Merry Christmas Africa, the Continent of Misrepresentations

I was out with my friend enjoying festive foods and an overdue catch up when ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’ started playing on the radio.  Despite being blasted loud and proud for all to hear, I wondered, aren’t people concerned about the lyrics of this song?

Questions Without Answers

Each month, Olivia Scher chooses a personal question to ask herself, discussing her ideas, thoughts and feelings about life and the world around us. In exploring a range of topics she dares herself to be brutally honest in the pursuit of insight acquired through questions without answers.

Why we should never play ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ again…

I was out with my friend enjoying festive foods and an overdue catch up when ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas?’ started playing on the radio.  Despite being blasted loud and proud for all to hear, I wondered, aren’t people concerned about the lyrics of this song?  

Released in December 1984, this successful charity single was created to raise funds for famine relief in Ethiopia.  Today, in 2021, it’s still a classic.  But it shouldn’t be.   

This song perfectly captures the power the West has in shaping narratives about Africa: African people are homogenous, they exist in relation to their suffering, they are helpless and desperate and need to be saved.  Such narratives circulate through Western – and therefore, global culture – structuring our world view, framing our perspectives and informing our attitudes. 

Even through the celebration of Christmas, westerners have found a way to promote the prevailing narrative of Africa as a poor, disaster-stricken continent.  Year upon year upon year.   

Many people dismiss criticism regarding the lyrics of this song in favour of them having been written in haste, as an urgent response to an international emergency.  Whilst there may be merit in that argument, now that the song exists mostly as a slice of eighties Christmas kitsch, to cite this as justification for playing the song today would be naïve.  Others are quick to remind us that the considerable monies raised were a direct result of Bob Geldof and Midge Ure’s efforts, and that this simply trumps any serious criticism of the song itself.  This chimes with the message that Geldof put forward on Live Aid the following summer, and his urgency and passion were undoubtedly compelling.  However, when dignity is absent from charity, where does that leave the recipients?   

An initiative that raises money and awareness in response to a terrible disaster is always welcome – nobody questions that this all came from the right place, indeed many millions of pounds were raised.  However, the West’s paternalistic tendencies towards the notion of ‘Africa’ reflects a messiah complex so pertinent in Western culture that we become desensitised to the damage that these narratives cause.  Sweeping generalisations about this vast continent – especially ones that portray African peoples as poor, ill, and lacking agency, are a hallmark of Western charity campaigning; from Comic Relief to volunteering schemes to adverts on TV.  Such narratives are internalised to the point of becoming fundamental, they are the crux to us navigating our place in the world.  They matter.   

For many reasons and none, this song has cemented its place in our annual cycle, and as such, we often hear it, but we seldom listen.  When we do listen, however, many people are shocked.  And yet, the prominence and prevalence of such narratives is not in the least bit shocking, in fact they fit perfectly with Western attitudes towards the continent of Africa.   

As time passes it can be tempting to dismiss the narratives in this song as regrettable but justified in the context of emergency fundraising.  However, hearing this song in 2021 only serves to highlight and perpetuate the British mythmaking evident in these images.  Imagine a parallel world in which a small country in Southern Africa has an annual festival during which British lives are set before us as the eternal victims of famine and want.  Would that fit into our world order?  Yet upholding white saviour narratives whilst sipping mulled wine at a Christmas market or belting out the chorus with pint glasses held aloft, is all part and parcel of our annual celebrations. 

Now that the moment has passed and this song takes its place as a regularly recycled bit of Christmas kitsch, it comes to us devoid of the historical context which would acknowledge the devastating impact that colonialism and Western dominance have had on Africa and her peoples.  And as ever, the stories we tell are longer lasting than the actual story.   

Can we finally talk about how we talk about Africa? 

And for all our sakes, let’s change the tune.

Olivia Scher, Columnist