Political messages have been marginalized in American hip-hop, which (despite some zealous exceptions) is dominated by self-centered individualists, competing to flaunt their savvy and success. But the idea of hip-hop as a voice of the poor and disenfranchised has traveled globally to places where songs can still be rallying cries.

The rappers — who also included Amkoullel, from Mali, and the Palestinian rapper Shadia Mansour — were all technically skillful. They were quick-tongued, deft with rhymes, full of rhythmic variety and vitality in their delivery; Ms. Mansour and Amkoullel sang as well as rapped. But what they were saying mattered as much as their style. Luckily lyrics were translated (from Arabic and, for Amkoullel, from French and Bambara) in the program.

In Tunisia, El Général's "Rais Lebled" (variously translated as "Mr. President" or "Head of State") appeared in 2010 as the protests were beginning that would topple Tunisia's dictatorship. The song spread across the country and the Arab world. It rails against poverty, corruption and suffering: "I see too much injustice and so I decided to send this message/Even though the people told me that my end is death." During the protests El Général (born Hamada Ben Amor) was jailed for three days.

El Général's music has the minor-key pomp and brusque chanting of 1990s gangsta rap. Onstage he shared rhymes with his cousin Oussama Ben Amor, following "Rais Lebled" with songs about the role of hip-hop after Tunisia's revolution.

Deeb's music also had a 1990s tinge, with calmly swinging tracks — one, "Masrah Deeb," sampled B. B. King's version of "The Thrill Is Gone" — and a fluent, conversational delivery hinting at L.L. Cool J. Deeb's lyrics mix the personal and the political, arriving with a smile. "The revolution is not over yet, it has just begun," he rapped in "Stand Up Egyptian," which was heard widely during the Egyptian uprising in Tahrir Square. "Looks like you're still in bed/C'mon get up! You'll brush your teeth later."

Ms. Mansour was backed by DJ Johnny Juice, who helped create Public Enemy's sound, in raps that were scrappy, vehement and polemical. Her lyrics flare with anger at the Palestinian situation. One song rewrote a nursery rhyme to praise resistance: "They all have tanks, but we have stones/They demolish our homes and kill our children," she declared. "Oh Palestine the free, oh Gaza the brave/Zionism shall be defeated."

Amkoullel had far less divisive messages, in songs that called for an end to corruption, better public education, more positive images of Africa. While the others often sounded like American hip-hop in translation, Amkoullel pulled hip-hop toward Africa. His vocals were sung and intoned as much as rapped. His beats were laced with live playing by Yacouba Sissoko, a Malian musician, on talking drum or ngoni, a small lute; Mr. Sissoko had been sharing instrumental interludes through the concert with Brahim Fribgane, an oud player from Morocco.

Amkoullel was also the concert's showman: singing, demonstrating some speedy footwork, eventually going shirtless. After all of the concert's messages he concluded with a lighter one: "Come Dance."