Art as a weapon of hope? That’s the bold statement at the heart of A Gathering for Gaza, a Melbourne fundraiser that blended music, activism, and raw emotion into a powerful statement of solidarity. But here’s where it gets controversial: can a concert truly challenge systemic injustice? Or is it just feel-good activism? Let’s dive in.
On a Saturday in Melbourne, nearly 5,000 people packed the Port Melbourne Industrial Centre for the Arts, not just for the music, but for a cause. Comedian Nazeem Hussain, the event’s host, even paused the show to send a heartfelt message to Palestinian Australian writer Randa Abdel-Fattah, whose recent experiences at the Adelaide Writers’ Festival had left her spirits low. Instead of a joke, Hussain filmed the crowd cheering for her—a small but powerful act of unity that set the tone for the day.
A Gathering for Gaza was more than a music festival; it was a protest, a celebration, and a call to action. Between sets from acclaimed artists like Genesis Owusu, Julia Jacklin, and Angie McMahon, activists and humanitarian groups took the stage to share stories and urge continued support. Funds raised from tickets, merchandise, and the bar went directly to organizations like Olive Kids, the Palestinian Australian New Zealand Medical Association, Palestine Australia Relief and Action, and Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) Australia.
But this is the part most people miss: the event wasn’t just about raising money—it was about amplifying voices often silenced. Mai Saif, a Free Palestine Melbourne organizer, addressed the crowd, many of whom she recognized from years of rallies. “Art is a form of resistance,” she declared, her words echoing the day’s theme. “It’s part of our culture, our identity, and our survival.”
The lineup was as diverse as the crowd, with genres ranging from the power-pop of Belair Lip Bombs to the soulful harmonies of Folk Bitch Trio. Indigenous rapper Miss Kaninna brought fiery energy, while Julia Jacklin and Angie McMahon delivered introspective indie rock. Genesis Owusu closed the night with a genre-defying performance that left the audience in awe. Between sets, local DJs like Cut Copy and Harvey Sutherland kept the momentum going.
Yet, amidst the music and cheers, there were moments of stark reality. Ashley Killeen, acting executive director of MSF Australia, revealed that their organization—active in Palestine since 1988—has been denied registration to provide medical aid, prompting a collective cry of “shame” from the crowd. To balance the pain, Rasha Abbas, founder of Palestine Australia Relief and Action, shared a story of hope: a teenager in Gaza who spent eight hours downloading study tutorials and was recently accepted to an Australian university on a scholarship.
Art’s power to heal and inspire was a recurring theme. Yousef Alreemawi, founder of the Arabic music group Tarab Ensemble, quoted German poet Novalis: “Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.” Tarab, an Arabic term for the deep pleasure found in music, was embodied by the group’s hypnotic blend of oud, riq, saxophone, and double bass—a testament to the universal language of art.
Even fashion made a statement. Many attendees wore keffiyehs, while others sported Kneecap T-shirts, particularly the design collaboration with Indigenous Australian artist Aretha Brown. The Irish hip-hop trio, known for their outspoken support of Palestine, sent a video message from member Mo Chara, who urged the crowd to keep fighting for justice—a poignant reminder of the event’s broader impact.
As the day drew to a close, Jewish Council of Australia executive member Ohad Kozminsky quoted Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish: “Every beautiful poem is an act of resistance.” It was a fitting end to an event that celebrated art’s ability to challenge, heal, and unite.
But here’s the question: Does art truly change systems, or does it merely soothe our consciences? Can a concert, no matter how powerful, dismantle decades of oppression? Let’s keep the conversation going—share your thoughts in the comments. After all, the most important acts of resistance often start with a question.
