During these dark weeks chronicled in the political history of planet Earth, I listened to various antifascist tracks from the Hardcore Techno scene. While there is antifascist music in virtually every extreme musical genre, I was struck by the absence of projects within Hardcore that, on the contrary, align with hate. This is something that genres like punk, industrial, and, more recently and severely, extreme metal cannot boast about.
However, this absence of hate in Hardcore—though there may be rare exceptions—contrasts sharply with the ferocity found in speedcore/terrorcore or similar tracks. These sounds rival the most radical musical expressions that aim to sing hymns of intolerance and hatred. And while sonic similarities may occasionally emerge on both sides, whether in Hardcore or other extreme genres, I began to question whether this aggression stem from the same essence.
A phrase came back to me, one that caught my attention years ago: “Fury not Hate.” It appeared on a low-quality image on a website, belonging to a flyer for a Crust Punk band. I don’t even remember the band’s name; it seemed like a parody of Amebix. But this phrase etched itself into my mind: Fury, not Hate.
After years of witnessing the indiscriminate use of the term Hate in extreme music—even in bands with no ties to the far-right—I couldn’t help but reflect on the importance of the distinction suggested by this phrase.
In these times, when waves of hate are becoming tsunamis, and as musicians and projects battle against Trumpism, the Alt-Right, and purveyors of hate and misinformation like Elon Musk and the horde of right-wing extremists he has empowered with "X," this phrase resurfaces in my thoughts. Because I see and feel the anger of those resisting this toxic deluge—the frustration, the need to defend and counterattack. And with this phrase, I understand that what we feel and express in Hardcore is not the same as what they do. The difference is essential—even metaphysical.
Their fuel is hate, primarily directed toward an "other" they do not recognize as human or deserving of empathy. The root of their hate lies in disdain for those they perceive as different or inferior, discomfort at seeing these others free, empowered, and “in their territory,” and a tantrum over the loss of privileges. When their privileges are threatened, hate manifests as injustice itself, reacting defensively, attempting to corrode justice, understanding, reason, and empathy, which strive to neutralize it. And while we may believe that history moves forward, hate demonstrates its capacity to destabilize and reverse progress.
In contrast, our energy is fury. Unlike hate, fury is not directed at individuals but at a way of relating among people. Fury is a reaction to injustice, to privilege, to an oppressive relationship. Yet it does not inherently harbor resentment toward the identity of the oppressor or the privileged—only toward oppression and privilege themselves. The possibility for understanding and mutual recognition as humans remains open, as long as injustices are overcome. This reveals that fury and hate are diametrically opposed.
Martin Luther King Jr., in his iconic speech against hate and for civil rights, declared:
"And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!"
MLK was furious at the injustices of his time. Of course! But that fury had nothing to do with hate. Because the dream is to overcome hate itself and the injustices it shelters—not to despise or attack the humanity of others. On the contrary, it seeks to humanize and emancipate, to redeem everyone. It is not even hate for hate—it is fury at hate!
To some, this may seem like a trivial difference. But let us remember that, for the ancients, emotions were akin to gods. For that reason, we cannot feed the god of hate, nor feed ourselves with it. Yet we can embrace fury, letting it push us to confront what must be confronted, without being consumed by it.
And today, when clarity is needed—when we must understand what we face and how to defend liberty, equality, justice, and fraternity among all humans, whether through words, ideas, images, or music—one thing must be clear: we are not driven by the same force as they are. When we face hate, what drives us, what we feel, is fury, not hate.