‘Find your own voice and use it, Use your own voice and find it.’1

Alternative Resistance - The role of hip-hop in Palestinian youth culture, the pursuit of self-

determined statehood and resistance to Israeli occupation.

Exam No. 6888240

MA Arabic

Supervisor: Professor Marilyn Booth

1 Jayne Cortez, excerpt from poem in Daniel Fishlin & Ajay Heble (eds), Rebel Musics, Black Rose Books, 2003, 50.

Contents

Abbreviations

1

Introduction

2

Part One

8

Part Two

20

Part Three

25

Conclusion

33

Bibliography

35

Appendixes

41

Abbreviations

BRICUP = British Committee for Universities of Palestine

IDF = Israeli Defence Force

IDM = Intelligent Dance Music

MC = Master of Ceremonies: used in the hip-hop context to refer to a vocalist performing rap music

OPT = Occupied Palestinian Territories

PACBI = Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel

US/USA = United States of America

1

Introduction

I decided to explore Palestinian hip-hop 2 having been struck by its entrance into the realm of inter-

national Palestine solidarity activism in recent years. However, having chosen the subject, I was

surprised by a lack of academic research into this music and Palestinian youth culture. While, the

region attracts endless academic scrutiny, efforts seem disproportionally devoted to historical or po-

litical concerns, and rarely to the realities of contemporary Palestinian society with its increasingly

younger population.

Despite the efforts of cultural specialists like Ted Swedenburg3 and several younger academics who

focus generally on Arabic hip-hop4, it seems much of Palestinian youth culture, and hip-hop in par-

ticular, is undocumented. Israel/Palestine has an increasingly individualist young Arab demo-

graphic, with aspirations, anxieties and varied opinions on the current and future state/State of Pal-

estine. By way of acknowledging their agency in the situation, young Palestinians should be in-

cluded in the international discourse. Furthermore, this would inform future efforts to reach a

peaceful status in the region. Currently, hip-hop is a politically-conscious aural and visual expres-

sion that provides unparalleled insight into young minds and the spaces they inhabit.

2

2 Academic Tricia Rose defines hip-hop as ‘an African-American and Afro-Caribbean youth culture compose of graffiti, breakdancing, and rap music.’ In its Palestinian form, hip-hop is dominated by the sub-category ‘rap music’, which she defines as ‘a form of rhymed storytelling accompanied by highly rhythmic, electronically based music.’ Tricia Rose, Black Noise, Wesleyan University Press, 1994, 2. However, graffiti and breakdancing are now emerging alongside the music so, for this and other reasons explored in the body of the work, I refer to ‘hip-hop’ as a discrete cultural phe-nomenon among Palestinian youth and not simply to ‘rap music’ as the technical definition of a musical style. 3 Ted Swedenburg & Rebecca L. Stein (eds), Palestine, Israel, and the Politics of Popular Culture, Duke University Press, 2005. 4 Basel Abbas, ‘An Analysis of Arabic Hip-Hop’ Dissertation, SAE Institute, London, 2005 & Angela Selena Williams, ‘“We Ain’t Terrorists, But We Droppin’ Bombs”: Language Use and Localization of Hip Hop in Egypt’ Thesis, Univer-sity of Illinois, 2009.

Songs, as fixed cultural symbols, have limited power to illuminate the situation they narrate beyond

the boundaries of their linguistic and cultural environment. Moreover, until seen in their original

context, as part of a complex process, it is impossible to know precisely what change or situation

they were created to affect. As Ajay Heble explains,

consideration of resistant sounds is predicated on the understanding that music cannot

be discussed as a static object of inquiry; its meanings reside not in some understanding

of the music in itself, but rather in the broader social and institutional contexts (of pro-

duction, distribution, and reception) in which it takes place.5

In the Palestinian context, consider the song ‘Meen Erhabi?’ (Who’s the Terrorist?), by the Lyd-

based hip-hop group DAM, which became internationally popular among activists and beyond. A

search on YouTube produces several pages of unofficial, fan-made videos and recorded perform-

ances. Together, the top three videos in the list, all of which have been posted with descriptions in

English, have alone been viewed almost 250,000 times6.

This song has transcended many borders and language barriers, with its memorable, repetitive cho-

rus, and titular line, which alone is well-known in translation. However, the song’s profound and

challenging lyrics, which constitute its significance as resistive expression, are manifestly difficult

to convey in translation, let alone in their original Arabic. A seemingly standard English translation

of these lyrics is available online. It appears, for instance, in the first few results of a Google search

for ‘Meen Erhabi lyrics’7. According to this, the chorus reads,

Who’s the terrorist?

3

5 Ajay Heble, ‘Take Two/Rebel Musics’, in Daniel Fishlin & Ajay Heble (eds), Rebel Musics, Black Rose Books, 2003, 236.6 ‘meen erhabi’, YouTube, <http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=meen+erhabi&search_type=&aq=f> (02 February 2010).7 ‘meen erhabi lyrics’, http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=safari&rls=en&q=meen+erhabi+lyrics&aq=f&aqi=&oq=, (02 February 2010).

I’m the terrorist?

How am I the terrorist when you’ve taken my land?

Who’s the terrorist?

You’re the terrorist!

You’ve taken everything I own while I’m living in my homeland!

Yet, my own translation, which I confirmed with a Palestinian university student, reads,

Who's the terrorist?

I'm the terrorist?

How am I the terrorist when I'm living in my homeland?

Who's the terrorist?

You're the terrorist!

You're eating me when I'm living in my homeland!

Clearly, the original lyrics carry more nuanced meanings than the online English translation. I doubt

a foreign activist would be compelled by the notion of someone not being a terrorist simply by vir-

tue of living in his or her homeland. It seems the sentiment of this line is something only a Palestin-

ian, whose lived experience it evokes, can relate to. Furthermore, it is clear that within the first Eng-

lish translation is an unsatisfactory attempt to approximate the metaphor of ‘being eaten’, which

carries the sense of being robbed, degraded or annihilated. The concept of being consumed or de-

voured itself is highly pertinent; in the sense of their village being consumed by the founding of Is-

rael in 1948, or in that their music might be perceived as Israeli, not Palestinian. These issues are

starkly portrayed in the documentary Slingshot Hip-hop; once when a member of DAM admonishes

school-children in Lyd for not identifying themselves as Palestinian, and again when the group re-

4

call identifying as Israeli MCs 8 before reclaiming their subsumed Palestinian identity after the

‘wake-up call’9 of the Second Intifada.

Ultimately, it is likely that non-Arabic speaking activists, despite admirable intentions, are unaware

of the multilayered, deeper meanings of ‘Meen Erhabi?’ and other examples of Palestinian hip-hop.

I hope to explore these by discovering the music in its own environment, where it plays a more

complex, intimate and thus significant role in the lives of its creators and homegrown fans.

Before outlining my approach and areas of focus, I want to state that this is intended to be a study of

human perception and expression; of what people produce imaginatively in response to external

stimuli. I have been motivated by the approach of cultural documentarians like John Malkin, who

interviewed socially-conscious US musicians to understand how their creative output impacts their

local and political communities10. Malkin’s efforts mean that alternative and grassroots perspectives

enter the academic sphere, even while their music remains excluded as supposedly populist and in-

tellectually flimsy. Indeed, music is subjective, but it is also representative and thus should be part

of the socio-political discourse on marginal communities and the issues that contribute to their con-

dition.

The subjectivity of my interviewees’ ideas goes without saying. I am not aiming for fact-based con-

clusions, but to understand individual reactions to the past and present, and strategies for conjuring

the future. It may be that some ideas will not resonate with the reality of the geo-political situation.

However, I focus on my young interviewees’ subjective views, for to understand their experiences

5

8 The use of ‘MC’, rather than ‘rapper’, is a semantic distinction predicated on one theorist’s precise assertion that ‘The rapper is judged by his ability to move units; the measure of the MC is the ability to move crowds.’ The ideological and economic relevance of this definition will become clear throughout this dissertation, as will the resultant affinity be-tween the formative era of US hip-hop and contemporary Palestinian hip-hop. William Jelani Cobb, To the Break of Dawn, New York University Press, 2007, 9.9 Slingshot Hip-Hop, documentary, dir. Jackie Salloum, 2008.10 John Malkin, Sounds of Freedom, Parallax Press, 2005.

and resultant perception of the wider situation is to reveal why, and by what means, they are creat-

ing such cogent and politicised musical responses.

One particular episode demonstrates that historically-orientated objectivity can be an inadequate

lens through which to view distinct cultural production and understand its empowering capabilities.

Frank Owen once asked jazz drummer Max Roach whether the ‘militancy’ of LL Cool J’s hip-hop

is ‘compromised’ by his sampling of Led Zeppelin. Roach replied indignantly, ‘Hip hop swings. I

never heard Led Zeppelin swing. Jesus Christ, now hip-hop comes from Led Zeppelin, you

motherfucker.”11 By approaching Palestinian hip-hop predominantly through its creators, the music

itself and hip-hop theory, I want to hear the distinct, though not necessary discrete, voice of Pales-

tinian youth above all else, and to avoid a misunderstanding like Owen’s.

Aside from academic works on cultural resistance and US hip-hop - the only variation of the genre

to have received significant attention - I have founded this dissertation on two main sources. Firstly,

in mid-December 2009, I conducted my own interviews in the West Bank, with six artists represent-

ing five hip-hop groups from Ramallah, Jerusalem and Bethlehem. I also spoke informally to sev-

eral young fans, local adults, academics, students and long-term foreign residents.

Secondly, I have consulted print and video media. Beyond activism, the media has been responsible

for the widest coverage of Palestinian hip-hop. The 2008 music documentary Slingshot Hip-hop12

was a particularly valuable source. Its primary focus on the emergence of Palestinian hip-hop in Is-

rael and Gaza compliments my own focus on the West Bank.

6

11 Frank Owen, ‘Hip Hop Bebop’ 1988, in Ajay Heble, ‘Take Two/Rebel Musics’, in Fishlin & Heble (eds), Rebel Mu-sics, 245.12 Slingshot Hip-Hop, 2008.

Part One of this dissertation will reflect my first-hand efforts to explore and understand Palestinian

hip-hop within its own environment, in particular from the mouths of those actively engaged in its

creation. I also tried to gain a sense of various reactions to hip-hop music in local communities by

speaking to a range of indirect participants and observers, as detailed above.

In Part Two, I will explore hip-hop’s distance from structures that may be considered constitutive of

the archetype of modern society, such as government and economics, and how this distance facili-

tates creative autonomy. By considering themes of Aboriginal Australian music, I will explore more

figurative notions of space and place than those that are dealt with in Part One.

Lastly, Part Three will seek to understand how music can ultimately be seen to constitute active re-

sistance to oppression. I will look to the US, where, hip-hop culture evolved from the struggle

against the ascendency of social problems, such as territorial street-gang rivalry, drug-related crime

and endemic poverty, but has since overwhelmingly become a facet of the capitalist entertainment

industry. I will also consider academic opinions, in order to evaluate Palestinian hip-hop as a mode

of socially conscious expression and quotidian resistance.

Briefly, a note on terminology. It is becoming increasingly difficult to delineate the areas signified

by the term Occupied Palestinian Territories (OPT), following ‘peace plans’ that redraw various

lines, if not entire maps. However, it remains the only succinct way of referring to the West Bank,

Gaza (which, being sealed from the air, land and sea by Israeli forces, remains effectively occu-

pied), East Jerusalem and Palestinian areas of greater Jerusalem, which officially fall under neither

Israeli nor Palestinian Authority jurisdiction. When referring to the entire region I will use the term

Israel/Palestine.

7

Part 1: The World of Palestinian Hip-hop and its Inhabitants

There are no academic surveys or statistics dedicated to the Palestinian hip-hop phenomenon. Luck-

ily, the modest size and population of the West Bank and Palestinian Jerusalem neighbourhoods

mean that in speaking to a handful of MCs one can grasp an sense of this rapidly evolving musical

genre. I began to understand Palestinian hip-hop in its own environment while speaking to several

young artists.

23-year-old ‘Boikutt’ (real name withheld on request) is an MC, DJ and producer with the well-

established trio, Ramallah Underground. He studies at Birzeit University, outside Ramallah, and

admits that his affluent international upbringing is atypical of Palestinian MCs living in Israel/

Palestine. His appraisal of the Palestinian hip-hop community, or ‘scene’, is that,

Every area is isolated from the other. We’re also a small population, so to have a [hip-

hop] scene in a small town like Ramallah is pretty much impossible. I mean if all the

West Bank, at least, would be like one, then there probably would be a scene. If all

Palestinian cities, like Jaffa, Haifa and those places, Acre [were together] then that way

there would be a huge scene. But it’s impossible. There is no scene.13

Ramallah Underground, he went on, is more likely to collaborate with an electronica musician, or

even a visual artist. This suggests the localised and contingent nature of creative enclaves in the

West Bank, wherein the character of the city, village or camp is reflected in the type of work being

produced. Thus, in Ramallah the small creative community betrays its genesis in a uniquely bour-

8

13 Author interview, Ramallah Underground, Ramallah, 9 December 2009.

geois and privileged environment that is attractive to well-travelled, conceptual artists of various

disciplines.

This could be seen as the exact opposite of the environments described to me by MCs resident in

refugee camps. However, it is the form of the musical output, rather than the output’s lyrical or

thematic content that tends to differ according to location. Ramallah Underground may collaborate

with Europeans to produce ultra-modern IDM with a hip-hop refrain14, while Bad Luck, from Dehe-

ishe Refugee Camp, write lyrics in their bedrooms to record over pirated backing-tracks15. Yet, both

groups’ material is dominated by challenging, urgent and highly-politicised subject matter that re-

lates directly to their common overall reality.

‘Boikutt’ explained that though he is convinced that hip-hop is growing in many towns and cities,

links between localised hip-hop scenes are not established at an equivalent pace; which is to say

that involvement and output is atomised over a relatively small geographical area. He blames the

physical fragmentation of the land itself, by IDF forces and Israeli settlements, and cites the road

between Ramallah and Nablus as an example. Even though it has been officially reopened since the

extinguishing of the Second Intifada, permanent checkpoints and spontaneous military road clo-

sures act as a deterrent to non-essential travel. He has not made the 47 kilometre journey16 for seven

years and so is only aware of Nablusi hip-hop groups through word-of-mouth and the Internet.

For Mohammad Moghrabi, 22 years old, of the widely popular group G-Town17, the problem of

linkage is even more pronounced. He describes Shuafat Refugee Camp, where he lives, as ‘in the

middle of nowhere’ and ‘not made for normal life’18, with no police or civil maintenance given its

9

14 Ramallah Underground on MySpace, http://www.myspace.com/rucollective, (13 February 2010).15 Bad Luck on MySpace, http://www.myspace.com/badluck194, (13 February 2010).16 http://www.peacenow.org.il/site/en/peace.asp?pi=61&fld=495&docid=2401 (22 January 2010).17 G-Town on MySpace, http://www.myspace.com/gtown2002, (13 February 2010).18 Author interview, G-Town, Jerusalem, 14 December 2009.

position outside both the Jerusalem Municipality and Palestinian administered areas. G-Town ap-

pears to be the only group in the Jerusalem area and thus they mostly work alone. His conception of

unity within Palestinian hip-hop is abstract, in that he agrees that such a genre exists, but that

groups and areas ‘have different styles’. He did not seem invested in the idea of a hip-hop commu-

nity, and simply stated that he saw different ‘lifestyles’ defining Palestinian groups’ variant ap-

proaches to their music. For Mohammad, the ‘feeling’ of music is foremost rather than its message,

political or otherwise. He prefers American styles and confidently asserted that if he ‘had cars and

had girls maybe [he] would sing about that’ instead. It became obvious that his outlook is at odds

with other MCs I spoke to, in particular those in Bethlehem, who seem driven by a purity of inten-

tion in response to perceived slow social and political collapse.

I gained more insight into Mohammad’s attitude via Bethlehem-based group, Bad Luck. 17-year-

old member, Dia, criticised G-Town of presenting an inappropriate image. ‘They’re smoking

weed’19 he said, and slammed them for trying to emulate US gangsta [sic] rappers like 50 Cent20,

whose materialistic preoccupation with cars and sex is rejected by the other Palestinian artists and

fans I spoke to. Dia, a West Bank ID holder, is prohibited by the Israeli military from visiting Mo-

hammad’s neighbourhood. At the same time, Mohammad apparently has no interest in making the

long, convoluted journey to Bethlehem. The MCs are neither physically nor directly musically con-

nected, but only insofar as they are both members of the wider Palestinian community living under

occupation.

Recognising the disconnect between the two groups is vital, in terms of understanding of hip-hop in

the West Bank. The attitudes expressed on both sides highlight a lack of personal solidarity and ac-

tive collaboration between West Bank hip-hop enclaves, yet their material is founded on remarkably

10

19 Author interview, Bad Luck, Bethelehem, 11 December 2009.20 Never to be described as an ‘MC’. See footnote 8.

similar rhetoric pertaining to national solidarity, the end of Israeli occupation and social issues like

patriarchy, poor education and drug abuse. This dichotomy foregrounds the importance of pan-

Palestinian solidarity as a transcendent unifying force.

Such comments from the MCs reveal that physical separation is rarely overcome, even for the sake

of music. This perpetuates a general sense of disunity that characterises the artists’ views of Pales-

tinian society in general21. Understanding the entrenched fragmentation of Palestinian society,

bought about by road-blocks, checkpoints and prohibited roads, helps to understand why a discrete

hip-hop community, based on musical relationships, that music theorist Jesse Stewart argues ‘can

have real political consequences and significance’22, has yet to come about. The general circum-

stances of restriction have been extant for too long to still be agonised over and generally results in

resignation, which should not, however, be interpreted as hopelessness. Yet, my interviewees indi-

cated that the mere knowledge of each other’s existence, and a shared awareness of the growing

profile of their genre locally and internationally, strengthens each individuals’ confidence in their

own efforts.

There are two forms of collaboration that do occur throughout the West Bank between hip-hop

groups, and less frequently between groups from the OPT and Israel. Firstly, there are occasional

concerts, usually involving more than one group and being free to attend23. Crucially though, these

performances are not self-organised but rather are NGO awareness-raising events or community

celebrations for local festivals. One example is the Oktoberfest held by Taybeh, a Palestinian mi-

crobrewery 24, which I attended myself in October 2008. More recently, I saw members of DAM and

G-Town rap on women’s rights for a campaign to combat domestic violence that was co-sponsored

11

21 Author interviews, 2009.22 Jesse Stewart, ‘Freedom Music: Jazz and Human Rights’, in Daniel Fischlin & Ajay Heble (eds), Rebel Musics, 105. 23 Author interviews, 2009.24 Taybeh Brewing Company, http://www.taybehbeer.com/, (13 February 2010).

by several UN branches and locally-based NGOs. The rare appearance of an international artist also

presents an opportunity for local groups to perform as support, as when DAM opened for US-based

Palestinian MC, Patriarch, in Ramallah25.

Thus, live performances necessarily entail the support, logistically and financially, of a third party.

Perhaps the only group now able to charge a fee is DAM, who are also the only Israel/Palestine-

based Palestinian group with a recording contract and international album release. Thus, although

collaboration takes place in the sense of groups appearing on the same stage and on the same night,

it is wholly dependent on external organisational frameworks and does not indicate the grassroots

development of an intra-connected Palestinian hip-hop scene.

The second mode of collaboration I refer to above revolves around the ready-made backing tracks

that are used by most, if not all, hip-hop groups. This music provides a free and ready-made founda-

tion layer for groups to rap over. The backing tracks are almost always either unattributed and ge-

neric or illegally altered, instrumental versions of US hip-hop classics. Musical composition by Pal-

estinian MCs is rare, and dedicated producers even rarer. This is likely due to a lack of ability, con-

fidence, equipment or most likely a combination of such factors. The use of these tracks forces the

recognition that, aside from its social and political relevance, rap is also the simplest and cheapest

mode of musical expression available to the youth of a society with severely under-developed civil

infrastructure. Its emergence for this particular reason profoundly echos the original development of

rap as a zero-cost musical platform for ghetto youth in the Bronx, New York26.

The collaborative behaviour that backing music gives rise to is evidenced in the sharing of such ma-

terial via email and open catalogues, compiled by groups and fans on Internet sites like PalRap.net

12

25 Slingshot Hip-hop, 2008.26 Cheryl L. Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness, University of Illinois Press, 2002, 1.

or MMDRap.com27. Mazen, founder of Bethlehem group, Ibnaa’ al-Huriyya (Sons of Freedom),

indicated that egalitarianism is actually more important than self-promotion for some artists when I

asked for some of his music after our interview28. Later, I found he had shared instrumentals with

me, assuming that I had wanted to record my own lyrics, rather than hear his. In this way, MCs do

meaningfully collaborate and support each other in their collective ambition to contribute to the

growth of Palestinian hip-hop, whilst maintaining autonomy, individual character and, most impor-

tantly, the ability to authentically represent their localities, each with subtly distinct social and po-

litical issues.

An issue revealed by this music sharing, live performance and other, less visible operations of hip-

hop is the apparent lack of financial or copyright concerns. Only Dia made reference to a ticketed

show but in that instance the money was raised for civilian victims in Gaza of Israel’s Operation

Cast Lead in the winter of 2008/09. The material contained in the websites referred to above, copy-

righted or not, is absolutely free to access and copy. Lastly, groups told me they made their finished

tracks public online for free, via social networking sites such as YouTube and MySpace. There was

no mention of interest in recording contracts, CDs or any other form of commercial venture. Most

groups only have to consider money when it comes to actually recording the tracks. In Bethlehem,

groups have free use of the studio at the Ibdaa’ Cultural Centre in Deheishe Camp. Mazen, of Ibnaa

al-Huriyya, told me he and his group had built their own very small studio from money saved from

working, with help from his brother, who runs a computer hardware store. ‘Boikutt’ told me that

Ramallah Underground record music on equipment kept in their bedrooms, while Mohammad, of

G-Town, works at the Sabreen NGO offices so that his group can use their professional studio29.

13

27 http://www.palrap.net & http://www.mmdrap.com, (30 January 2010).28 Author interview, Ibnaa’ al-Huriyya, Bethlehem, 12 December 2009.29 Sabreen website, http://www.sabreen.org/ (14 February 2010).

I found it hard to believe that the exchange of money constitutes barely a footnote to the develop-

ment of Palestinian hip-hop. To see if this was really the case, I tried to buy some hip-hop in Jerusa-

lem and Ramallah. In the main shopping district of East Jerusalem and the Old City, I found just

two discs containing Arabic hip-hop and none by international hip-hop artists. Only one of the discs

is a conventional album, in that it was written and produced by the group named on the case. This

was Ihda (Dedication) by DAM, their first international release since forming in 1999. However,

my copy is a bootleg, so there is no question of them having gained financially from my purchase.

Yet, their music and interviews30 suggest that, despite success, their priority is still to disseminate

socially-conscious messages and inspiration to Palestinian youth. Hence, I am confident they would

have condoned my purchase.

The second CD is ostensibly by another popular group, MWR, who were based in Akka but dis-

banded some years ago31. The first track on the album is in fact ‘Meen Erhabi?’ And several more

tracks by DAM feature on the disc. There are two non-Arabic tracks, one an anti-drug reggae tune

and the other a well-known track by US MC, Eminem. Of the remaining tracks, several are by

MWR while others are tracks by fellow Palestinian artists.

MWR’s release, like the growth of online sharing and dissemination by current groups, demon-

strates that hip-hop distribution in Palestinian society is not defined by West-centric concepts of a

‘music industry’. It seems to me that this compilation informs the listener of the group’s musical

foundations, style and, most remarkably, their politics and social consciousness. There are several

indicators for this notion.

14

30 Interviews and footage from Ihda UK promotional tour, Journeyman Pictures, 2007, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nckQPlLEQnA&feature=channel (14 February 2010). 31 Slingshot Hip-hop, 2008.

Firstly, we learn who they are influenced by. If one removes any consideration of capital and finan-

cial loss or gain, it makes perfect sense to pay tribute to an important influence in this way, one of

the few modes of public communication the band would have had. Secondly, MWR are performing

a service for young fans by broadening their musical experience when such international artists’ re-

cordings would otherwise be impossible or difficult to obtain. The disc includes no sleeve notes or

credits, indicating that no one is likely to gain mass publicity or coverage from its existence. These

points significantly decrease the likelihood of commercial motivation behind the creation of the

disc.

The most important notion here is that this would have be MWR’s only means of talking to, if not

actually conversing with, their Palestinian audience. With these CDs, and copies made, and copies

made of copies and so on, the group could reach beyond audiences physically attending their shows,

despite having no recording or distribution deal. MWR and their successors across Israel/Palestine

are creative in order to be heard and, judging by the exponential growth of hip-hop, are succeeding.

This is despite conventional, though by no means more desirable, commercial channels remaining

non-existent.

This discussion of the environment in which Palestinian hip-hop exists will conclude with brief

considerations of significant topics that recurred during interviews and were mirrored in sections of

Slingshot Hip-hop.

Several of my interviewees, including a young fan from Bethlehem, expressed strong dissatisfaction

and frustration with their experiences of school. According to Saoud, also of Bad Luck, ‘No one in

school liked it.’ He said his UNRWA school teachers had used violence ‘to control things in school’

and that, with hindsight, he believes they were taught a censored version of Palestinian history. Dia

15

agreed with his friend’s appraisal. Mohammad, of G-Town, said his brother attended the Shuafat

camp UNRWA school and could not write his name until he reached the 5th Grade. Through contact

with local youth Muhammad often hears complaints about overcrowding in classrooms and their

inability to concentrate on or enjoy their lessons. These accounts gave the impression of school be-

ing irrelevant to young people. Several MCs explained how school conditions forced them to seek

alternative strategies for learning. This sparked their interest in political rap music from the US and

precipitated their own gravitation towards hip-hop; granting them an unbounded outlet of frustra-

tion and forum for debate.

Kayan, the teenage daughter of my host family in Bethlehem, spoke to me about how her passion

for hip-hop sprung from other teenage struggles, in particular the stifling atmosphere of her

government-funded girls’ school. We spoke with the help of Deborah, an American journalist acting

as translator and adding her own thoughts from seven years’ experience of working and living

amongst Palestinian communities in and around Bethlehem32. Their combined accounts echoed

those of the MCs I had spoken to previously and, though limited, I think paint an instructive general

picture of the educational environment that the majority of Palestinian youth experience.

Firstly, Deborah translated Kayan as saying that her teachers, ‘are either very severe or don’t really

care about us. The lessons aren’t interesting, it’s all just memorisation.’ The impression given was

one of school as a restricted space with strictly prescribed boundaries, where ‘there isn’t really

space for discussion. When they try to discuss things they are shut down.’ Despite this repressive

environment, Kayan was defiant and hopeful for change, ‘We’re going to be the people making de-

cisions in the future, and running things, and we’re going to run it in a better way based on what

we’ve learned and the hip-hop is part of that.’33 When I asked outright whether she thought she

16

32 Author interview, Kayan (student) and Deborah (journalist), Bethlehem, 11 December 2009.33 Emphasis added.

learned more from hip-hop than school her answer was certainly more thoughtful than my question:

‘hip-hop reflects our reality, what we’re living, what we’re experiencing and feeling. And the school

is, like, what we’re prescribed.’

Conversely, everyone I spoke to said that, though it took varying amounts of time and explanation,

their parents and even local communities had largely accepted hip-hop as a legitimate and positive

mode of expression. Dia said that his father and the wider Deheishe Camp community reacted nega-

tively at first to their young people’s attraction to ‘West culture [sic] [that they] saw in the television

“bling bling”, hip-hop, money, girls, all of that’34. However, the sceptical few dozen that attended

their first show at the local community centre, exploded to over 500 for their second; that is, after

locals had sampled the socially conscious lyrics and respectful presentation. I suspect this accep-

tance is particular to Palestinian communities in the West Bank and Israel, whereas the situation in

Gaza is far harder. Dia told me of a West Bank/Gaza-wide project called Hip-hop Kom35, coordi-

nated by the NGO Sabreen. He said participants in Gaza had their concert shut down by a Hamas

police patrol, and had even been temporarily jailed for their activities.

Lastly, though it was a sensitive topic, I wanted to ascertain whether any of the hip-hop developing

amongst young Palestinians could be seen as being affiliated with either of the major political par-

ties, namely Hamas or Fatah. I had seen evidence of cultural diplomacy organised by the US State

Department36, and though I did not encounter its activities personally, I was interested to see if Pal-

estinian politicians were likewise sponsoring hip-hop to communicate ideals to younger genera-

tions. The groups all flatly denied being involved with any official political body or individual. One

could quite easily imagine contemporary US hip-hop being appropriated to disseminate party poli-

17

34 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009.35 Hip Hop Kom press release, Sabreen, 2009, http://www.alquds2009.org/etemplate.php?id=238 (14 February 2010).36 U.S. Dept. Of State and the John F. Kennedy Centre for the Performing Arts, http://www.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2009/july/126510.htm, (09 February 2010).

tics: consider The Black Eyed Peas’ MC, wil.i.am, sampling one of Barak Obama’s presidential

campaign speeches for his award-winning video and song ‘Yes We Can’37.

However, it seems Palestinian hip-hop is more akin to works by 1980s/90s US political MCs such

as KRS-One and Public Enemy, who were motivated to provide an alternative discourse that criti-

cised or rejected a political mainstream deemed regressive and damaging to their communities38.

Deborah supported this view, saying, ‘in general hip-hop groups are not with the [political] par-

ties… I think it’s almost an alternative. It’s my opinion that people are sick of all the parties’.

‘Boikutt’ too had an interesting take on the dynamic between hip-hop and the political powers, ‘I

think most of the hip-hop [inside Palestine] is against all political parties. Of course, not all political

parties but the ones that are in government, the ones that are attacking us.’39

Part One has been an attempt to outline some of the major characteristics of Palestinian hip-hop,

particularly within the West Bank. I have also touched upon external social factors that feed into the

music and which give young fans reasons to seek out such material. Only as a progression from this

will it be possible to discuss the social and political significance of the music; that is, upon a firm

basis of contextual relevance, rather than dealing with ‘hip-hop’ as a universalised pop-culture.

In order to represent as complete a context as possible, and to convey the complexity of everything

that is signified by what I am calling ‘Palestinian hip-hop’, I have thus far prioritised breadth over

depth. However, moving forward, I will narrow my focus to consider the actual significance, in-

tended or accidental, of this music. Though it is tempting to make a distinction hereafter between

that which is political, being that which constitutes international Palestinian politics, and that which

18

37 ‘Yes We Can Song’ Video Awarded Emmy Award for New Approaches in Daytime Entertainment, 2008, <http://www.reuters.com/article/idUS145884+16-Jun-2008+MW20080616>, (02 February 2010).38 KRS-One, Edutainment, Boogie Down Productions, 1990. Public Enemy, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Def Jam, 1988. 39 Author interview, Ramallah Underground, 2009.

is social, being domestic politics, I do not think such a traditional dichotomy exists in this contested

region. Rather, they both define and create each other in ways which extend beyond politics, into

society and everyday life. As several of the MCs made clear in their own words when I asked if

their music was explicitly political: ‘life here is mostly political...’40

19

40 Author interview, Ramallah Underground, 2009.

Part Two: ‘Statehood’ and the divergence of politicised hip-hop from the political mainstream

Abner Cohen says that ‘cultural symbols and the communal relationships they express and sustain

are so powerful in their hold on people that political formations everywhere, including the state, al-

ways manipulate them in their own interests.’41 Yet Palestinian hip-hop, as attested by those I spoke

to, is free from local political manipulation. Perhaps this can be explained by considering George

Lipsitz positing of popular music as ‘commercial enterprise’42 as a key mode by which it can be ex-

ploited by politics. Palestinian hip-hop, as has been shown, does not function within a commercial

system. This places Palestinian hip-hop in an incredibly favourable position according to Patrick

Neate’s conclusion that for US hip-hop to return to its politicised, creative roots, and once again be-

come a force able ‘to effect global, local, glocal social transformation’, it must reject big business

by taking back ‘its cultural capital at an imaginative level’43. If we acknowledge that Palestinian

hip-hop has no big business to reclaim itself from, and that it embodies the positive, socially-

conscious characteristic that Neate associates with the formative period of US hip-hop, we see that

Palestinian hip-hop is already functioning at an effective, empowered level.

Stating that Palestinian hip-hop benefits from the vacuum left by the lack of traditional government

and economy creates a troubling paradox: if hip-hop’s strength comes from existing in an environ-

ment that is essentially unregulated enough (albeit within the far less ambiguous limits of Israeli

military law) to allow for politicised and autonomous musical resistance to the external oppressor,

the artists’ freedom is effectively threatened by the so-called peace-process toward statehood. How-

ever, I discovered that it is wrong to assume that the goal of the ‘peace-process’ automatically be-

20

41 Abner Cohen, Masquerade Politics, Berg Publishers, 1993, 120.42 George Lipsitz, Dangerous Crossroads, Verso, 1994, 138.43 Patrick Neate, Where You’re At, Bloomsbury, 2003, 206-207.

comes the goal of Palestinian society, if those I spoke to can be seen to represent general concerns

and opinions. ‘Boikutt’, for instance, reacted to the then recent news of plans for a unilateral decla-

ration of Palestinian statehood44 as if it was not the relevant issue: ‘I don’t know if a state is going

to change anything for us’45.

I suggest that the artists’ disaffection for addressing statehood as a priority is tied to their general

suspicion of mainstream politics as little more than a front for external manipulation and internal

corruption. It is fair to say that those I spoke to do not trust the Palestinian Authority’s intentions for

they do not believe in its authority to begin with, led by Mahmoud Abbas ‘who’s just talk, talk, talk

and then does what Obama or the Israeli government want to do’46. Hence, it is easy to see why

these young people might disregard the notion of a Palestinian state, under current conditions, as

little more than the imposition of a foreign system designed to placate them while keeping them un-

der control at one step removed, that is, via a puppet government.

This is the same distrust Frantz Fanon expressed for the colonised Algerian elite’s importing of ‘the

notion of the [political] party… from the mother country’47. In both cases, a social strata removed

from the hardship of daily life under occupation (either Israeli or French) expects to win both sup-

port and approval for adopting the outsiders’ mode of rule without addressing the intermediate or

practical issues. For Fanon, nationalist liberation meant nothing if the working classes remained

subjugated under the colonials’ capitalist system48. For my interviewees and the communities they

claimed to represent, statehood means nothing without answers to problems that politicians and

21

44 ‘Palestinians to seek UN support’, Al Jazeera English, http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2009/11/20091115160482732.html, (08 February 2010)45 Author interview, Ramallah Underground, 2009.46 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009.47 Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, Penguin Books, 1967, 85.48 Fanon, The Wretched, 86.

mediators are never seen to address, such as the status of Jerusalem, the return of refugees, Israeli

settlement blocs and the farce they make of the very idea of a contiguous Palestinian state.

Moving on from the abstract notion of future ‘statehood’, I will focus on the present, which has

given rise to hip-hop and is, in return, narrated and criticised by it. Given the current status -

wherein Palestinian society lacks the security provided by a democratically elected, popular gov-

ernment or internationally recognised borders - it is pertinent to consider Lipsitz’s appraisal of Aus-

tralian Aboriginal music, whose ‘most remarkable aspect… is that it exists at all.’49 As a decimated

indigenous population, Aboriginal Australians have endured different and, at times, worse direct

oppression than the Palestinians. However, the themes of their popular music, in addition, broadly

speaking, to the systematic oppression under which it has been produced, warrant comparison.

Earlier in my exploration of the environment in which Palestinian hip-hop exists, physical space

was repeatedly problematised both by MCs, who spoke of physical restriction, and within my own

discussion of the lack of communal unity. However, space, as a positive concept, recurs in the mu-

sic as a restorative symbol of threatened or ‘consumed’50 identity,

I’m the T-A-M-E-R, from the D-A-M

Putting the L-Y-D on the map51

Such is the case with Aboriginal music which is ‘permeated by a sense of place, by the naming of

places and the linking of people and events to places’52, which form ‘the continuing basis of Abo-

riginal existence and identity’53. From this arises the notion that music provides displaced or disen-

22

49 Lipsitz, Dangerous Crossroads, 141. 50 See discussion of ‘Meen Irhabi?’ pages 3-4.51 DAM, ‘Warde (Flower, slang for brother)’, http://www.dampalestine.com/lyrics/english/ihda2/Warde.html, (08 Feb-ruary 2010).52 Peter Dunbar, ‘We have survived: popular music as a representation of Australian Aboriginal cultural loss and recla-mation’, in Ian Peddie (ed), The Resisting Muse, Ashgate, 2006, 126.53 Dunbar, ‘We have survived’, in The Resisting Muse, 125.

franchised people with a figurative ‘space’ to continue existing, which is imbued with significance

through being linked to historically inhabited physical place. It is this link to the real that I perceive

as giving the cultural production a dynamic, perhaps even generative energy that contributes to the

motivational hope of communal return or rebuilding at some future time.

There is a common interplay within these Palestinian and Aboriginal genres between localised

fragmentation and overall unity. In the Aboriginal context this is manifested more deliberately, in

the use of different local languages. This demonstrates that, though they are ultimately in solidarity,

there is a ‘coexistence of different Aboriginalities.’54 In a global context, the shared characteristics

of resistant and affirmative expression enables oppressed peoples to recognise each others’ strug-

gles, expand solidarity and consciousness. Perhaps most importantly, it can help their struggle,

where it overlaps, become more visible to the globalised political powers who are either causing or

ignoring their plight.

If actual space is a site of struggle for young Palestinians, theoretical space exists as an alternative

realm that cannot only be inhabited but imagined anew and perfected. To this end, music, as an

element of Palestinian culture, acts as a holding-space or ‘repository of the imagination.’55 It allows

young creators to express ideas - which can be collectivised into radical (i.e. anti-government/anti-

oppressor) ideologies - without incurring any responsibility to follow through with political action,

risking punishment and the curtailment of that very creative freedom.

The primacy of the musical process and message, over any revolutionary urge, was reflected in how

the young MCs imagine their own futures. They expressed neither gloomy predictions nor ideologi-

cal fantasy, but rather measured responses ranging from ‘Boikutt’ hoping to continue making

23

54 Dunbar, ‘We have survived’, in The Resisting Muse, 122.55 Stephen Duncombe, ‘Introduction’, in Stephen Duncombe (ed), Cultural Resistance Reader, Verso, 2002, 35.

socially-conscious music outside of Israel/Palestine56, to Mohammad’s ambition to direct music

videos57, to Dia’s prediction that he will develop his music until a strong leader emerges from his

own‘generation’ to make a unified and armed bid for Palestinian ‘freedom’58.

Thus, the fact that hip-hop stands apart from the political and economic mainstream, and is not en-

gaged with the official business of state building, should be seen in a positive light. Rather, lyrics

deal with immediate issues, while the musical process allows for the formulation of alternative and

varied ideas for the future. The artists do not simply protest what exists, but recognise that what ex-

ists, in terms of a domestic power structure, is currently so insignificant and ineffective, that they

have an opportunity to challenge the internationally co-opted process of their liberation. Central to

this is the imagining and sharing of relatable, demystified ideas. Essentially, hip-hop should be seen

as an alternative; not a group of individuals offering alternative leadership, but self-motivated, loose

network of young artists suggesting a grassroots-led, collaborative and creative process of discover-

ing their own idea of freedom.

24

56 Author interview, Ramallah Underground, 200957 Author interview, G-Town, 200958 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009

Part Three: Hip-hop in action: The practice and significance of musical resistance

Part Three will focus on the significance of Palestinian hip-hop as active resistance. I hope to un-

derstand how it constitutes resistance to forces its creators see as endangering and oppressing Pales-

tinian society. Thus, I will approach the true sense in which Palestinian hip-hop matters and de-

serves our attention.

At the beginning of Slingshot Hip-hop, DAM frontman Tamer Nafar showcases his extensive col-

lection of US hip-hop59. He talks about Spike Lee films, seeing a vision of Lyd in a Tupac video

shot on the ghetto-streets of Los Angeles and, above all, with Public Enemy’s ‘Fear of a Black

Planet’ album in hand, says, ‘In [Israel/Palestine], there’s fear of an Arabic nation… How could you

expect us not to love hip-hop?!’60 For Tamer, the parallels between the African American struggle

against racist oppression and the Palestinian struggle against occupation and inequality are drawn

starkly in the rap music that is produced by each society’s youth. The young MCs I interviewed in

the West Bank likewise cited US hip-hop artists as their inspiration and major influencers61.

Two points made by ethnomusicologist Cheryl Keyes help us conceive of a commonality between

Palestinian and US hip-hop. Firstly, she says that hip-hop came about originally because of African

American youth who ‘espoused that art should be functional, community-based, and it should reso-

nate with real-life black experience,’62 Replacing the word ‘black’ with ‘Palestinian’ would serve to

make effectively the same contextualising statement as Nafar, in revealing the relevance, though by

25

59 For a general history of socially-conscious hip-hop culture in the USA refer to Tricia Rose, Black Noise, Cheryl L. Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness and Jeffrey O. G. Ogbar, The Hip-hop Revolution (full references in bibli-ography).60 Slingshot Hip-hop, 2008.61 Author interviews, 2009.62 Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness, 33.

no means sameness, of the African American situation to the Palestinian. In other words, Keyes’

rationale seems to transpose directly onto the Palestinian situation. Secondly, insofar as hip-hop is

not musically elitist, but rather speaks to the masses with, more often than not, a very urgent mes-

sage, Keyes’ statement that in US hip-hop communities, ‘Poetic skills were not judged on rhyme

per se but rather on one’s ability to articulate themes relevant to African American life’63 seems to

place the two geographically distant genres on the same philosophical plane.

To understand the significance of Palestinian hip-hop as a resistive force against Israeli occupation

and the systematic discrimination experienced by Arab Israeli citizens64, it is useful to highlight a

major difference between hip-hop in the US and Israel/Palestine. Much of the documented commu-

nity support work and campaigning spawned by hip-hop culture in the US resulted from the efforts

of key individuals. Locally, this can be seen in the peace-brokering by leaders of feuding Bronx

street-gangs in the 197065. Nationally, former gang-member, subsequent ‘godfather’66 of hip-hop,

Afrika Bambaataa, promoted his Afro-centric Zulu Nation ideology to motivate black youth into

taking a proactive role in improving conditions for their own communities67. As a whole, the efforts

of charismatic figureheads added this element of tangible local progress to early US hip-hop.

Regrettably, one does not see the same thing happening in Israel/Palestine. I would again cite the

fragmentation of the Palestinian population, in addition to the incongruity of hip-hop itself within a

customarily religious and traditionally conservative society, as reasons for the lack of emergent

leadership and social organising alongside the rise of hip-hop as a musical force.

26

63 Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness, 33.64 Yoav Stern, ‘Olmert: Israeli Arabs have long suffered discrimination’, Haaretz, 2008, http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1028375.html, (09 February 2010). Human Rights Watch, ‘Second Class: Discrimination Against Palestinian Arab Children in Israel’s Schools’, 2001, http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2001/09/30/second-class-0, (09 February 2010).65 Flyin’ Cut Sleeves, documentary, dir. Henry Chalfant and Rita Fecher, 1993.66 Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness, 42.67 Keyes, Rap Music and Street Consciousness, 47 & 158.

In a wider sense, African American hip-hop was able to position itself as a progression from the

civil rights battle fought by Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and nationalist militants such as the

Black Panthers. Though this is certainly a simplified statement, I make it only to point out that in

recent years, Palestinian youth have lacked such role-models. Evidently, neither Fatah nor Hamas

appeal to those who make and consume hip-hop as an alternative to both. Meanwhile, no civil resis-

tance movement or leadership appears to confront it. The latter would most likely suffer an impris-

onment problem, such as that recently endured by ‘grassroots Palestinian’ campaign, Stop the

Wall68, whose core of peaceful activists was subject to arrest and administrative detention without

charge by the IDF69.

Dia named politician Marwan Bargouthi as an inspiration, but also expressed resignation to the like-

lihood of his permanent incarceration70. Moreover, as far as movements are concerned, the young

artists spoke out in almost perfect chorus at their disillusionment with the Second Intifada, seeing it

as an exercise in external and internal political manipulation, with none of the passion and street-

level activism that causes them to speak of the First Intifada as some irreproducible instance of

righteous communal revolt71. I feel it is important to reiterate at this point that I am not concerned

with the historicity of these matters, but with how they appear in and influence the imaginations of

Palestinian youth.

Conversely, Palestinian hip-hop betrays an altogether more positive divergence from its US model,

namely its freedom from commercialisation, discussed above. Meanwhile, the ever-increasing he-

27

68 Stop the Wall, http://www.stopthewall.org/, (16 February 2010).69 Amnesty International, ‘Israel must stop harassment and detention of Palestinian Activists’, January 2010, http://www.amnesty.org/en/appeals-for-action/israel-must-stop-harassment-and-detention-palestianian-activists, (16 February 2010).70 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009.71 Author interviews, 2009.

gemony in US hip-hop of hyper-materialistic, multi-million dollar artists such as Jay-Z and 50

Cent72, has caused Russell Potter to accuse ‘mainstream hip-hop’ of having ‘fled the scene of social

issues’73. I would suggest that, despite the lack of coordination and leadership, non-commercial

Palestinian hip-hop retains the legitimacy and independence to promote quotidian resistance tactics,

such as ‘anti-normalisation’ and boycott.

Though ‘normalisation’ is a term commonly used to signify normative behaviour linked to the per-

ceived continuation of a subjugated/subjugator dynamic between the Palestinian people and the Is-

raeli state, a standard definition does not yet exist. PACBI published their own definition in late

200874 but since the term is ‘contested terrain’75 I asked those who bought it up in interviews to tell

me what they meant by it. Dia and Saoud, of Bad Luck, repeatedly used the word to refer to a proc-

ess they see in the employment of local Deheishe men as labourers in Israeli settlements, to the

ubiquity of Israeli produce in shops and, generally, in the attempts by Palestinian political leaders to

negotiate peace as if on an equal standing with their Israeli counterparts76. MC Talha al-Ali (a.k.a

Wise Wolf, also a qualified child psychologist) goes further. He alleged that al-Kasaba Theatre in

Ramallah should be boycotted for ‘normalising’ because its owner has links to private Israeli com-

panies77. Though this view seems extreme given the theatre’s role in hosting important Palestinian

cultural events, including hip-hop concerts, it is important to acknowledge the intensity of hip-hop

politics in certain instances.

28

72 Forbes, ‘Hip-hop’s Cash Kings 2009’, http://www.forbes.com/2009/07/08/jay-z-akon-50-cent-hip-hop-business-entertainment-cash-kings.html, (09 February 2010).73 Russell A. Potter, ‘The Future is History: Hip-hop in the aftermath of (post) modernity’, in Peddie (ed), The Resisting Muse, 65.74 BRICUP newsletter, ‘The PACBI Column’, http://www.bricup.org.uk/documents/archive/BRICUPNewsletter10.pdf, (10 February 2010). See Appendix A. 75 Stephen Duncombe, ‘Introduction’ to Keywords by Raymond Williams, in Duncombe (ed), Cultural Resistance Reader, 36.76 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009.77 Author interview, Talha Al-Ali, Ramallah, 10 December 2009.

Judging by their local popularity and the growing profile of Palestinian hip-hop globally, MCs

should be seen as expressing popular young opinion. Thus, their lyrical creativity becomes a mode

of collective, as well as personal, resistive expression.

The criticism Dia had for Muhammad’s group G-Town, highlights that neutrality on the issue of

normalisation equates to a shirking of responsibility. The sincere political commitment of groups

like Bad Luck is further demonstrated in the way they have lost respect for former heroes DAM,

since the latter collaborated with an Israeli musician78. Collaboration for the sake of ‘dialogue’ and

the ‘promotion of understanding’ as opposed to ‘resisting occupation’ is considered one of the most

dangerous and insidious forms of normalisation. For Dia it is simple, ‘you should boycott [Israeli]

products and their music’ until they ‘agree with your song[s] or with your message’, which they do

not, he reasons, since he has seen no notable anti-occupation activity on the part of Jewish Israeli

popular musicians. Talha Al-Ali told me no other artists are committed enough to resisting normali-

sation so he identifies as an anarchist and only works alone.

Interestingly, autonomy exists not just between, but within groups. Members appear free to define

their individual political stance, within the broader anti-occupation stance. For instance, within Bad

Luck, Dia would readily take up arms under the right leader, while Saoud has no desire to fight and

remains invested fully in the transformative potential of music itself.

Until now I have referred to what Isaiah Berlin termed ‘negative freedoms’79 embodied by hip-hop;

namely, freedom from loss of authenticity via commercialisation, and from normalisation. These are

vital elements of the resistive significance of hip-hop, yet more important are the ‘positive free-

doms’, which are essentially earned by full enactment of the ‘negative freedoms’.

29

78 Author interview, Bad Luck, 2009.79 Jesse Stewart, ‘Freedom Music: Jazz and Human Rights’, in Fischlin & Heble (eds), Rebel Musics, 92.

I believe that by occupying an ideologically and morally secure position in the eyes of fans and, in-

creasingly, in the eyes of wider Palestinian society, young hip-hop artists are earning the right to

speak on behalf of their society. Almost every example of Palestinian hip-hop I have encountered

confidently tackles one ill or another, such as drug abuse, occupation, domestic violence, normalisa-

tion or poor education. I will discuss two points that show how Palestinian hip-hop youth are em-

bracing socio-political ‘positive freedom’ and should thus be seen as significant instigators of grass-

roots resistance in their localities, with the potential to expand so long as they retain economic and

political autonomy.

Firstly, in a sense that once again relates to notions of non-commercialisation and other modes of

creative and cultural autonomy, hip-hop artists, who in turn encourage young fans, are free to live

out the ideology of everyday resistance, as articulated thus:

within the theories of radical, everyday practise set forth by the Situationist Interna-

tional, as well as the models of quotidian of vernacular resistance articulated by Michael

de Certeau, contemporary hip-hop practise forms one of the most potent enactments of

such resistance.80

James C. Scott characterises a mode of civil resistance that ‘is marked less by massive, defiant con-

frontations than by a quiet evasion that is equally massive and often far more effective.’81 I suspect

he is positing this dichotomy as representative of the two most universal resistance strategies prac-

tised by oppressed populations. However, I would suggest that hip-hop sits between the two. In

other words, the artists themselves are not ‘quiet’ or submissive but, through song, appear openly

‘defiant’. Yet, they do not seek ‘confrontation’ but practise daily ‘evasion’, which aims to minimise

30

80 Potter, ‘The Future is History: Hip-hop in the aftermath of (post) modernity’, in The Resisting Muse, 70.81 James C. Scott, extract from Weapons of the Weak, in Duncombe (ed), Cultural Resistance Reader, 92.

the negative impact of their oppressed condition whilst remaining within the framework that per-

petuates it, which they sensibly acknowledge is too monstrous for them to tackle through grassroots

revolt.

Lastly, I will consider Palestinian youths’ freedom to redefine the language and imagery of their

own existence through hip-hop. Just as music can be seen as figurative space for the imagining of

future places founded on social justice, lyrics and the political discourse of hip-hop allow for the

rejection of terms such as ‘victim’ and ‘terrorist’. The latter is, for instance, the primary object of

demystification in the song ‘Meen Irhabi?’, whose central theme is now as germane as ever.

I perceive Palestinian youth enacting Slavoj Žižek’s suggested strategy in relation to African

American equality82. Herein, he seeks to ‘slightly correct’ black activist, Stokely Carmichael’s view

of the need to ‘”fight for the right to invent the terms which will allow us to define ourselves and to

define our relations to society.”’ Žižek suggests that ‘what the oppressors really fear is not some to-

tally mythical self-definition with no links to white culture, but a self definition which, by way of

appropriating key elements of the “white” egalitarian-emancipatory tradition, redefines that very

tradition’. By adopting a definitively Western (with which I am substituting Žižek’s “white”) musi-

cal tradition, Palestinians are not only identifying with the oppressed people who invented it, but are

appropriating and thus redefining an aspect of their oppressor’s cultural identity, which is Western

insofar as the Israeli state is never seen to be acting alone but rather with the implicit political and

financial support of the US and Europe. I would suggest that the Palestinian equivalent of ‘mystical

self-definition’ can be seen in Hamas’ drive to create a national identity founded on Islamic princi-

ples, the result of which is outright rejection by the international community and the alienation of

the majority of Palestinian youth who are not practically religious.

31

82 Slavoj Žižek, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, Verso, 2009, 120.

Through hip-hop, Palestinian youth are readily embracing the freedom to redefine themselves and

their situation, distancing themselves from the victim/terrorist binary constructed by external pow-

ers and observers, and also from the corruption and stagnancy of their own political mainstream.

Paul Gilroy has called this hip-hop’s ‘politics of transfiguration’, which, ‘points to the formation of

a community of needs and solidarity which is magically made audible in the music itself and palpa-

ble in the social relations of its cultural consumption and reproduction.’83

Though I did not find an MC or theorist who believes change can occur through musical practise

alone, I have outlined ways in which hip-hop should be seen as an exceptional starting point, with

authentic credentials as a politically potent force. With everything I have explored, I have come to

truly understand the significance of Slingshot Hip-hop director Jackie Salloum’s simple but previ-

ously obscure statement that, ‘The artists are using hip-hop as a form of resistance against occupa-

tion’84.

32

83 Paul Gilroy, ‘It Ain’t Where You’re From, It’s Where You’re At: The Dialectics of Diasporic Identification’, in Small Acts, Serpent’s Tail, 1993, 133-4.84 Jackie Salloum, ‘Palestinian Hip Hop Inspired By Tupac’, Centre for South Asian and Middle East Studies newslet-ter, University of Illinois, 2009, http://www.csames.illinois.edu/news/newsletter/ (13 February 2010).

Conclusion

In order to explore the role of hip-hop in Palestinian youth culture, the pursuit of self-

determined statehood and resistance to Israeli occupation, I have first given a broad impres-

sion of the modes by which hip-hop is currently produced and enjoyed by Palestinian youth.

Though this was intended as a contextualising process, it also helped reveal clues as to the

significance of the music to its practitioners and fans, as well as to an increasingly accepting

Palestinian society.

In exploring the socio-political role of Palestinian hip-hop, I have shown how the music con-

stitutes an alternative to the political and economic mainstreams, not simply because these

structures are weak and perhaps ineffective, but because their influence is nevertheless per-

ceived by MCs as negative. In practise, the MCs thus believe they are, at once, representing

fellow Palestinians and educating others (Palestinian or otherwise) through music.

Finally, though being ‘autonomous’ and ‘alternative’ are definitive attributes of politicised

hip-hop, it is rather the positive freedoms that endow the musical process with its most potent

significance, as explored in the discussions of everyday resistance and redefinition. In these

concepts alone, I see the potential for hip-hop to produce something - be it a new set of lin-

guistic tools, a leader or even an organised movement - of genuine consequence to Palestinian

liberation and self-determination.

33

Ultimately, by viewing hip-hop simply as music, and individual or collective emancipation as the

positive reconfiguration of human and structural ‘relationships’, its significance is most potently

described by Christopher Small, who says:

We are moved by music because musicking creates the public image of our most in-

wardly desired relationships, not just showing them to us as they might be but actually

bringing them into existence for the duration of the performance.85

34

85 Christopher Small, Music of the Common Tongue, Wesleyan University Press, 1998, 69. Emphasis in original.

Bibliography

Interviews

09 December 2009, Ramallah: Ramallah Underground, represented by ‘Boikutt’.

10 December 2009, Ramallah: Talha al-Ali, a.k.a Wise Wolf.

11 December 2009, Bethlehem: Kayan and Deborah.

11 December 2009, Bethlehem: Bad Luck, represented by Dia and Saoud.

12 December 2009, Bethlehem: Ibnaa’ al-Huriyya (Sons of Freedom), represented by Mazen.

14 December 2009, Jerusalem: G-Town, represented by Muhammad Moghrabi.

N.B. Audio and transcripts available. Some names withheld on request.

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Malkin, John, Sounds of Freedom: Musicians on Spirituality and Social Change, Parallax Press,

2005.

Neate, Patrick, Where You’re At: Notes from the Frontline of a Hip-hop Planet, Bloomsbury, 2003.

Ogbar, Jeffrey O. G., The Hip-Hop Revolution: The Culture and Politics of Rap, University Press of

Kansas, 2007.

Peddie, Ian (ed), The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest, Ashgate, 2006.

36

Rose, Tricia, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America, Wesleyan Uni-

versity Press, 1994.

Small, Christopher, Music of the Common Tongue: Survival and Celebration in African American

Music, Wesleyan University Press, 1998.

Stein, Rebecca L. & Swedenburg, Ted (eds), Palestine, Israel, and the Politics of Popular Culture,

Duke University Press, 2005.

Žižek, Slavoj, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, Verso, 2009.

Essays

Abbas, Basel, ‘An Analysis of Arabic Hip-Hop’ Dissertation, SAE Institute, London, 2005.

Williams, Angela Selena, ‘“We Ain’t Terrorists, But We Droppin’ Bombs”: Language Use and Lo-

calization of Hip Hop in Egypt’ Thesis, University of Illinois, 2009.

Documentaries & Music

Flyin’ Cut Sleeves (New York, USA), dir. Henry Chalfant & Rita Fecher, 1993.

Slingshot Hip-hop (Israel/Palestine), dir. Salloum, Jackie, 2008, http://www.slingshothiphop.com/

(13 February 2010).

KRS-One, Edutainment, Boogie Down Productions, 1990.

37

Public Enemy, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Def Jam Records, 1988.

Websites

Music/Bands:

http://www.alquds2009.org/etemplate.php?id=238

Hip Hop Kom press release, Sabreen, 2009, (14 February 2010).

http://www.dampalestine.com/lyrics/english/ihda2/Warde.html,

DAM, ‘Warde (Flower, slang for brother)’, (08 February 2010).

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=safari&rls=en&q=meen+erhabi+lyrics&aq=f&aqi=&oq=

Search for ‘meen erhabi lyrics’, Google, (02 February 2010)

http://www.mmdrap.com (30 January 2010).

http://www.myspace.com/badluck194

Bad Luck, MySpace, (13 February 2010).

http://www.myspace.com/gtown2002

G-Town, MySpace, (13 February 2010).

http://www.myspace.com/rucollective

Ramallah Underground, MySpace, (13 February 2010).

http://www.palrap.net (30 January 2010).

38

http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=meen+erhabi&search_type=&aq=f

Search for ‘meen erhabi’, YouTube, (02 February 2010).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nckQPlLEQnA&feature=channel

DAM, Ihda UK promotional tour, Journeyman Pictures, 2007, (14 February 2010).

Articles/journals:

http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2009/11/20091115160482732.html

Al Jazeera (English), ‘Palestinians to seek UN support’, (08 February 2010).

http://www.amnesty.org/en/appeals-for-action/israel-must-stop-harassment-and-detention-palestianian-activists

Amnesty International, ‘Israel must stop harassment and detention of Palestinian Activists’, January 2010, (16 February 2010).

http://www.csames.illinois.edu/news/newsletter/

‘Palestinian Hip Hop Inspired By Tupac’, CSAMES newsletter, University of Illinois, 2009, (13 February 2010).

http://www.forbes.com/2009/07/08/jay-z-akon-50-cent-hip-hop-business-entertainment-cash-kings.html

Forbes.com, ‘Hip-hop’s Cash Kings 2009’, (09 February 2010).

http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1028375.html

Stern, Yoav, ‘Olmert: Israeli Arabs have long suffered discrimination’, Haaretz, 2008, (09 February 2010).

http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2001/09/30/second-class-0

Human Rights Watch, ‘Second Class: Discrimination Against Palestinian Arab Children in Israel’s Schools’, 2001, (09 February 2010).

39

http://www.peacenow.org.il/site/en/peace.asp?pi=61&fld=495&docid=2401

Peace Now, ‘Removal of Roadblocks and Checkpoints in the West Bank’, June 2007, (22 January 2010).

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUS145884+16-Jun-2008+MW20080616

Reuters, ‘”Yes We Can Song” Video Awarded Emmy Award for New Approaches in Daytime Enter-tainment’, 2008, (02 February 2010).

http://www.sabreen.org

Sabreen, Non-Governmental Organisation, (14 February 2010).

http://www.state.gov/r/pa/prs/ps/2009/july/126510.htm

US Department Of State and the John F. Kennedy Centre for the Performing Arts, Hip-hop Event Press Release, 27 July 2009, (09 February 2010).

http://www.stopthewall.org

Stop the Wall Campaign, (16 February 2010).

http://www.taybehbeer.com

Taybeh Brewing Company, (13 February 2010).

Words: 10,993

40

Appendixes

Appendix A

From the BRICUP Newsletter, Number 10, November 2008,

http://www.bricup.org.uk/documents/archive/BRICUPNewsletter10.pdf (10 February 2010).

The PACBI column

‘Normalization’

In October, the widely-circulated Lebanese Al- Akhbar newspaper published a front-page article by two PACBI members under the title, “Will Foreign Universities in the Arab World Serve as Bridge-heads for Normalization with Israel?” The article ended with an appeal to Arab academics to take up the challenge of assuring that American and European academic institutions operating in Arab countries, particularly in the Gulf region, do not become vehicles for normalization with apartheid Israel and its institutions.

Briefly, there is cause for concern that American and European university campuses in the Arab world, particularly in the Gulf, may begin to serve as channels for drawing Israeli academics and students into the region, thus constituting environments that are conducive to Arab-Israeli normali-zation, despite widespread rejection of normal relations with Israel on the part of the people in the region. It should be noted that links with Israeli academic institutions are practically non-existent at Arab universities; even foreign universities like the American University in Cairo have come under great pressure from students and faculty to reject cooperation with Israeli universities.

It may be useful to share with European colleagues PACBI’s view of normalization, since this term has been the focus of much debate and frequent obfuscation, both in Palestine and in the Arab world at large. Palestinian and Arab academics, artists, women and youth activists are often invited to events purporting to advance Palestinian/Arab-Israeli “understanding” or “dialogue,” or to promote academic and cultural cooperation. The rationale behind such initiatives is objectionable from PACBI’s – and indeed most of Palestinian civil society’s - point of view, since it assumes—whether naively or not—that coexistence can be realized despite colonial and racist oppression and that “barriers” can be removed by dialogue and better communication, as if understanding among indi-viduals can overcome the entrenched system that denies Palestinians their rights. These activities achieve nothing but give Israeli participants a good feeling that they are doing something and give the world a deceptive image of normalcy, thus undermining efforts to expose and counter Israel’s crimes and human rights violations; otherwise, the system of apartheid not only remains in place, but gets an extra dose of durability and legitimacy.

In 2007, PACBI issued a call to Arab academics and intellectuals offering this definition of nor-malization:

Normalization consists in participation in any activity or initiative, whether local or international, that is specifically designed to bring together—whether directly or indirectly—Palestinians and/or

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Arabs and Israelis (individuals as well as institutions), and which does not have as its main objec-tive resisting the occupation and all forms of racial discrimination and oppression practiced against the Palestinian people. The most common forms of normalization are those activities that aim at Palestinian/Arab-Israeli cooperation in science, the arts, youth and women’s activism, and those that aim at “overcoming psychological barriers.” Exceptions are international forums taking place out-side the Arab world with Israeli participation, but which do not specifically aim at bringing Pales-tinians or other Arabs together with Israelis; debates

4are also excluded. Excluded also are any Arab- Israeli efforts aimed at addressing critical health or environmental emergencies that threaten human life.

In addition, PACBI believes strongly that Israeli participation in events held in Arab countries lends assistance to the determined effort by Israel and most western governments and some international institutions, like UNESCO, to force Israel upon the Middle Eastern region as another normal state and in particular to break the widely supported Arab boycott of Israel. PACBI finds some of the European Union cultural cooperation programs to be especially harmful and misguided in this re-spect; under these schemes, Arab and Palestinian recipients of grants supporting training and other workshops in the Arab world or in Europe find themselves forced by the stringent political condi-tions attached to such grants to work with Israelis against their will and often without prior notice. This practice is part of the overall European complicity in providing Israel the impunity it needs to carry on with its occupation and apartheid policies.

PACBI

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