On a recent evening in Berlin, as trains rattled by the venue, the singer Wafaa Saied gave a remarkable performance as one of the must-see artists at Gig for Gaza, a benefit concert whose organisers included Julie Fogarty. She is one of several Irish people creating networks of solidarity with Palestinian and other immigrant communities in the German capital.
The gig, the second in a series, was sold out. Many in the audience were moved to tears by the performances, which raised close to €6,000 for Medical Aid for Palestinians and others.
“When we finish a gig, the feelings are conflicted because in one sense the event gives you a lot of hope,” says Fogarty. “You see people coming together, communities mixing, and we’re happy that it sells out and people want to support it. But in the second breath, you open your phone and the devastation in Gaza continues. It just doesn’t stop. You feel good you’re doing something, but it feels like a drop in the ocean. No one in power is doing anything. It’s anger-inducing.”
Fogarty, a Dubliner who, with her wife, the Australian music producer, musician and sound artist Jane Arnison, has been embedded in Berlin’s alternative music scene for years, says the initiative emerged from seeing the way musicians in Ireland were mobilising. “Irish artists in Berlin draw massive influence and hope from our home country,” she says. “The Gig for Gaza in Berlin was directly inspired by the Gig for Gaza in Dublin in November. We try to bring that energy to Berlin, because the German government is oppressing, silencing, demonising and arresting Palestinian voices and Jewish resistance voices. It’s disturbing to witness. We’re trying to push back against that in every way we can...
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“It’s upside-down land here. It’s the opposite of Ireland,” Fogarty says. “It seems in Ireland there are things happening every week – trad for Gaza, concerts for Gaza. Over here, bits and bobs are happening, but it’s often ‘DM [direct message] for venue, DM for location, don’t post on social media, trusted friends only’. It’s like a secret, underground thing. I have details of some events on my Telegram and Signal, but, again, it’s like a secret thing. I’m not having that for our Gig for Gaza. We’re out here. I’m not hiding in the shadows.”
Fogarty appreciates her position. “That’s all okay for me to say as a white European. Some of these events are run by Palestinians, so of course they have to hide, because the German government will go for them. It’s important that white Europeans stand up, because often Palestinians can’t. It’s very risky here for Arabs and Palestinians.”
Fogarty says artists were more than happy to be involved in Gig for Gaza. “Everyone I asked said yes straight away. I think it’s bringing people together. People want to help. People have stuff to say. A lot of the artists in Berlin don’t agree with what’s going on. There’s a whole DJ movement as well. There’s Strike Germany”, she says, referring to the call for international cultural workers to stop working with German cultural institutions. “On the ground, people in my scene are disgusted and want to do something.”
The current atmosphere of censorship is at odds with Berlin’s reputation as a magnet for artists, especially those making and wanting to attend avant-garde art and events.
“I came here around 15 years ago. Irish people have always been immigrants. We’ve always gone to different countries, searching for something and trying to build a life. The thing Berlin offered at the time was a sense of freedom and liberation: do what you want, be who you want to be, express yourself how you choose.
“Germany has been really good to me. There are lots of great things about Berlin. The community in Berlin is amazing. I’ve really good friends here, and I’m very grateful for them. But since the bombardment of Gaza started, and Germany’s reaction to that, the veil has dropped for me. It has been shocking, to say the least, in how the government has reacted, how the media has reacted and in how the police have behaved at demos.
“The things I’ve witnessed with my own eyes – overly violent arrests, friends being cancelled – that has been shocking. I didn’t think I’d see that in my lifetime. It’s the kind of thing you read about.”
Last year, performing as Under Tears, Fogarty released an EP called Becoming Nobody. It’s a gem, featuring tender songs woven with memory, love and scenes of queer domesticity. For now, as she and her fellow organisers plan a third gig (I was among the other performers at the second, writing and reading a poem), she is focusing on art-based activism ahead of her music. “The urge to be creative on a personal level right now has dispelled,” she says. “My energy has been directed towards organising and mobilisation, 100 per cent. The urge to sing a song or write something has left my body at the moment. My energy is elsewhere, and I’m okay with that.”
