Band Aid 40: Why Western Saviourism Has No Place In 2024
Group portrait of the artists in the original 1984 band aid single.
In 2024, when calls for independence and reparations from former Commonwealth nations are growing louder, Band Aid 40 feels profoundly oblivious. The song, stuck in a framework of Western saviourism, actively undermines the mainstream discourse around shifting power, decolonisation, addressing racism and structural change. It fails to recognise that today’s global movements demand equity, not pity; collaboration, not charity.
Band Aid 40 represents a troubling step backward in our collective transition towards active anti-racism, equity, dignity, and justice. It is more than just a remix of a charity single; it is the perpetuation of harmful stereotypes, colonial mindsets, and outdated narratives that do real harm to Africa and its people. Worse still, in 2024, this song is simply not fit for purpose.
The original Band Aid song, launched in 1984, may have resonated in its era, when awareness of global issues was limited, and simplistic narratives of “saving Africa” went largely unchallenged. But this is far from a triumph to celebrate. While it may have raised funds and awareness, it also entrenched harmful stereotypes about Africa as a homogenous land of despair, dependent on Western savourism. By portraying Africans as passive recipients of charity, it erased the agency, resilience, and complexity of the continent’s people and cultures. This narrative not only misinformed audiences but also perpetuated a cycle of pity-based charity, ignoring the historical exploitation that created the very poverty the song claimed to address. Band Aid 40 is deeply out of touch because it doubles down on these damaging tropes, failing to acknowledge the progress, diversity, and power of African nations in shaping their own futures.
40 years later the world has changed. We are now in a time where society can critically engage in discussions about colonial legacies, systemic inequities, and the need for reparative justice. Institutions across the world are reckoning with their colonial histories, striving to implement restorative actions to heal past harms and dismantle the systems that perpetuate inequality. Band Aid 40, however, ignores these advancements and stubbornly clings to outdated paradigms of charity rooted in pity rather than partnership.
The song’s imagery and lyrics rely on a reductive and infantilising portrayal of African communities, suggesting they are helpless, starving, and dependent on Western saviours. Stereotypes of African children surrounded by flies, appearing destitute and in despair, are weaponised to evoke pity, reinforcing the damaging idea that African communities are incapable of helping themselves. The infamous question, "Do they know it's Christmas?" reeks of ignorance and arrogance, failing to acknowledge Africa’s rich cultural diversity, including its substantial Christian population. These types of images and narratives omit thriving communities, diverse landscapes, and prosperous societies across the continent. They reduce Africa to a single, homogenous entity defined solely by suffering, ignoring the successes, innovations, and vibrant cultures that exist in abundance.
Such narratives do more than offend—they shape perceptions. When Africa is portrayed as a continent perpetually in crisis, it alienates the Global South (low and middle income countries), discourages investment, and damages tourism. Potential business partners and investors could see Africa as a risky, unattractive option, despite its vast wealth in natural resources and youthful population. This entrenched misrepresentation ensures Africa remains on the margins of global trade. This skewed portrayal undermines the continent’s autonomy and agency, continuing the economic subjugation of African nations by (high income countries/Global North) more industrialised powers.
Moreover, this narrative ignores history and structural inequality. It fails to question why certain African nations experience poverty. It conveniently overlooks centuries of colonisation, exploitation, and the theft of resources, labour, and knowledge by Western powers. By failing to confront these historical injustices, Band Aid 40 perpetuates the myth that poverty in Africa is self-inflicted, rather than a consequence of systemic and historical inequities that the West has actively contributed to, and continues today.
The harmful messaging of Band Aid 40 also resonates across generations. Music is powerful—it shapes minds and narratives, especially for young people. The stereotypes reinforced by the song will linger, entrenching racist attitudes and reinforcing global racial hierarchies. These messages are damaging not only to how the world sees Africa but also to how young Africans see themselves. It undermines their confidence, discourages investment in their home countries, and fuels the brain drain that weakens their communities further.
Bob Geldof has staunchly defended Band Aid’s legacy, pointing to the money raised as justification for its continued existence, as though the ends always justify the means. By focusing on the funds collected, he dismisses the growing criticism of the harmful narratives the campaign perpetuates, refusing to engage with the deeper, systemic issues that many argue outweigh the financial contributions. This "at least we raised money" defence feels increasingly hollow in a world demanding accountability and respect for dignity in storytelling and the words we use. Charity fundraising continues to take this “but it works” approach that prioritises raising money and meeting fundraising targets above dignity and agency in storytelling.
Compounding the issue is the lack of transparency and use of paternalistic policies from the Band Aid 40 charitable trust. How is the grantmaking done? It is concerning that the trust is unwilling to support critical operational costs for grassroots organisations not seeing that covering staff costs is essential for nonprofits to sustainably work with communities, not a nice to have. Charity devoid of partnership and respect is no charity at all—it is patronisation at best, exploitation at worst. A coalition of international development charities has formed a working group to challenge the Band Aid Charitable Trust's outdated stance on staff and support costs and unethical narrative. This group is urging the Trust to recognise the significant progress made in ethical storytelling, emphasising the importance of community-first approaches to imagery with consent in fundraising campaigns, adverts, and external communications. Their aim is to shift the focus from reductive and stereotypical depictions of suffering to narratives that honour the agency, expertise, dignity and diversity of communities, ensuring that those represented are at the centre of how their stories are told.
The Band Aid Charitable Trust’s refusal to cover staff costs in its grant-making practices creates significant barriers for charities trying to implement impactful projects.Many organisations cannot operate sustainably without essential staff funding, and end up forced to turn down Band Aid’s grants altogether. It’s a case of dangling a carrot with impractical policies that undermine the very work they claim to support. Joe Cannon, the Trust’s chief financial officer, stated to the BBC that more than £3m has been distributed in the past seven months, assisting up to 350,000 people across Ehtipia, Sudan, Somaliland and Chad. However the reality is that these funds usually come with some strings attached. By ignoring the fundamental need to cover operational costs, the Trust shifts the financial strain onto charities, jeopardising their ability to deliver meaningful, sustainable impact, highlighting the urgent need for a more equitable and supportive funding model.
Activism today demands that we do better. The original Band Aid may have been considered "fit for purpose" in its time, but times have changed, and so must we. Charity must no longer be rooted in pity or condescension but in partnership, respect, and solidarity. Band Aid 40’s re-release is not just a missed opportunity—it is an active perpetuation of harm. We must reject this narrative and instead celebrate Africa’s diversity, resilience, and potential. It is time for the world to listen to Africa’s voice, not drown it out with another chorus of Western saviourism.
