Poverty Tourism: Why It's Not as Ugly as It Sounds

Poverty Tourism: Why It's Not as Ugly as It Sounds

Last week I read The Case Against Sharing, a post on Medium that called Airbnb, Lyft and similar services “big sharing.” The sentence immediately raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

It's dripping with cynicism, taking something really, really beautiful and reducing it to something soulless: a corporate vehicle that exists solely to create money. “Big sharing” besmirches the phenomenon of real sharing.

It implies that it is not so much a phenomenon as a board strategy assembled with the sole purpose of commodifying the individual. To me it shows how powerful an ugly term can be and how instinctive our reaction to it is.

That brought me to another equally ugly term: poverty tourism.

“Poverty tourism”, “slum tourism” or “poorism” conjure up images of privileged children who, despite their best intentions, do more harm than good – as former voluntourist Pippa Biddle captures so succinctly in this article.

The terms bring to mind images of rich tourists cheerfully climbing into their SUVs to spend a day staring at the toothless locals, all in all just a few notches above that terrible Vogue India photoshoot a few years ago.

But here's the thing: I don't think poverty tourism is bad. I believe that in most cases it leads to understanding, empathy and a sense of perspective rarely gained in the developed world.

I say this because I would be a different person now if I hadn't spent a month in Bangladesh when I was 13. I would be more attached to the things I bought with money, I would spend more time dwelling on my problems, and I most likely wouldn't have quit my job to backpack across the Pacific.

I certainly wouldn't donate as much to amazing nonprofits like Watsi or use them to help other people. I think it's safe to say that my experience at 13 helped me a lot and, to a lesser extent, helped others.

Most people I know who have seen extreme poverty can remember a single moment that drove it all home. For me, it was watching one of the village children - a child with whom I had swum, played and laughed - rummaging through one of our garbage bags and pulling out two crusts of bread.

We fed the local children whenever we could, and from that point on we also started burying our toiletries in the ground so that they would no longer be pushed around with the leftover food that was later brought out.

Maybe my experience wasn't "tourism" per se as I stayed with my family in my father's childhood village, but the lessons I learned can be learned in many other places by many other people.

I don't think you can get a nuanced experience from a jeep tour of the slums of Mumbai or a guided walk through the favelas of Rio, but if you really take the time to interact with locals and learn about their lives, then that's "poverty tourism." “ – as ugly as it sounds – can enrich your life and that of others.

Personally, I'm most looking forward to meeting people who are different than me. You see, there was a time—a very long time, in fact—that the only middle-class people I interacted with were my teachers at school.

From ages 4 to 18, almost everyone I spoke to was working class. Now the tables have completely turned. All my friends and almost everyone I talk to on a daily basis are educated and middle class.

Most of them are very knowledgeable and deeply interesting, but we all worry about the same things, are outraged by the same things, and are encouraged by the same things.

I want to meet people who live different lives, who change my perspective and maybe I change theirs. If that means spending time in a slum or favela, then I will do that. It will probably change me completely again - but that's the amazing thing about traveling.

Mission statement: Atlas & Boots

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