The Unseen Power of Music to Heal Division

If humanity were a song, what would it sound like? Would it be a beautiful, flowing melody that celebrates our differences and connects us, or a jarring clash of dissonant notes? After more than two decades in music, I’ve come to believe that the answers to some of humanity’s greatest challenges—racism, division, and fear—can be found in what music teaches us about connection and harmony.

Music is one of the most profound tools we have for breaking down barriers. It doesn’t care about your race, gender, or background. It cares about how you listen, how you connect, and what you create. And in today’s world, where division feels louder than ever, music offers us a universal language to remember what binds us together.

This isn’t just theory—it’s something I’ve lived. Music has a way of forcing you to confront truths about yourself, others, and the world. Over the years, I’ve learned lessons on tolerance, collaboration, and unity that have profoundly shaped how I see the world—and how I believe we can move forward as a society.

A House With Cracks in the Foundation

The movie Origin offers a metaphor that stuck with me: humanity is like a house we’ve inherited. It’s beautiful, but the foundation has cracks—centuries of racism, fear, and inequality. None of us built it, but we live in it now. And here’s the hard truth: those cracks won’t fix themselves. If we ignore them, they’ll keep spreading. If we face them, we can repair the foundation for future generations. Music provides the blueprint for how to do that.

When people come to a concert all the nonsense that divides us seems to dissipate. The sound waves hit everyone the same way, reminding us of our shared humanity. Music doesn’t care who you are—it invites you to be part of something bigger.

Scarcity, Fear, and the Notes That Divide Us

But outside of that stage, the world looks different. Racism, intolerance, and prejudice are still thriving in 2025. Think about that: we’ve achieved unimaginable things—instant global communication, traveling to the edges of space—and yet, we still can’t master the most fundamental truth: we’re all human.

The root of division and prejudice is fear. When resources feel scarce—whether it’s toilet paper during a pandemic or opportunities in life—it’s human nature to look for someone to blame. Scarcity shuts down empathy. It makes people cling to the familiar and reject anything that feels threatening. Finding flaws in another human being without words being spoken. 

Imagine if you judged a song by its title alone, without ever listening to it. That’s what prejudice does—it denies the richness of someone’s story before you’ve had the chance to hear it. It’s a mindset as old as humanity, but it doesn’t have to define us. 

The Stage That Changed Everything

One of the most profound lessons I ever learned came from playing in a band called One Tribe Nation. We were an Afro-Cuban funk-soul-rock band made up of musicians from every walk of life. The music was challenging, intricate, and far beyond what I was capable of at the time. But I wanted in.

What made the band extraordinary wasn’t just the sound—it was what we stood for. The name said it all: One Tribe Nation. We weren’t individuals; we were one collective voice. On stage, we represented something bigger than ourselves: the possibility of unity in diversity.

When we played together, our differences weren’t obstacles—they were the reason the music worked. It was a reminder that unity doesn’t mean erasing individuality; it means recognizing the strength in what each person brings to the table. Playing in that band wasn’t just about playing songs—it was just an unintended and living example that when you let go of fear and labels, you can create something far greater than the sum of its parts.

George Michael’s Devastating Question

One of the most profound examples of music’s ability to hold up a mirror to society is George Michael’s Praying for Time. I first heard it during an episode of American Idol, and his performance was unforgettable. The lyrics cut straight to the heart: 

“Charity is a coat you wear twice a year.” 

That line hit me like a ton of bricks. It was a stark reminder of how often we treat compassion as optional, something we “wear” when it suits us. George Michael wrote the song at just 22 years old, but it carries a depth of understanding that feels even more urgent today. The song asks a devastating question: Why is it so hard for people to be good to each other? And it points to an answer we can’t ignore: fear and scarcity distort our ability to connect and care. 

Rewriting the Melody

For all the progress we’ve made as a society—building skyscrapers, exploring space, and creating technology that connects us instantly—we still struggle with one of the most fundamental truths: we’re all human, beyond the labels we put on each other. And that struggle has consequences. Racism, prejudice, and division aren’t just abstract ideas—they harm, they destroy, and they hold us back from what we could be.

I don’t understand why, after all this time, we haven’t evolved enough to see the flaw in racism. The evidence of its destruction is everywhere. How can we, as a species capable of such incredible innovation, still not grasp the simple truth that every human being deserves a clean slate? Why do we continue to let the past dictate how we treat one another, instead of charting a better path forward—for ourselves and for the generations who will inherit this world?

Through music, I’ve learned that differences don’t divide us—they strengthen us. Every great song is built on contrast: different instruments, rhythms, and melodies coming together to create something greater than any one part. As the old Indian saying goes, “The beauty in art is in its imperfection.” That’s what I’ve always loved about music—it’s raw, it’s human, it’s honest. And maybe that’s the lesson: when we accept our own imperfections, we open ourselves up to understanding and accepting the imperfections in others.

We don’t have to be the same. We don’t even have to agree on everything. But we do need to be willing to listen—not just to words, but to the humanity in each other. Like a new song, we can decide how someone resonates with us only after we’ve truly heard them. And in that willingness to hear, we might just find the harmony we need to create something better than the noise of division.

Because how we choose to treat each other today will define the world we leave behind. The question is: will it be a world worth inheriting?

©2025 David Filice

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