Masters in their own tepees
Garry Marchant, Paris-based travel writer
An art gallery in Darwin, Australia, proudly spells out its aboriginal
ownership.
‘There are things that are not for others
to see or share. Mainstream tourism needs to know this to ensure appropriate, authentic
productsare developed and marketed with cultural sensitivity.’
In Kaan, an Amerindian village in British Columbia (Canada), visitors
can learn about the significance of totems from local guides.
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Travel broadens the mind: one leaves behind the prejudices of one’s own country, and one is hardly qualified to take on those of foreigners. Michel de Montesquieu, French writer and philosopher (1689-1755) |
In Canada
and Australia, aboriginal communities are taking control of tourism in their homelands.
In the frozen
wastelands of the Canadian Arctic, several kabloonas (Inuit for strangers) clumsily
hack out huge ice blocks and piece them together to make an igloo under the eyes
of an Inuit guide. In an Australian desert, a young city woman learns from locals
to savour an aboriginal delicacy, beetle larva called witchetty grub. A small band
of visitors gathers in a rainforest park on Canada’s Pacific south-west coast, listening
to a native tour guide explain how to read totem pole carvings with their bogeywomen,
thunderbirds and other mythological characters.
These scenes reflect the growing tourist demand to discover and experience aboriginal
cultures. At the same time, they tell a story about control over the growing aboriginal
tourism niche market. From Iqaluit, the capital of the new Canadian territory of
Nunavut, to Kalgoorlie, Western Australia, native entrepreneurs themselves are increasingly
showing off their cultures—and profiting from it. This stands in contrast to many
other parts of the world where indigenous communities have little control or even
say in tourist inflows that are having sometimes huge impacts on their cultures and
societies.
“While we have played a role in the tourism industry for years, we were somewhat
marginalized,” says Barry Parker, president of the Canadian National Aboriginal Tourism
Association (CNATA). “We were thought of in terms of pow wows or other cultural celebrations,
or as ‘wilderness guides’ for hunting and fishing.”
Native entrepreneurs no longer merely stage abbreviated, simplified dance shows for
tour groups which quickly move on to other ersatz attractions, or souvenir shops
selling mass-produced trinkets. Today, indigenous populations are providing transportation
services and accommodations while opening galleries, restaurants, theatres and even
their own homes.
Not all aboriginal communities in Canada or Australia welcome tourism. However, many
see it as an important source of income. CNATA is “bottom line oriented,” says Parker.
“Our business is job creation and revenue creation.” Promoters say tourism also allows
aboriginals to teach others about their traditions, thus helping strengthen indigenous
culture.
Aboriginal Business Canada, a federal government agency, cites tourism development
as one of its top three priorities. There are now about 1,000 Canadian aboriginal
tourism businesses (i.e., businesses that are at least 51 per cent owned or controlled
by native people) generating up to some $200 million in revenue per year, according
to the federal government’s Department of Indian Affairs. These companies provide
about 15,000 jobs seasonally and 7,500 year round.
Indigenous tourism has become so economically important to both countries that governments
and aboriginal peoples have established official groups to promote and control the
industry. Besides the CNATA, these include Aboriginal Tourism Australia, the National
Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Tourism Industry Strategy (NATSITIS) and Aboriginal
Tourism British Columbia (ATBC). Even Nunavut, the new territory in northern Canada,
has its own tourism body, promoting the Eskimo (Inuit) culture.
Fixing
snakebite with seaweed
Australia has about
200 aboriginal-operated tourism businesses, according to Graeme Priestley, who manages
the federal government’s section responsible for developing aboriginal tourism. These
businesses are generating almost $20 million in revenue per year, with sales in indigenous
arts and crafts amounting to an estimated $130 million annually, according to the
Australian Office of National Tourism. Priestley believes that indigenous tourism
could be a much more significant business opportunity for aboriginal people.
The growing revenues going back to their communities mark progress for those aborigines
who want to encourage tourism. But by their standards, more can be done. The Canadian
Tourism Commission estimates that if aboriginal peoples shared in the tourism industry
in proportion to their population—four per cent of Canada’s total—aboriginal tourism
would bring in about $1 billion annually—five times what it does today—and provide
as many as 40,000 jobs.
Likewise, despite progress, Australia’s aborigines still face several major obstacles
to developing tourism. To begin with, aboriginal land claims must be legally resolved.
Without legal land titles, aboriginal people find it difficult to secure bank loans
to start up their businesses. Also in short supply are the business skills needed
to successfully run a company. To try to fill these gaps, the government has worked
with aboriginal authorities to set up a range of supportive measures—from individual
grants to training programmes.
Hazel Douglas, a member of the Guguyalanji tribe in the far north of Australia’s
Queensland, is fully aware of the difficulties of breaking into the tourism trade.
“When I started my business [five years ago], people said, ‘Oh, she’s just an aboriginal
lady, she’ll only last a couple of days,’ ” Douglas told The Australian newspaper.
Today, her award-winning business, Native Guide Safari Tours, leads groups across
the rugged terrain of the Daintree rainforest, a World Heritage site, and Cape Tribulation
National Park. While recounting legends and explaining traditional culture, she takes
her groups into the bush to show them how to eat the thirst-quenching abdomens of
live green ants—high in vitamin C. She also teaches them how to fix snakebite with
seaweed and how to listen to the bird calls near the river to know whether a crocodile
lies in wait. For Douglas, the tour is more than just a business. “The most important
thing is to educate people about aboriginal culture and to preserve it,” she says.
Part of this educational task lies in dealing with the stereotypes tourists expect
to see during their visits. “People still have the impression that we are living
in the past,” says Jeff Watts, a member of the Tseshaht tribe in Canada who started
his native culture tour in Vancouver last year. When tourists ask Watts to take them
to a native Indian village, he teases them by suggesting they hail down the next
covered wagon.
The aboriginal tourism offering is considerable. In Canada, the possibilities include
digging into traditional indigenous fare at a Haida longhouse restaurant serving
the likes of toasted seaweed, wild Pacific sea asparagus, goat ribs and caribou;
living with Inuit families at an igloo camp or spending a week on an Indian reserve
sleeping in a longhouse or tepee; searching for shaggy musk-ox; or perhaps learning
drum dances and native games. In Australia, one can take tours to aboriginal homelands
to learn how to use a boomerang, listen to native dreamtime legends, visit an aboriginal
emu farm or take a day trip in the scrubs to look for spiny ant eaters and kangaroo.
Spirituality
is not for sale
In many cases visitors
to aboriginal lands have to learn to live like locals, far away from modern conveniences.
For example, in Canada, tourists may have to accept caribou hairs on their bannock
bread, while in remote parts of Australia, accommodation is in cement floor huts
with only basic washing facilities.
There is often a clash between expectations and reality, with the result that sometimes
tourists are disappointed while their hosts are astounded by outsiders’ perceptions.
For example, one tour company reportedly received a complaint from a South Australian
tourist that the aborigines in the Manyalluk community wore T-shirts and shorts instead
of loincloths.
Many aboriginal people are aware of possible negative effects of tourism. In some
instances entire communities are off limits. In other cases, native communities are
controlling development, putting sacred sites off limits and preventing public access
to some ceremonies.
“Elders generally welcome the opportunity to share aspects of their cultures with
others, but are adamant that their spirituality is not for sale,” says CNATA’s Parker.
“There are things that are not for others to see or share. Mainstream tourism needs
to know this to ensure appropriate, authentic products are developed and marketed
with cultural sensitivity.”
Even more important than the impact of tourism on the land is its effect on the people.
Says Parker: “No one wants to feel like they are fish in a fish bowl or have people
invade their space.”
