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The famous lettering on Woody Guthrie's guitar says it all: "This machine kills fascists."
When Odetta sang her Freedom Song it moved people to join, to sing along, to march, to stand together.
Taylor Swift may not have won the presidential election for Kamala Harris, but there is little doubt she moved many young voters to engage for the first time.
For reference:
• The Greatest Generation - born 1901-1927
• The Silent Generation - born 1928-1945
• Baby Boomers - born 1946-1964
• Generation X - born 1965-1980
• Millennials - born 1981-1996
• Generation Z - born 1997-2012
• Generation Alpha - born 2013-present
Every generation has its music, some of which gets political, some of which become anthemic, rousing, like bagpipes or bugles to warriors. When a Baby Boomer hears Richie Havens sing about freedom, it means something more personal, more stirring, than if a Gen Z listener happened to hear him, but to that Gen Z listener who may have just turned 18 and is able to vote, hearing Lady Gaga's Born This Way might be a powerful activating emotional call that many Baby Boomers have never even heard. Watching Andra Day's music video, Rise Up[1], is powerful for anyone of any age, but Gen Z commentator Mia Savidge[2]connects its sustaining force to her generation:
I grew up with the song “Rise Up” by Andra Day, and remember constantly hearing it at school, on the radio, and in choir. It’s an uplifting song that urges the listener to take action in whatever form that is applicable. Because of this, “Rise Up” is a perfect inspiration for people to make a change, such as casting their vote in the election.
While the commonality and connection on a generational basis is one power of the song, one that can continue to connect a Gen Xer from Compton to another from Burlington might be Public Enemy's Fight the Power, which may still sound thrilling and invitational to those in Gen X while sounding vaguely threatening and scary to a Baby Boomer who happened to hear it.
Making music for your friends, for an open mic in a local coffeehouse or bar, or on the street in a political demonstration is far more accessible and still has that connecting power, just much more local. Indeed, it is the inexperienced organizer who forgets to invite musicians to a rally.
Music can rouse, but it is sometimes most effective when it deëscalates. At a nonviolent resistance action at a US thermonuclear command base in northern Wisconsin's Chequamegon Forest, some 150 of us faced off at the front gate and started our planned action by bringing out pickaxes and shovels. We dug big holes in the gravel road at the entrance and planted trees we had brought from our own lands sprinkled throughout the northwoods. We literally tore up the road. All the while, musician Glenn Walker Johnson, carrying his small homemade harp, went up to every military member and all law enforcement officers, smiling, playing gentle music, just calming everyone even as the pickaxes swung and the dirt flew. I continue to believe Glenn's beatific smile and soothing harp likely saved some peace protesters' heads from getting thumped. That was not a moment for some swelling bagpipes playing The Campbells Are Coming. We already had that energy as we landscaped the military base entrance with pine saplings. Glenn's harp consciously comforted the armed agents of the state with the knowledge we'd be done with our acts of resistance soon enough; I suspect he prevented what could have been the collective amygdala hijack of some dangerous men in the middle of the woods on their turf.
Indeed, they allowed us to leave. As one of the organizers, I stayed to make sure everyone was safe. As I finally walked down their military base entrance road to the US Forest Service Road where everyone was getting in their cars to drive out, I was accompanied by both the sheriff and the base commander, named Paul, a man originally from the Deep South. I said, Paul, "I want to thank you for being so controlled and measured today." He answered, "Well, y'all behaved yourselves."
We had just torn up his driveway. He didn't even ask the sheriff to make any arrests. This was the same commander who, when we told him ahead of time what we planned, had said, "Y'all do that and you'll be hurt worse than you ever imagined."
Years later, I remain convinced that it was a musician who prevented some likely injuries and even arrests that day.
Music reaches parts of us that intellectual argument misses. Music can greatly enhance our participation in democracy. Indeed, we continued to offer nonviolent resistance to that command base and we won. Like so many nonviolent struggles for greater voice for peace and justice in a democratic campaign, music was a factor at every stage, from the Catholic Worker Farm Family Band getting us roused up with songs like, "I'd rather be shoveling shit on the farm than shoveling shit in the White House," to the calmative harp in the midst of the most robust actions, music enables, energized, and, when necessary, calmed. It shaped our emotions in the moment, strengthening our resistance even as it kept it safer.
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