PicoBlog

Taking a break from prepping for his New Year partying, my eldest son plonked himself on the sofa and scrolled through his phone.

‘Omigod!….’

‘What?’

‘This song! Unbelievable!’

‘What song? Unbelievable why?’

‘Do you know ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’?’

‘Er, yeah, of course.’

‘And did you know the lyrics were so unbelievably racist?’

‘Racist? Are you for real?’

‘Er, yes. Listen: And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmas time/ The greatest gift they'll get this year is life/ Where nothing ever grows/ No rain nor rivers flow/ Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?’

‘Right. Even allowing for the fact that I can’t see any racism there — presumably because I’m white and 58 — do you even know the context of this song? It was indeed written by a couple of white men — slightly past their sell-by pop stars Bob Geldof and Midge Ure — in response to a very powerful BBC news report by the journalist Michael Buerk about the drought in Ethiopia. This was late autumn 1984, back when we only had four TV channels. Literally everybody saw this report on the terrible famine and many of us were powerfully moved. However, most of us didn’t then sit down and write a charity pop song about it, corral a bunch of top-of-their-game musicians into a recording studio within days, then have it sell a million copies on the first day of release, reaching No1 for Christmas and remaining there for five weeks, thus raising millions for famine relief*.

‘Afterwards, not content with this gesture, Geldof went on to organise ‘Live Aid’, which took place in July 1985 at Wembley Stadium and, simultaneously, in Philadelphia. I was lucky enough to be at the Wembley concert and it was amazing. So, do please explain the alleged racism angle!’

My son told me that a former schoolmate of his had posted about the racism of these lyrics on his Instagram. Like my son, this person is 20 and in their final year at a Russell Group Uni; unlike my son, they are Nigerian and identify as non-binary. The conversation swiftly, inevitably, got quite heated. I ‘Mumsplained’ that 37 years ago the ‘white saviour’ trope was not yet in existence—or if it was, it was not broadly understood the way it is now. Thus, while the concept of (mostly) white British (and in Geldof’s case, Irish) people raising money to feed starving Africans may seem both intrinsically awkward and patronising — a brand of colonialism 2.0 — and especially to a young Nigerian from a vantage point of nearly four decades— to call it ‘racist’ is simply wrong. Clearly, it’s the definition of the word ‘racist’ that is problematic…

‘But Mum—READ THE LYRICS! They say that nothing ever grows in the whole of Africa! That it never rains! That there are no rivers! It’s just wrong!’

‘Look I’m the daughter of a bloody lyricist! ‘Ethiopia’ isn’t sing-a-able, it doesn’t scan — ‘Africa’ does! Of course it rains in Africa — albeit not much — and of course there are rivers… but this was written in the middle of an unbelievably awful fucking drought, so, contextually, the lyrics reflect the here-and-then. Not much water equals no food equals drought equals famine equals hundreds of thousands of dying people! FFS!’

‘No. You are just not seeing it, Mum. You are reading it incorrectly!’

At which point, perhaps inevitably, I went Full Karen—lecturing my son about attending ‘Rock Against Racism’ marches and gigs, about growing up ‘colour-blind’ in ‘multi-cultural’ West London (‘and not having a racist bone in my body, thank you very fucking much!’), about how hugely I resent being described as ‘racist’ just because I’ve been on the planet for nearly sixty years… so racism has effectively been rebranded.

And so on. My bad.

Yet, while acknowledging the planet has changed — sometimes for the better, often for the worse — that the definition of ‘racist’ becoming so fluid it can now be deployed to describe a lyric describing the weather pattern of a continent is surely self-evidently bonkers. Never mind that when you type ‘Why Is Africa Hot?’ into Google it says ‘Because of its geographical situation, Africa is a hot continent as the solar radiation intensity is always high.’  

Fuck that racist-Google-invented-by-white-people…

Anyway, back to drought. Ergo, famine. Ergo, death. Ergo, people sad. Ergo — the nuances of geo-politics aside — people wanting to ‘help’. And if ‘helping’ simultaneously makes the people doing the ‘helping’ feel better about themselves then… well, fuck, it’s still helping! Which (call me a Karen) surely has to be better than not helping, right?

My son started messaging his friend. No—white people singing inaccurate shit about Africa really isn’t better than not helping, it just feeds into racist stereotypes, came the reply.

It would appear that any kind of noblesse oblige approach to Africa is basically a patronising colonial throwback. Instead, white people should not only carry the burden of their dark colonial histories but carry on owning their collective historic shame as individuals, in the here-and-now.

Which, with the greatest respect (and I suspect that is itself a potentially incendiary phrase!) to my son’s friend, is where we really must agree to differ. This is not only just plain wrong but simultaneously displays a lack of nuance, context, lightness and humour (the hallmarks of their generation). Turns out that they knew nothing about ‘Live Aid’ or Geldof or the context of ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ until they heard the song being played on a radio in Nigeria recently — however, even when its ‘history’ was spelled out by other respondents to the post (not just by my son) they were uninterested in conceding ground. ‘Non-binary’ yet so very binary.

I am perfectly happy to concede that things change—and that a big communal pop star charity gesture from the 1980s must seem laughably naïve (at best) if not actively foolish to today’s young people. Indeed, for the past several years (long before I heard about ‘white saviour complex’) I have felt uncomfortable with Comic Relief, albeit without quite being able to identify exactly why apart from the fact that short films of comedians holding hands with little black kids and posting their meet-cutes on Instagram felt just wrong in the 21st century. And yes, of course I know that Sir Lenny Henry got his CBE for co-founding the charity (with Richard Curtis). However, Henry is now 64, so just like me he’s no longer at the cutting edge of anything.

Yet, it is one thing when our youngsters chuck culture-war bombshells at their parents, quite another when my generation starts co-opting their kids’ wonky arguments. If there is one thing guaranteed to have me grinding my teeth and rolling my eyes it is sanctimonious fifty/sixty/seventysomethings parroting comic sans received ‘wisdom’ about race, or gender (or any other young person’s light-blue-touchpaper topic). It’s like watching them dive into the mosh pit at a Dave gig— just embarrassing. Step away from the ‘argument’, Boomers, because it’s not your argument to own; leave the kids to their half-formed (but hopefully ever-evolving) worldviews.

And I’m really not being patronising, honest; there are plenty of things I love being taught by my kids — for eg the Netflix algorithm would never have introduced me to ‘Love, Death & Robots’ — however, their Big Pictures are still Smallish, simply because they’re still young.

Even if you’ve never heard of MC5, in your teens and twenties kicking out the jams is a thrill. I remember the absolute joy to be had in turning up The Clash (or Bauhaus or Killing Joke—whoever) to Eleven while watching my Dad’s lip curl. He would give a gentle shake of the head, saying ‘No, darling, this is terrible.’ The thrill for me came in identifying with music he clearly not only disliked but completely failed to understand … it was our generational dividing line. My father had written — among many others — three songs for Elvis Presley and (to his eternal joy) a gospel song for Ray Charles! And I loved those songs. We were always on the same page when it came to The Beach Boys and Stevie Wonder and Steely Dan, too, but Dad disliking so much of the music I loved, the music of my generation, was necessarily my line in our sand. It told me that, in fact, my time was now — with more to come — while his had probably mostly gone.

I’m pretty sure he would have been thinking ‘she’s wrong, bless her…’ however, in truth, we were both right. While ‘my time’ was indeed then — with quite a bit more to follow — and Dad had indeed had most of his moments, there is definitely no Clash, Bauhaus or Killing Joke on the K. Flett ‘My Funeral’ Spotify playlist. So, y’know, I’m (mostly) happy to let the kids win the arguments… knowing they’ll concede some of the ground eventually, if only when I’m gone. Because while life’s trajectory isn’t ever a straight line (it’s more of a Slinky) it is occasionally interrupted by moments of intense clarity.

The end of a year is of course a traditional time to take stock and reflect, and at the end of 2022 there’s clearly a hell of a lot to reflect on and learn from—however, for me, the biggest revelation came just a few weeks ago, when I visited my (occasional) psychotherapist. The first time we’d met was while I was pregnant with my youngest son, who is now 16. And though I hadn’t seen my therapist often in the last decade, the last time I had was a few weeks before lockdown in early 2020. On that occasion I was processing the fallout from a very testing 2019: the last months (and death) of my Dad closely followed by the death of a good female friend, culminating in the death of our little cat a week before Christmas. I was looking forward to a quietly contemplative and regenerative 2020…  

When we eventually caught up again this year I wanted to add to my lengthy therapeutic CV the death of my mother (in Australia, during lockdown in 2020, from the after effects of a stroke; we said goodbye on the phone). So we talked it through for an hour and then, as we wrapped-up, my therapist said:

‘Well, Kate, you’re all good!’

This was very unexpected: ‘OK! What do you mean, though? Are we done?’

‘Yes, we’re done. I mean, you don’t have to be a stranger — it’s great to see you —however you’ve finished the really hard work. You are now a grown-up, Kate. Congratulations.’

I know I was paying for it, however this is not only one of the nicest things anybody has ever said to me, it is arguably one of the most revelatory, too. On the drive home I grinned ear-to-ear and felt a great sense of what the next phase of my life should be: making allowances for my numerous fatal flaws, it is simply about becoming the best version of that ‘grown-up’ I can possibly be. And while this will clearly be a rest-of-my-lifetime Work in Progress, it also takes care of every single New Year’s resolution from here to eternity. Meanwhile, I wish those youngsters who think they already know it all great good luck on the lifelong journey towards knowing that, in truth, they really don’t…

Thanks so much for joining me on the Substack journey during 2022; I’ve had a blast. Wishing you all a VERY happy (and appropriately Grown-Up) New Year.

Love, Kate x

DO THEY KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS?

It's Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid
At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade

And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world at Christmas time

But say a prayer, Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun

There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear

Where the only water flowing

Is the bitter sting of tears

And the Christmas bells that ring
There are the clanging chimes of doom

Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life

Where nothing ever grows
No rain nor rivers flow

Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

Here's to you
Raise a glass for everyone

Spare a thought this yuletide for the deprived
If the table was turned would you survive

Here's to them
Underneath that burning sun

You ain't gotta feel guilt just selfless
Give a little help to the helpless

Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

Feed the world

Feed the world

Feed the world

Feed the world

Feed the world. Let them know it's Christmas time again…
(Band Aid: Midge Ure / Bob Geldof © Chappell Music Ltd).

*‘Do They Know It's Christmas?’ was released in the United Kingdom on Dec 3 1984. It entered the UK Chart at number one and stayed there for five weeks. It sold a million copies in the first week, becoming the fastest-selling single in UK chart history; it held this title until 1997 when it was overtaken by Elton John’s ‘Candle In The Wind, 1987’. UK sales passed three million on the last day of 1984.

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