This article first appeared in THE WEEKENDER

8th December 2007

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Although World AIDS Day is a commemorative and not a celebratory occasion, it was impossible to resist the good vibes at Ellis Park during last weekend’s 46664 concert. It was a musical feast from first (Cassette kicking things off with their unique brand of funk-rock) to last (Annie Lennox with her appropriately paradoxical “Walking On Broken Glass”, its upbeat melody belying lyrics that declare: “Everyone of us is made to suffer, everyone of us is made to weep ...”). For South African musos, it was gratifying as always to see local acts matching international stars for quality: Freshly Ground giving another consummate performance; Arno Carstens proving that he hasn’t gone all soft and smooth as a solo artist; Malaika doing their infectious Afro-pop thing; Goldfish demonstrating that jazz and club anthems make a surprisingly good combination; Just Jinjer returning to their pre-USA roots; even Danny K, showing that he actually can sing, teaming up with the Soweto Gospel Choir.  

But if you listened carefully in between the music – and, as far as I could tell, hardly anyone was – a sopping wet blanket loomed over the festivities.

One of the numerous video transmissions that were broadcast at regular intervals (while the high-tech revolving stage was being prepared for the next act) was a description of the work done by the African Women’s Development Fund (AWDF) to combat HIV. Co-founder Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi concluded her solemn speech to the camera by expressing her appreciation for the support of the 46664 project, which has contributed over $1,000,000 to the AWDF. But there was something else she said that made an oblique – and not entirely flattering – comment on the event.

Describing HIV/AIDS as “a feminised pandemic in Africa”, she emphasised that “African women are not sitting around waiting for politicians, aid agencies or international celebrities to help them. They are mobilising themselves and responding to the problem as best they can, often with very limited resources.”

This rather undermines the implicit assumption on which the 46664 concerts rest: that international celebrities can help and are helping women, men and children suffering because of HIV and AIDS. In doing so, Adeleye-Fayemi (perhaps unconsciously) raised some important questions. What does the 46664 campaign actually achieve? Are there limits to what it can achieve?

These were not questions that any of those attending 46664 Jo’burg were particularly concerned about – and it wasn’t simply because the sound glitches that dogged the concert also affected the AWDF video feed. It was, more obviously, because the people at Ellis Park stadium weren’t primarily interested in HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment; this may have been a consideration, certainly, but few would deny that they were there, first and foremost, for the music. I’m not suggesting that these are mutually exclusive interests, but let’s be candid about the tensions between them.

The response of the crowd to other video inserts also indicated that the goal of proselytising and creating awareness about the horrific reality of HIV/AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa was, at best, only partially attained. A moving mini-documentary hinged around the 46664 slogan, “It’s in our hands”, described the trials and tribulations that Nelson Mandela overcame and the post-apartheid successes he presided over. Juxtaposed with this narrative were facts and figures about the spread of the virus that threatens to undo his great achievements. The most notable reactions to the video, however, were prompted by visuals of Joel Stransky’s famous drop-goal and Sepp Blatter’s announcement that South Africa would host the soccer World Cup. Swept away by sporting patriotism, viewers seemed to ignore the numbers that accompanied these images – statistics demonstrating the exponential growth of HIV/AIDS over the last two decades.

That, really, is the chief aspect of the conscientising message pitched at the kind of people who were at the concert: a mostly young, mostly well-heeled, urban, multiracial demographic who might all too readily forget how bad things are “out there”. Yes, as we know, HIV doesn’t discriminate according to income or geographical location, but (Thabo Mbeki’s medical obscurantism notwithstanding) AIDS is in large measure a socio-economic phenomenon in South Africa.

When Alex Jay opened the concert by inverting an earlier 46664 request, “Give one minute of your life to stop AIDS”, to warn the audience, “Don’t give your life away to AIDS in one minute” – a message that was repeated by politicians and rockstars in different formulations throughout the day – he and his colleagues were, for the most part, preaching to the converted. As condom balloons drifted overhead and bizarre animated condom characters danced to the music on the big screen, the message that the crowd needed to hear was not “Wear a condom”, but “Everyone in this country has to deal with HIV/AIDS, including those who are unlikely to contract it”. I’m not sure that the repetition ad nauseam of the clichéd “It’s in our hands” (cue outstretched hand and sexy or suave pose, as applicable) was persuasive enough.

There were exceptions to the rule. Peter Gabriel’s stern countenance and his track record of music with a social conscience – before it was fashionable – lent a certain gravitas and dignity to his appeal to the crowd: “The rest is up to you.” Likewise, Annie Lennox’s outraged polemic against the barriers to treatment and her mantra (echoed in before-and-after visuals) that “Treatment works” were convincing. Johnny Clegg received the second warmest reception of the event when he dedicated his legendary song “Impi” to “the new fight”.

The loudest screams were, of course, reserved for Madiba himself. The elder statesman made a poignant appeal to balance “large programmes” with “small acts of kindness and caring”; but, when all was said and done, the crowd’s ceaseless cheering betrayed the fact that it was his presence and not his words that were really valued. (Lesser political figures weren’t quite so fortunate; earlier in the day, Deputy President Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka’s speech evoked taunts of “Shut up, let’s have a song!”)

It could be argued, of course, that the target market for the gospel of prevention was not the crowd at the venue but the wider, “trans-African” TV audience. There is some merit in this, although audio problems at the venue affected the TV broadcast and, by all accounts, SABC2 viewers saw more adverts than anything else. Moreover, it will remain a moot point as to how attentive rural South African and African audiences are to the exhortations of musicians they don’t recognise.

Despite these demurrals, 46664 remains a significant initiative for one reason: money. Whether through ticket sales, advertising revenue or sms campaigns, if 46664 raises cash to give to organisations such as the AWDF, it can only be a good thing – hopefully this will be true of London and Rio de Janeiro in 2008. But ultimately, as long as Ludacris is rapping about “hoes”, or Loyiso is singing alongside dancers mimicking a strip-show routine, the superstars of 46664 aren’t combating the sexualised, feminised pandemic that is HIV/AIDS. Instead, it’s left to women like Adeleye-Fayemi.