The revolution is the song ~ Malinda Words

Revolutions and songs go together, it seems. Song can call forth revolution. Art can do that. Not often though. More typical is for revolutionary fervour to inspire song.

We see this in political upheavals, even those that are only in their revolutionary infancy and sometimes those that are named revolutionary but are most certainly not in rehearsal, rhetoric, strategy or action.

Artists, well not all of them, feel compelled to contribute in the way that best can. With their art. Not all of them identify with the particular rush of revolutionary blood of course. There’s a bit of herd instinct at times. And at times, there are bucks in ‘being heard’ depending of course on whose interests are truly being served, depending on who the puppet master or puppet mistress is.

There is a song. Almost always. Indeed they often are part of a revolution long before someone makes the relevant announcement or the overpowering voice of agitation clearly indicates that things can no longer remain the same.

You find ‘revolution’ in folk music, folk stories, folk dance and other forms of folk art. They simply tell the world that the existing social, economic and political order is just not right, that its flaws and injustices haven’t gone unnoticed. They put the status quo on notice. They are, then, revolutionary, for they express disenchantment and indignation and in doing so call for the recognition of commonalities in subjugation. That’s one step away from necessary conversations that need to take place as a precondition to organising collective action.

The tendency however is to see ‘song’ as some kind of useful appendage to ‘revolution.’ Songs that color, perfume and lend textures to 'revolution.' Sons that even dress it well.

Ahmed Sékou Touré, the first president of independent Guinea who served from 1958 until his death in 1984 had an interesting thought on revolutions, songs and revolutionary songs, quoted in Osei Amoah's ‘A Political Dictionary of Black Quotations’:

‘To take part in the African revolution it is not enough to write a revolutionary song: you must fashion the revolution with the people. And if you fashion it with the people, the songs will come by themselves.’

Now Sékou Touré has been called all kinds of names by the Western Media. Dictator. Tyrant. Murderer. Could be true, but he was also right when he said the following:

'When you are praised by the colonists, it means that you are bad for your people. When they say you are bad, it means that you are good for your people. The day they say I'm good that'll mean I betrayed you.’

It could be clever gaelavijjaava of course, but considering the track record of, say, the United States of America, a lot can be read from who they praise and who they vilify.

We can of course ignore who said it; the thought need not be discarded. What he has said, essentially, is to consider the revolution as a song, a people’s song, fashioned with the people.

How do you do it though? Well, there’s another Sékou Touré quote:

‘We should go down to the grassroots of our culture, not to remain there, not to be isolated there, but to draw strength and substance there from, and with whatever additional sources of strength and material we acquire, proceed to set up a new form of society raised to the level of human progress.’

Here’s an exercise that may be useful. Think of moments that are considered revolutionary, movements you would consider to be revolutionary. Was the revolution a song or were there songs that frilled the agitation, protests, storming of the barricades etc.? Did the revolutionaries go down to the grassroots of culture to draw strength and substance or was all of that ignored as irrelevant?

Did they gather the voices of the people and compose a song or did they write some lyrics, add melodies and sing it to the people? Did they ask ‘who are you?’ Did they say ‘hello’? Or did they say ‘I know what’s best for you?’ Did they, then, presume the right to impose on people their version of the people’s reality? Would that be ‘revolutionary’? Would that be ‘a song’?

Somewhere, in this very moment, there’s a sigh and there’s a smile, there’s indignation and resolve, there’s a lived reality that is abhorred and a tomorrow towards which people are ready to march. That’s a song. A revolutionary song. It is being sung as I write and as you will read.

There’s music. Can you hear it? It’s the revolution. Do you see it?

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

16 May 2023

The revolution is the song

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