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Musically, “Biko” was also a first step for Gabriel into a broader, more global array of cultural resources for music. He established WOMAD (World of Music, Art, and Dance) in 1980, which held its first festival two years later. WOMAD, and Gabriel’s associated efforts, created greater exposure in Europe and America for African and Asian artists such as Baaba Maal, Youssou N’Dour, and Nusret Fateh Ali Khan.

Michael Drewett characterizes “Biko” as “arguably the most significant non-South African anti-apartheid song.” That is a more measured version of the claim that I offer above. As I see it, its significance lies in both its political influence on others and the musical transformation it represents for Gabriel. While I would not allege that “Biko” was decisive in ending apartheid in South Africa, it obviously moved the needle of international opinion and popular pressure. Significance will in some measure be a matter of “significance for whom,” but the song did more than just make middle-class white people feel something. It sparked concrete movements for human rights, both for South Africa and beyond. It also turned Gabriel in artistic directions that leveraged his stature in the direction of expanded global musical awareness and interconnection.

Performance and politics

In addition to acknowledging his privileged and outsider positions, Gabriel also takes a conscientious approach to situating this protest song within his work as an artist. As we’ve observed in other cases, the worthiness of a cause can often load a song with weight it can’t carry. That’s not the case here, in my estimation. Furthermore, songwriters face artistic risk if they are always and only about political message. Gabriel reflected on this issue relative to “Biko” in a 1987 television interview around the release of the Biko biopic Cry Freedom:

“I don’t want all musicians preaching at me all the time, but I think….it’s the first universal language all round the world, young people listen to rock music and to have that attention and that possibility for giving out information and not to use it for anything other than saying who you laid last night is, I think, a waste of time.”

When challenged in that interview by the potential for abuses of power by artists engaged in such advocacy, Gabriel responded that this was less of a risk if he was communicating honestly. Gabriel later explained in a 2011 interview, though, that writing the song was a difficult decision for him.

On Gabriel’s web site for the Melt album, he explains how he got over his hesitation:

“‘Biko’ became a very important song for me. I’d not written an overtly political song before and was wondering if it would be accepted… I had various doubts and Tom Robinson, who I’d got to know at the time, who was championing various causes, but the gay cause is what he was most identified with at the time, was really telling me that I should just steam ahead and do it anyway and put it out and that it didn’t matter really what people thought of my motives; if it got attention and money in the right direction. That, I think, put my mind at rest and later on I think it lead [sic] me towards some of the human rights stuff, which I’m still very much involved with today. So it was as much a thing that helped shape me as the other way round.”

Gabriel’s live performances of “Biko” demonstrate some informative patterns in his approach to balancing art, authenticity, and politics. He typically eschews the African rhythm in concert, and goes for a rock-based percussion approach. Also, he typically provides a brief spoken introduction to the song. He explains who and what it is for. Most significantly, he concludes the song speaking words to the effect of “I’ve done all I can do. The rest is up to you.” He may turn the microphone toward the crowd, and then leaves the stage, with the audience and supporting singers pumping their fists in the air singing “OH, OH, OH.” He concretely acts out that the song is not an end in itself, and he engages the audience in a new way. They enter as receivers and leave as participants.

Peter Gabriel in concert (source: uncredited promotional image, Facebook)

In saying that “Biko” is a significant protest song, and perhaps the most significant in the North Atlantic music world, I don’t thereby suppose that it approaches the power or importance of songs that were sung within the anti-apartheid movement itself within South Africa. Those songs sustained people in the struggle. I also believe internal pressures and international shifts, including the collapse of the Soviet Union had more to do with the demise of apartheid than protest songs.

Nevertheless, songs like “Biko” and “Sun City” did make a difference. Even though they were performed by artists to be listened to by audiences, rather than sung by protesters, they cultivated an emotional engagement that increased global political pressure. Gabriel’s move at the end of these live performances undercuts this “performed song vs. people’s song” dynamic. He draws the audience into the collective creation of the song, and sends them off with work to do.

Others (my friends, for example) may point to 80s era protest songs such as Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning,” Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power,” or NWA’s “Fuck tha Police,” as songs of comparable or stronger significance, either musical or political. Still others may point to The Specials’ “Nelson Mandela” or Eddy Grant’s “Gimme Hope Jo’Anna,” for example, as more significant anti-apartheid songs. They may have comparably detailed lists of credentials to offer.

“Biko” protested one thing that couldn’t change, Biko’s death, and one thing that could, apartheid. In 1991, apartheid ended, though not because of any one song. Music, though, did help mobilize international opposition to the apartheid regime. However salient the critiques put forward by other protest songs of the era, I don’t see a comparable historical pivot point regarding the targets of the songs’ protests. Apartheid was a defining struggle of the 1980s, and I see no song more influential than “Biko” in moving that struggle forward in musical culture on the global stage.

My case above rests on its censorship, its inspirational role for other anti-apartheid protests, its catalyzing work on musical protest, and that it animated growth in “world music.” My case below will add to this durability and accessibility to other artists (covers).

The broader “work” of the song is not done. Gabriel still performed the song well after apartheid ended. Here is a performance from 2011 from Letterman. The audience seems less devoted to the cause, but Gabriel still charges them with the next steps. It’s an engaging performance, with orchestral accompaniment. It starts quiet and builds.

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