Power Relations

This study recognizes music’s power in shaping politics through both direct and indirect means. At a broad view, it acknowledges Jack M. Barbalet’s notion that superordinate and subordinate social actors recognize and, begrudgingly, accept their power relationship: the subordinate actor, depending on its influence, will moderate the political effectiveness of the superordinate actor; and the superordinate actor, which holds the power, will continue to repress, or dominate, the subordinate actor, depending on its power resources. Barbalet claims that this dynamic “has been regarded as paradoxical” because it requires the acquiescence and resistance of both actors.1Barbalet 1985, 531. He adds that power (or the level of initiative of the superordinate) and resistance (the level of initiative of the subordinate) cannot be calculated by the same metrics.2Ibid., 535. Interpreting Court Song in Uganda highlights references to colonial power structures as they appear in court song lyrics and their interpretations, as both isolated incidents and extensions of larger systems of violence. The project generates fresh insights into how political life in my research community, Buganda, is shaped by historical cultural exchanges and how the songs featured in it might serve as tools for challenging power structures rooted in colonial power dynamics. But the project also pays close attention to how court songs intervene in the formation of local power dynamics.

Interpreting Court Song in Uganda also considers Lisette Balabarca’s claims that musical artists under totalitarian regimes accumulate this initiative by weaving signifiers of cultural resistance into their sounds, which can “only be understood by the subjugated group, but never by those who are in power.”3Balabarca 2013, 81. Laudan Nooshin writes that when such a government is wrestling with the competing forces of “modernity and tradition,” any hypocrisy or confusion in it that enforces social conduct will open a clear “opportunity for subversion.”4Nooshin 2005, 233, 242. With each of these articulations, we can understand subordination (or subalternity, to use a postcolonial term) as an opportunity to harness resistance. Such is the basis of political engagement, criticism, and commentary (see part 2). As we shall see in chapters 4–8, when musicians represent subjected people, they can choose to direct their critique right back at the government, transmit it in “hidden language” to the general population, or employ some mix of both. Other artists might shy away from critiquing political institutions, although they still may deliver performances that subtly inspire conformity with or departure from social conduct.

As James Garratt says, not every musician whose music causes social disruption will have done so by playing overtly political material.5Garratt 2018, 131. Various artists in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries fall along this spectrum, but resistance through music is a timeless phenomenon of power relations globally. The Kiganda court songs in this book belong to this universal notion, and the project builds on other studies that examine music’s relationship to politics in other African political contexts. Mhoze Chikowero shows how songs and other forms of African music shape the political culture and atmosphere that establish the act of “African self-crafting,” while Joseph Kaminski and Barbara G. Hoffman demonstrate how songs may challenge, maneuver, and affirm power structures in Ghana and Mali, respectively.6Chikowero 2015, 5; Kaminski 2012; Hoffman 2017. Gavin Steingo shows that the capacity for kwaito music to function politically within South Africa is not exclusive to “political music,” which, depending on the individual’s interpretation, can become strikingly apolitical.7Steingo 2007, 23–24. Nomi Dave similarly indicates that songs by popular music artists in Guinea will remain vague about issues like political corruption and violence despite explicitly singing about social problems in society. As a result, musicians can sympathize with the struggle of average people without making themselves targets of the direct ire of the state.8Dave 2014, 14. Laura Lohman further describes how the Egyptian singer Umm Kulthūm’s ability to present herself as apolitical enabled her to make her fundraising campaign for the rebuilding of Egypt’s armed forces more sustainable in international contexts. Keeping the language in her songs vague allowed her audiences to interpret them freely. By providing this interpretive space, she gave her listeners greater opportunities to connect with her music, which drove them to make larger contributions to her cause.9Lohman 2016, 42–43. These case studies confirm that the relationship between music and politics is not straightforward but is an extension of a variety of factors, including audience interpretation and social context.

Leaders may hold power over their subjects, but indulging in domination might lead to their demise. As Barbalet suggests regarding the relationship between superordinate and subordinate, the health of a nation depends on how rulers respect their deeply held responsibility to subjects. A ruler, whether a monarch, governor, or congressperson, also must balance responsibility to the ideals that bind a nation. Nooshin posits that nations historically concerned with strict, highly upheld spiritual principles require an effective leader who will simultaneously balance the following things: assuaging the public’s desire for expanded civil liberties, appealing to religious authorities, stymieing dissent, and (specifically in postcolonial contexts) maintaining sovereignty while encouraging investment and cultural acceptance from nations abroad.10Nooshin 2005, 238. For such a strenuous leader, allowing music will inevitably arouse people’s most deeply held passions and threaten the stability of the superordinate. One way to mitigate or soften a social upheaval is to listen and respond to the public. As Mukasa Kafeero shared during my fieldwork, one of the Buganda kings discussed in this book, Ssuuna II (r. ca. 1824–1854), adored music and frequently engaged in court performance. As a result, he was often praised for maintaining an active, trusting period in the kingdom’s history. Seeing musical performance as more than just entertainment, Ssuuna II would frequently join court performers during royal ceremonies to make music with them, playing his whistle as part of their performances. Unlike his father, Kamaanya (r. ca. 1794–1824), he experienced music as an active, reciprocal, and intimate process of exchange, in this case between the king and his subjects. His music-making modeled music’s role at the court as a uniter, an adviser, and a voice for those who were deprived of one. Beyond the counsel of his court performers, Ssuuna II’s own musicianship had an impact on his philosophy of leadership and, thus, his rule.11Kafeero interview, July 28, 2005.

Such subordinates and superordinates cultivate trust, they form a sense of loyalty and duty to one another (see part 4), which challenges the notion, as political realists would have it, that power relations are only agreed on begrudgingly or that they are based on a fundamental skepticism of the opposing actor’s desire to upend the other. Pointing to the Armenian composer Aram Khachaturian as an example, who worked within the Stalinist state, Marina Frolova-Walker indicates that it can actually be a natural choice for an artist to maintain dual commitments to the strength of the state and the cultural expression of subjected people.12Frolova-Walker 1998, 362. Although such duality can be understood as a balancing act between two actors opposed to each other, Khachaturian succeeded in aligning with Stalin’s state slogan, “National in form, Socialist in content,” by appealing to its respective “diversifying … [and] unifying tendenc[ies].”13Ibid., 363.

Interpreting Court Song in Uganda discusses the court musicians’ skillful wordplay and the way it played a substantial role in easing the anger of King Kamaanya. Beyond simply flattering him, the musicians used this skill to elicit a great deal of respect and trust from the king. In turn, it allowed them to change his decisions and guide his thinking without his giving their motives a second thought. Far more powerful than brute strength, the musicians were not just mere entertainers but guided the kingdom toward success.

Loyalty and duty (the theme of part 4)— toward a nation, one’s parents, or one’s ideals— necessitates a deeper understanding of the mutuality and cooperation that guide human survival and cultural well-being. As a representation of and a vehicle for enacting change in power relations, song-making embodies mutuality and cooperation. Leila Qashu directs our attention to how group performance can function as a legal process where community members band together to address and resolve personal transgressions.14Qashu 2019, 249. Qashu cites the example of the female performer Arsi Oromo singing in Ethiopia. Whereas a court setting would encourage definitive statements that prove the innocence or guilt of the transgressor and determine a punishment, processes like these involve a resolution dynamic that can heal subtler wounds and help community members reconcile their wrongdoing. In this sense, law, order, and justice are based in mutuality and cooperation rather than severity and finality, and as a result individuals may feel a stronger loyalty to a social fabric that respects their personal sovereignty and that sees transgression as not just a personal infringement but as a group wound.

This project recognizes the possibility of enacting violence as a reaction to encroachments on personal sovereignty: violent uprisings have happened against ruling classes worldwide to reinstill or establish new power dynamics, just as governments have committed outsized violence against their civilians. Embedded in several of the songs examined in Interpreting Court Song in Uganda are details of a Kiganda cognizance of mortality, both in the contexts of violent war and of the natural cycle of life. In the case of political institutions, death can also describe the end of a political term, of a king’s rule, or the dismantling of a political party (see chapter 23). Today, the Kiganda court institution that once allowed political discourse to thrive and tensions between communities to be resolved has allegedly been put to rest by the central government of Uganda. Interpreting Court Song in Uganda responds to this circumstance by operating as much like an oral tradition as like a theoretical examination of power: it resurfaces the spirit of mutuality between king and subject, which has historically been maintained through musical activity, and it seeks to revive this maligned yet ever-conscious social fabric. The song discussed in chapter 11 demonstrates the long-lasting effects of conflict and violence and reminds the listener to avoid them. Characterized by the universal themes of justice, responsibility, and permanent trauma, the song is relevant to a multitude of sociopolitical contexts, old and new.