Sound of Resistance: Electronic Music as Political Art in an Age of Authoritarianism

Art, Politics, and the Unbreakable Bond

Art is never a neutral venture. From Goya’s haunting war etchings to modern-day techno, creation is inevitably tied to political forces and struggles. With approximately 70% of the global population now living under authoritarian regimes, as underscored by the 2022 V​-Dem report, the emotional stakes for creative expression have never been higher. In such contexts, electronic music—often dismissed as escapist—emerges as a radical political medium, a conduit for agency, dissent, and collective solidarity.

Historical Parallels: From Goya to Rivera’s Revolutionary Murals

1. Goya’s Unflinching Witnessing

Between 1810–1820, Francisco Goya's The Disasters of War series laid bare the brutal realities of conflict. These graphic depictions of violence and suffering challenged political structures so profoundly that they remained unpublished until 1830—decades after his death. Goya’s raw visual truth-telling set a precedent: art can—and should—destabilize power.

2. Käthe Kollwitz’s Visual Protests

In early 20th-century Germany, Käthe Kollwitz channeled anti-war and socialist sentiment through powerful woodcuts and lithographs. She immortalized the anguish of mothers, laborers, and soldiers, producing art so defiant that it was labeled “degenerate” by the Nazis and banned. Kollwitz’s career illustrates how political repression cannot silence a determined creative voice.

3. Diego Rivera’s Mural Manifestos

The monumental murals of Diego Rivera in the 1930s—spanning from Mexico City to Detroit—were not mere decoration. Drawing workers and industrial landscapes into public spaces, Rivera offered visual counter-narratives to capitalist orthodoxy. His work insisted: art has a civic role and a duty to shape collective consciousness.

Techno’s Political Pulse: Detroit’s Underground Resistance

Underground Resistance: Detroit’s Sonic Uprising

Post-industrial Detroit saw techno as more than music—it became a political statement. The collective Underground Resistance (UR), led by Jeff Mills and “Mad” Mike Banks, delivered militant, cryptic tracks while masking identities and rejecting corporate exposure. UR’s ideology was explicit: dancefloors could serve as sites of resistance, self-determination, and structural critique—a space where rebellion could live and breathe.

Queer Visibility and Reclaiming Space through Sound

In a widely shared statement, creator and commentator Heather Renner recently emphasized why queer people have long gravitated toward house and electronic music: not just for rhythm, but for refuge. As she explains, house music emerged from Black and Latinx LGBTQ+ communities as a space of joy, resistance, and identity during a time of deep societal exclusion. On platforms like TikTok, Renner reminds audiences that these genres weren't born in commercial venues—they were forged in community centers, abandoned warehouses, and basements, where safety and expression were hard-won. The sound became sanctuary.

In that lineage, today’s queer DJs and performers carry forward a legacy of reclaiming the dancefloor—not only as a site of release but of survival. Their presence matters—not as trend, but as testament.

Rrose: Gender Transgression in Sound

American artist Rrose (Seth Horvitz) has used techno for over two decades as a medium to explore and expand gender fluidity. Adopting an androgynous persona and crafting immersive, abstract soundscapes, Rrose challenges traditional expectations in club spaces. Through their approach to music and performance, they don’t just question gender—they offer a space to experience it without explanation, just feeling.

Nia Gvatua and Tbilisi’s Queer Revival

In Georgia—a country deeply shaped by conservative Orthodox values—Nia Gvatua launched Success Bar, the first openly gay bar in Tbilisi. More than a nightlife venue, it’s a counterpublic space: a haven of queer solidarity, cultural survival, and resistance. Gvatua’s DJ sets and community-focused vision inject political purpose into every Friday night. Despite numerous homophobic attacks, Success Bar continues to thrive. Nia refuses to stop—and we admire her deeply for it.

Anna Almani: Your Drag-DJ and Fun-House Queen

Berlin-based artist Iorie, recently revealed as the performer behind Anna Almani, channels drag’s theatricality into the energy of techno—creating hybrid sets that blur the lines between performance, persona, and protest. As Iorie puts it: “Meet your new favourite Drag-DJ and Fun-House-Queen.” They add, “Anna is Anna so Iorie can stay Iorie. Two sides of the same medal, completely different but one at heart.” Their statement captures the essence of queer underground culture: collaboration, transformation, and chosen family. Anna’s presence reminds us that experimentation, play, and performance have always belonged at the heart of our spaces.

As we’ve just witnessed, the dance music scene has long been a refuge for free expression—for those pushed to the margins and for those who dream beyond the binary. And while that freedom doesn't come without struggle, it remains a fight worth fighting. Inclusivity should never be up for debate in a scene built by Black and LGBTQI+ communities. Today, we continue that fight—and we put their names in bold, to remind you what actually matters.

Authoritarianism, Backsliding, and the Emotional Weight of Sound

As of 2025, less than 13% of the global population lives under liberal democratic conditions, according to the most recent V-Dem report. The majority now live in countries categorized as authoritarian or electoral autocracies—governments that maintain the appearance of elections while undermining civil liberties, media freedom, and minority rights. Across continents, we are seeing the normalization of state violence, surveillance, and systemic repression.

In this political climate, music becomes more than an aesthetic experience. It becomes a lifeline—a channel for defiance, catharsis, and communal survival. In places like Georgia, where Pride marches have been repeatedly attacked, or Kazakhstan, where queer expression remains heavily policed, gathering to dance for queer individuals outside of the safe spaces of well-known knightclubs remains risky. Yet it happens. Again and again.

In these spaces, a party is not just a party. It is a political gathering. A bass drop becomes an act of resistance. A dancefloor becomes a place where collective grief is held—and briefly transformed into joy.

The emotional stakes are high. For many living under constant pressure and moral policing, returning to music is a return to self. In a world of cracked freedoms, it remains one of the last places where they can feel fully present, unapologetically alive, and part of something bigger than fear.

Conclusion: The Humans in the Age of AI

Ultimately, electronic music’s role as politically engaged art under authoritarianism underscores a timeless insight: to create art is to assert one’s humanity and agency, especially in repressive times. This insight is poised to gain new significance as we face another frontier of change—the rise of artificial intelligence in creative fields. In a world increasingly saturated with AI-generated content and the looming threat of creative labor displacement by algorithms, the act of making art takes on a new form of urgency.

Just as dancing at a clandestine rave in a dictatorship is a defiant claim to freedom, creating art in the age of AI will be a defiantly human act. Cultural theorists have long noted that art and politics are two sides of the same coin; to this we can add that art and humanity are intimately bound.

The stories of Jeff Mills, Deena Abdelwahed, Rrose, Nazira, Nia Gvatua, Anna Almani, and countless others show that whether under the boot of authoritarianism or the cold gaze of automation, artists will continuously find ways to inject emotion, resistance, and memory into their work.

As we turn our gaze to the next chapter—“Music in the Age of AI”—we carry forward the understanding that music is not only a mirror of political contexts, but also a hammer with which to shape them. The human pulse behind the beat is something that no autocrat, and no artificial intelligence, can ever truly silence.