Ethical travel tips: How to avoid cultural appropriation when travelling

Travel exposes us to new cultures and experiences, but when does appreciation become appropriation? Photo / Getty Images

Several months ago, I was scrolling through my Instagram newsfeed when I saw something that took me aback.

It was a seemingly innocuous image of tipis, courtesy of a relatively new glamping getaway in the North Island. It looked beautiful and I envisioned spending a serene night there, under the stars — but as a Canadian, it also made me do a double-take.

I’d seen a similar image before: two years ago, Elkhorn Resort Spa in Manitoba faced nationwide backlash in Canada after it announced it was going to have two tipis available for rental.

The reason for the controversy? The owners of the resort aren’t indigenous. By renting out tipis, they’d be profiting off First Nations’ culture.

It was the very definition of cultural appropriation: when a dominant group of people adopt the customs, practices and ideas of another group of people, often for profit, and usually without permission or even acknowledgement. (For its part, Elkhorn had acknowledged the cultural roots of tipis but later retracted its plans and offered a formal apology.)

We usually hear about cultural appropriation within the context of fashion or art, not hospitality. But examples of the practice run rife in the tourism industry, from Hawaiian-inspired spa rituals and opportunities to dress up in traditional costumes to, yes, tipi glampsites. And who can forget when a Princess Cruises boat docked in Tauranga in 2019 — its Pākehā crew in grass skirts and painted faces attempted to perform a pōwhiri.

At its best, travel is meant to celebrate cultural differences — but figuring out what’s “appropriation” and what’s “appreciation” can feel impossible at times. Is it okay to get cornrows in Jamaica? Buy a sombrero in Mexico? Get a tribal tattoo in Thailand? Take a yoga class in India? Attend a healing ceremony in Peru?

“Appropriation suggests theft and a process analogous to the seizure of land or artefacts. In the case of culture, however, what is called appropriation is not theft but messy interaction,” wrote New York Times columnist Kenan Malik in 2017 in his essay in defence of cultural appropriation. “Nobody owns a culture, but everyone inhabits one, and in inhabiting a culture, one finds the tools for reaching out to other cultures.”

This process gets even more complicated when you’re visiting a destination — especially one that’s steeped in multiculturalism — where it can be difficult to know the exact origins or context of practices.

“While we provide a great deal of information so that our customers will have an accurate understanding of the history and culture, we find that due to their short exposure, their understanding of it remains shallow and confused,” says Rod Walters, owner of Shikoku Tours, a Japan-based tour operator. “But they don’t care and nor do we. That’s because they’re here for a holiday and not for a woke political re-education.”

I don’t necessarily agree with Walters that travellers shouldn’t care. But I do agree that it’s okay to make mistakes. Ultimately, it’s up to the tourism industry to do the heavy lifting, including ensuring traditional custodians of the land and culture are consulted, acknowledged and, where appropriate, compensated. And it’s up to us as travellers to support the companies that make the efforts to do so.

Maybe the conversation shouldn’t be about what should be stopped for being appropriation but refocused on what should be celebrated for being true cultural appreciation. By focusing on our own history, art and architecture, we ensure practices aren’t lost to future generations.

This is true around the world. Sue Badyari, chief executive of World Expeditions Travel Group, says that in some countries where the operator runs tours, younger generations are increasingly embracing Western values as “the pin-up” rather than celebrating their own culture.

“If [people] continue to lean into Western values, over many future generations, we run the real risk of becoming a monoculture,” says Badyari. “Instead, we — travel companies and our travellers collectively — need to be part of the solution to encourage cultural pride and its preservation.”

So, back to those tipis. Am I saying we shouldn’t be staying in them? Not necessarily. But I will leave you with an exercise.

I want you to imagine you’re travelling through the United States when you happen upon a glossy glampsite that charges hundreds of dollars a night. Owned by an American Pākehā, the accommodation is in a building that looks identical to a wharenui, complete with a carved figure on the rooftop. Guests can even choose to add on a platter of food that’s been cooked in an underground oven. But nowhere is there a mention of the origins of the architecture, art or practices seen on the property.

Would you spend the night?