After speaking with Irish hip hop group Kneecap’s two rappers, Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh (aka Mo Chara) and Naoise Ó Cairealláin (aka Móglaí Bap), a new phrase came to my mind: algorithm activism. It’s what I call a form of activism — often performative — that is spurred less by sustained engagement than by what social media’s selective algorithms feed you. In Kneecap’s case, whose outspokenness on Palestine sparked significant controversy (and problems for them) in 2025, it’s clear they’re seeing an overwhelming deluge of harrowing content from that region.
It was a personally sensitive moment for me to speak with Liam and Naoise just two weeks into Iran’s death soaked protests against the brutal Islamic dictatorship. A regime, in my mind, tied to the forces shaping life in Palestine. Still, Liam’s and Naoise’s natural charm and immediate likeability are hard to resist.
The group, which includes J.J. Ó Dochartaigh (aka DJ Próvaí) won me over with their 2024 self-titled biopic, which I summed up at the time as: “Imagine the Trainspotting guys were Irish and had some rapping talent.” The film was Kneecap’s way of explaining its origins, its nationalistic stance, and their determination to communicate in Irish — underscored by drug-fueled youthfulness and set to the soundtrack of their own witty rhymes over bouncing garage beats and rave-pumped rhythms. Part satirical, part political, the BAFTA-winning film and subsequent album, Fine Art — a level up from their 2018 Irish-language mixtape 3CAG — solidified Kneecap’s place in music, earning them fans worldwide who come out in droves to their gigs and turning them into a popular festival draw.
It was their 2025 Coachella performance that ignited the controversy they’re still dealing with. Before taking the stage, they flashed pro-Palestine/anti-Israel messages on the screen, a practice the group had used before, and followed with statements about genocide during the show. The following week, they were dropped by their U.S. agent, had gigs canceled, and an inflammatory video from two years prior showing Liam waving a Hezbollah flag (thrown on stage by an audience member) and the group shouting, “Up Hezbollah, up Hamas” resurfaced. Shortly after, British counter-terrorism police opened an investigation, and Liam was charged with terror offenses. The case was ultimately dismissed on a technicality: the statute of limitations had passed.
“As much as I’d love to talk about it, I can’t say anything right now because it’s going to be appealing in a few days,” says Liam. “I don’t think anyone believes they have any chance of winning. I think they’re trying to drag this out as long as possible because it limits my movements. It limits what kind of visas we can get. We can’t play in America until this stuff’s sorted. They’re trying to make life as difficult as possible for as long as possible.”
While many artists vocalize their support of Palestine — and for Kneecap — including Tom Morello, Massive Attack, Paul Weller and, most eloquently, Billy Bragg, with others signing a “We Stand for Freedom of Expression” statement issued by the band’s label, Heavenly Recordings, the question is, why are Kneecap targeted for their stance?
“There’s a history in Ireland, this isn’t the first time this has happened,” says Naoise. “Obviously we were a bit taken aback with the amount of pressure that was on us. But we knew that this is a part of the process when you’re speaking up against powerful people.”
“I think it was to do with the fact that we were willing to speak our minds on stage without fear of what people thought, and we were used as an example,” says Liam. “We were there at the right time for the Israeli lobby so they could discourage people from doing what we were doing.”
They draw the connection between Israel and the music industry by referencing the highly publicized “private and confidential” letter from certain top level music industry individuals to Glastonbury Festival asking for the removal of Kneecap from the lineup. Liam and Naoise say the letter was created by Israeli lobbyists and signed by “background music heads, nothing really to do with music, but they’re involved somehow.” That reasoning is muddled, but according to Kneecap, they weren’t supposed to find out about this letter.
“If it was something they believed and thought was right, would they not openly create a letter for people to say: ‘We all in the music industry don’t want this right now.’ It was kept secret on purpose,” says Liam.
But they shrug off accusations of being antisemitic. “Antisemitism is a real fucking thing around the world, and that’s not who we are,” continues Liam. “Everybody who’s supported Palestine, they’ve thrown that term at them, and it’s watered it down. We grew up in a place that was religiously segregated. It’s everything we stand against. I don’t give a fuck about religion. I don’t care what way you pray, if you’re a cunt, you’re a cunt.”
“They want people to be fighting each other over religion, when, in reality, people have lived side by side, peacefully, for a long time,” says Naoise. “We’re not here to cater to anyone’s antisemitism or sectarianism or racism or any forms of oppression.”
Kneecap’s mural of a burning police Land Rover on Hawthorn Street in Belfast. (Photo by Liam McBurney/PA Images via Getty Images)
Kneecap have skillfully put their manifesto and a detailed rundown of last year’s experiences on their new album, Fenian, whose title, taken from the name of a 19th century Irish revolutionary movement, signals its controversial content. “When we grew up, it was used as a derogatory term but then we started reusing for ourselves, taking the piss,” says Naoise. “That’s the same as the Irish language. As young people growing up in the city, we had to reclaim the Irish language and make a new version of it. So reclaiming Fenian summed up the album quite well.”
Overtly political in its messaging but relatable, and harsher in musical tone if more complex than their previous works, the Dan Carey-produced Fenian maximizes the group’s clever storytelling. On the album, their truths are shared unfiltered, timeline fashion, in a mixture of Irish and English, with written lyrics available in both languages.
“We were writing for three weeks then had to take a day off to play Wembley — our first arena gig — then a few days later, go to court,” says Liam. “We had real life problems going on during recording: being banned from countries, the prime minister of a country getting involved in festivals, a terrorist charge. It’s pretty hard not to write politically when all that’s going on in the background. They ended up giving us more inspiration, and we’re going to use that against them. We were lucky that we were so unlucky.”
Razor-sharp humor is what Kneecap often fall back on — including as an explanation for the pro-Hezbullah/Hamas shout out. “It’s a joke. I’m a character. Shit is thrown on stage all the time.” Liam told The Guardian. He went on to say, “It’s not our job to tell people what’s a joke and what’s not.”
Even as a joke, to call it bad taste feels like a massive understatement. What interests me more, however, is where Kneecap get their information. Are they seeking out credible, balanced sources, or engaging with multiple points of view? “We’re not university professors that are fact checking. We’re not historians. We’re not fucking scientists,” says Liam. “We’re just two fellas from West Belfast who would like to call out wrong regardless of where it is in the world.
“We’re looking at it from a human perspective. I see enough on my phone of kids being sniped, explosive, limbs scattered around Gaza. These aren’t things I’m looking at the news for verification. I’m just seeing videos of kids being exploded. And if there’s anything we can do with our platform, I think it’s important that we do.”
Adds Naoise, “In the context of Ireland, we’ve seen how propaganda news can be used as a means to create this narrative to demean a people so that they can subjugate them or use that as an excuse to persecute them. We see these parallels between Ireland’s history and Palestine’s history.”
DJ Provai arrives with his lawyer at Belfast High Court during a previous case in which they won a legal challenge over a decision to refuse them an arts grant because of their opposition to British rule. (Photo by Mark Marlow/PA Images via Getty Images)
Naoise’s brother, Ainle, is an activist and the founder of the ACLAÍ Palestine gym in the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem — for which Kneecap has helped raise almost £100,000. Kneecap say much of what they know about Palestine comes directly through Ainle’s connections. That lends a degree of immediacy to their perspective, though much of what they reference in our conversation is what they encounter on their phones rather than through direct conversations with Palestinians — hence, my phrase “algorithm activism”.
It was through Ainle that their collaboration with Palestinian rapper Fawzi came about. His is the featured voice on their track “Palestine,” which they created without ever meeting in person. Says Liam, “It was important to have a Palestinian represented on the album. Considering how much we support and like to talk about Palestine as much as possible, we thought it was nice to give a Palestinian artist a bit more of a platform than what they already have. He’s obviously incredible.”
On tour, Kneecap connect with local communities, and if there’s a minority, or indigenous language, or political issues, they try to engage with those. “Because the Irish language was politicized 800 years ago when English decided to colonize it and try and wipe it out, using the Irish language was seen as political,” says Naoise. “On paper, that shouldn’t be political. But we’re always driven into this area.”
“Our existence is political, whether we like it or not,” says Liam. “When political subjects are right in front of you, it’s impossible not to feel some kind of emotion or passion about it. Using your platform is very important.
“But at the end of the day, we’re just two young fellas in a music group. It’s hard to be perfect in an imperfect world.”