Chinese Premier Li Keqiang & Ethiopian Premier Hailemariam Desalegn. Elias Asmare/AP/Press Association. All rights reserved.The London-based Telegraph newspaper carried a story in June 2016 by a British student in Africa, who painted her life there as one of trauma and insecurity. Initially capturing the attention of readers, it was soon withdrawn due to an alarming realisation: it turned out to be a grossly inaccurate misrepresentation of present-day Zambia. Even had there been any degree of truth to this account, the fundamental problems with presentation and underlying value statements rendered the story little more than an embellished fable. It was, put simply, deeply patronising, treating Africa like some backdrop in a concocted drama to satisfy a visiting fantasist.
Despite the extremity of this case, it does raise an important issue: how to write about 'the other'? What sort of options are available now, in the twilight of post-modernity? And the question is less about some transcendent 'other' than straighforwardly about other people from the same genetic coding who happen to live in different cultures, speak different languages, hold different faiths, and live in a different way.
This is not just an academic question. Far from it. One of the many side-effects of globalisation is that it has resulted in a world of otherness being easier to access, and yet also becoming noticeably more disjointed and fragmented. Globalisation is still accompanied by an imperative to universalise and create common standards to fit our understanding within. And yet every day we see clashes between Muslim and Christian, believer and atheist, Asian, African and Caucasian, suggesting that far from becoming more similar, we feel increasingly different. The principal problem remains: how do we find a universal language which is true to analytical categories, and can be used to guide comprehension and understanding, whilst not being interpreted as hegemonistic and therefore inadmissible for some audiences?
