Africa: The White Man’s “project”

by Alem Mamo

Sir Bob Geldof

It’s Christmas time… and the white goat that is going to save the African children has once again returned to the TV screen in time for the fundraising, I mean, holiday season. Television and social media are beginning to get saturated with appeals on behalf of poor brown and black boys, girls, mothers, grandmothers, farmers, and anyone in between. The competition to raise more funds on behalf of desperate black and brown people is on.

This year, Sir Bob Geldof, the indefatigable voice of the poor in Africa, has resurfaced with his sequel “Do they know it is Christmas? Part Two,” (Band Aid 30). This time around, Geldof is expanding his charitable colony, previously Ethiopia, into the Western part of the continent, this time to fight “this… foul little plague” Ebola. In the process, Sir Bob is baptizing the next generation of celebrities and followers into the sacred mission of saving black and brown people for the coming decades. (Two fun facts: Ethiopia is majority Christian, and one of the oldest Christian nations in the world, so, they know when it’s Christmas-time; but Ethiopian Christmas is often celebrated around January 5-7, following the Gregorian calendar.)

A few days ago, my wife and I received a catalogue in the mail from one of the organizations with the mission of “helping people around the world.” As we both slowly browsed through the pages, we couldn’t help but notice two clearly identifiable narratives. First, all those who are in the giving end of the spectrum are white, and those on the receiving end are black or brown. Second, those who are in the business of giving have their names and professions listed below their photographs, and the receivers appear nameless, many of them children.

Thirty years post-Band Aid, the current aid, NGO, and charity architecture, in its content and form, is as pervasive and paternalistic as the old days. The helpless Africa stretching its begging bowl year after year and the rich and generous West always ready to rescue this desolate and miserable place called Africa.

So, we see in the charity catalogue an example of a practice that continues from the period of colonialism to this day: taking photos of the locals. During colonial times, the anthropologists, colonial officers, etc., took images of the Africans the same way they would take a picture of a tree or grazing animals. No permission asked; no consent offered. This invasive practice continues to this day through the ubiquitous “selfies” and photo-ops by interns, volun-tourists, experts, NGO executives, politicians, and media personalities. They all snap photos of the “locals” in the same manner as the colonial masters. The people, who might be going on to their daily routines, working, making meals, trading in their open markets, or children playing, are subjected to the camera lens of those who are on the mission of “saving the Africans.”

Upon return to their home countries, these images are presented to school groups, communities, and donors in glaring power point presentations, along with a pictures of wild animals, lions, elephants, giraffes, depending on which part of the continent the mission took place. In most case, the individuals in the pictures do not have names; they are simply the “locals,” who, by the way, have nothing, apart from what we can give them. So, if our motivation is promoting human dignity, justice, and fairness, or even if we just treat others the way we want to be treated, how would we feel if someone snaps our picture, or takes a picture of our children, without permission or consent. How would that makes us feel? Would we even allow it to happen? Where is this entitlement and violation of privacy and identity coming from, when we casually take these photos?

Countries on the African continent are not inherently poor (being poor is always defined in monetary and material sense). They are, in fact, made materially poor because of a history of exploitation, initially by the colonial masters, and subsequently by multinational corporate masters, who have replaced the colonial economic order. When I hear television advertisement saying, “for the price of cup of coffee you can save the life of ….” I wonder if the narrator could tell his listeners where that cup of coffee might have come: Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Madagascar, etc. The products of these poor countries get re-branded as French roast, Italian medium, Belgian chocolate, English tea, and so on. This stripping of the identity and origins of products or images from Africa and elsewhere is a systemic way to develop a narrative of Western entitlement. This inverted racism packaged in the name of humanitarianism has reduced children from the African continent to the purchase of goats, chickens, and even worse, cups of coffee.

The discouraging reality of this charity, holiday, fundraising season, is that we haven’t seemed to really learn much in thirty years after Band Aid. By in large, we still are not interested scratching beyond the miserable image of Africa perpetuated by the media, Hollywood, NGOs, and charitable organizations that year after year continue to project a negative image of Africa.

This is not a criticism of the spirit of giving, though it may seem so. It is a plea for critical understanding and action that reinforces dignity and justice. I am in favor of positive human collaboration that fosters social, cultural, and economic exchange and equality. However, the prevailing Western orthodoxy that is on the hegemony of domination and superiority must be uprooted. I am hopeful this holiday season we all will be able to reflect on the root causes of economic and material poverty before we write a cheque to save the Africans.
The author can be reached at alem6711@gmail.com