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NEW YORK — Among the numerous Vietnam War demonstrations in the 1960s and 1970s, Judy Collins vividly recalls a particular event in Washington, D.C., where she performed Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War” in front of a massive crowd.
“It was just Bruce Langhorne accompanying me on guitar, yet the energy was electric. … Everyone knew the lyrics, and soon they joined in,” she reflects, cherishing the intense spirit of those gatherings. “Hearing those songs ignites something within. They urge you to contribute in some way.”
The conclusion of the Vietnam War, 50 years ago, also marked the end of a prolific era for protest music.
For Collins, alongside fellow artists like Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, and Peter, Paul and Mary, advocating for the safe return of troops became a shared mission that resonated across the nation and beyond. Their journey was enriched by like-minded audiences joining in on songs like “Give Peace a Chance,” “Blowin’ in the Wind,” and others—emphasizing that these melodies were as much about the movement as they were about any individual artist.
The issues that spurred protests have persisted and evolved, touching on arms control, apartheid, women’s rights, globalization, climate issues, and police brutality. Modern protest songs have emerged, from Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright” to Steve Van Zandt’s “Sun City.” However, few have etched themselves into the collective memory quite like the anthems of previous decades: While protest songs are abundant, true protest anthems have become increasingly rare.
“Today, music genres are more diverse, and identities are far more decentralized,” remarks Ginny Suss, who played a role in organizing the 2017 Women’s March in Washington, as well as co-founding the Resistance Revival Chorus, a collective of performers focused on protest music.
Ronald Eyerman, a sociology professor at Yale University and co-author of “Youth and Social Movements,” contends that it’s been decades since a song like “We Shall Overcome” has surfaced—an anthem adaptable to various social issues. “These less recent protest songs are often tied to single issues of specific times and places,” he notes, highlighting a scarcity of anthems associated with causes like climate change or LGBTQ+ rights.
The rise of protest music during the 1960s fits into the broader narrative of the post-World War II period. Economic prosperity and technological advances like television catalyzed an unprecedented sense of agency and shared experience among the baby boom generation, galvanized further by the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement, which transcended racial, class, and geographical boundaries.
Eyerman points out that the military draft transformed Vietnam from merely a moral concern into a deeply personal issue for many Americans. The folk and rock music genres offered memorable melodies and impactful lyrics that resonated with this explosive historical context.
“The fervor regarding political matters was palpable,” asserts Dorian Lynskey, a scholar and author of “33 Revolutions Per Minute: A History of Protest Songs.” “Many anticipated a revolution on the horizon.”
Protest music in the ’60s and ’70s reached far beyond rallies; tracks like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “People Get Ready” frequently topped the Billboard charts.
Bill Werde, former editorial director of Billboard and director of Syracuse University’s Bandier Program for music business, asserts that while protest music persists in the U.S., mainstream appeal for such songs appears to have waned.
He highlights that the global landscape is rich with protest music, referencing Iranian artist Mehdi Yarrahi’s song “Roosarito,” which encourages women to shed their mandated headscarves, and Indonesian band Sukatani’s “Bayar Bayar Bayar,” an anti-corruption anthem.
“This has triggered a widespread call for increased freedom of expression in those nations,” he observes. “It may be difficult for some here to understand, but the reality is that conditions in America don’t prompt a similar urgency when compared to such places.”
Puerto Rican rapper Residente, renowned for addressing war, colonization, and social inequality through his music, presents a contrasting perspective. He emphasizes that relevant protest songs exist, though they may require effort to uncover. For instance, Bad Bunny’s “Lo Que Le Pasó A Hawaii,” connects the U.S. annexation of Hawaii with Puerto Rico’s fight for autonomy.
Residente’s latest release, “Bajo los Escombros” (“Under the Rubble”), created in collaboration with Palestinian artist Amal Murkus, is dedicated to the innocent lives lost in the Gaza conflict. “Few songs address this tragedy,” he acknowledges.
Eyerman ponders whether the recent mass protests against Donald Trump could evolve into a national movement featuring a distinct protest anthem.
Similar to the social and political discord of the 1960s and ’70s, the nation today finds itself divided along various lines. However, Werde perceives a more constrained environment for protest music. He attributes this to the consolidation of the music industry and the decline of traditional media outlets, suggesting that contemporary hits are less impactful than in the past, leading to fewer chances for protest songs to gain anthem status unless events spiral to a critical juncture, reminiscent of the aftermath of George Floyd’s death.
Notable songs during that time included Lamar’s “Alright,” Childish Gambino’s “This Is America,” and Beyoncé’s “Freedom,” which all resonated deeply with the Black Lives Matter movement.
Often, the popular reception of protest songs elevates them into anthemic status.
A recent example is Oliver Anthony’s “Rich Men North of Richmond,” which, despite its neutral political stance, has become an anthem for Republican supporters in 2023. “It highlights the struggles of the working class,” Werde notes. “This illustrates how music can be shaped by context, influencing perceptions based on marketing narratives.”
One reason for a perceived decline in protest music might be that, as of 2025, artists, similar to corporations, tend to avoid political discourse due to potential risks to their income,” he observes.
The most recognized instance of protest within pop culture recently was Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime show, which paid tribute to Gil Scott-Heron’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” while ensuring that corporate sponsors were satisfied and preventing significant audience backlash.
Residente shares that earlier in his career, performing political music often led to severe repercussions: a four-year ban in Puerto Rico and threats to his safety abroad. “Being censored in your homeland is devastating,” he recalls. While still politically driven in his music, he has observed that U.S. artists seem less vocal on these matters.
“I genuinely hope to see more political songs from American artists,” he expresses. “It’s puzzling; perhaps they’re too focused on the business side.”
“Not every artist will embrace social issues,” he adds, expressing his wish for the emergence of more activist groups like Rage Against the Machine or System of a Down in the U.S.
Many once-powerful protest songs have had their contexts stripped away and now serve contrary interests. “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival became an emblem at Trump rallies despite songwriter John Fogerty’s protests, while Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” was used in a Budweiser advertisement during the 2019 Super Bowl. Similarly, Green Day’s “American Idiot,” a critique of George W. Bush, has been co-opted by conservatives on platforms like TikTok.
“Music experiences today are more fragmented than ever,” Werde notes. TikTok has transformed music discovery, often divorcing songs from their historical contexts. For instance, the younger generation may enjoy the Cranberries’ “Zombie” without grasping its connections to the Troubles in Ireland.
Yet, Collins asserts that her audience remains deeply engaged. Now 85, she still performs about 100 shows annually, including classics such as “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” and newer pieces like her own “Dreamers,” which highlights immigrant experiences in the U.S.
“When I sing ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone,’ it’s remarkable how everyone sings along. I’m often astonished by that,” she reflects. “These aren’t just protest songs; they represent the journey of life and the struggles we all face.”
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