This week, Irish rapper Mo Chara of the Belfast-based rap group Kneecap arrived at a London courthouse to cheers and applause from supporters. You’d be forgiven for thinking it was a victory lap, not a court appearance on terror charges.
One social media user summed up the reaction: “You’d think the Kneecap member charged with a terror offence was arriving for a red carpet event and no This week, Irish rapper Mo Chara of the Belfast-based rap group Kneecap arrived at a London courthouse to cheers and applause from supporters. You’d be forgiven for thinking it was a victory lap, not a court appearance on terror charges. t to court. What has happened to my country.”
Mo Chara, real name Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh, is accused of displaying a Hezbollah flag during a performance at the O2 Forum in Kentish Town last November. UK police say it may have signalled support for a proscribed terrorist organisation. The charge was authorised by the Crown Prosecution Service after a video of the alleged incident surfaced online.
The decision to pursue a terror offence appears, on its face, to be a tactical move. After all, nobody seriously believes that Kneecap are an operational terrorist threat. The idea that these rappers are planning bombings or suicide attacks is laughable, and it’s safe to assume even the British police aren’t under that impression.
When a rap group onstage allegedly chants “up Hezbollah” or “kill your local MP”, it’s pretty clear that the audience doesn’t hear a serious political manifesto. They hear provocation. It’s shock value. It’s theatre. It’s the same energy as Ozzy Osbourne biting the head off a bat – it’s GG Allin, punk rock, mad-lad stuff.
So the fear is not that these guys are actually about to lead an Intifada through the streets of Belfast. What the authorities appear to fear is that Kneecap – through their edgy, provocative antics – might encourage young people to view groups like Hezbollah in a more acceptable light. So by formally linking the group to violent extremism, the British state presumably hopes to weaken Kneecap’s influence, especially among younger audiences, and make it harder for them to get gigs, slow down their cultural momentum, etcetera.
But if that’s the plan, it’s hard to imagine a more counterproductive approach. Because whether you love Kneecap or hate them, nothing could have helped their brand more than getting charged with an offence like this. This entire strategy reeks of a generational misread. It’s a textbook boomer mistake.
The essence of hip hop, from its earliest days, has always been rebellion. N.W.A. made it big in the US by chanting “F*** the police.” Eminem’s rise was defined by his open mockery of political figures and media regulators, boasting that the FCC tried to shut him down, and that “now they’re sayin’ I’m in trouble with the government – I’m lovin’ it.” Immortal Technique bragged that he wouldn’t get signed by a major record label because he’s “a rapper with the White House in his scope”. Post Malone brags about leaving his shows “in a cop car.”
Getting in trouble with the law doesn’t cause a reputational hit in this genre – it’s a selling point. Being targeted by the state is a badge of honour.
Kneecap understand this. That’s why they perform in balaclavas. Their name is a reference to paramilitary kneecappings. Their act is built on allusions to violence and rebellion. And yet we’re to believe that their fanbase will somehow be turned off by the fact that one of them got charged under terrorism laws?
“Oh no, I was fine when they were glorifying paramilitarism and drug use, but now that the police are involved, that’s a step too far.” Give me a break.
Add to this the fact that the cause at the centre of the charge – “Palestinian resistance” – is one of the most emotionally-charged and widely supported political causes in the world right now, especially among younger, left-leaning audiences like theirs. Kneecap are being persecuted, in their fans’ eyes, for taking a moral stand, and that’s rocket fuel for their popularity. And obviously so, as anyone with half a brain could have warned in advance.
Some might argue that the real aim here isn’t to sway public opinion, but to quietly hobble Kneecap’s ability to tour internationally, especially in places like the US. And while this will undoubtedly dent their momentum, most of Kneecap’s appeal is domestic, and among fans who wear establishment hostility like a badge of honour. Banning them from America doesn’t make them less relevant or influential at home.
All of this is not entirely dissimilar to what Gript has experienced in the past, albeit on a smaller scale. When senior politicians attack this publication or call for our press passes to be taken away, our audience grows every single time, and it always ends up backfiring on the person targeting us.
Why? Because people assume we must be saying something effective – something the powerful don’t want said. The Streisand Effect is real, and when the state singles someone out, rightly or wrongly, it validates them as a threat to the establishment.
The same logic applies here. Young people don’t look at Mo Chara walking into court and think “that’ll teach him.” They just think: “legend.” And the powers that be still haven’t figured out why, because they are out-of-touch boomers.