Echoes of Liberation: How Black Protest Lives Through Song

A few years ago, during a protest in Boston for a $15 minimum wage, I was struck by the soundtrack of resistance. Among the chants and speeches, Bob Marley’s “Get Up, Stand Up” rang out—an anthem of defiance and dignity. It wasn’t just background music; it was a call to action, a reminder that reggae has long been a companion to liberation movements, not only in the fight against apartheid or colonial oppression, but in everyday struggles for justice, labor rights, and dignity.

Living in Berkshire County, Massachusetts, I’ve noticed that events centered on African American life often begin with “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the Black national anthem. It wasn’t part of my upbringing, but over time I’ve come to appreciate its solemnity and power. These experiences have deepened my awareness of how music—especially Black music—anchors protest, memory, and hope.

On Saturday, September 27th, I attended a panel discussion at Shakespeare & Company in Lenox, Massachusetts. The event featured authors Hanif Abdurraqib and Imani Perry, moderated by Shana L. Redmond. It was part of the Authors Guild Foundation Literary Festival—the title: A World Where the Song Is Still Going On.

Hanif’s words in the program lingered with me:

“There is something valuable about wanting the world around you to know how richly you’re being moved—so that maybe some total stranger might encounter your stomp, your clap, your shout, and find themselves moved in return.”

The conversation was rich and layered. It traced the lineage of Black musical expression—from Nina Simone, Roberta Flack, Marvin Gaye, Aretha Franklin, to contemporary artists—and explored how songs carry the weight of liberation. Shana Redmond’s book, Anthem: Social Movements and the Sound of Solidarity in the African Diaspora, offers a robust framework for understanding this. She connects musical anthems across time and geography, demonstrating how movements like Marcus Garvey’s UNIA continue to resonate in reggae and other genres. One example she highlights is the song “African Anthem,” which sustains the spirit of Garvey’s vision long after the movement itself faded.

Black liberation movements—encompassing emancipation, civil rights, and the Black Lives Matter movement—are not isolated events. They are part of a continuum, each shaping the next. Emancipation brought freedom from slavery. The civil rights movement reshaped American law and society. Black Lives Matter has challenged policing and public policy. While none of these movements has fully resolved the injustices they confront, each has carved out space for change.

What struck me most in the panel was the emphasis on artists, writers, and musicians as carriers of Black consciousness. Shana Redmond noted that in moments of crisis, artists often turn not to weapons, but to the pen and the song. These creative acts become legacies. A song written in the 18th century can still resonate in the 21st, bridging generations and sustaining movements.

Music, in this sense, is both archive and prophecy. It documents struggle and imagines freedom. It connects people across time and space, offering not just resistance but refuge.

Shana Redmond captured this beautifully in another quote from the program:

“Music grows with the tide of social and political upheaval, resistance, and expansion. But the melancholy and blues sensibility are always there—one step forward, two steps back; three steps forward, two steps back. The music, in some sense, takes on both the possibility and the terrible cost that is part of the American project.”

That day in Lenox, I saw African American voices of hope sustained through music. And while the event was hosted by the  Authors Guild Foundation, a prestigious literary institution, I couldn’t help but reflect on the issue of accessibility. Tickets were $45, and the venue, Shakespeare & Company, is not always accessible to everyone. My critique is not of the authors, whose work transcends walls and price tags, but of the structures that sometimes limit who gets to participate. These conversations deserve a wider audience.

If the song is still going on, then so must our efforts to amplify it—beyond the stage, beyond the page, and into the lives of those still fighting oppression in many ways it manifests in contemporary society.