The targeted tourist
Chapter 5
The targeted tourist
The legal construction of fear
As of this moment we cannot predict the future of tourism. It is an industry especially sensitive to social disorder, because it relies on the unimpeded movement of large numbers of people who cluster in vulnerable places (airports, public spaces) and stand out in many circumstances, making them obvious targets.
(S.S. Fainstein, L.M. Hoffman and D.R. Judd, ‘Making Theoretical Sense of
Tourism’ in S.S. Fainstein et al. (eds) Cities and Visitors
(Malden. Blackwell, 2003, p. 250)
To deliver a safe and secure Games, in keeping with the Olympic culture and spirit.
(Home Office, UK, London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic
Safety and Security Strategy, July 2009)
In the first half of the book we investigated tourism as a just cause. In this half of the book we consider the possibility of tourism as transgression. As we have suggested, the notion of tourism as a noble pursuit was in part a response to the extent to which tourists did not consider the consequences of their behaviour on host communities, spaces and environments. Tourism as an aspect of leisure is, as Urry suggests,1 the opposite to work. Pleasure and not ethical or responsible behaviour is the goal that many tourists pursue. We have discussed in the first part of the book the degree to which that purpose of tourism has now been reconstructed.
Here, however, we wish to pursue the extent to which tourism is about transgression. In a sense, we ask the question whether transgression rather than any noble or just cause is the essence of tourism. ‘Escape’, ‘do what you want to do’, ‘explore and indulge’ are all terms that one connects with tourism marketing. These words seem to fit with a view of tourism that constructs it in terms of its excitement rather than its ethical behaviour. In understanding how legal discourse constructs tourism it appears to be of central importance to ourselves to explore the manner in which transgression defines the tourist and tourism.
In an age of uncertainty we are led to believe that we confront acts of transgression more frequently in the context of travel and tourism. Yet terrorism, as perhaps one of the most extreme forms of transgression, is hardly a new phenomenon in this context. What we have to consider is whether it is the fear of transgression that has increased, rather than the incidence. A related aspect of this discussion is the extent to which transgression – and therefore fear also – is a more central aspect of the tourist experience than we are prepared to accept. Legal discourse of course provides us with the notion of ‘risk’ and the extent to which modern society seems unprepared to accept risk might have more to do with the fears we construct around tourism than the reality of transgression. This may be the uncomfortable reality then – that transgression is the essence of tourism more than any notion of justice or ethical behaviour may be.
Tourism and injustice
The sense of documents such as the Global Code of Ethics discussed in earlier pages is that in some way tourism stands outside poverty, oppression and injustice. Thus, the notion that tourism can lead to tolerance, greater equity between the developed and underdeveloped nations and even world peace gains currency. In this understanding, tourism is a vehicle that can somehow be harnessed for good. It is not tourism per se that is often the problem, but rather how it is practised. Hence ethical codes will regulate that style of tourism away.
But there is another view of tourism that places it at the centre of the problem of injustice, instead of being its solution. This constructs tourism as part of the system of injustice and oppression. While tourism discourse – such as in the Global Code of Ethics – often speaks of the right to be a tourist, an alternative discourse poses the question of whether the act of being a tourist can be interpreted in itself as a political statement. The difference between the two discourses may be seen in the example of a country that commits breaches of international human-rights standards. In that instance the Global Code of Ethics might suggest that visiting that country is not ethical. But the alternative discourse would suggest that engaging in tourism in a country that is flouting human-rights standards is itself an act which lends support to that regime. The issue, then, is one of determining whether tourism is constructed as being in some circumstances an act that can support repression (tourism and repression) or whether it is essentially a repressive practice (tourism as repression).
Tourism and repression
One example of a ‘good tourist’s charter’ states: ‘Don’t go somewhere if you think that being a tourist there supports a repressive regime.’2 There are, of course, difficulties with this statement. One view of tourism is that its essence is one of escape – hence the concern that tourists will often engage in behaviour they would not engage in within their home country. Thus tourists may claim that the nature of a country’s political system has nothing to do with them. They are there to indulge in their fantasies, not embroil themselves in the politics of the host nation. In addition tourist behaviour that does not conform to local norms is often excused because the tourist does not understand the subtleties of local customs. In this approach it does not seem to make sense to hold a tourist from, say, the United States, responsible for supporting a repressive government through the mere act of visiting that country, when the tourist may know little about the policies of the country’s government.
But, on the other hand, we know that tourism brings important economic benefits to a country and that governments actively promote tourism as a consequence. These perceived economic gains also reap political rewards for governments as a healthy economy is usually linked to competent government. It is also the case that international tourism can bring legitimacy to a regime on the basis that a country which is attractive as a tourist destination can portray itself as generally desirable. Richter makes this point well in relation to the Philippines under the Marcos’ dictatorship:
Tourism which had fallen off dramatically in the period immediately before and after martial law, was quickly seized upon as a means to refurbish the Philippines’ and Marcos’s image. Tourism had not been a priority industry prior to martial law and had in fact done very poorly during the premartial law period of Marcos’s administration. That was not to be the only irony: the country, which only eight months earlier was reputedly seething with subversion and violence, declared tourism to be a priority industry eligible for a variety of tax incentives and customs concessions and had set up its first Department of Tourism [DOT] by 11 May 1973.3
In this context the tourists become mere pawns in the world of power politics. The aim is to profit from tourism – not just economically but also politically:
Tourists per se mattered less in the early years of martial law than did the publicity about tourism. The DOT launched an ambitious series of invitational visits to the Philippines for travel writers and tour operators, groups which could be depended upon not to bite the hand that fed them and who were not likely to be preoccupied with civil libertarian issues. In a friendly, beautiful country it was enough that the gun slingers were gone and no tanks patrolled the streets. To further the image of a peaceful, contented society, the DOT built a promotional campaign around the Philippine’s most important asset – a cheerful, hospitable people. The slogan “Where Asia Wears a Smile” was a particularly adroit choice for defusing criticism of life under the New Society.4
In more recent years there have been campaigns to discourage tourism to Burma in protest at their human-rights policies and ongoing house arrest of Opposition Leader Aung San Suu Kyi. When the Burmese Government designated 1996 as Visit Burma year, some campaigners asked tourists to not travel there.5 This carried with it the warning of a direct link between the act of being a tourist and consequences for people’s lives:
Derek Fatchett MP, Shadow Foreign Affairs Minister, said: “Burma stands condemned by the United Nations for its human rights abuses. The regime is clearly one of the worst in the world. The development of the tourist industry has been at a price to the local community which every decent person would regard as unacceptable. I would strongly urge tourists to think carefully before booking a holiday in Burma. The price of an exotic holiday could be someone else’s life.”6
Similarly, in 1999 Aung San Suu Kyi was quoted as having said:
I still think that people should not come to Burma because the bulk of the money from tourism goes straight into the pockets of the generals. And not only that, it is a form of moral support for them because it makes the military authorities think the international community is not opposed to the human rights violations they are committing all the time.7
Others argue that tourist visas to Burma maintain outside links and that provided it is done responsibly it can be a positive force in effecting change in the country.8 The move to encouraging tourism includes claims that Aung San Suu Kyi now supports travel and tourism to Burma, ‘should the result of the visit draw attention to the oppression of the people by the military junta’.9 In this context ‘responsibly’ means avoiding doing acts which enrich the ruling elite, for example through using banks for currency exchange where fees paid end up in the hands of the country’s rulers. One group suggests that to be a responsible tourist there is a need to offset the ‘social deficit’ created by the unavoidable fees paid to the government as a consequence of arriving there. As they note:
Remember that before you’ve set foot in Burma, your visa fees and airline taxes have already generated some revenue for the regime. All entrance fees at popular tourist sites will do the same. A responsible tourist should recognize this and always be thinking of ways to bring positive impacts to the communities they visit. Giving a donation to a local or international NGO will help further the efforts of people working to better the lives of the people of Burma. Volunteering time with such a group would be better yet, it would allow you to interact directly with people and the struggles they face. Giving money to beggars, especially children, isn’t a great idea. Better to buy them a meal or donate to a charity group involved with the homeless.
There are infinite ways to offset your “social deficit”. Be creative!10
One of the problems in making the decision to travel to places such as Burma is that the arguments in favour of such travel will be used to justify the visit, just as those who oppose travel will rely on the contrary arguments. Thus Simon Hudson found that the result of his survey of a group who had actually visited Burma indicated that ‘the majority seemed in favor of citizen diplomacy as a means of fighting against the repressive regime versus a tourism boycott’.11 He acknowledged that surveying only those who had visited was a limitation of the study, but he also noted that this might also be explained ‘because they are unconcerned or ill informed about the socio-cultural impacts of tourism.’12 As he was surveying students Hudson also suggested that this might be explained by reference to the greater focus given to environmental issues in tourism literature and the resultant awareness of those matters amongst students as compared with the lesser focus placed on the social impacts of tourism.13 His conclusion on this point is that ‘[p] erhaps, there is a need for curriculums to integrate more social and economic ethical dilemmas’.14 What this might also suggest is that more generally amongst the tourist population there is an acceptance that environmental impacts will affect both rich and poor alike, and so threaten directly the income earning capacity of the tourism industry. The social impacts of tourism – particularly when the consequences will fall on residents of another country that one will be leaving – do not directly affect the tourist. This may explain why tourism studies curricula and its literature place the emphasis on the former area rather than the social impacts of tourism. This then creates a discourse that guides us towards certain areas of concern and away from others. In this way behaviour is affected with respect to the extent to which tourism is regarded as being supportive of repression.
Tourism as repression
Whether or not particular boycotts of destinations are justified, the example of Burma illustrates a particular construction of tourism which takes it beyond that as simply being an act which may or may not support repression. There is also the view here that the act of tourism is essentially political and automatically plays a part in either repression or liberation. Thus the tourist that travels to Burma and does not act responsibly may well pay the price of somebody’s life. ‘Being a truly responsible tourist means exercising great discretion at all times. The visitor must be vigilant to avoid creating negative impacts whenever possible and engage in activities that will have a positive impact.’15
Some may argue that a tourist who visits a country with a repressive government is quite a different character from a tourist who visits a country in order to engage in repression. In the case of the former, the tourist may claim ignorance as far as local politics are concerned. The latter has less legitimacy with respect to the claim of being ‘only a tourist’. But this distinction is not necessarily so clear when one considers the construction of tourism as repression. Underlying this approach to understanding tourism is the question whether tourism is of its essence repressive in various ways and the extent to which human rights are so universally recognised that it is difficult for tourists to claim ignorance with respect to their tacit support for repressive governments. And beyond this, is ignorance relevant at all? If the tourist who acts without regard to the consequences of their behaviour affects negatively the lives of others, then have not their actions been repressive?
Crick maps at length the connection between international tourism and repression in a way that indicates a patchwork of connected acts:
In the West Indies, as in other areas, national tourism authorities launched “courtesy campaigns” in which citizens were instructed how to be civil to tourists, and beggars were swept out of sight. International tourism requires, above all, peace and stability. Governments may therefore crack down on the local people in order not to upset a growing tourism industry, suppressing signs of civil disorder and of animosity towards tourists themselves. The argument is sometimes put that the tourism industry tends to support right-wing regimes. Conrad Hilton is famous for his remark that “each of our hotels is a little America.” He added: “We are doing our bit to spread world peace, and to fight socialism.” For the Philippines, L. Richter has shown how the rapid development of tourism facilities after the imposition of martial law by President Marcos in 1972 acted as a message to the international community that life was normal in that country. The World Bank Conference of 1978 was held in Manila. In 1976 12% of the funds of the Philippines Development Bank was devoted to financing hotel room construction, resulting in windfall commissions for those with political influence. This level of expenditure on hotels was 40 times that on public housing. At that time crimes against tourists carried more severe punishments than those against locals, and journalists criticizing tourism risked dismissal. Fortunes were made by Marcos supporters in charge of the implementation of tourism policy. Governments sometimes use rough tactics against their own people to safeguard tourism. In Indonesia, for instance, when the government decided to create tourist facilities around the Borobodur Temple, there was much local protest at the sacrilege this involved. Local people were simply moved away and rehoused: then land values skyrocketed. In countries like Australia and the United States, tourism has become a force for internal colonialism as peoples of the so-called Fourth World (e.g. Australian Aboriginal groups and American Indian communities) are represented as tourist attractions. In 1962, for instance, an Australian tourist advisor suggested the removal of a group of Aborigines to a reserve half a day’s drive from Adelaide to function as a tourist spectacle.16
The notion of ‘internal colonialism’ is most pertinent to our discussion as it helps to explain the process by which those who might be defined as repressed themselves fail to see the nature of their repression. Thus in the case of indigenous peoples the idea that their culture can be packaged for tourism seems to be appropriate for many indigenous people themselves – of course the economic benefits can sweeten this process. But the danger is that as with most forms of colonisation what occurs is the division of the colonised. On the one side are those who ‘go along’ with the oppressor and adopt the colonising power’s values and perspectives. On the other side are those who resist the colonial power and refuse to give up their culture into a different value system.
If tourism does inevitably involve a degree of repression as part of the nature of tourism then we must question whether the tourist can simply ‘opt out’ of responsibility when governments harness tourism for its benefits. In this context the nature of government may have little to do with the manner in which being a tourist becomes political. Debates surrounding the manner in which ‘seedy’ activities can be tourist attractions – for example, the local sex industry – show how government direction can be ambiguous. On the one hand, governments license, regulate and tax such activities. But it is also the case that government policy can be ostensibly opposed or indifferent to the promotion of such activities as part of the image of the country, states, or cities.
It is then the act of being a tourist which becomes the political statement, not the manner in which being a tourist directly or indirectly supports repressive regimes. Of course, there will be instances where tourism is incorporated in to government policy and repressive government occurs as a consequence. This is Crick’s argument. In such cases tourism as repression leads to repressive government when government institutionalises the values and norms of those who might be described as the ‘profit-makers’ from tourism. Perhaps this is simply a convergence of the repressive essence of tourism with government that supports that understanding of tourism.
The role of international law
In many cases particularly repressive regimes will be identified in the media and so many tourists will have some sense of countries to which visiting might be considered to be a political act. Of course, such categorisation of countries is itself political. Thus allies of the tourist’s host country might be represented as appropriate destinations and any human-rights violations played down while tourism to enemy countries might be discouraged through greater emphasis on their human-rights record.
The evaluation of a country’s policy or behaviour with respect to human rights does rely heavily on accepted international standards. The universal acceptance of these standards does make it somewhat difficult for tourists to claim that a simple act of tourism cannot easily be defined to be supporting acts of repression at least inasmuch as repression can be said to be culturally defined.
Thus acts which infringe the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, International Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women, International Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination and the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child are so widely accepted that once facts are known to a tourist which indicate that a country does not comply with these international laws then such a person who travels to that country must have some trouble in justifying their tourism in terms of ambiguity as to what is acceptable around the world.
Of course, what is more difficult is to determine at what point breaches of these international norms renders tourism ‘inappropriate’ and thus turns any form of tourism into a political statement of support for that government’s regime.
A simple example to illustrate the point is the case of apartheid in South Africa. During the time when that was official policy in that country the international community was so widely opposed to apartheid that it was made very clear that dealing with South Africa for trade or sporting purposes would always raise the question as to whether this amounted to tacit support for the regime. Thus the International Convention on Apartheid in Sport sought to prohibit sporting contact with any country which practised apartheid.17 Countries which subscribed to this Convention also agreed not to finance sporting bodies or individuals which had sporting contact with countries which practised apartheid18 and to penalise teams and individuals which did.19 Parties to the Convention also agreed to refuse visas to persons who had participated in sporting events in South Africa.20
Clearly this limits the potential for ‘sport tourism’ but it also conveys a sense that a regime which is based on apartheid does not have the support of the international community and should be shunned. Of course, this Convention did not prevent tourism to South Africa. But it is clearly more difficult for a tourist to say that he or she was not aware of the human-rights position in such cases and so the potential for the act to be seen as some form of political support for the regime. More difficult is the situation where the act of tourism occurs in a country which breaches human rights but where that knowledge is not widely circulated. For example, if one considers the full range of rights expressed in the various human-rights instruments noted above and if one considers these to be fundamental (as they are), then there will be many countries which might be considered to be in breach of at least some of them. Should tourists visit such countries? Or should governments limit travel to such countries by its nationals?
This last question is problematic as it is also a fundamental human right that persons have free movement.21 Thus it is difficult for a government to prevent travel without also breaching human rights. However, this may not prevent a country deterring travel to certain countries by, for example, prohibiting direct flights. But this leaves the issue of the individual responsibility of the tourist. One might thus have to question the responsibility of the state to inform tourists of the human-rights situations in other countries and to suggest that such matters form part of their decision-making process when deciding on a tourist destination.
That legal discourse often lets the matter rest with ‘individual choice’ should come as no surprise when so much of the law is grounded in support of a free market. Even the Global Code of Ethics has been identified as rooted in that ideology.22 The more important point is that the law tends to construct the matter around notions that whether or not a tourist supports a repressive regime by travelling to a country will be ultimately a matter of judgement for the traveller. What is entirely missing from this discourse is the notion that the act of being a tourist can be in itself repressive.
The notion of tourism as repression usually involves issues of travellers importing into the host country their worldview. Thus, it is an entirely different question to whether one should travel to a country with a poor human-rights record. This construction of tourism is the reverse, as it asks whether a person should travel to another country and impose their culture, politics or ideologies on the hosts. It is difficult for a legal system to regard its own country as based on unsound ideological principles. Thus one can see how this notion of tourism will have little legal discourse surrounding it from the ‘sending’ nation.
Tourists as targets and the ‘war against terror’
But one can see in this understanding of tourism how tourists can become targets for those in host countries who resent the values and ideas that tourists from elsewhere bring with them. Frey Higgins-Desbiolles explains it in the context of the ‘wretched and the rich’ meeting in now ‘hostile meeting grounds’:23
Are the marginalised and the poor realising the hollowness of the promises of development that emanate from both tourism and globalisation as they jostle with the privileged on the playgrounds of tourism and the battlegrounds of terrorism?24
Higgins-Desbiolles, recognises the manner in which the attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001 and then more particularly the Bali bombing in 2002 led to the war on terrorism being recast as a war on tourism.25 She also refers to the evolution of the principle of the ‘right to travel’ and it becoming embedded in various international documents on tourism together with a corresponding responsibility to engage in ethical tourism.26 These are points that we have already canvassed in preceding chapters and represent the divide between the pleasure-seeking tourist, on the one hand, and the ‘exalted tourist’ – as we have styled it – on the other. The latter notion of tourism suggests that it can be practised in a manner which reduces poverty and injustice and contributes to development in a sustainable manner. Higgins-Desbiolles is ultimately optimistic about the direction tourism can take, albeit there is a choice to be made: