Voluntourism isn’t helping anyone, except maybe you
photo by ryutaro tsukata from pexels
The world is no stranger to voluntourism. The term was coined in 1998 by the Nevada Board of Tourism—ironically, as a marketing ploy—as a play on the phrase “volunteer tourism.” According to voluntourism novelist Pippa Biddle, the practice of volunteer tourism as we know it today can be traced back to the ecotourism movement started in the ‘90s, the very movement the Nevada tourism board was trying to market to.
Travelers were looking for more gritty, authentic experiences, and had pockets deep enough to afford them. Many programs, supposedly set on helping those in third-world countries, collect fees from their volunteers. And not spare-some-pennies-if-you-can fees; I’m talking thousands of dollars per person.
Usually, the destinations are in Africa or areas of the Global South, many of which are densely populated with people of color. According to author Nisha Toomey, 87% of voluntourists are white. Through the years, these trips have not just become a trend, but an industry. An industry whose profit comes from exploiting minority communities and marketing it as a come-be-a-hero experience to first-world elites.
Not only are these practices outright harmful to the communities they claim to help, but they also perpetuate violent sentiments of white saviorism and neo-colonialist expression.
In wealthy countries, we have virtually eliminated the industry of children’s institutions like orphanages. Because, like pretty much any childcare professional would agree, institutions cannot sustain the needs of a child the way family-based care does. That said, orphanages in places like Cambodia and Sri Lanka are still some of the most sought after destinations for volunteer tourist groups, according to the Guardian journalist Tina Rosenberg. Even more popular are orphanages with high demographics of disabled children. Often in poor countries, most children living in orphanages are not orphans, according to studies by UNICEF. Because areas of this nature are so impoverished, many families cannot afford childcare, especially for kids with disabilities. Nearly all of these institutions are guilty of malpractice, some with even more notorious histories of child trafficking and abuse. Even if you manage to find one with no (public) track-record, it’s bound to be doing more harm than good for the children it houses.
And so I have to ask: if these institutions are so terrible for children that the first-world has almost sworn them off entirely, why are they deemed fine for children in countries of poverty? Because instead of funneling resources into Public Works and locally-run projects that reduce poverty in the area (and lower the need for child institutions), white voluntourists provide institutions the funds and labor they need to continue their malpractices.
Speaking of abuses against children, let’s not forget the harm to kids that voluntourists directly afflict on kids. The short-term nature of the trips perpetuates a cycle of abandonment for the kids, as a group of voluntourists are heavily involved with the kids for a few weeks, only to be whisked away and replaced by another group, and so on. Not to mention the flood of social media posts from voluntourists, posing with arms around young kids of color like they’re photo props. Often sensationalized to nauseating degrees, these posts and accounts treat third-world communities as zoos, their people as entertainment. Further, it perpetuates an attitude of white saviorism in volunteers from their service visiting these “terrible” places.
Looking at these facets of this industry, it all comes down to the same root problem: voluntourism organizations are designed to prioritize the experience of the volunteer, not their impact on the communities they visit. It’s about making you feel like you did good, charitable work—whether or not it’s actually beneficial for the community is irrelevant.
Donating money to locally-owned organizations in those areas instead has proven more effective in reducing poverty and creating lasting infrastructure, according to Rosenberg’s Guardian article. But many people disregard this, choosing to spend the money on an experience, because they treat these trips as opportunities to “better” themselves in a poorer country. In doing this, they subconsciously justify their own privilege as a wealthy, (usually) white person.
And the thing is, people in poor countries can’t ease in and out of their ‘exotic’ environments when they get tired of the heat or the work. Yet after a few weeks of playing humanitarian, voluntourists decide that they’ve milked the experience for what it’s worth, and swiftly move on to the next quest for self-fulfillment.
The voluntourism industry systemically upholds notions of white saviorism and racism regardless of whether or not the individual participating has that intention. And because of that, I don’t believe that any voluntourism work is helpful.
Real change occurs when we stop contributing to organizations and practices that perpetuate systems of oppression. In the case of helping reduce poverty in poor countries, voluntourism is one of those practices.
If you still feel compelled to contribute to these systems, I am asking you, at the very least, to consider who it really helps.