Raucous comedy, flamboyant red noses, celebrity endorsement and a plethora of ways to get involved from bake sales to triathlons: the Comic Relief formula has broad appeal. When it launched on Christmas Day 1985 on BBC1, it raised £15m; in 2011 it broke the £100m barrier for the first time.

Africa may have changed beyond recognition, but over the generations attitudes in Britain haven’t

Few organisations can claim to be so successful at mobilising people in the cause of tackling poverty in Britain – my Tottenham constituency has certainly seen the benefits – and across the world. But when I asked my mixed-race nine-year-old son why he thinks I should give money to him for wearing a red nose at school today, his reply was telling: “But we have to help the poor people in Africa, daddy.” How different is this to what his white grandparents would say? Africa may have changed beyond recognition, but over the generations knowledge and attitudes in Britain haven’t.

Comic Relief has tattooed images of poverty in the African continent to the point where few of us can escape the guilt of not donating. The result: a tidal wave of donations, but little to challenge the Band Aid interpretation of an Africa “where nothing ever grows”. It still blurs the 54 separate, sovereign nations into a single reservoir of poverty, grief and suffering. One billion African people are filtered into just two categories: either corrupt politicians replete with Savile Row suits and Swiss bank accounts, or poverty-stricken mothers swarmed by flies, their childrens’ stomachs swollen by hunger.

The blame can’t be laid solely at Comic Relief’s door. Much of the problem lies with some aid agencies and their fundraising appeals. Sections of the media are culpable of only describing two types of African – powerful and corrupt, or destitute and starving. But Comic Relief’s biennial guilt trip perpetuates these stereotypes and fails to move the debate on in a constructive way.



This is not to say that dire poverty is not persistent – or that images of suffering and destitution are not the most effective way to raise money from a 30-second ad in response to an emergency. But Comic Relief should be different – it has to be.

It enjoys a privileged position in our national life: millions participate in fundraising and tune in. So the organisers have a unique opportunity: but with this comes responsibility. The show has the chance to deal with complexity, and it can afford to talk about solutions beyond mosquito nets, food parcels and digging wells.

It shouldn’t be afraid to talk about the triumphs of African nations as much as it does their challenges, even if those successes aren’t always the result of western charity. Comic Relief retains a narrow perspective that fails to convey the bigger picture of progress in the continent, which is that life expectancies are up by over 10% in 37 African states; the percentage increase in the GDP of the 11 largest sub-Saharan countries was over twice that of the world average, and almost four times that of the US, over the past decade; and remittances from the African diaspora are $9bn higher than the amount sent in international aid. The Nigerian film industry – Nollywood – has even overtaken Hollywood as the world’s second largest moviemaker.

Comic Relief should be helping to establish an image of African people as equals to be respected rather than helpless victims to be pitied. So rather than western celebrities acting as our tour guides to Band Aid Africa, why not let those who live there speak about the continent they know?

Most of all, Comic Relief should challenge its audience not just to feel guilty, but angry: angry that wars that have plagued the continent are permitted by an international market that places more restrictions on the exchange of bananas than it does on AK-47s; incandescent that the corruption in many states is fuelled by “donations” from shell companies linked to corporations that are listed on our own stock exchange. In 2015 the programme spent zero minutes talking about trade and governance. There was little or no discussion about what caused the poverty presented to us, let alone what the long-term solutions might be.

A 5% rise in developing countries’ share of world exports would generate $350bn – seven times as much as they receive in aid – and profit-shifting by multinational companies costs developing nations $100bn a year that they could spend on education, infrastructure and public services. It is trade barriers that hold developing nations back, and we silently acquiesce to global corporations’ asset-stripping of poorer nations. What would it take for every caller to BBC Television Centre to be rerouted to the international trade secretary’s office once they have donated? What would it take for every online donation to include the option of sending an email to the prime minister?

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Those that want to hide in the sanctuary of the charity’s “non-political” status should ask what solutions aren’t political when famines never take place in a functioning democracy.

Comic Relief should have higher expectations of itself and its audience – we can still be charitable even when the message is laden with politics. After all, the organisers of Comic Relief felt comfortable enough to add their name to calls for a financial transaction tax in 2010, even if they did not campaign on it. The Make Poverty History campaign demanded trade justice and debt relief alongside more and better aid.

Of course the fundraising is worthwhile, but the Red Nose Day formula is tired and patronising to Africans. This year things must be different. We must have voices debating debt and dictatorship, trade agreements and climate change, education and entrepreneurship – not just appeals for people to phone in and pledge a few pounds. Otherwise another opportunity will be missed.