"Let's Save Africa!" is the satirical video's call to action. It opens with a truck stopping abruptly in a grassy area, ostensibly in Africa because Africa is just one big country. A white, blond girl jumps out with high-calorie food in hand, dressed in a white tank top, shorts and a stylish bandanna. She runs toward an unknown destination and does what every good volunteer does: starts hurling food at hungry mouths.
After a tour in which she teaches children to read, subsequently posting a selfie with them as her Facebook profile picture, the young woman, Lilly, sits down for a game inspired by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. The final question for the satirical game show, Who Wants to Be a Volunteer: How many countries are in Africa?
The video, produced by the Norwegian Students' and Academics' International Assistance Fund (SAIH), is satire in the same vein as 'Humanitarians of Tinder.' It skewers the trend of "voluntourism," where well-intentioned Westerners journey to distant places as volunteers with little regard for culture, history or the ethical challenges their presence brings into communities that aren't their own.
The problem: For those who can afford it, there's an expansive menu of humanitarian activities to choose from: feeding malnourished children in rural Guatemala, painting with Typhoon Haiyan survivors in the Philippines or watching over orphaned babies in Uganda. And they all make for excellent fodder for the Facebook and Instagram accounts of those who travel abroad, a sociocultural badge of honor.
But the good intentions of affluent Westerners fundamentally drive "voluntourism," a term used by the columnist Rafia Zakaria to describe an inherently post-colonial commercial activity. "As admirably altruistic as it sounds," Zakaria writes, "the problem with voluntourism is its singular focus on the volunteer's quest for experience, as opposed to the recipient community's actual needs."
"Typically other people's problems seem simpler, uncomplicated and easier to solve than those of one's own society. In this context, the decontextualized hunger and homelessness in Haiti, Cambodia or Vietnam is an easy moral choice," Zakaria explains. "Unlike the problems of other societies, the failing inner-city schools in Chicago or the haplessness of those living on the fringes in Detroit is connected to larger political narratives. In simple terms, the lack of knowledge of other cultures makes them easier to help."
The novelist, photographer and artist Teju Cole teased out the trend of the "white savior industrial complex" in response to activism surrounding the viral Kony 2012 video. Joseph Kony, a warlord and fugitive Ugandan leader of the Lord's Resistance Army, is notorious for building an army with child soldiers, a crime that was the subject of a viral video that moved young Americans to act on behalf of Uganda's Invisible Children.
"There is much more to doing good work than 'making a difference.' There is the principle of first do no harm," Cole wrote in the Atlantic, "There is the idea that those who are being helped ought to be consulted over the matters that concern them."
Zakaria and Cole have a point. Real humanitarianism goes beyond orphanages, and efforts to stamp out poverty with two- to three-week volunteer trips. The issue is writ large in the amount of aid developed countries like the United States pour into countries, and often there is little incentive for long-term development goals when circumstances benefit the donor's interests.
"If Americans want to care about Africa," Cole wrote, "maybe they should consider evaluating American foreign policy, which they already play a direct role in through elections, before they impose themselves on Africa itself."
There is nothing wrong with the humanitarian impulse. That those with the time and means choose to devote themselves to helping the less fortunate is noble and to be commended. But as the SAIH video shows, this aid often comes in the form of activities that make little difference or misunderstands the cultural context in which it operates.
There are ways to make a difference abroad. But snapping selfies with orphans isn't one of them.