One week, Kneecap were booked for Glastonbury. The next, they’re being investigated by counterterrorism police. Given the West Belfast trio’s outspoken views on the Middle East, an issue that only continues to inflame public passions, it’s perhaps most surprising that a reckoning took so long to arrive.
Yet if the demands for accountability are only growing shriller, Kneecap’s story is nothing new. Once an artist moves from cult status into the mainstream, all while continuing to challenge accepted narratives, a reaction is sure to follow. Amid the apologies and the caveats, then, Kneecap now faces the same question as any radical artist on the precipice of stardom. Do you soften your edges for access, or hold your ground, and risk the establishment’s wrath?
In many ways, Kneecap’s difficulties feel specific to our cultural moment. The band has been accused of glorifying violence, of supporting Hamas and Hezbollah. These are charges they’ve denied. Either way, it comes as no surprise to me that this pro-Palestine, anti-government trio are in a bind. As a professional working in various capacities as a writer and performer, I can tell you right now that using your platform to either criticise Israel, or express solidarity with innocent Palestinians, comes with risks.
I’ve been reported to the police for taking part in fundraisers for medics in the Gaza Strip. I’ve been accosted by a chief executive, and delegates at a conference, for using a keynote speech to urge a politically neutral organisation to join calls for a ceasefire. Scheduled appearances were mysteriously cancelled, and organisers have had to bulk up security in case protesters turn up.
The tensions Kneecap speak to arise not just from the strength of feeling around the war between Israel and Hamas, but the strong sense many of us have that our political class collaborates with major media players to stifle debate. It creates a culture whereby any criticism to the prevailing narrative — that anything Israel does is morally justified — becomes futile and where raising your voice against the systematic brutalisation of innocent civilians in the Gaza Strip starts to feel dangerous.
In this context, then, Kneecap become a case study in how thought and speech are regimented — and, in the generalities anyway, it’s nothing new. Transgressive artists have long been made examples of and punished for their politics. Sinead O’Connor’s career was derailed after she tore up a photo of the Pope on Saturday Night Live, in protest of the Catholic Church’s abuse cover-ups. She was right, but she was ruined. The Dixie Chicks were boycotted, threatened and driven off country radio after criticising the Iraq War. NWA had the FBI on their backs.
And so the list goes on. In every case, craven politicians join a growing media chorus of condemnation, rendering the acts in question too toxic to book. It’s the same story with Kneecap, with the very journalists who defend edgy comedians like Jimmy Carr and Ricky Gervais — and their right to say incredibly offensive things we all know are part of an act — now expecting us to believe Kneecap are some kind of quasi-paramilitary group.
Beyond the media outrage, meanwhile, Kneecap’s predicament ironically speaks to the band’s success and their clear desire to cross into the mainstream. That’s why we’ve seen statements issued and apologies offered — public relations manoeuvres aimed at minimising the commercial impact of negative coverage. Though the group certainly wish to retain their radical credentials, it’s also clear they’ve been pushed into a far more defensive position than they’re comfortable with, or indeed than their fans are used to.
For example, while the band has emphasised that it stands in solidarity with Palestinian civilians, and oppose Israel’s bombardment and occupation, they do not support militant Islamist organisations. Yet, such distinctions rarely matter once the wheels of the media outrage machine begin turning. The point is not to understand or debate Kneecap’s actual views, but to frame them as toxic enough that venues, festivals and collaborators all feel pressured to abandon them.
And though I loathe the confected outrage of many a blowhard on this issue, the wicked dilemma Kneecap now faces is arguably one of their own making. They’ve sold themselves as countercultural and gained a loyal global following as a result. This boxes them into a specific set of responses — none of them free of risk. By being seen to back down, even slightly, in the face of a concerted political and media effort to paint them as terrorist sympathisers, they risk alienating their core support, thus weakening the very leverage they have in the music industry. Alternatively, doubling down will effectively mean being blacklisted from major festivals and media outlets for the foreseeable future, even if they do at least retain their integrity and links to the fanbase.
Despite the calm collectedness the band and their manager are keen to paint, then, there’ll now be panic behind the scenes. And no wonder: life-changing opportunities are now on the line. Of course, for the group’s hardcore fanbase, the answer is simple: fight the power. But it’s never quite as simple as “stand your ground” versus “sell out”.
As creatives, we hope to have our cakes and eat them too. We want the visibility, the critical acclaim, and the big performance fees. But we also want to be seen as unwavering in our principles, and unscrupulous in pursuit of artistic integrity. Once a radical act begins to gain traction beyond pub open-mics — when a wider audience starts paying attention — everything changes. The decisions get heavier. The risks get real. And that visibility, often romanticised from the outside, can be extremely stressful. A lot of radical artists don’t plan for this moment. It comes as a shock. They’re propelled into a space they never expected to inhabit, and they arrive carrying principles that don’t always map neatly onto the pressures and expectations that follow.
Suddenly, the stakes aren’t just ideological. As Kneecap is doubtless now discovering, livelihoods are involved: your own, your partner’s, your kids’. You’ve got a label to deal with. You’ve got tour managers, stage crew, new fans, and media people around you, many of whom have very different values and priorities. The freedom to just steamroll your way through, to say “to hell with it all”— that becomes much harder to exercise when other people depend on your success to pay their bills. And despite their rebellious aesthetics, bands like Kneecap are professionals with aspirations of their own, not least a desire to be financially secure.
“We want the visibility, the critical acclaim, and the big performance fees. But we also want to be seen as unwavering in our principles.”
And, especially for a group from West Belfast, when someone from your community finally breaks through, there’s often a silent burden to carry: represent us, but don’t get it wrong or you’ll have hell to pay. Kneecap didn’t ask to be role models or political lightning rods. They came up from a place where art, humour, trauma, and resistance blur together. West Belfast isn’t a backdrop: it’s the very soil they grew out of. Their use of the Irish language isn’t decorative, it’s an act of cultural reclamation, an assertion of identity in a postcolonial context that still cuts deep. Their solidarity with Palestine comes from that same instinct: to back those being brutalised by a far more powerful force.
Ultimately, then, Kneecap will have to decide what matters more: global recognition in a fickle, spineless industry, or holding true to their principles. If you want to be mainstream, you have to make sacrifices, and few acts can have it both ways. Even Eminem went pop eventually. Unrelenting scrutiny comes with any public platform. Kneecap exercises their freedom of speech to say what they believe, but there are always consequences to raising your head above the parapet. Other people will exercise theirs to condemn, marginalise and punish. That’s the way free speech works.
Artists won’t always get it right, and when they do fuck up, it’s appropriate that they should acknowledge their mistakes. Integrity comes not just from staying true to our beliefs, but also from admitting when we’ve crossed a line. We’ve all said and done stupid and offensive things. In the end, though, that’s not the issue. The issue is that, as a result of expressing views about Israel regarded as controversial — but which are in fact entirely mainstream — Kneecap now has every editor in the country instructing hacks to trawl through every lyric, every interview and every act of public flatulence, looking for proof these guys are something they aren’t.
Who knows what Kneecap will do next. I don’t envy their plight. But I do know this: the system rewards outrage only when it can be commodified. It tolerates rebellion as long as it’s aesthetic. The moment your politics cut too close to the bone, you’ll find out just how tolerant the liberal cultural sphere really is, and who your friends really are.
