The physical, mental, and linguistic embodiment of Boston is Casey, the founder and lead singer of the Celtic punk band Dropkick Murphys. The way he pronounces MAGA is evidence of this. For example: “Magger,” as in, “I could tell this Magger guy in the audience wanted to talk to me because he was waving his fucking Trump hat in people’s faces.”
A second example is that Ben Affleck would say, “enter into discourse,” just before he punched someone in the face in a South Boston movie. The third is Casey’s statement, “I’m not going to shut up, just out of spite,” which I interpreted as a personal code.
The conversation in question occurred during a March performance in Florida. At least some white male Dropkick Murphy fans who are not particularly sympathetic to the Democratic Party in its current form have left the band after seeing footage of the incident circulate online. Casey acknowledges that this is the cost of keeping his soul intact.
He told me, “I believe that everything we’ve done over the last 30 years was a sort of warm-up for the moment we’re in.” Although the band is best known for its frantic, angry anthem “I’m Shipping Up to Boston,” some union activists and high-information voters also view it as a final holdover of working-class ideals.
The band is trying to persuade the white men who have shifted to the right that they are being played by a robber. “Everyone was in agreement with what we were saying thirty years ago, during the Reagan administration,” he remarked. “People now claim that our message is out of date, that we belong to a machine, or that we are elite.”
On a bright spring day, Casey and I were conversing at Fenway Park (of course), where he was filming a promotional video for the Red Sox’s Dropkick Murphy Bobblehead Night on July 11th. With his bartending demeanor and neck tattoos, Casey finds it amusing that anyone would think of him as an elitist.
After all, he is the author of “Smash Shit Up” and “Kiss Me, I’m Shitfaced.” “They interpret our lack of support for Trump as us being Democrats’ shills,” he said. “They love calling us cucks, which is ironic in my opinion because a sizable percentage of MAGA would likely resign and allow Donald Trump to have their way with their partner if he asked.”
At the now-famous Florida show, Casey learned that there is some grace to be found in the culture war. “These two guys are definitely trolling because they’re in the front row, have their MAGA shirts and hats on, and a cardboard blowup of Trump’s head,” Casey stated. “This has happened before, with guys wearing MAGA hats just pushing it in people’s faces.”
“Where the fuck are all the other punk bands?” was the first accusation Casey made in front of the crowd. The bands, like so many others, are afraid, is the answer. Given the oppositional iconoclasm of much of punk and the movement’s anti-authoritarian origins, it is somewhat ironic that punk bands are not an exception.
It’s remarkable how few musicians, singers, and movie stars—many of whom are consistently progressive when the stakes are low—seem prepared to confront the nation’s precarious political situation. (One notable exception is Casey’s friend Bruce Springsteen.) Complicity is the rule rather than the exception, and intimidation is effective.
“The biggest bands are scared of you,” Casey remarked. For the People, Dropkick Murphys’ most recent album, makes up for the quiet in other areas. The album’s songs were written in rage, but only a small percentage of them directly address the political moment.
The betrayal of working Americans is addressed in the first single, “Who’ll Stand for Us”: “Through crime and crusade / Our labor, it’s been stolen / We’ve been robbed of our freedom / We’ve been held down and beholden.” For the People is rife with rage.
From the Florida stage, Casey declared, “We speak out because we don’t care if we lose fans. We want history to know that Dropkick Murphys supported the workers and the people.” Guys, it’s all a fucking scam.
Then he spoke to the front-row Trumpists. In the interest of justice and decency, I would like to suggest a friendly wager. Are you in favor of American workers? You do, of course. Are you in favor of American companies? Of course.
We don’t brag about it, so I’m not sure if you know, but Dropkick Murphys only sells products made in the United States. The bet was straightforward: If the man wearing the Trump shirt had been made in the United States, he would have given him $100 and a Dropkick Murphys T-shirt. The fan would still receive the Dropkick Murphy shirt even if he lost.
Casey is aware of a safe wager. Naturally, Nicaragua was where the shirt was made. However, Casey had no desire to make the Trumpist look bad. “He is an excellent athlete!” Casey informed the applauding audience. “He’s removing the shirt! We are removing criminal activity from the streets! May God bless your fucking heart!”
As is customary, Casey spoke to the Trump supporters after the performance and exited the stage through the crowd. He and his son were the kindest two men there. They were almost doing it for laughs, as if it were their way of silent protest, which made me think that I had to look past the shirt and hat.
“I’ve been coming to see you for twenty years,” this guy said. “You are family to me, and I don’t let politics get in the way of family.” And I thought, “Wow.” The lesson was good.
However, how many American families do politics stand in the way of their relationship? Casey claims that identity politics alienate Democrats, the kind of people he grew up with, and that Trump-aligned Republicans in particular take advantage of identity politics.
The band recently played in Boston’s City Hall Plaza during an anti-Trump demonstration. “Even people I know said, ‘Oh, you were at that rally?'” Casey later told me. “I knew you were gay all along.”
“That’s why the left and labor groups want us to participate in some of this protest,” he added. “MAGA, they divide with this male-masculinity issue, just as they divide with trans and woke. The young men are being taught that this is the soft party.”
Casey is realistic about the left and the dysfunction of the Democratic Party, despite his personal philosophical leanings toward Bernie. “AOC isn’t bringing back the people I know who have switched to Trump supporters. Although I genuinely like her, it’s not working out.”
Does he like anyone else? Someone with the ability to communicate with those outside the progressive sphere. Andy Beshear, the successful Democratic governor of a red state in Kentucky, is someone he likes.
He declared, “I’m not against going all out progressive, but you have to find a centrist if that’s not going to be the case.” It can’t be mush. The candidate must be able to communicate in the language of the working-class male demographic that they appear to have lost.
For this reason, I think it’s fantastic when a veteran, like Wes Moore, Ruben Gallego, or even Adam Kinzinger, is considering a Democrat run.
He stated at Fenway that he would prefer not to have to think about electoral politics this much. However, he remains astounded that so many individuals in his life were duped by Trumpism.
“My grandfather raised me after my father passed away when I was a little child. He essentially said, ‘If I ever see you bullying someone, I’ll kick the shit out of you.’ And I’ll kick the shit out of you if I ever witness you give in to a bully.”
He went on, “I just don’t understand people who bully,” and “I’ve never liked bullies.” It’s not that difficult at all. I hope more people realize that standing up is not difficult.”
