Land, Love, and Loss

How do we speak of oppression when it surrounds us, no longer a distant story but a living, breathing reality? How do we find the words for war when it’s on our doorstep? And how do we move forward in the wake of so much loss?

Courtesy of Norman Wong, shared via Teen Vogue. © All rights belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

In an age of neutrality, middle grounds, and cancel-culture, being labeled “woke” often stings more than it should. I’m not a political journalist; I simply find joy in music and solace in writing. Yet, I can’t help but notice how my perspective—and the music I turn to—has shifted in response to the ongoing suffering in the Middle East since October 7th.
In the midst of this tragedy, artists have emerged as voices of resistance, channeling their pain and the resilience that often emerges from human suffering through their music. Over the past few months, their work has knocked at our doors, marched down the streets, and, inevitably, profoundly affected me, drawing me into a reality far removed from my own, yet impossible to turn away from and essential to witness. Their songs stir something deep within me, bringing tears to my eyes and vividly evoking distant places scented with fruit and seawater, that feel both so foreign and somehow terribly familiar.

The brutal reality of an uncertain future is a central theme in many of these tracks. In his new single Gaza is Calling, Mustafa (the Poet) poignantly reflects this theme: “You wear that scarf like it’s a vein / always pack your mother’s plates / you won’t let anything else escape.”
The music video, shot in Jenin, is dedicated to his Palestinian best friend Ali, who fled to Canada with his family, forever burdened by the profound guilt of leaving his people behind.

But displacement does not exist in a vacuum; surviving your own homeland does not shield you from pain. Nemahsis, a hijabi Palestinian artist, challenges cultural stereotypes and amplifies marginalized voices through her art and political commentary. “I’ll overhear people say, ‘She would be the biggest artist in the world if she didn’t wear a hijab,’ because of the subconscious biases we don’t even realize are there. It’s something that’s been embedded, and I think if we ignore it, it’s detrimental to my success and the success of many people of color,” she shared during her interview with Tom Power.
In moments like these, the line between insecurity and empowerment begins to blur like the lines of her beloved Mediterranean Sea, bringing to light conversations that must be addressed to instigate meaningful change. These musicians remind us that music can be a powerful catalyst for demanding, or at least addressing, the change that is so desperately needed.

How can we begin anew when all we see around us is the portrayal of destruction? When the colors that surround us are the red-stained gray of debris?
Elyanna, a Palestinian-Chilean artist, resorts to memories of a life before devastation, weaving tales of identity and belonging while holding onto symbols of freedom. In her song Olive Branch (Ghosn Zaytoun), her warm vocals rock us like a mother cradling her child, yet they carry such pain that they make us want to hold our mothers just as tight.

Mourning and hope can take many forms, as exemplified by Saint Levant, a multicultural artist who blends languages and genres like French rap, Palestinian hip-hop, and R&B to create a sound that resonates with a new generation grappling with both heritage and loss. In his song Deira, he expresses the complexities of displacement and fear:

Big dreams, heavy nights // Praying that my family could stay alive
Heavy nights, big dreams // Praying that we make it to sixteen

These tracks serve as an homage to his Palestinian roots, to old childhood tales, and to a land that is now suffering, while touching on powerful themes of identity and culture.

So the question remains: how do we continue to narrate our lives when fear and death leave lasting scars? And what happens when that fear becomes the very force that keeps us moving forward? These artists, among many others, form a chorus of resistance, urging us to bear witness to the realities of oppression while celebrating the enduring power of love and community. In a year of chaos, their music transcends mere sound—it stands as a testament to what remains among destruction. It honors values and cultures that refuse to be erased, even as the world around us crumbles. Their art is a testament, a profound document to the complexities of loss and persistence, reminding us that even when everything falls apart, the spirit of people will never be forgotten.