Jul 18, 2007

Celebrities, Influence, and Listening to Africans

by Laura Starita

Nearly a century ago Lytton Strachey wrote in the preface to Eminent Victorians that his approach to biography was to exclude “everything that is redundant and nothing that is significant.” Given that significance is a subjective matter, Strachey’s comment points to an important truth: Every publication is the product of a process of selection. Often this selection informs a reader more about the editor than the subject.

The July edition of Vanity Fair, guest edited by Bono, is such a publication. The edition is dedicated to Africa and its explicit goal is to provide a counter-narrative to the frequently-told story of African conflict, poverty and disease. Bono does not deny the fact that whole regions in Africa are war-torn and that millions there suffer from AIDS, malaria, hunger or all of the above. On the contrary, he is appalled by the inequality he sees between the Western world and Africa.

Many in the West see Africa only as an entire continent of sick and needy individuals, and that vision encourages a view of hopelessness.

His argument, however, is that many in the West see Africa only as an entire continent of sick and needy individuals, a helpless view which discourages action and breeds complacency. So Bono has made a careful editorial selection of features that highlight a different aspect of Africa: the evolving strength of democracy and entrepreneurship in Kenya; South African Christianity and restorative justice; Tunisian culture; African genetics (and how every human shares them); African literature; Millennium Villages in Uganda; the increased availability of anti-retroviral medications paid for with (Red) funds; among other tales of positive change on the continent.

Yet his enterprise is undermined by the whiff of spin that surrounds the publication. It starts with the cover, or rather covers, as there are 20 of them, all photographed by Annie Leibovitz and intended as a “visual chain letter” in which people are seen spreading the good news about Africa. The composition of the covers is highly staged—complete with perfect make-up and calculated diversity—such that the spontaneous word-of-mouth associations it is meant to evoke feel insincere. Additionally, Vanity Fair’s editorial concern with celebrity and society means that the cover subjects are almost all Western celebrities rather than Africans. That choice, necessitated no doubt by the newsstand economics of magazine publishing, leaves the viewer unclear on whether the good news they are spreading is about Africa and its people as much as it is about Oprah Winfrey’s school in South Africa or Brad Pitt’s role in the One campaign.

It should be said that the work these celebrities do is conversation-worthy, and it is reasonable to believe that some of them—the Gateses, for example—may truly be changing the world. They are influential, which is no doubt why they were chosen for Bono’s message. Yet it is that very influence that makes their front-and-center status so troubling, given that what they say—in short blurbs attached to their corresponding covers—is so devoid of content. Barack Obama says he “can still remember [his] first trip to Africa.” Muhammad Ali says that despite Africa’s famine and drought, “the people have endured ... with dignity and hope.” H.M. Queen Rania of Jordan says “the world is failing millions of children, especially in Africa.” Maya Angelou says “the dignity of the African people simply will not be dismissed.”

Granted, it is hard to communicate diversity in sound-bites, but these comments reinforce an oversimplified concept of Africa as one place with one people, one set of problems and one corresponding set of solutions. The features attempt to give a better sense of Africa’s diversity by focusing on countries and contexts. Still, one would be forgiven for forgetting which country exactly each article is about, since they all tell the same story of a nation that saw a few rough years in the past, but is now experiencing a resurgence in hope and prosperity, one which could continue with a bit more support. The homogeneity of this message gives truth to the chief concern held by critics of the role of Hollywood celebrity in philanthropy: while it attracts attention it also tends to simplify reality in an non-constructive way for donors and beneficiaries.

The role of Hollywood celebrity in philanthropy is ambiguous: while it attracts needed attention, it also tends to simplify reality in an non-constructive way for donors and beneficiaries.

The variety of support advocated by the publication is a “leg up” in Bono’s words, “not a handout.” This word choice echoes the positive move that has been occurring in aid circles over the past few years, away from paternalistic approaches to humanitarian relief and toward a model that involves recipients in the process. With this move, in the case of the African continent, has come urgings from the aid community that donors “listen to Africans,” stated so often and with such earnestness that it has become a truism—it even shows up once or twice in Bono’s VF. By listening to Africans, the argument goes, donors will learn best how to help the African people get beyond the cycle of poverty. But the phrase itself assumes that there is even such thing as an “African,” and that every African would agree on what the continent needs. It makes the false assumption that a Nigerian identifies with a Somali any more than she does with an American. It suggests that one should automatically know who to listen to, that there is an editor working behind the scenes selecting the voices for the continent. It implies that Annie Leibovitz’s chain letter is just that, a chain letter that says the same thing every time with no variation in its message, save the signature on the bottom.

The challenge for anyone looking to make a measurable difference, however, is that the dynamics that help and harm in each country are so diverse. Even within a given country it is legitimately difficult to know who to listen to, because equally informed, stake-holding “Africans” have conflicting ideas about what will work. This conflict is apparent in the current controversy over the Gates-Rockefeller co-funded Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa (AGRA). The goal of AGRA is to improve crop yields and soil quality, as well as market infrastructure and access for farmers. The idea is based on the model of the Green Revolution funded in part by the Rockefeller Foundation during the 1960s and ‘70s in Asia and Latin America. “Green Revolution for Africa” proponents argue the green revolution movement bypassed Africa in its original incarnation and AGRA is correcting that oversight. AGRA has prominent Africans on its board of directors—including former U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan as chairman—and is working with African groups to distribute seeds and fertilizers. Through these acts it seems to be “listening to Africans.” Yet a group of African farmers’ unions and sustainable agriculture nongovernmental organizations signed a statement in March at the World Social Forum in Nairobi rejecting the AGRA initiative. The anti-AGRA groups claim that a Green Revolution was attempted in Africa in the same time period that it emerged in Asia, but that it failed, and that AGRA’s technology-heavy approach of using pest-resistant seed and fertilizer will decrease Africa’s crop diversity and contribute to the kind of environmental degradation now widespread in India. They furthermore argue the majority of Africa’s hungry are undernourished not because the continent doesn’t grow enough food, but because the poor don’t have money to buy the food that is available.

There are Africans working with AGRA who say that a green revolution is exactly what Africa needs, and there are Africans campaigning against AGRA who say it will exacerbate the cycle of hunger and poverty.

In short, there are Africans working with AGRA who say that a green revolution is exactly what Africa needs, and there are Africans campaigning against AGRA who say it will exacerbate the cycle of hunger and poverty. How does one know who to listen to?

The answer is one doesn’t. Which is why transparency and accountability are so important in aid work—the only approach an organization can take is to work with recipients to attempt what credible evidence indicates will yield results, and put infrastructure in place so it can measure whether those results pan out. The Gates Foundation seems to understand that, which is why $26 million of the initial $150 million AGRA investment is earmarked for oversight initiatives.

Talk of measurements and infrastructure and accountability is not sexy and certainly doesn’t sell magazines. Bono is sexy, however, which is one of the reasons why he has a media platform in the first place. That he uses that platform to champion the cause of the world’s poorest continent deserves commendation. Maybe next year, as the result of Bono’s efforts, a South African journalist or a Kenyan or a Somali will get to take Greydon Carter’s reins and give us an image of Africa with more of the shading it deserves. Then perhaps we can take listening to the next step, where we hear not only claims, but accountable parties reporting results.