Soundwaves of expression: how music shapes social consciousness

By Celia Tsigka

It was in May 2024 that American artist, Macklemore, released the song “Hind’s Hall”, a gesture of solidarity to university students from all over the world protesting Israel’s attacks on Gaza.

The song’s title references Columbia University, one of the most active hubs for student mobilizations, and the informal renaming of Hamilton Hall to Hind’s Hall, an effort to commemorate the murder of 6-year-old Palestinian girl, Hind Rajab, by Israeli forces[1]. The song instantly blew off on social media platforms, posing questions like “where does genocide land in your definition?” and standing as a testament to music’s ongoing power to challenge and influence.

Music, expression and collective identity

Theories of music dating back to philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau trace music’s origins to the need of people to communicate their emotions[2]. The first stories were probably expressed in songs and verse, while rhythm and speech were considered two sides of the same coin.

In the field of ethnomusicology, which studies music as a part of social and cultural processes, music serves to resolve conflict. In contrast to language, music “leaves more room for personal interpretation allowing people of different views and attitudes to collaborate and share experiences while leaving irresolvable issues behind”[3].

The collective struggle of Palestinians for liberation is a representative example of music’s power to inspire solidarity, beyond differences. The 1948 Nakba and the 1967 Six-Day War displaced over 800,000[4] and another half a million Palestinians respectively[5] to the West Bank, Gaza and other neighboring countries.

Such displacement created diverse and unique communities and further established already existing ones. However, “the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), succeeded in creating a single unified political identity against Israel”, which was also heavily reflected in the culture, revealed to the SNF Dialogues Dr. Issa Boulos, Palestinian musician, ethnomusicologist and academic.

The 1970s saw the rise of a mixed folk music genre among underground artists who advocated collective liberation[6]. After 1968, Egyptian President, Gamal Abdel Nasser, gifted the Palestinian military and political organization, Fatah, a radio station called al-ʿĀṣifa (“The Storm”), which featured revolutionary artists, that became popular among all Palestinians. According to Boulos, “Mustafa al-Kurd, was a particularly prominent figure in Palestinian music-making and a prolific performer in the West Bank, who released hundreds of resistance songs and was deported by Israel for 9 years, in 1976”. One of al-Kurd's most iconic songs, defined by its simple lyrics and melody, “Hāt al-Sikkaih” (“Bring the Plow”)[7], condemned Israel’s uprooting of Palestinian flora, highlighting the need to restore Palestine’s natural and cultural heritage, which is still more relevant than ever.

Bilādī mā ḥilī bi ʿānī siwākī (My country, nothing is precious in my eyes except you).

Kul il-bilād qafra yā blādī balākī (The world is bare land without you)

U law mallakūnī il-arḍ wi_knūz al-samā (Even if I owned the earth and the treasures of the heavens),

Mā P yūm yā blādī bansākī (I would never forget you, oh my country).

…

Hāt al-sikkaih, hāt al-manjal (ʿindī al-manjal) (Bring the plow, bring the sickle).

Iwʿā bi yūm ʿan arḍak _rḥal (Beware of ever leaving your land).

Shajarāt blādī ʿam _dbal (The trees of my country are withering).

Wi shabābnā aʿdaih mirtāḥa (And our youth are comfortable doing nothing).

Wi al-khuḍḍar ʿan baladī b yirḥal (And like the al-khuḍḍar [green migrating duck], the greenery migrates from our country).

Bi al-hijra ʿyūnu nawwāḥa (In exile, their eyes are weeping).

Translation by Issa Boulos

In the following decade, music’s role in collective expression was further established. During the non-violent Palestinian uprising in the occupied territories, known as the First Intifada (1987-1993) [8], music, poetry, and art “provided an essential integrating tool for the masses walking the streets in public demonstrations, allowing for new cultural and political identities to emerge”[9]. Referring to his own music journey through the group, al-Rahhalah, which was established in 1985, Boulos revealed: “we never restricted ourselves to playing only ūd or traditional instruments from the Golden Age of Arab music. We were just looking for tools, wherever they came from, to express our take on the struggle and where humanity should go”. Not long after the release of al-Rahhalah’s first album, Rasif al-Madina (“City Sidewalk”), Boulos was jailed, spending most of 1990 in interrogation rooms and the Naqab desert, what Palestinians called “Anṣār III” and the Israelis “Ktzi’ot Prison”. “Although we were not producing resistance music per se, there was a lot of symbolism indirectly referring to it and also poetry, and lyrics that offered social critique”, added Boulos.

While the lyrics of resistance songs were often products of specific political contexts, many times they would be rewritten, translated and used for other purposes. Songs became detached from the unchanged and unchallenged authority of a single creator, and were democratized, “transcend[ing] the boundaries of the self and bind[ing] the individual to a collective consciousness”[10]. However, the 1990s saw an overall rejection of lyricism in the music of the Palestinian diaspora. For Boulos, the shift to instrumentalism has been a direct result of colonialism. The elites manipulate music, because "they are concerned with maintaining the status quo and preventing people from presenting any disruptive ideas in the public sphere. Music is universal, but it's not a universal language. There are times where we need to use words to help people understand complex matters that Palestinians face”, he exclaimed.

An opportunity for artists worldwide to re-claim their words against post-colonial narratives of oppression was provided by hip-hop and rap genres. Although their inception is traced to the 1970s US climate, their rapid global spread can be seen from the late 1980s, early 1990s onwards. Through witty, confrontational and fast-paced rhyming, groups like Public Enemy addressed the issue of systemic racism in the US, sparking unprecedented anti-violence movements[11].

In the Palestinian case, the globally known hip-hop band, DAM, which initially resonated with the lower classes, has featured the Palestinian struggle in much of its discography. Through its sharp lyrics, the 2019 song “Milliardat”, openly condemns the attitudes of the international community in the face of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

Milyārdāt al-dūlārāt ʿashān nʿīsh P shatāt (Billions of dollars are spent to keep us separated).
…
Muwāṭin u maghlūb ʿa amrī (I'm a helpless citizen,)
ba ghanni wi-al-istād maṭfī (I sing while the stadium lights are turned off).
Afyūn al-shuʿūb, qarḍ al-bunūk, asakkir dyūn willā aḥārib la arḍī (Opium of the people are bank loans, should I pay my debts or fight for my land?).
Fishshī tafyīz la h_al-balad, kullu ṭaṭyīz ʿa halbalad (No visas for this place, all turned their back away from us).
Frīz kharif yā walad (Oh boy, autumn is frozen in this place).
Shū mfallis h_al-balad (This place is broke).

Translation adapted from YouTube

This musical arena of political expression created by groups like DAM has been growing, increasingly shifting to the online realm.  During the last decade, not only has the Internet connected Palestinian diasporas around the world through quick and easy communication, but it has also created a strong “imagined community”[12]. Most recently, platforms including TikTok have allowed the memetic reproduction, and deconstruction of significant issues, in a creative manner. Lip-syncing, video essays and challenges spreading the Palestinian message have been known as expressions of “playful resistance”[13]. TikTok stars, including Palestinian artist, Saint Levant, have also been successful in familiarizing Western audiences with the Palestinian question, with Saint Levant’s latest album "Deira”, being performed at both university encampment sites and prestigious music festivals like Coachella[14].

However, for Boulos, the contemporary influence of hip-hop bands and other social media trends holds the potential danger of appealing to a very specific audience, “upper-middle-class urbanites, that have attended private schooling, and are aware of the American music scene”. Nevertheless, despite arising heterogeneities, the collective reclamation of Palestinian history, through music, is an increasingly expanding phenomenon, transforming the dynamics of musical expression and collective identity.  

“I am an activist at heart, in the street, as a musician. I project new ideas. I don't only reflect on what's happening on the ground because I don't accept it. There is a great deal of what must be done for us to acknowledge how diverse we are and advance the discursive and artistic territories that help Palestinian communities decolonize and embrace their identities”, said Boulos toward the end of our conversation. 

Social and political song

What does it truly mean to be a musician and an activist? Historically, music-making has not only been a tool for personal development but also a means to influence and achieve wider social change[15].

Musicians’ charisma, authenticity and self-introspection as well as their ability to establish social ties and promote their craft implies a strong sense of leadership. In a way a musician can become a “conductor of social change”, someone who can obtain knowledge and share it effectively[16].

A representative example of where music’s social and political role unfolds can be no other than Greek political song. During an interview with the SNF Dialogues, journalist and writer, Dimitris Maniatis stressed the importance of first distinguishing between “political song” and “social song”. “Political song is a subset of social song. Social song has wider social references; it talks about issues that concern every social stratum. Political song is more specialized; it focuses on specific political expressions and political contradictions”.

There is a specific time period where we clearly see this dichotomy between social and political song, and that is before and after the Greek dictatorship. On April 21, 1967, a coup d'état sparked a military junta in Greece that lasted until 1974. The junta officers, known as “the Colonels”, exploited popular culture, particularly folk music, to legitimize their rule[17]. While before the junta, legendary artists like Vasilis Tsitsanis and Stelios Kazantzidis addressed the wider social questions of the working class and migration through their songs, “it was during and after the junta that we truly witnessed the birth of a more integrated phenomenon, which we would refer to as political song, led by artists like Mikis Theodorakis and Thanos Mikroutsikos”, said Maniatis.

“One of the first things that the military did was to ban the music of Mikis Theodorakis. It wasn’t just his political music; it was any music that he had written” also revealed to the SNF Dialogues, Gail Holst-Warhaft, Australian poet, academic, journalist and musician, who has spent decades studying Greek popular music and has performed alongside Theodorakis. In his attempt to reclaim folk music, Theodorakis created a music style that combined the urban popular genre, rebetiko, with classical composition and sophisticated poetry[18]. The 1960 song “Epitafios” embodies this attempt. Adapted from the 1936 homonymous poem, the song constitutes a mother’s lament for her son’s death, who was shot during a workers’ strike in Thessaloniki.  The poem was written by Giannis Ritsos, one of the greatest Greek poets of all time as well as left-wing activist who faced exile and political prison.

Γιε μου, ποια Μοίρα σ' το 'γραφε και ποια μου το 'χε γράψει (My son, what Fate has destined you and what Fate was my doom)

τέτοιον καημό, τέτοια φωτιά, στα στήθια μου ν' ανάψει; (to kindle such grief, such fire inside my breast?)

Γλυκέ μου, εσύ δε χάθηκες, μέσα στις φλέβες μου είσαι (My sweet lad, you have not been lost, you live inside my veins)

Γιε μου, στις φλέβες ολουνών, έμπα βαθιά και ζήσε (My son, flow deep into all our veins and stay forever alive).

Translation by Amy Mims

According to Halst-Warhaft, Theodorakis managed to “combine urban music that has been looked down on and associated not only with lower classes but also disreputable people with a sophisticated and beautiful piece of poetry, reaching wide audiences”. In a way, “Epitafios” symbolizes Theodorakis’ own struggle, as a left-wing dissident, on the political-prison-island of Makronisos, during the Greek Civil War (1946-1949), making a bold statement about the need for Greek people to fight for their ideals and resist their political oppressors.

However, thousands of left-wing nationals and activists were forced to flee Greece. Migrating mostly to Northern Europe, they created cultural diasporas, using music to express the pain and suffering of abandoning the homeland. Collective singing of Theodorakis’ songs in community halls and taverns abroad not only transformed the diaspora into a “transnational emotional community” but it became a political act[19]. Although, Theodorakis once told Holst-Warhaft that he didn’t write political songs, she stressed: “you can’t divorce the song from the man, everybody knew what he stood for”. Political songs continued to be attractive after 1974, among audiences who looked on society as being repressive still, however their popularity was not remotely of the same intensity or magnitude. “Political music today is much more dispersed, nothing quite so national or coordinated. It seems it’s not ‘easy’ in a democratic society”, Holst-Warhaft laughed.

Nevertheless, a new cycle of political song was born in Greece in the years following the global financial crisis. From 2008 onwards, a musical scene arose in light of the murder of 15-year-old, Alexis Grigoropoulos, by a policeman, the murder of rapper, Pavlos Fyssas, by a member of the far-right party “Golden Dawn”, and the murder of LGBTQ+ activist, Zack Kostopoulos (zackie). According to Maniatis, these incidents that sparked significant social and political movements, “coincided with a new social phenomenon that was not present in the years before; the consolidation of far-right political expression”.

“Political song started spreading, branching out, being unified and classified within the history of Greek popular song. Political song was even about expressing the feeling of loneliness one can experience in Athens or an artist’s attitude toward homophobia and femicide”, added Maniatis. Political song is much more perplexed now. Performed by widely known rappers like Lex and the group Kini Thniti, political song is more indirect, insinuative, metaphorical and poetic even. Among many others, Lex’s 2019 rap song “Tipota ston Kosmo” (“Nothing in this world”) is an open condemnation of violence, racism and obstruction to freedom of speech.

Δε κοιμόμουνα, αυτό το λέω πρόβλημα (I was not sleeping, that’s what I call a problem)
Φοβόμουνα μη γίνω μια κηλίδα στο οδόστρωμα (I was afraid of becoming a stain on the pavement)
Ξέρω τον κώδικα, όχι στα μικρόφωνα (I know the code, I say no to the microphones)
Όσοι έκαναν δουλειές, πάντα μιλούσαν χαμηλόφωνα (Whoever did business always spoke under their breaths)
Τώρα τα νότα μου φυλάν μπας και ρεφάρουμε (όλοι τους) (Now they are watching my back to gain back our losses)
Ποτέ τους δεν το λεν πριν να το κάνουνε (They never say it before they do it)
Ακόμα με ρωτάς για ποιους rapάρουμε; (Are you still asking me who we are rapping for?)
Γι' αυτούς με τα North Face κι όσους δεν έχουν να τα πάρουνε (For all those who wear North Face and those who cannot afford it)
Είμαι παιδί αυτής της γης, δε θέλω βία (I am a child of this Earth, I want no violence)
Δε βλέπω χρώματα, έχω αχρωματοψία (I don’t see colors, I am colorblind)
Δε φοβάμαι ποιος θα 'ρθει να μου την πέσει (I am not afraid of who will come up to me and fight me)
Με χαιρετάν σε γλώσσες που δεν ξέρω και μ' αρέσει (They greet me in languages I don’t know, and I like it).

Translation adapted from LYRICS Translate

Τhe prominence of social media, globalization and the centralization of music in online platforms, has transformed political song. “Political song now has nothing to envy from post-junta political song, but it might just be harder to find. Back then, younger generations organized through youth political parties, big festivals, student syndicates. Today politics takes place in a more indirect manner, a critical manner, and this is expressed in song” said Maniatis toward the end of our conversation.

Music and the natural environment

While music is theorized as an identity and political tool, there is hardly any discussion on its role within environmental narratives. Ecomusicology is a subset of musicology that questions the relationship between music, culture and nature. Although not an inherently activist field, the research promoted through ecomusicology challenges the sustainability of musical practices and sheds light on the important topics of environmental crisis and climate change[20].

There’s no better way to explore the relationship between music and the environment than by looking at Colombia, a country with the world’s highest share of bird biodiversity (18.30%), comprising 1917 species[21]. In the mountain area of Los Montes de María, this biodiversity is reflected in the naturally made flute, gaita. “Most of the time when we think about music, we think about humans. With gaita, not only is the imitation of bird sounds involved but also different species of plants are transformed to make the instruments”, revealed to the SNF Dialogues Dr. Jaime Bofill-Calero, Assistant Professor at Puerto Rico’s Music Conservatory.

During Colombia’s 50-year conflict between right-wing and left-wing paramilitary groups, communities occupying Los Montes de María, were displaced to larger urban centers including the capital, Bogotá[22]. In the documentary “Bajando por la montaña: Ecology of Gaita Music”[23], Bofill-Calero met with famous Bogotá-based musician and artisan, Fredys Arrieta, who has attempted to reclaim the lands of the displaced. In his farm, “La Flojera”, outside the city of San Juan Nepomuceno, Fredys crafts his own instruments, performs, and teaches; a personal project he calls “La Bajera”.

According to Bofill-Calero, Fredys “has become conscious of the continuous environmental degradation, the resource extraction, and the pollution in his area. He knows he must conserve the environment which supplies him with the cardón cacti and caracolí trees for his instruments, and also works in Bogotá to foster this consciousness”. Although Fredys might not be a full-fledged climate activist, from a western perspective, he has been successful not only in disseminating ecological knowledge but also inspiring community leadership through music.  Fredys’ group “Gaiteros de San Jacinto”, from San Jacinto town in the Bolívar department, has created a global platform, raising awareness on Colombia’s biodiversity. Their album “Un fuego de sangre won the 2007 “Best Folk Album” Latin Grammy Award[24], with their song “El Corcovado” (“The Wood Quail”) featuring the homonymous bird.

However, not only is music about the physical space and the environment around us, but it can itself transform into an immaterial space, a “soundscape” where diverse experiences and knowledge about our world can be shared[25]. Besides its biodiversity, Montes de María is a versatile “soundscape”, representing centuries of indigenous, African, and European convergence. “The populations in the Caribbean coast are living traditions. You have ancestral peoples like the Kogi or the Wiwa since pre-Hispanic times, but also Afro-Colombian communities and indigenous groups that, through the process of ‘mestizaje’ (mixing), have mixed with other populations”, said Bofill-Calero.

For the Wiwa people, music is part of their cosmology. Their “estilo indígena” (indigenous style) features the dual use of “female” and “male” gaitas, that produce melodic and bass sounds respectively[26]. On the other hand, the “gaita Negra” (Afro-descendent style) as well as the genres of bullerengue and cumbia, dominate the Afro-Colombian city of Palenque, close to the Montes de María area. Bofill-Calero explained that “there is still racial tension and distinctions between music styles, however, we can’t really essentialize; different identities crossover and don’t fit in strict categories”. Toto la Momposina is an iconic figure found in the midst of such a crossover. Her rendition of "Yo me llamo cumbia” combines the indigenous gaita and African drums, celebrating what it means to be, above all, Colombian[27].

Mi piel es morena como los cuero' de mi tambor (My skin is dark like the leathers of my drum)
Y mis hombros son un par de maracas que besa el sol (And my shoulders are a pair of maracas kissing the sun).

…

Yo nací en las bellas playas caribes de mi país (I was born on the beautiful Caribbean beaches of my country)
Soy barranquillera, cartagenera, yo soy de allí (I am from Barranquilla, Cartagena, I am from there)
Soy de Santa Marta, soy Monteriana, pero eso sí (I am from Santa Marta, from Chile, but nevertheless)
Yo soy Colombiana, oh, tierra hermosa donde nací (I am Colombian, oh beautiful land where I was born).

Translation by Jesus Arturo Garcia Pena

Claiming space in the “soundscape”

While the music of indigenous and Afro-Colombian communities is becoming increasingly visible in the musical “soundscape”, there are other communities whose voice continues to be restricted. The “western gaze” has historically associated the fine arts and classical music with the mind and reason, excluding non-white, popular music as hedonistic and even barbarous[28]. “Soundscapes” become places of power struggle, where only a handful of narratives can be included, creating the need to “claim space”.

The Suriname Maroons, one of the two Afro-descendent peoples in the South American country of Suriname, are an underrepresented example of this need to claim space. “As descendants of enslaved communities, that escaped the plantations along the Surinamese coast in the 17^th and 18^th centuries and fought for their right to survive in their own terms, the Suriname Maroons have a remarkable legacy”, explained to the SNF Dialogues Dr. Corinna Campbell, Associate Music Professor at Williams College and researcher of Maroon music and dance.

After 300 years of colonial rule, Suriname gained its independence from the Dutch in 1975, along with a 10-year Aid Treaty, which proved to be more of a post-colonial than a sustainable development mechanism[29]. As a response, Desiré Bouterse’s 1980 coup d'état sparked an Interior War, that lasted until 1992. Bouterse’s attacks on revolutionary armies, mostly comprising Maroons, displaced thousands into the capital of Paramaribo and French Guiana[30]. Anthropologist “Bonno” Thoden van Velzen draws a socio-cultural, and even spiritual connection between the Maroons’ 20^th century democratic struggle and their ancestors’ slavery exodus; “their villages in the interior remain important to them. In their eyes [they] are sacred places, historic sites”[31].

A direct result of the Maroons’ displacement was the founding of numerous associations of dance and song, such as Kifoko, in 1983, which became important hubs for social and cultural reproduction[32]. These associations shared a common repertoire of drum-rich sounds and the complementary aleke, awasa and bandámmba dances. Awasa performances by actors like the Miela Mofu cultural group, are only one example of how the live sound of the drums and dance can turn into a spectacle, engaging a whole community in Maroon culture and tradition.

The practice of mato, a kind of storytelling with music, is another important feature of the Maroon music culture. Maroon writer and director, Tolin Alexander, "a descendant of the people who ‘freed’ themselves” describes the oral tradition of mato, as a means to “pass [on your] knowledge through your children…[to carry] what [we know as] heritage”[33]. Specifically, “after slavery, people who freed themselves, told stories to their own children of where they came from, and for many of [the children], there was the wish to go to that place”[34].

However, there is still great need to “claim space” for black bodies in the global soundscape. Campbell explained that bandámmba, a quite erotic, belly-dance-like movement can be used for creativity or humorous play, but it can potentially cause harm, if taken out of context; “the prominent use of the butt and the hips can lead to the objectification of people of African descent, especially in the African diaspora”. The annual Moengo Festival of visual arts, theater, dance and music, founded by Maroon artist, Marcel Pinas, is one of the many attempts to prevent this objectification and to instead nurture positive visibility. While Maroons are now even in the government, they still lack agency, something which the festival addresses through the power of representation, creativity and above all engaging with the community[35]. Ultimately, Pinas is “making a political statement with this festival. The largest festival in Suriname is now in Moengo; it has become a cultural center, and it is a statement because it is a Maroon area, and most of the people that are involved in the process are Maroons”[36]. Campbell also highlighted the power of community in creating this sense of agency and claiming space in wider cultural arenas. “It takes many people to make these performances happen. You have the drummers, the dancers, the singers, but also a whole community that’s coming together to celebrate and support that”, she said at the end of our conversation.

“Music is an open field; a dynamic field that can include all expressions, viewpoints and attitudes on life. Sometimes it can be a masterpiece, other times it can be ridiculous. It is nevertheless a space for controversy, conflict, expression and sensitivity”, said Dimitris Maniatis. Our world will always have a soundtrack, highlighting the symbiotic relationship between the musician and the socially conscious citizen. Music is not a mere aesthetic vessel, but a means to question and challenge the world around us.

References

[1] Aja Romano (2024). Macklemore’s anthem for Gaza is a rarity: a protest song in an era of apolitical music. Vox. Available from: https://www.vox.com/culture/24153524/macklemores-anthem-gaza-protest-song-apolitical-music

[2] Rabinowitch, T.C. (2020). The Potential of Music to Effect Social Change. Music & Science, 3, 1–6. Available from: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/2059204320939772

[3] ibid

[4] Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics (n.d.). Special Statistical Bulletin on the 65^th anniversary of the Palestinian Nakba. Available from: https://www.pcbs.gov.ps/portals/_pcbs/PressRelease/Press_En_nakba65E.pdf       

[5] United Nations (n.d.). The Question of Palestine. Available from: https://www.un.org/unispal/history/

[6] Massad, J. (2002). Liberating Songs: Palestine Put to Music. Institute of Palestine Studies, 32 (3). Available from: https://digitalprojects.palestine-studies.org/jps/fulltext/41338

[7] Boulos, I. (2013). Negotiating the Elements: Palestinian Freedom Songs from 1967 to 1987. In Kanaaneh, M., Thorsén, S.M., Bursheh, H., and McDonald, D. A. (Eds.). Palestinian Music and Song: Expression and Resistance since 1900. Indiana University Press. Available from: https://www.issaboulos.com/articles/Negotiating-The-Elements-2013.pdf

[8] Araj, B. and Brym, R.J. (2024). Intifada. Britannica. Available from: https://www.britannica.com/topic/intifada

[9] Scandrett, E. et al. (2017). Cultural Resistance in Occupied Palestine and the Use of Creative International Solidarity through Song. Available from: https://eresearch.qmu.ac.uk/bitstream/handle/20.500.12289/10635/10635.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=n

[10] ibid

[11] Grove, R. (2023). Hip Hop & Activism: Tracing the Role of Music in Social Movements. Bet. Available from: https://www.bet.com/article/3bpywo/hip-hop-activism-the-role-of-music-in-social-movements

[12] Cervi, L. and Divon, T. (2023). Playful Activism: Memetic Performances of Palestinian Resistance in TikTok

#Challenges. Social Media and Society, 1-13. Available from:

hTps://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/20563051231157607

[13] ibid

[14] Omar Ghonem (2024). Saint Levant Envisions a Return to a Free Palestine on ‘Deira’. Cairo Scene. Available from: https://cairoscene.com/Noise/Saint-Levant-Envisions-a-Return-to-a-Free-Palestine-on-Deira

[15] Howard F. (2023). Youth Work, Music Making and Activism. Youth, 3 (3), 1053-1062. Available from: https://www.mdpi.com/2673-995X/3/3/67

[16] Hill, J. C. (2022). Activist Musicians: A Framework for Leaders of Social Change. Journal of Leadership Education, 21 (2), 164-180. Available from: https://journalofleadershiped.org/jole_articles/activist-musicians-a-framework-for-leaders-of-social-change/

[17] Papeti, A. (2015). Folk Music and the Cultural Politics of the Military Junta in Greece (1967–1974). Mousikos Logos, 2, 50-62. Available from: https://m-logos.gr/issues/i0002/a0022-papaeti/

[18] Sakallieros, G. (2022). Contextualizing Cultural Policies in 20th – and Early 21st – Century Greece: Readings in Political Milieu, Art Music, and Popular Culture. Series Musicologica Balcanica, 3, 127-156. Available from: https://ejournals.lib.auth.gr/smb/article/view/7977/8582

[19] Papadogiannis, N. (2014). A (trans)national emotional community? Greek political songs and the politicisation of Greek migrants in West Germany in the 1960s and early 1970s. Available from: https://research.bangor.ac.uk/portal/files/17722620/2014_A_trans_national_emotional_community.pdf

[20] Reich, M. A. (2016). Soundscape Composition as Environmental Activism and Awareness: An Ecomusicological Approach. Thesis: University of Puget Sound. Available from: https://soundideas.pugetsound.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1028&context=honors_program_theses

[21] Butler, R.A. (2023). Total number of bird species by country. World Rainforests. Available from: https://worldrainforests.com/03birds.htm

[22] Bofill-Calero, J.O. (2019). Bajando por la montaña: Ecology of Colombian Gaita music. Musiké, 7(1), 89-111. Available from: https://cmpr.edu/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Musike-7-2019-1.pdf#page=96.

[23] Brims, M. and Bofill-Calero, J.O. (2023). Bajando por la montaña: Ecology of Gaita Music. Vimeo. Available from: https://vimeo.com/811910290

[24] Latin Recording Academy (n.d.). Los Gaiteros de San Jacinto From Colombia. Available from: https://www.latingrammy.com/artistas/los-gaiteros-de-san-jacinto-from-colombia/23677-02

[25] Björck, C. (2011). Claiming Space: Discourses on Gender, Popular Music, and Social Change. Available from: https://gupea.ub.gu.se/bitstream/handle/2077/24290/gupea_2077_24290_1.pdf?sequence=1

[26] Bofill-Calero, 2019.

[27] West, O. (n.d.). From The Docks To The Decks: The Cumbia explosion. Available from: https://www.latinolife.co.uk/articles/docks-decks-cumbia-explosion

[28] Björck, 2011

[29] Mhango, B. (1989). The Political Economy Aid: the case of Suriname. Available from: https://repositorio.iica.int/bitstream/handle/11324/12374/BVE20107926i.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

[30] Janssen, R. (2011). An analysis of the foreign policy of Suriname from 1975 to 1991. Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies: Leiden. Available from: https://library.oapen.org/handle/20.500.12657/34682

[31] Gomes da Cunha, O. M and & Thoden van Velzen, H.U.E (2016). Through Maroon worlds: a conversation with Bonno Thoden van Velzen. Canadian Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Studies. Available from: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/08263663.2016.1187363

[32] Campbell, C. (2012). Personalizing tradition: Surinamese Maroon music and dance in contemporary urban practice. Doctoral Dissertation: Harvard University. Available from: https://dash.harvard.edu/handle/1/10344924

[33] Korjaal-ing space (2021). Interview w/ Tolin Alexander (writer, film & stage director, and storyteller). Available from: https://korjaal-ing.space/Tolin-Alexander

[34] ibid

[35] Gugolati, M. (2023). Collectivity, Memory, and Art Making: Marcel Pinas and the Maroons in Suriname. Esclavages & Post-esclavages, 8. Available from: https://journals.openedition.org/slaveries/8234?fbclid=IwAR3XmM2DeA-jTRuY_hAY9JBX-KKqzI_2Gdyl6jGFFmln-QaRwaZmfJGzhXo#quotation

[36] ibid