Honouring our ancestors in activism: In conversation with Arowah

When I meet with Arowah, a multi-instrumentalist and composer, we speak for hours. We bonded over honouring our ancestors and elders who were integral in global liberation movements, the radical history of jazz and our shared personal connection to the art form. As well as being an exceptionally gifted artist, Arowah is a community builder and somatics practitioner, who founded Musical Meditation and is the co-director of Queer Jazz. 

“I’m bringing music into my activism and activism into my music,” they tell me – and this was most recently achieved through the release of their new album, B.H.A.M (which stands for Black History Arts Movement).

The role of art 

The depoliticisation of art has become an integral part of capitalism, and Arowah has experienced this first-hand, stating that: “the music industry is about entertainment and not art.” B.H.A.M. consciously moves against this and declares the critical role of art in the revolution. 

Art has always been paramount to the organising I’ve been involved in. I have spent a decade in various grassroots organisations rooted in liberatory practices that have taught me the power of art held by the masses. They are spaces where we’ve created collective playlists for political education programmes, and blasted them at protests to energise the crowd. 

I’ve been a youth worker for a couple of years and in my practice I’ve used songs, poetry, and paintings as an entry point in raising consciousness. I’ve often drawn on the poems of Linton Kwesi Johnson, a revolutionary artist whose song ‘Inglan Is A Bitch’ exposes the realities of the systemic oppression faced by Afro-Caribbean immigrants and highlights the violence of racial capitalism. 

Playing ‘Inglan Is A Bitch’ to the young people I work with opens up conversations about poverty, intergenerational trauma, trauma from the police state and more. I’m also influenced by the Black Panther Party principles of meeting people where they are at – as founder Huey P.Newton says in Revolutionary Suicide: “then I realized that their understanding had to be developed.” 

Diversity of tactics

To truly understand the world system that is oppressing the masses, we need various approaches. So when I spoke to Arowah about the relationship between art and activism, I was eager to learn how they’re bringing art back to its radical roots.

To do this, I wanted to ground us in the album’s intentionality. Each composition is a love letter to revolutionaries who engaged in liberation struggles of the past and are offering their expertise to present movements. 

“B.H.A.M. invites us to dream bigger: to honour and then inspire,” Arowah shares. Their song ‘black women can always teach you something’ is a manifestation of just that. It’s filled with velvety harmonising and humming, creating a sense of serenity as a backdrop to actress LisaGay Hamilton reading a poem that honours our ancestors and elders.

 

“We learnt all about the love of bell,

We learnt all about the soul of Aretha,

We learnt about the limitless of who we could be from Masha,

We learnt freedom when they jailed Angela and Assata,

We learnt to use our voice when they silenced Fannie Lou Hamer,

We learnt to build when Audre dismantled,

We learnt to stand when Rosa sat.”

lyrics from ‘black women can always teach you something’

 

The Black women named in the song have raised my political consciousness. In my teenage years, I was gifted Assata Shakur’s autobiography; I’ve reread the book since then, using it as a constant reminder of what it means to remain principled while facing state repression. 

I learnt about Audre Lorde whilst occupying a university building for nearly five months, holding community political education sessions and honouring her sentiment that “the master’s tool will never dismantle the master’s house.” We occupied the building until all our demands were met, and we left with a signed agreement. 

bell hooks, Aretha Franklin, Marsha P. Johnson, Angela Davis, and people not named like Pat Parker, Olive Morris, Claudia Jones, and Altheia Jones-LeCointe, all contributed to my understanding of how systems of oppression operate, the necessity of community, the push for resisting of systems of oppression even in discomfort – in sacrifice for a world that is rooted in freedom. I’ve also learnt not to idolise those who came before us, as mistakes have been made and documented; rupture has occurred in relationships, resulting in the dissolution of movements. There have been contradictions in our elders’ organising, and there will be contradictions in our organising; I learn from our elders who have an abundance of wisdom from the victories and losses, and in this way we do not reproduce cycles that stagnated past movements – we are building brick by brick. 

The struggle for jazz, jazz for the struggle

For many decades, jazz, with its complex harmonies and intricate rhythms, has been a statement of freedom. It has been at the forefront of global resistance and anti-colonial struggle. 

A popular slogan used in Apartheid South Africa after the brutal repression from the white supremacist settler colony was: “the struggle for jazz, jazz for the struggle.” Its sound was central to conveying the struggles of the times.

“My favourite era of jazz was in the 60s and 70s,” Arowah tells me. “The Black Arts Movement (BAM) was revolutionary.” BAM was an ideological movement in America that resisted the Eurocentric forms of art, amplified Black self-determination and African ancestral history, and raised Black consciousness. 

It is widely recognised that BAM was established after Amiri Baraka, a political activist and poet, opened up the Black Arts Repertory Theater in Harlem. Baraka played a revolutionary role in my own journey to understanding the political role of writing as an art form – especially in raising the people’s consciousness. I first heard of Baraka when a comrade sent a YouTube clip of him speaking about “art as a weapon” detailing how artists must place art in the hands of the people and the minds of the people. 

Art is a weapon for the masses 

Jazz became a vehicle for pushing against racial injustice globally. From the US, to South Africa, to the UK, jazz clubs became a space of safety and unity. In New York, venues like the Café Society played host to Billie Holiday performing her version of ‘Strange Fruit,’ exposing the realities of the state-sanctioned executions of African Americans in Southern America. 

When I listened to B.H.A.M., I realised it was a continuation of the radical Black tradition of jazz protest and activism. “It was a testimony of survival”, Arowah tells me. I could feel this most notably through the 12th song in their album, entitled ‘freedom dreams’ featuring ‘AWETHU.’ A radical educational programme rooted in empowering communities through political education where Arowah was able to facilitate some sessions and leave with a collective recording of people reading their poems. What first struck me was the name ‘‘Awethu’ which means “it’s ours” in Xhosa and Zulu, and is rooted in the South African anti-apartheid chant ‘Amandla Awethu’ meaning ‘The Power is Ours.’

 

“Let someone who has never known subjugation tell you what freedom is;

let the last enslaved person tell you what freedom is, 

Let a life sentence tell you what freedom is.” 

Lyrics from freedom dreams

 

Freedom dreams are held by a collective of people, with each line passed to the next person, who varies with eclectic tones and expressions. The people in the song uttering each line besides Arowah are not named, yet you can feel their conviction in pushing us to imagine an alternative reality. 

From the rhythmic musical tones to the sensual style of the song, I was transported to the legendary Nina Simone song ‘I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free,’ a song which has journeyed with me many times: on my way to support comrades arrested for protesting injustice and through long court days in support for young Black people who have been oppressed by a system that has rendered them disposable. Now, I can add ‘freedom dreams’ to my ever-growing playlist of songs that help me to imagine and fight for freedom. 

Honouring the past

B.H.A.M. is a testimony of the past. The album explores grassroots movements and organisations that have dedicated themselves to the mission towards liberation for all. There are four songs in the album titled ‘M.O.V.E’, S.T.A.R’, ‘D.R.U.M’, and ‘S.O.U.L’. Each of these titles is connected to a grassroots movement that has organised against oppression, supported people’s material needs and created a sense of community in the midst of state repression.

M.O.V.E. links us to the MOVE organisation, which, connected to the Black Power movement, was created in 1971 and based in Philadelphia. The group adopted an anti-technology lifestyle, fought for animal rights, and opposed the destruction of the earth by greedy elites. 

MOVE’s resistance was met by state-sanctioned murder. In 1985, through the orders of the state, the Philadelphia Police Department dropped a bomb onto the houses of MOVE members, resulting in the deaths of 11 people, including five children. 

M.O.V.E. begins with finger-clicking and then intense drumming matched with the sounds of a trumpet combined with the sounds of a cello, all happening at the same time. Offering an exposition of what transpired during the organising of MOVE, from resisting subjugation from the oppressor to building community unity and meeting the needs of the people. 

Arowah beautifully exemplifies it in their song, with every instrument contributing to the song’s construction – each drum, whisper, and trumpet played a necessary role. This is a reminder that the struggle for liberation requires many roles and has its many complexities. 

S.T.A.R. pays respect to Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR), a radical collective which provided housing and support to homeless LGBT youth started by Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P Johnson. Through this song, Arowah connects the collective struggle by looking at the Black liberation struggle, the workers’ struggle, the queer and trans struggle for liberation and the power of coalition organising.

 

“Home is always going to be just where your heart is,

I want to love everyone,

we come home.’  

‘You are a star,

you are loved,

Oh child.” 

Lyrics from S.T.A.R.

 

I treasure movements rooted in theory and practice, which meet people’s material needs without being detached from what’s happening on the ground. The collectives that fed, housed and educated the people through co-learning spaces. The four named groups in B.H.A.M. followed the radical tradition of inspiring the people facing the sharp ends of systemic oppression to organise. 

Art speaks to movements 

I humbly say I was unaware of some of the groups mentioned in Arowah’s album – notably the Dodge Revolutionary Union Movement (DRUM), a grassroots movement that emerged from 1968 to 1971 influenced by the Black Power Movement. Black autoworkers in Detroit held a wildcat strike in resistance to their bosses and against the United Auto Workers Union, which they realised only concentrated on pay increases for workers and not the systemic anti-Black racism that was occurring.

In 1968, thousands of workers organised a strike against Chrysler Corporation at the Dodge Main plant in Hamtramck, and it was the Black workers who were disciplined and even fired. This led to Black workers uniting, organising successful strikes and building umbrella organisations such as the League of Revolutionary Black Workers (LRBW) rooted in socialist principles. Listening to Arowah’s song ‘D.R.U.M’ moved me to study the strategies of past movements in order to sharpen the strategy of the movements I am in now. Their album not only honoured grassroot organisations but journals like SOUL that cultivated knowledge production that furthered the Black liberation Movement. 

“Music needs to speak to movements,” says Arowah. “The purpose of art is to mirror humanity, and also be the vision for what it can be.” I totally agree. Art must speak to us; make us feel alive. As James Baldwin writes in The Creative Process: “the role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.” 

Arowah created and produced B.H.A.M. themselves, rather than involving a label and centring a white-dominated press for validation. Instead, their focus was obtaining blessings from their elders and community, which include:

“A truly divine experience.” Angel Bat Dawid 

“Loved it from the beginning to the end.” Tony Minvielle 

“A brave artist.” Dr Gary Crosby 

“A beautiful and soulful sonic mosaic.” Terri Lyne Carrington 

“An exhilarating chapter of music.” Andrew Bi 

“My ears are on fire.” Robin D.G Kelley 

Envisioning liberation 

Before we finish the interview, I ask Arowah to imagine liberation. Far too often, we name the systems that are oppressing our people yet struggle to envision our freedom. In a liberated world, Arowah tells me “I will wake up one morning, go to the park, and my children will play on the swings, and there will be poetry. I can say we are all free.”

Listening to B.H.A.M. allows you to envision, study, and honour those who came before us. If we are serious about our collective freedom from the systems that oppress us, we must learn from the successes and missteps of radical movements. For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of being free, and now I understand that freedom is liberation. For us to be liberated, we must move people, and art has been a weapon for the masses. 
Nina Simmone: “An Artist’s Duty”