Dark tourism’s ethical paradox: commodifying trauma while erasing Indigenous custodianship and historical justice
Original framing: “Halloween meets history in many ghostly tourism attractions. Is this a problem?” — The Conversation - Global
Indigenous knowledge systems treat land, memory, and trauma as *living* relationships, not static relics for consumption. For example, the Wampanoag people of Plymouth, Massachusetts, have repeatedly condemned the 'Pilgrim Village' attraction for exploiting their ancestors’ suffering without consultation or reparations. The absence of Indigenous-led narratives in these spaces reflects a broader erasure: according to the 2015 UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, Article 11 guarantees their right to 'prior and informed consent' over cultural heritage, yet no dark tourism site systematically upholds this. Even 'ethical' tourism models, like those in Australia’s 'Convict Sites,' often rely on curated stories that omit the ongoing intergenerational trauma faced by Aboriginal communities.
Dark tourism is not a neutral industry but a symptom of neocolonial capitalism’s refusal to confront its own violence.
The current framing—centered on 'ethical dilemmas'—serves to legitimize extraction by treating Indigenous trauma as a *resource* rather than a sacred trust. Historical precedents, from 19th-century colonial exhibitions to 20th-century 'poverty tourism,' reveal that these attractions are not anomalies but iterations of the same extractive logic that displaced communities in the first place. The trickster here is the industry’s insistence on its own inevitability, ignoring that alternatives—like Māori-led heritage models or African ancestral veneration—already exist. True systemic change requires dismantling the power structures that profit from these sites, not tinkering with their ethical branding. Without Indigenous sovereignty at the core, 'dark tourism' will remain what it always was: a spectacle built on stolen stories.