By Ethel Okeke
Music has always been a powerful force in shaping societies, particularly in times of political turmoil. In Nigeria, where corruption, military dictatorship and social injustices have historically plagued governance, music has served as a voice for the oppressed. From traditional folk songs used to criticize local rulers to modern afro-beats that call out injustice, Nigerian musicians have long understood the influence of sound and rhythm in shaping political consciousness. No figure embodies this more than Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the pioneer of Afrobeat and one of Africa’s most outspoken musicians. More than just a performer, Fela was a revolutionary whose music confronted tyranny, giving courage to the downtrodden and enraging the political elite. His activism was not just in lyrics but in action—his defiance led to multiple imprisonments, police brutality, and even the destruction of his home by the military. Yet, rather than silence him, these experiences only fueled his resolve, making his music even more radical.
Fela’s legacy has paved the way for today’s musicians who use their platforms to demand accountability and political change. From Burnaboy’s call for African unity to Falz’s critique of Nigerian governance, the spirit of protest music remains alive, evolving with each generation. This article examines how Fela Kuti’s fearless activism shaped Nigeria’s political landscape and how contemporary artists continue to use music as a tool for resistance and change. Fela Anikulapo Kuti was not just a musician; he was a movement. Born in 1938, Fela grew up in an environment that encouraged political awareness—his mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, was a prominent activist and women’s rights advocate. This upbringing deeply influenced his views, pushing him toward using music as a platform for political expression.
In the 1970s, Nigeria was under military rule, with successive governments accused of corruption, oppression, and human rights violations. Fela’s music became a direct challenge to the regime, and he fearlessly criticized the government through songs like Zombie (1976), which mocked the blind obedience of Nigerian soldiers, and Coffin for Head of State (1981), which accused the government of hypocrisy and exploitation.
His activism extended beyond music. He declared his home, the Kalakuta Republic, an independent state, where he housed band members, activists, and marginalized individuals. This bold move enraged the military, leading to a brutal raid in 1977. Soldiers set his compound on fire, beat him mercilessly, and threw his mother from a window—a fall that led to her death. Instead of cowering, Fela used the tragedy to release Unknown Soldier, a song condemning the government for its cruelty. Despite numerous imprisonments, torture, and harassment, Fela never backed down. His refusal to conform made him a hero to the common people, who saw him as their voice against oppression. His music and defiance shaped a politically aware generation, proving that music could be a legitimate and powerful tool for resistance.
Fela’s influence did not die with him in 1997. His son, Femi Kuti, and grandson, Made Kuti, have continued the Afrobeat tradition, using their music to address corruption, poverty, and bad governance. Femi Kuti’s Sorry Sorry and Dem Bobo highlight the persistent failures of Nigerian leadership, reminding citizens of their right to demand better. Beyond the Kuti family, other artists have embraced protest music in unique ways. In 2004, Eedris Abdulkareem released Jaga Jaga, a song that painted a bleak picture of Nigeria’s socio-political chaos. The song was banned by then-President Olusegun Obasanjo, but instead of silencing it, the ban only made it more popular, showing that censorship could not kill the power of music.
The #EndSARS protests of 2020 marked a new chapter in Nigeria’s history of protest music. The movement, which started as an outcry against police brutality, quickly turned into a nationwide call for better governance. Nigerian musicians played a significant role in mobilizing the youth, using their influence to amplify the movement. Falz’s Johnny became an anthem of the movement, narrating the injustices of police brutality. Burna Boy released 20:10:20, a song dedicated to the victims of the Lekki Toll Gate massacre, where peaceful protesters were shot by security forces. Artists like Davido, Tiwa Savage, and Wizkid also used their platforms to put pressure on the government, demonstrating how music and activism had become inseparable.
Unlike Fela’s era, where music was spread through live performances and radio, today’s protest music spreads instantly through social media, reaching millions in minutes. This digital revolution has made it harder for governments to suppress political songs, ensuring that messages of resistance continue to thrive.
As Nigeria’s political landscape continues to evolve, so will its protest music. A new generation of artists is unafraid to challenge authority, using music as a tool for political education, mobilization, and change. Whether through the rebellious Afrobeat rhythms of Fela Kuti or the socially conscious Afropop of Burna Boy and Falz, music remains a voice for the voiceless—a force that cannot be ignored. The future of Nigerian music is not just in entertainment but in activism. As long as oppression exists, protest music will remain a vital part of the nation’s fight for justice.
