The word terrorist once carried weight. It meant bombings, hijackings, mass murder. It meant fear as a weapon, blood spilled to send a message. Today, it’s tossed around like confetti at a pride parade. Parents at school board meetings have been branded extremists. Truck drivers in Canada were smeared as threats to democracy. And now, in Britain, Irish rappers performing in their native tongue are accused of terrorism.
A few weeks ago, Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh—known as Mo Chara of the rap group Kneecap—was hauled into court on a terrorism charge. His crime? Picking up a Hezbollah flag thrown on stage during a gig. He didn’t bring it. He didn’t wave it in support of jihad. He was poking the bear. Yet prosecutors seized the chance to brand him a “terrorist.” A judge swiftly dismissed the case, pointing out the charge wasn’t even filed properly. But the damage was done. Once that word is attached, it sticks.
To see why this matters, look to Ireland’s history. The Irish have always been a people who spoke out. Loudly, proudly, sometimes profanely. But always with passion. From the hedge schools that kept our language alive under English rule, to those who turned rebellion into rhyme, Irish culture has thrived on resistance. When other nations bowed, the Irish mocked. When others stayed silent, the Irish sang. That tradition lives on in groups like Kneecap. They’re not soldiers, not bombers, but artists who use provocation as protest.
This isn’t new. In the 19th century, the Young Irelanders wrote acerbic articles that landed them in jail. In the 20th century, playwrights like Sean O’Casey and Brendan Behan rattled polite society with their biting commentaries. And in music, from The Wolfe Tones to The Pogues, Irish performers turned song into a weapon, ridiculing authority and highlighting hypocrisy. Kneecap stand squarely in that tradition. They may rap instead of strumming guitars. They may lace their lyrics with modern slang, but they’re part of the same lineage of Irish dissent.
Labeling them “terrorists” is ludicrous. It also insults history. It lumps satirists and activists in with Osama bin Laden. It treats holding a flag for a few seconds as equivalent to blowing up a bus. That is linguistic laziness. Terrorism isn’t every act that offends government or rattles sensibilities. Terrorism is violence, targeted to instill fear. By stretching the word to cover rappers, truckers, or parents, the authorities cheapen it until it means nothing.
Britain should know this better than anyone. For decades during the Troubles, it faced the real thing. Bombings in pubs. Assassinations. Bloody Sunday. That was terror. That was violence with purpose. To now take young men shouting in Irish over beats and lump them into the same category shows how far the word has drifted. It’s no longer a description of violence, but a political tool. A cudgel to silence the unruly, to tar dissenters as dangerous.
Kneecap are brash. They rail against Israel. They mock Britain. They delight in shocking audiences. But their weapons are words, not rifles. Their ammunition is slang, satire, and swagger. They’re not out to kill, but to provoke. They’re not storming the Bastille. They’re storming the charts. That distinction matters. A healthy society should know the difference.
The real irony is that these rappers have done what generations of government committees and cultural campaigns failed to do. They’ve made the Irish language cool. For decades, Irish was treated like an artifact. Mandatory in school, ignored in real life. Kneecap turned it into something living, breathing, streetwise. Teenagers in Belfast and Dublin now spit verses in Irish. Not because their teacher told them to, but because they want to. That’s cultural revival, not cultural destruction. Terrorists destroy. These men create.
So why the rush to brand them as dangerous? Because the label of “terrorist” today is less about bombs and more about control. Once that word’s pinned on you, debate ends. Nobody asks what you really did, or why. You’re marked, marginalized, silenced. That’s the temptation for governments and prosecutors. But it’s also the road to absurdity, where waving a flag at a concert is put in the same category as mass murder.
The warning is clear. If the word “terrorist” can be stretched this far in Britain, it can be stretched anywhere. The same logic that tries to criminalize Irish rappers can and will be used against anyone who questions the cultural order. The word becomes not a shield for safety, but a sword for censorship.
Kneecap aren’t everyone’s taste. They’re crude and loud. They’re unapologetically Irish. But they’re not terrorists. They’re the latest chapter in a long Irish story, however messy the language may be. To confuse that with ISIS is dangerous nonsense. Because when words lose their meaning, laws lose their force. And when “terrorist” is stretched to mean anyone the state dislikes, the real ones slip through the cracks while ordinary dissenters are dragged through the dock. Keep going down this path, and I’ll be branded a terrorist for writing about a man whose deadliest weapon was a microphone and a mischievous grin.