Regenerative Tourism: Myth and Reality
luxury eco-breaks are great if you can afford them ... but spare us the sermons !
it’s the latest thing
‘Regenerative’ is the latest ethical prefix to accompany ‘tourism’, following a well-worn path from eco, sustainable, green, community, responsible etc. It has been defined as tourism that develops within local environmental limits, and plays a role not only in conserving or minimising impacts, but in improving, or regenerating, the environment in some way. In academic journals, eco-advocacy and high-end branding, being ‘regenerative’ is presented as a way of cleaning up the much-maligned mass tourism.
from regenerative agriculture to regenerative tourism
To understand regenerative tourism, it is instructive to start with regenerative agriculture, a related idea with a longer history and a clearer set of claims. Regenerative agriculture seeks to restore, renew and revitalise local ecosystems. For its advocates, it can involve a combination of: soil improvement (countering degradation of soil caused by over-farming, through, for example, ‘no till’ agriculture); protecting local ecosystems and biodiversity (farming in such a way as to encourage and regenerate biodiversity within an area); the sequestering of carbon; recycling farm waste, and; planting to mitigate flood risk. Philosophically, it advocates for less human intervention informed by science and more working with local natural processes and within both locally and globally defined natural limits.
It is associated with organic farming - farming that eschews the use of chemical fertilizers and seeks to pull back from other human interventions into natural processes. But it also goes beyond this. Whereas organic agriculture seeks to preserve soil and environmental quality, regenerative agriculture seeks to regenerate environments. This means improving on what we currently have, which in turn is often based on the notion that agriculture - how we produce the food we want and need – has already gone beyond the capacity of local ecosystems, and indeed the planet. This claim to be ‘regenerative’ underpins the view that this – in agriculture or tourism - is a new paradigm, and an advance on sustainable development.
The ecosystems that regenerative agriculture seeks to regenerate are simultaneously often beautiful places that people love to visit, so the link from agriculture through to tourism is clear. Many tourism ‘products’ involve enjoying natural heritage, outdoor adventure, the beauty of the countryside and fine locally produced food. Regenerative tourism is tourism that leaves the destination regenerated – implying better than before. For its advocates, regenerative tourism is also associated with lots of nice sounding things such as sustainability, inclusivity and community. It is the ‘mom’s apple pie’ of tourism – who could possibly object ?
Academics and NGOs have adopted regenerative tourism as the latest in a long line of ethical alternatives to a mass tourism industry often associated with destruction of environments and diminution of cultures. Currently angst over ‘overtourism’, a newish term often synonymous with mass tourism, runs parallel to deference to ‘regenerative tourism’ in contemporary discussions of tourism’s future.
as policy
Especially given the breath of what passes as regenerative tourism, it offers policy choices to rural communities. So for example, regions attract tourism through association with distinctive, quality, locally sourced cuisine. Tourists love great food, and enjoy taking an interest in where it comes from. Whether it is through an understanding of the food’s provenance, a playful romanticism, or simply enjoying a great meal, why not indulge ? Such tourism can be developed with local food production systems in mind – the planning of tourism can be integrated with policy for conservation and environmental management.
Agritourism is a growing area relevant to the regenerative outlook. This can involve people taking time out from the city to enjoy a ‘slow’ experience, linked to locally produced food, to tradition and to the pleasures of the countryside. Many such holidays that attract the tag ‘regenerative tourism’ look wonderful. Developing tourism on these lines can be at one with the democratically expressed desires of rural populations, which often involve attracting some economic activity to bring jobs and life back to local communities.
as philosophy
But regenerative tourism, as with agriculture, is not simply a set of policy options. It is commonly promoted as a development philosophy, and an ethical counter to problems associated with mass tourism. On both counts it should be criticised.
In the case of regenerative agriculture, this approach to farming does not and cannot function as agriculture in general. It can be criticised in terms of its scalability, profitability, vague terminology, labour intensivity and low yield.
Seemingly oblivious to its limitations, advocates for regenerative agriculture often present their alternative as more ‘holistic’ or a ‘living system’ approach. It is advocated as a new progressive paradigm, even a radical new awakening for the industry. By contrast, modern agriculture is presented as involving the destruction of indigenous cultures and ecosystems.
So too with tourism. For example, for Dianne Dredge, regenerative tourism is nothing short of a ‘huge transformational shift in our social-ecological consciousness’, and an ‘ontological shift in the way we understand, approach and act with respect to travel and tourism’. It is worth quoting Dredge at length as she spells out the ideological character of regenerative tourism.
In this holistic view, humans and nature are not separate categories, but instead, they are connected and intertwined. This view can be traced back to rich historical threads of indigenous wisdom (Nelson and Shilling, 2021). It also exists in literature exploring the separation between nature and humans that has been propagated by scientific thinking and accelerated under capitalism. Put simply, this separation between humans and nature has empowered the current paradigm that humans dominate nature and that nature's role is to provide free resources for economic wealth creation. But the scale, size and depth of environmental crises currently unfolding across the planet suggest that nature is pushing back. A paradigm shift is underway.
For Dredge, modern, mass society, with its human exceptionalism and scientific thinking, is the problem. Nature is pushing back against our hubris. Regeneration is presented as a grand moral project to rebalance our relationship with the natural world.
Michelle Holliday’s The Age of Thrivability: Vital Perspectives and Practices for a Better World reflects a similar regenerative philosophy. She argues that society was guided by a ‘machine story’. Earthchangers, advocates for regenerative tourism, see her ‘machine story’ applied to tourism as akin to a ‘conveyer belt of people, often driven by national governments and tourist boards’.
This characterisation of industrial development – development that has brought great advances and liberation for people – as a ‘machine story’, a conveyor belt of passive consumers, serves to write off economic progress wholesale. In fact, the ‘machine story’ is a human story involving human ingenuity, struggle and the striving for a better life.
Regenerative tourism draws from a broad critique of ‘western’ culture and science. In a recent review of regenerative tourism Bellato, Frantzeskaki and Nygaard claim ‘conceptual origin from pre-Enlightenment worldviews that support living in connection with nature to the distinct separation of humans with nature following the scientific revolution’. Following in this vein, regenerative tourism has been associated with ‘non-western world views’ and with a ‘healing’ approach to the planet.
The critique of so called ‘western’ thinking leads to a deference to conceptions of indigenous knowledge such as Māori ideas of guardianship, and the Bhutanese idea of ‘happiness’ (something of a modern myth itself). The implication here is that science and its application through modern development has proved damaging to co-evolved and symbiotic natural environments and indigenous traditions. To protect the former, you must defend the latter – and vice versa - from the threat of modernity. In this way culture is tied to nature, limiting the capacity for agency and change.
This relativises knowledge into ‘ours’ and ‘theirs’ and naturalises differences between societies in cultural terms. In fact many proud Māoris work in modern industries utilising technology based on the latest ‘western’ science, as one would expect in a developed society such as New Zealand, and Bhutan’s ‘happiness’ philosophy has not stood in the way of the rapid growth of TV, internet and high growth levels. Individuals sharing a common cultural background have a diversity of views on what development should like. Rural and indigenous cultures – often referenced in accounts to justify the need to regenerate – are not set in stone.
One way of considering the validity of claims made for regenerative thinking is to invoke Kant’s categorical imperative – to consider the morality of an action on the basis of the outcome were it to become the norm throughout society.
Looked at in this way, the moral case for regenerative agriculture is non-existent. If it were to be adopted as a principle, across society, mass starvation would be the result.
By contrast, the legacy that regenerative agriculture stands in contrast to is a good, and moral, one. Advances in agricultural methods over the last 250 years confounded the fears of Thomas Malthus that growing populations would be unable to feed themselves due to natural limits. Burgeoning populations are today better fed and more ‘food secure’ than in the past. The reason for this is the advance of human intervention, informed by modern science, into nature.
Something similar – albeit less devastating - applies to tourism. If all holidays were to follow the regenerative model, very few of us would be able to afford one, and even if we could, the supply would be so limited as to preclude almost all of us from buying one !
the regeneration game
Regenerative tourism is associated by some with an act of anti-colonial radicalism. This is perverse. The examples of regenerative tourism cited by academics making these claims in almost every case involve high-cost exclusive tourism products. Like most consumer activism, it is ‘radicalism’ for the rich.
For example, Bellato cites the Playa Viva resort in Mexico as an example of regenerative tourism. Playa Viva is, according to its advertising, ‘[a] unique Eco Luxury destination’ built on a 200 acre former coconut plantation, where ‘[y]ou and your loved ones will enjoy the rugged, unspoiled beauty of Mexico in the guilt-free luxury of an environmentally conscious resort dedicated to sustainability and regenerative practices’. Treats include fine dining, luxury rooms, yoga, a luxury tree house, sea views and volunteering at the turtle sanctuary. You can ‘experience the bounty of the local ecosystem while helping it to thrive’.
It was designed ‘in collaboration with village Elders, [and] the team explored how the unique living systems of that place had previously worked harmoniously and searched for opportunities to create interventions that restore ecosystem services and improve their social-ecological capacity.’ Buildings were constructed ‘using technologies that harmonise with the local environment, regenerating local plant and animal life, supporting local socio-economic development and providing transformative experiences for guests’
As you might imagine, it’s not cheap.
It is, though, typical - most regenerative products turn out to be luxury high end eco breaks, well beyond the means of almost everyone on the planet. Regenerative travel companies will sell you a break on your own Cambodian private island. Or you might prefer to enjoy an artisanal chocolate platter made with locally produced organic cocoa beans, brought to you by a private butler, at Jade Mountain, St Lucia.
Now as I’ve argued elsewhere, luxury is no bad thing. I’d quite like my own private paradise. But to promote expensive eco-holidays – great if you can afford them - as some sort of moral lesson that all tourism should emulate and that the majority of tourists would do well to learn, is fantastical. More bizarre still is to consider being waited on hand and foot in a luxury tree house as as part of some sort of anti-colonial politics. Yet something close to this shapes some of the discussion of development and tourism’s future in the pages of journals, magazines and regenerative tourism advocacy.
So we would do well to demystify regenerative tourism. It can involve great products for tourists, and it can be, in its place, a good option - rural areas may choose low volume tourism, promote ‘farm-to-fork’ dining and idyllic retreats in line with democratically chosen development priorities.
But when presented as a principle for all tourism, and as a counter to mass tourism, it follows a well-worn anti-tourism path that treats host communities and their culture as set in stone, rejects the positive legacy of modernity (I would guess most patrons of regenerative tourism made their money in very ‘modern’ ways!) and is served up with a side order of misanthropy aimed at all the non-regenerative tourists. This turns the pleasure of choosing a holiday into a performative moral game that only the rich can play.
Regenerative tourism’s assumed moral superiority over mass tourism is wholly undeserved.
(there is also a short version of this essay on The “Good Tourism” Blog)