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VACATION "Some
day I'm going to walk up to a white woman with a baby in her grocery
cart and cry, "What a darling
little white child! Is he a full-blood? May I take his picture? Could
you stand over by the Wonder Bread, please--my Hopi friends will just
die when they see this! * * * The Vacation
is no mere scrap of time wedged between onerous tasks; it is the oasis
at the end of work. The standard two weeks, barely enough to decompress
from habit, is so stretched and filled that it is frequently found to
be exhausting: I need a vacation to recover from my vacation! Vacations are
often solitary, shared by the smallest social groupings: family, occasionally
a few friends. This is only partly because of cost: it also reflects
the importance of getting away for those who feel trapped at
work or home. The ability to cast off the standard roles, duties and
surroundings is the core of the experience. The false good cheer of
the tour group, both guide and charges, is not to be mistaken for any
genuine social contact. Transience and shallowness mark most such encounters
with one's fellow tourists, and they are in far closer proximity—more
understandable—than those who inhabit the landscape through which
the tourist journeys. By dress, money,
mobility and behavior the tourist distinguishes itself. Norms of behavior
from home are discarded, or at least modified, while none of the quaint
indigenous customs are respected, let alone adopted. The sight of the
tourist calmly walking uninvited into people's houses and ceremonial
centers is common: such behavior would not be considered appropriate
at home, wherever that may be. The tourist
pays out of the pocket for the often unpleasant treatment meted out
to him/her. The cost of the infrastructure is often paid by government
bodies of one sort or another (airports, roads, electricity, etc.).
Private capital creates enormous islands--a mobile and cushioned gulag--dedicated
to separating visitors from their money. There are many resort-destinations,
which are often literal fortresses in the midst of intense poverty.
Even the wealthy North American landscape is dotted with facilities
catering exclusively to those outside the community, ranging from small
tourist malls and parks to whole cities such as Las Vegas and Atlantic
City. The consequences of this for the people in the area are rarely
given more than lip service; they are expected to be grateful for the
jobs. The hidden costs: sewage and garbage, traffic, etc. are borne
entirely by the locals. Examples of
environmental despoliation are found around the globe. In a recent issue
of Appen Features (2) there were articles illustrating environmental
damage from resorts & tourists in Palawan (a unique island in the
Philippines), the Antarctic. In China, the government's proclivity for
giving pandas as political gifts--in this case to a Taiwan zoo--threatens
the survival of these endangered animals by shrinking the available
gene pool. Antarctica is threatened by commercial package tours (in
addition to problems with scientific stations), which bring about 3,000
visitors to the continent yearly; they do not dispose of non-biodegradable
waste in compliance with treaties covering the Antarctic. The Institute
of Political Ecology of Chile now advocates the suspension of such commercial
tours because this land of eternal ice and snow is being dangerously
contaminated. The damages
of the tourist industry go beyond the obvious ones of ecological contamination
and forcing people into a servant relationship. The effects are magnified
in cultural (or anthropological) and green tourism because of
their attraction to those areas that are the least spoiled. The
tourist despoils what it most values. Sometimes deliberately (insisting
on western accommodations) and sometimes unintentionally (as
when government and private planners treat the indigenous people as
objects of a development plan). There are hidden problems, as Peter
Goering (3) shows: The tourist economy is centered around Leh [a small
Indian city near the Chinese and Pakistani borders], and very little
of the economic benefit of tourism accrues to the more than 90 percent
of Ladakhis who live outside of this area. Within Leh the handful of
Ladakhis who own large hotels benefit disproportionately. The problem
goes beyond an uneven distribution of the benefits, however. Those not
participating can become economically worse off simply by continuing
to live as they always have. The reciprocal relations of mutual aid
are broken down by the extension of the monetary economy, and tourists'
demands for scarce resources drive up the price of local goods. For example,
in the past villagers commonly shared pack animals in informal exchange
relations. Now, during the tourist season, animals are no longer available
to a neighbor in need: they are frequently off in the hills carrying
tourists' luggage. Social problems
such as theft are increased by the disparaging--and painful--comparison
that is made with foreign cultures: it comes to be valued by at least
some of the young as better than their parents' culture, which is often
seen as ignorant, backwards, the object of amusement by sophisticated
people; indeed, the customs the tourists come to see are perceived as
the cause of backwardness. Emulation of the rich outside world
further opens the village to the dollar, as well as exacerbating environmental
problems. The village, disunited and increasingly out of step with a
now damaged environment, often changes even more, and not for the better.
Carried far enough this becomes a dissolution so complete it scares
away even the tourists; the area survives in a ghastly imitation of
foreign life. The Club Med's slogan, The Antidote for Civilization,is
cruelly ironic. Of course,
the objects of attention become damaged as well--whether we speak of
objects such as Lascaux's frescoes, or of peoples' practices which are
driven underground or altered (for instance, performing seasonal rituals
at the wrong time of year for the tourists). Often tourists are presented
with empty rituals, which they mistake for reality, and villages contaminated
by foreign elements, which they reject as being unrealistic (i.e.
not like the pictures & descriptions). The vacation
is a token of both leisure and wealth: the more money you've got, the
farther you can go from everyday life. Tastes differ; some prefer the
pristine (but not for long) mountain fastness, others tour the Antarctic
or swim with whales, etc. Some prefer to emulate the apparent leisure
of the fabulously wealthy: the Club Med type vacation where one escapes
from the sordid reality of work and the daily exchange of money, and
where one has plenty of people to boss around while doing nothing useful.
Time is the major constraint; money is secondary. Tourists are
usually passive: they aren't themselves a part of the surroundings,
and are shown objects and spectacles devoid of any meaningful content.
Given the pack-like nature of many tourist activities, as well as the
ubiquitous telephone, escaping from the rat race becomes impossible:
they bring it with them. Organized leisure is the rule of the day: the
only choices are already determined, and are almost always reassuringly
familiar. Impelled by the need to have a good time--fast--in a narrow
social space, the tourist leaves unsatisfied: ready for more, but not
at the same place. Escape from
responsibility and everyday drudgery is guaranteed: the ultimate promise
remains a mirage. —P.M.
1) Cultural
Survival Quarterly #14(1). 2) Appen
Features, Asia-Pacific People's Environment Network, releases 37/38,
38/39, and 1/90. Contact: c/o Sahabat Alam Malaysia, 43, Salween Road,
Penang Malaysia. 3) Cultural
Survival Quarterly 14(1), pg 20.
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