The Revolutionary Internationalism of Irish Rap Group Kneecap
1600 words on Irish rappers AKA the essay on Irish reunification you didn't know you needed. You're welcome, Internet.
The struggle for language rights often encapsulates the height of revolutionary cultural struggle. Suppressing language is a key process through which occupying and imperial forces strip people of their culture, their sense of peoplehood, their dignity, and their self-determination. In Belfast, the struggle for the Irish language is active – the Irish language was only recognized as an official language in the Six Counties in 2022, and given the centuries of suppression by the British, a relatively small number of people speak the language.
Kneecap, an Irish rap group from Belfast, is seeking to change this. Made up of Mo Chara (Liam Óg Ó Hannaidh), Móglaí Bap (Naoise Ó Cairealláin), and DJ Próvaí (JJ Ó Dochartaigh), they rap in a mix of Irish and English. Although the use of local, regional, or ethnic colloquialisms has a long history within hip-hop, Kneecap imbues this practice with a conscious anti-imperialist ethic that directly challenges the ongoing British subjugation of Ireland.
Who Is Kneecap?
Kneecap utilizes music and cultural production as a means through which to cohere a distinct politic of Irish revolutionary nationalism, one that seeks to address the problems faced by the masses of the Six Counties today, both Catholic and Protestant, while arguing for the emergence of a united Ireland in which British occupation is no more. While Irish republican nationalism is generally embedded in Irish culture, Kneecap’s approach takes a unique 21st century orientation to longstanding questions of sovereignty, identity, and republicanism. They are the Ceasefire Babies, or children of the Good Friday Agreement.
The Good Friday Agreement of 1998, a peace process brokered between the Republic of Ireland, the United Kingdom, and the political parties of the Six Counties, ushered in a new political structure and a “promise… of economic opportunity, prosperity, and stability,” as British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak declared at the 25th anniversary celebration of the agreement. However, as youth who came of age following the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, they’ve experienced a so-called peace in which death, poverty, exploitation, and degradation have remained entrenched for the masses, even among the Unionists in the North who continue to support British occupation.
Kneecap emerged from a specific cultural and political context in Belfast, where reverberations of The Troubles shape everyday experiences. Their name, Kneecap, is an irreverent reference to a practice utilized by the New Irish Republican Army in which people (often accused of drug-dealing) are shot in the back of their kneecaps as a punishment. They also recently debuted the first Irish language film at Sundance Film Festival, winning the Audience Choice Award. The film stars the group alongside actors such as Michael Fassbender and depicts their experiences growing up in West Belfast and forming Kneecap.
Kneecap’s Revolutionary Nationalism
Though Kneecap often takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to the question of nationhood and peoplehood, there is strong political precedence for this politic in Ireland, found in the revolutionary nationalism of James Connolly and others. In Connolly’s 1897 essay, “Socialism and Nationalism,” he argues for an Irish republic free of capitalist tyranny, where all people are fully incorporated and where the Irish nation acts as a beacon of light for the oppressed around the world. Indeed, this is precisely the politic Kneecap has embodied lately with their consistent expressions of Palestinian solidarity, as After Empire discussed last week.
“A workers’ revolution is the way forward, rather than one based on a fucking god that may not even exist,” Mo Chara hurled this provocation during a recent appearance on The Late Late Show, a talk show broadcast by Ireland’s public television channel RTÉ. Mo Chara’s agnostic/atheist republicanism stands in stark relief against the very first line of the Irish Republic’s Constitution: “In the Name of the Most Holy Trinity, from Whom is all authority and to Whom, as our final end, all actions both of men and States must be referred.” With his remarks, Mo Chara not only criticizes the religious nature of the Republic, but also simultaneously implicitly rejects the religious framework through which British imperialism in the North is often articulated.
The use of the phrase workers’ revolution carries a particular ideological history, as it’s basically the bat-signal for Trotskyism, though it is unclear if that legacy was intended to be invoked here. Nonetheless, Kneecap does make clear both in their RTÉ appearance and elsewhere that it is not simply a united Ireland that is needed, but rather the emergence of a new Ireland on a revolutionary political basis that fully incorporates all people living on the island.
United Ireland for Whom?
What would such a united Ireland look like and how would it be achieved?
The members of Kneecap have repeatedly stated in interviews that they have more in common with working class people living in the Shankill than the rich people or politicians in Dublin. The Shankill is a protestant working class neighborhood in Belfast known for its militant Unionist politics. Yet, Kneecap sees the people living and working in that neighborhood as part of a united Ireland.
In an interview with Vice, when asked if they had Irish or British passports (in the North citizens are able to choose), Mo Chara states,
“If I had a British passport, it would not make me any less Irish, but I think to have a British passport is to legitimize the 800 years of colonialism here.” In response to a follow up question about a united Ireland, Móglaí Bap responds, “And they can still be British or Polish or Japanese or whatever they want to be in Ireland. They’ll still have their identities.”
While many might assume reuinfication would require the expulsion of all Unionists from the North, Kneecap takes a different approach. One of their most popular songs, “Get Your Brits Out,” offers an alternative to a politic of expulsion. Throughout the song Kneecap humorously fantasizes about taking prominent DUP (the leading Unionist party in the North) politicians out for a raucous night on the town. Thus, they “get their Brits out.” Though playful, the song still retains the phrase’s political meaning. At the end of the first verse, after referencing the DUP, they rap,
“Anois éist (Now listen), I’m gonna say this once / Yous can all stay just don’t be cunts / And don’t be runnin' round like silly old tans / Just take these yokes and we’ll go for a dance.''
Among the humorous sleights, the band’s reference to “silly old tans” is a callback to the Black and Tans. The Black and Tans were British soldiers recruited to reinforce the Royal Irish Constabulary during the British occupation of Ireland in the early 20th century.
This historical allusion to Black and Tans is given new life when one considers how exactly Kneecap was founded. Móglaí Bap and a friend were caught by police spray painting “cearta” (the Irish word for rights) on a bus stop the day before an Irish Language Act march in Belfast. Móglaí Bap ran, but the friend was caught and, only speaking Irish, had to spend the night in a cell waiting for an Irish translator. Such occurrences demonstrate the ways that “silly old tans” sectarianism is baked into the British imperial state structure governing the Six Counties. As a further act of defiance, Kneecap’s first song, “C.E.A.R.T.A.” was written to commemorate this protest.
Kneecap’s admonition “don’t be cunts” references both the DUP and the silly old tans – the past and present of British imperialism in the North. The triple entendre of “Get Your Brits Out” captures the political specificity of Kneecap’s position – that everyone currently on the island of Ireland can stay, so long as they do not uphold the colonial politics of the British empire… and are willing to have a little fun.
Irish Nationalism Goes International
What’s exciting about Kneecap’s revolutionary nationalism is that it is internationalist. Kneecap’s sentiment that everyone living on the island should be fully incorporated into it is one that is relevant not only because the emergence of a united Ireland is on the table, but also because it rejects nativism as a political basis for Irish republicanism and national liberation more broadly. While attending Sundance Film Festival, the members of Kneecap took part in a Palestine solidarity protest. Pictures from the event show DJ Próvaí holding an image of a woman wearing a hijab, a signifier of Muslim identity. Above the woman it reads, “Stop the Genocide.” Below her, in the foreground of the image, the poster says “We Are Not The Enemy.”
Like their music, the protest had layers of meaning. First, it was an obvious act of solidarity with the Palestinian people during the Israeli assault on Gaza. The second meaning of the protest was a political intervention within Ireland, as the sentiment of “We are not the enemy” carries additional political valence in Ireland right now. Ireland, like many nations across the globe, is currently facing an influx of migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. Reactionary forces work to characterize the refugees and migrants arriving in the country as enemies. Rural towns across the island have been holding protests with slogans such as “Ireland is full” and “enough is enough.” Last year, Dublin faced riots after an Algerian man allegedly stabbed three children outside of a school. The double-meaning of Kneecap’s protest brilliantly captured in image and deed what we at After Empire (by way of Alain Badiou) have been saying: there is only one world.
Some of us at After Empire have been enthusiastically watching Kneecap’s ascension over the last several years. While much is unknown about Kneecap’s specific political investments, we’re excited to platform, engage, and discuss the cultural forces pushing for a revolutionary approach to Irish reunification.