MICHAEL CRONIN’s job as a college admissions officer took him to India
two or three times a year, so he had already seen the usual sites —
temples, monuments, markets — when one day he happened across a flier
advertising “slum tours.”
“It just resonated with me immediately,” said Mr. Cronin, who was staying at a posh Taj Hotel in Mumbai
where, he noted, a bottle of Champagne cost the equivalent of two
years’ salary for many Indians. “But I didn’t know what to expect.”
Mr. Cronin, 41, found himself skirting open sewers and ducking to avoid
exposed electrical wires as he toured the sprawling Dharavi slum, home
to more than a million. He joined a cricket game and saw the
small-scale industry, from embroidery to tannery, that quietly thrives
in the slum. “Nothing is considered garbage there,” he said.
“Everything is used again.”
Mr. Cronin was briefly shaken when
a man, “obviously drunk,” rifled through his pockets, but the
two-and-a-half-hour tour changed his image of India. “Everybody in the
slum wants to work, and everybody wants to make themselves better,” he
Slum tourism, or “poorism,” as some call it, is catching on. From the favelas of Rio de Janeiro to the townships of Johannesburg to the garbage dumps of Mexico, tourists are forsaking, at least for a while, beaches
and museums for crowded, dirty — and in many ways surprising — slums.
When a British man named Chris Way founded Reality Tours and Travel in
Mumbai two years ago, he could barely muster enough customers for one
tour a day. Now, he’s running two or three a day and recently expanded
to rural areas.
Slum tourism isn’t for everyone. Critics charge
that ogling the poorest of the poor isn’t tourism at all. It’s
voyeurism. The tours are exploitative, these critics say, and have no
place on an ethical traveler’s itinerary.
“Would you want
people stopping outside of your front door every day, or maybe twice a
day, snapping a few pictures of you and making some observations about
your lifestyle?” asked David Fennell, a professor of tourism and
environment at Brock University in Ontario.
Slum tourism, he says, is just another example of tourism’s finding a
new niche to exploit. The real purpose, he believes, is to make
Westerners feel better about their station in life. “It affirms in my
mind how lucky I am — or how unlucky they are,” he said.
fast, proponents of slum tourism say. Ignoring poverty won’t make it go
away. “Tourism is one of the few ways that you or I are ever going to
understand what poverty means,” said Harold Goodwin, director of the
International Center for Responsible Tourism in Leeds, England. “To just kind of turn a blind eye and pretend the poverty doesn’t exist seems to me a very denial of our humanity.”
The crucial question, Mr. Goodwin and other experts say, is not whether
slum tours should exist but how they are conducted. Do they limit the
excursions to small groups, interacting respectfully with residents? Or
do they travel in buses, snapping photos from the windows as if on
Many tour organizers are sensitive to charges of
exploitation. Some encourage — and in at least one case require —
participants to play an active role in helping residents. A church
group in Mazatlán, Mexico, runs tours of the local garbage dump, where
scavengers earn a living picking through trash, some of it from nearby
luxury resorts. The group doesn’t charge anything but asks participants
to help make sandwiches and fill bottles with filtered water. The tours
have proven so popular that during high season the church group has to
turn people away. “We see ourselves as a bridge to connect the tourists
to the real world,” said Fred Collom, the minister who runs the tours.
By most accounts, slum tourism began in Brazil
16 years ago, when a young man named Marcelo Armstrong took a few
tourists into Rocinha, Rio de Janeiro’s largest favela, or shantytown.
His company, Favela Tour, grew and spawned half a dozen imitators.
Today, on any given day in Rio, dozens of tourists hop in minivans,
then motorcycles and venture into places even Brazil’s police dare not
tread. Organizers insist the tours are safe, though they routinely
check security conditions. Luiz Fantozzi, founder of the Rio-based Be a
Local Tours, says that about once a year he cancels a tour for security
The tours may be safe, but they can be tense. Rajika
Bhasin, a lawyer from New York, recalls how, at one point during a
favela tour, the guide told everyone to stop taking pictures. A young
man approached the group, smiling and holding a cocked gun. Ms. Bhasin
said she didn’t exactly feel threatened, “just very aware of my
surroundings, and aware of the fact that I was on this guy’s turf.”
she said, the experience, which included visiting galleries featuring
the work of local artists, was positive. “Honestly, I would say it was
a life-changing experience,” Ms. Bhasin said. Saying she understood the
objections, she parried, “It has everything to do with who you are and
why you’re going.”
Chuck Geyer, of Reston, Va., arrived for a
tour in Mumbai armed with hand sanitizer and the expectation of human
misery incarnate. He left with a changed mind. Instead of being
solicited by beggars, Mr. Geyer found himself the recipient of gifts:
fruit, and dye to smear on his hands and face, as people celebrated the
Hindu festival of Holi. “I was shocked at how friendly and gracious
these people were,” Mr. Geyer said.
Proponents of slum tourism
say that’s the point: to change the reputation of the slums one tourist
at a time. Tour organizers say they provide employment for local guides
and a chance to sell souvenirs. Chris Way has vowed to put 80 percent
of his profits back into the Dharavi slum.
The catch, though,
is that Mr. Way’s company has yet to earn a profit on the tours, for
which he charges 300 rupees (around $7.50). After receiving flak from
the Indian press (“a fair criticism,” Mr. Way concedes), he used his
own money to open a community center in the slum. It offers English
classes, and Mr. Way himself mentors a chess club. Many of those
running favela tours in Brazil also channel a portion of their profits
into the slums. Luiz Fantozzi contributes to a school and day-care
But slum tourism isn’t just about charity, its
proponents say; it also fosters an entrepreneurial spirit. “At first,
the tourists were besieged by beggars, but not anymore,” said Kevin
Outterson, a law professor from Boston
who has taken several favela tours. Mr. Fantozzi has taught people, Mr.
Outterson said, “that you’re not going to get anything from my people
by begging, but if you make something, people are going to buy it.”
critics of slum tourism concede it allows a few dollars to trickle into
the shantytowns, but say that’s no substitute for development programs.
Mr. Fennell, the professor of tourism in Ontario, wonders
whether the relatively minuscule tourist revenue can make a difference.
“If you’re so concerned about helping these people, then write a
check,” he said.
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