127–8 Ne Win, General 52 Negm, Ahmed Fouad 84–5, 94, 97, 157 nepotism 113 Neshez 113, 115 Nestor Torres Foundation 12 Netherlands, the 63 “New Songs” 51 nonviolent advocacy 188, 190, 197 Northern Ireland 51, 206, 207–8 Nueva Canción 52–3 Occupy Movement 54, 74, 177n4 oeil crevé, L’ (Hervé) 37, 43 Offenbach, Jacques 38–42, 43 Offendum, Omar 172 opera 31–2, 33–43, 88 oppression 89, 209 Orientalism 38 Ospina, Daniel Samper 194 Out in the Open – Arts and Social Change in the MENA Region 213

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Music, Power and Liberty

Özbi 67–8 Özlemi, Bulutsuzluk 72 packaging 19–20 Palestine 129, 143, 172, 205 and song duels 165, 169–71, 176 Papua New Guinea 53 Paredes, Alberto 185–6 Paris 16, 17–18, 20 parodies 32–3, 34–43 “Parti’siz Parti” (Party Without a Party) 69 patriotic songs 93 peace 9–10, 11–12 and López 185–6, 187, 191, 192–3 performers 189 and censorship 142–3 Perspectivist movement 104 Petit Faust, Le (Hervé) 37–8, 43 Philippines, the 51 Plato 137 poetry 117, 136, 159–61 and Egypt 84, 85, 94–5, 96–7 Poland 51 police forces 54–5 and brutality 58, 60, 64, 65, 111, 113 politics 2, 134–6 and France 20 and music 50–3, 56, 58, 65, 125, 126, 127–9, 137–8 and sociology 136–7 and theater 31, 32–3

Pontanima choir 209–10, 211–13, 217 popular music 16–17, 18–19, 21, 51, 96, 214–15 Portugal 177n4 Post-Conflict Reconstruction and Development Unit (University of York) 213 pot-banging 59, 75n16 power 2, 3, 13–14, 155–6 Praksis 73 propaganda 31, 42 protest songs 51–3, 73–4, 156–9, 161–2 and Tunisia 129–30 protests and music 53, 55–60, 72–4 and Turkey 49–50 see also Gezi Park Events Prussia 39 psychology 140 public funding 20 punk rock 51, 53 al-Qabânnî, Ibrahîm 90 Rabah 172 racism 128, 174 radio 57, 72 and Egypt 95, 96, 97 and Tunisia 105, 107, 144 “Rais Lebled” (Amor) 112, 172 Ramallah Underground 171 rap music 62, 67–8, 162n1 and censorship 143–4

Index and Morocco 158–9 and Tunisia 107, 109–13, 129–30 Rashidia Institute 127 “Rebel” (Eissa) 172 Rebel K 65–6 recording 110 “Redeyef” (Man) 110 reggae music 107 religion 54, 209–10, 211–12 and extremism 130 “Renne” 91–2 Reporters Sans Frontieres 106 “Resistanbul” 63 “Resistance” (Armada Bizerta) 111 “Revolution” (Armada Bizerta) 111 Revolution Beat 172 “Revolution Song” 63 revolutionary songs 83–6, 87, 91–8 and Tunisia 103–4 rituals 175–6 rock music 51, 62, 107 Roi Carotte, Le (Offenbach) 40–1, 43 Rolland, Romain xv–xvi Rossini, Gioachino 123 Sachs, Curt 94 Sadat, Anwar 84, 85, 94 Said, Edward 205 Said, Mustafa 85, 96, 97, 98 Sakli, Mourad 106 salsa music 51 Sarajevo 207, 209–10, 211–13 Sardinia 171, 176 Sardou, Victorien 40, 41

233

Sarı, Mustafa 72 Sarısülük, Ethem 72 satire 32, 39, 105 Schenker, Heinrich 139 Schneider, Hortense 39 Schoenberg, Arnold 127, 128 schools 26 sectarianism 210 semiology 139–40 Serbia 51, 213 Servais, Raoul 70 shaabi 215 Shahine, Hazem 85, 96–7, 98 al-Shawâ, Sâmi 90 Shona songs 51 Shorter, Wayne xviii sit-ins 54 Slaoui, Houcine 156 slogan music 113–14, 159–61 social change 2–3, 204–5, 207, 215 social media 49–50, 54–7, 60, 73, 145, 174–5 and Egypt 97 and hip-hop 170–1, 172–3 and Tunisia 106, 107 sociology 136–7 software 110 song and France 17–22 and Gezi Park (Turkey) 55–60 and nationalism 84 and protest 51–3, 73–4 and revolution 83–6, 87, 91–8 and tradition 216 and Tunisia 107

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and Turkey 49–50 see also lyrics song duels 2, 164–70, 171, 173–4, 175, 176–7 Sosa, Mercedes 188 Soundsystem, Gultrah 107 Sourour, Nagib 94 South Africa xvii, 51 South Korea 53 Soviet Union 127 Spain 63, 70, 174, 177n4 spectacles 31–2 “Stay With Me” 63 strikes 54, 94 students 104 subsidies 146–7, 148 Suharto 52 Sweden 63 symbolism 115, 116, 123–4 Syria 67 “Tahchi Fih” (Moussa) 113 taqtuqas 91 tarab 84, 85, 89, 93 Tarkan 71 television 57, 59, 72 and Egypt 95, 96, 97 and Tunisia 105, 107, 144 Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ) 166, 167–8, 171, 176–7 “Tencere Tava Havası” (Sound of Pots and Pans) 65 territory 114–15 Thailand 74

theater 31–3, 136 and Egypt 88–9, 92 see also opera Tiv people 165, 168 Toda, Josei xvii, 9, 10, 11–12, 13, 14 Tokyo International Conducting Competition 25 Tolstoy, Leo 134 Tonga 51 torture 204, 209, 218 Tosh, Peter 196 “Touche pas à ma Tunisie” (Don’t Touch My Tunisia) (Lak3y) 112 “Tounes Bladna” (Tunisia Our Country) 172 Trabelsi family 112 trade songs 93 trade unions 141, 143, 144, 149 tradition 86–8, 94–6, 216 Triomphe de Trajan, Le (Le Sueur) 31–2, 43 Tsoukalas, Periklis 63 Tunisia 1, 2, 103–4, 126–7 and art 135–6 and censorship 105–6, 142–4, 148–9 and the internet 107–10, 145–6 and the media 144–5 and national anthem 115–17 and politics 137 and rappers 110–13, 129–30 and revolution 104–5, 106–7, 117–18, 138

Index and slogan music 113–14 and subsidies 146–7, 148 Tunisian Communist Party 105 Tunisian Internet Agency 108, 145 al-Tunsi, Zakariyya Ahmed Bayram 85 Turcs, Les (Hervé) 38, 43 Turkey 2, 89 and song duels 165, 169 see also Gezi Park Events Türkü, Yeni 72 Twitter 130 Ukraine 51, 74 underground music 107, 109–10, 117–18 United States of America (USA) 51, 63, 128, 174 and civil rights movement xvi– xvii, 50, 52 universality 125–6 “Uyanıs¸a Gezi” (Trip to Awakening) 70 variety songs 129 Verdi, Giuseppe 42 Vestale, La (Spontini) 33–5, 43 videos 50, 56, 57, 60 violence 9, 13, 23, 166 Voelvry Music 51 “Volonte de Vivre, La” (Echebbi) 117

235

Wagner, Richard 53, 122, 123, 125 war 9, 23 Waters, Roger 72 weddings 169–70 Weld el 15 112, 130 West-Eastern Divan Orchestra 205 women 52, 94 working classes 17 World War I 63, 89, 90 “Yandı Bitti Kül Oldu” (It Burnt, Finished, Became Ash) 67 Yıdız, Çag˘layan 68 young people 16–19, 20–2, 25–6 and hip-hop 173 YouTube 97, 216 and Gezi Park (Turkey) 55, 56, 57, 60, 63, 71 Yram 107 Yugoslavia 210 Zaglûl, Sa’d 94 Zanka Flow 172 Zebrock association 16, 17 Zebrock au Bahut 17–19, 22 Zimbabwe 51 “Zok Omm Akkinnhar” (Cursed Be That Day) (Karkadan) 111