The politics of artistic expression

As 2024 draws to a close, much of the world is preparing to usher in the New Year. In Italy, however, the season’s festivities have been overshadowed by a heated debate over censorship, artistic expression and societal values, sparked by a controversy at the heart of Rome’s traditional New Year’s concert.

At the centre of the uproar is Tony Effe, an Italian rapper and former member of the Dark Polo Gang, whose invitation to the event was met with widespread excitement. That enthusiasm, however, soured quickly as political figures from across the spectrum — including representatives from the Democratic Party (PD), Action and the Federation of Liberals (FdL) — joined women’s organisations in criticising the choice. At the heart of their objection lay Effe’s lyrics, regarded widely as misogynistic and demeaning towards women.

Facing mounting pressure, the Capitoline administration rescinded the invitation, a decision that the mayor framed not as censorship, but as a matter of civic responsibility. “This is not about Tony Effe’s undeniable right to express himself or perform in Rome,” explained the mayor. “It’s about whether public resources — funded by the citizens — should be used to spotlight an artist whose inclusion risked dividing the city and offending its residents. A New Year’s concert should bring people together, not set them apart.”

However, this decision sparked a fierce backlash within Italy’s music industry.

Several artists rallied in solidarity with Effe, with some even withdrawing from the concert in protest. On Instagram, the rapper expressed gratitude for their support, declaring: “I am always myself; I don’t know how to act. I make music, and music cannot be censored. I write what I see, and I live what I write.”

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A post shared by SOSA 🇮🇹 (@tonyeffebaby777)

This wave of solidarity, however, stands in stark contrast to the silence that met another instance of censorship earlier this year involving Ghali, the Tunisian-Italian rapper whose bold political statement during the Sanremo Music Festival sparked widespread controversy. During his performance, an animated character who stars in his “Casa Mia” music video, Rich Ciolino, leaned in to whisper in Ghali’s ear. Ghali then turned to the audience and repeated the words: “Stop the genocide,” which was interpreted widely as a reference to the ongoing crisis in Gaza, provoking a firestorm.

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The backlash was immediate. From accusations by the Israeli ambassador of exploiting a prominent platform to spread hatred, to RAI’s public apology live on national television, Ghali’s statement was condemned across the board. Yet, unlike Effe, Ghali received no vocal support from his peers. Not a single major artist publicly defended him or challenged the censorship he faced.

The debate transcends Effe and exposes deeper questions about censorship and accountability in art.

Why were so many quick to rally behind Effe — whose lyrics have been criticised as antithetical to the fight against gender violence — yet remained silent when Ghali’s voice was suppressed?

A potential explanation lies in the structures of the music industry itself. Tony Effe is signed to a label shared by many of the artists who supported him, offering him a built-in network of solidarity. Ghali, however, operates independently under his own label, leaving him without the same kind of institutional backing. Ghali himself appears to have noted this imbalance, responding by erasing all prior posts from his Instagram and replacing them with a single, poignant image capturing the precise moment Rich Ciolino whispered in his ear during the Sanremo performance.

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A post shared by Ghali (@ghali)

Whatever the specifics, the broader issue transcends individual cases. It forces us to confront the double standards inherent in discussions about censorship and artistic accountability. Is censorship always denounced, or only when it is convenient? And what does it say about societal priorities when misogyny in song lyrics is downplayed by those who otherwise champion gender equality? The pattern reflects a disquieting inconsistency, proving once again that societal and institutional support often hinges not on the merit of the message but on the power structures and affiliations surrounding it, exposing a fragile commitment to fairness and consistency in public discourse.

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This inconsistency reflects a deeper hypocrisy at the heart of the holiday season itself. As people (both religious and not) come together to celebrate Christmas with joy and a sense of community, the world continues to grapple with pervasive injustice. For Christians — myself included, having been raised in the faith — the irony is particularly stark: the lavish exchange of gifts and indulgence in festive cheer stand in sharp contrast to the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, a city within the Israeli-occupied West Bank, where conflict and oppression persist to this day.

Although the Vatican has its share of issues, it has made no attempt to gloss over these realities.

Earlier this month, the Paul VI Audience Hall featured a striking “Nativity of Bethlehem 2024” display depicting the infant Jesus resting on a Palestinian keffiyeh, a widely recognised symbol of Palestinian identity and resilience. During his annual Christmas address to the Roman Curia, Pope Francis condemned the bombardments against the children of Gaza, calling it “cruelty, not war.” Yet his remarks, too, drew a sharp rebuke from Israeli officials, who referenced the Hamas attacks of 7 October, 2023 as justification for Israel’s actions and dismissed alternative interpretations as an unjust singling out of the Jewish state.

As the year ends, these controversies serve as reminders of the hypocrisies we often accept in the name of convenience. Selective outrage, whether in music, politics or faith, reflects a broader struggle to uphold universal principles in a world increasingly fragmented by partisanship and self-interest. If 2024 has taught us anything, it’s that the lines between solidarity, accountability and silence are often blurred; and it is our responsibility to redraw them.

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The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.