Forty years after its original release, the song Do They Know It’s Christmas? is once again in the spotlight, sparking renewed debate over its portrayal of Africa and the ethics of charity fundraising. The Band Aid single, first recorded in 1984 by British and Irish musicians under the leadership of Bob Geldof and Midge Ure, sought to address Ethiopia’s devastating famine. It became a cultural phenomenon, raising millions of pounds for humanitarian efforts. Yet, as the re-release of a remixed version hits the airwaves, questions about its messaging and legacy have re-emerged.
From the outset, the song faced criticism for its lyrics, which painted Africa as a monolithic region of despair—“where nothing ever grows; no rain nor rivers flow.” For many, this reinforced stereotypes, reducing a continent of diverse cultures, histories, and experiences to a single, simplistic narrative of need. Dawit Giorgis, who was Ethiopia’s Relief and Rehabilitation Commissioner during the famine, reflects on this tension. Speaking from Namibia, he recalls how the song’s line, “Do they know it’s Christmas?” felt not only inaccurate but insulting, given Ethiopia’s long-standing Christian heritage. Yet, he acknowledges that the global response it inspired saved countless lives, strengthening his “faith in humanity.”
The Band Aid Trust, which continues its philanthropic work, reports distributing over £3 million in the past seven months to support projects in Ethiopia, Sudan, Somaliland, and Chad. However, this legacy is complicated by evolving conversations about representation. Critics like British-Ghanaian rapper Fuse ODG argue that the song perpetuates outdated narratives. Fuse, who refused to participate in the 2014 re-recording, noted that its lyrics fail to reflect modern Africa, a continent brimming with progress and joy alongside its challenges.
For many, the issue goes beyond the song itself to the visual and cultural tropes it entrenched. The stark imagery used in Band Aid campaigns—gaunt children juxtaposed against festive cheer—became a hallmark of charity fundraising, influencing subsequent campaigns like Comic Relief. These depictions, though emotionally impactful, have been criticised for robbing people of their dignity and agency. Edward Ademolu, a British-Nigerian lecturer at King’s College, recalls how such portrayals led to stigmatisation of African identity in the UK, with damaging effects on cultural perceptions.
While Geldof defends the song’s intent and impact—asserting it has kept “hundreds of thousands if not millions of people alive”—others suggest it’s time for a new approach. The Black Lives Matter movement and initiatives like the satirical Radi-Aid campaigns have highlighted the need for ethical storytelling in fundraising. Increasingly, charities are shifting towards campaigns that empower the people they aim to help, involving local voices and avoiding the “saviour narrative” that has long defined Western aid.
Looking ahead, the changing landscape of African music offers an opportunity for a different kind of global collaboration. Music journalist Christine Ochefu suggests that if a Band Aid-type project were attempted today, it would need to feature African artists from genres like Afrobeats and amapiano, placing African creativity and agency at the forefront.
As Dr. Ademolu aptly puts it, “Perhaps it’s time to abandon the broken record and start anew—a fresh tune where Africa isn’t just a subject, but a co-author, harmonising its own story.”
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