19/07/2025

SATURDAY | JULY 19, 2025

18 Unseen cost of wildlife tourism O N the open savannahs of southern Kenya, the roar of a lion once marked the path to adulthood for Maasai warriors. way to protect wildlife, and to an extent, that is true. On paper, it looks like a win-win: tourism dollars can create jobs, support community livelihoods, generate funds for conservation and reduce poaching pressures. Yet, tying animals’ survival purely to their economic worth carries risks. COMMENT by Dinesh Nair

Anthropologists have long described moral economies – systems of obligation, respect and fairness – that go far beyond profit. In the Maasai world, lions were enmeshed in these values, helping define ideals of a tribesman. The same can be said about indigenous communities in Malaysia, where elephants anchored a moral contract that reinforced respectful forest stewardship. When moral economies collapse under the pressure of market logic, what ensues is a destabilisation of a crucial foundation for conservation. It threatens to make wildlife protection fragile and conditional: if tourism declines or funding ceases, so too might the community’s resolve to protect the animals they once revered. Even traditional education systems, crucial for preserving this fragile equilibrium, are experiencing growing challenges. The stories they conveyed were powerful lessons passed across generations, sustaining conservation values without external incentives. But modern schooling and social media, particularly in the case of more developed nations such as Malaysia, push alternative messages, overshadowing traditional ecological knowledge that is essential to keeping moral economies from unbuckling. Masculinity, identity and disrupted pathways Among Maasai men, lion-hunting was more than a tradition – it shaped a young man’s place in the world. Losing that practice left some searching for new ways to prove themselves while others felt cut off from the courage and protection their culture valued. Edward half-jokingly said the younger Maasai of his generation would “only seen lions on tourist T-shirts” – an exaggerated but quiet signal of how the shift to commodification is altering their sense of identity. This should not be taken as romanticising the masculinity involved in lion-hunting, which itself deserves critical scrutiny. Still, one must recognise that ignoring social dynamics when commercialisation advances can strip away traditional pathways to identity and leave communities in profound uncertainty. Fortunately for the Maasai , as I noted in the first instalment of The Kenyan Chronicles , the continued sharing of myths and stories has helped to buffer against these disruptions. Many still strongly identify with Maasai values and traditions. Yet, there are indications that certain aspects are slipping away, especially as their connection to wildlife and the broader natural world weakens. Compounding this sense of disconnection is the way land itself is being repurposed. Across both countries, tourism infrastructure has replaced pastures, grazing commons and sacred forests. Lodges and wildlife-viewing roads take priority, squeezing out spaces where cultural practices once flourished and eroding longstanding bonds that communities traditionally shared with wildlife. Ethical conservation Tourism and financial incentives are not inherently harmful. They can be powerful allies in protecting nature, especially if they are governed by the understanding that conservation cannot rely on economic capital alone. For instance, projects like the Lion Guardians and the Maasai Olympics have tried to preserve Kenya’s cultural pride by encouraging non-lethal lion monitoring and promoting stories of bravery. Back home, a handful of elephant sanctuaries are working to revive cultural performances and forest-based storytelling while supporting respectful tourism. These

These lions were not mere predators; they were symbols of courage, respected as powerful rivals whose strength tested a young man’s bravery and proved his readiness to protect livestock and community. Near Maasai Mara, elders explained how lion hunts had been tightly regulated for generations, woven into a code of bravery, restraint and collective respect. One elder told me, “We respected him even when he killed our cow because that showed his power”. Within this tribal framework, a striking paradox persisted: the lion existed as more than an opposing beast; it was a revered partner in shaping men’s identities. Thousands of kilometers away in Malaysia’s tropical forests, elephants have long held a similarly profound status. Among the indigenous tribes, elephants were honoured as guardians of the forest, protectors of harmony and vessels of ancestral spirit. Stories and taboos transmitted from elders to children taught that harming an elephant invited misfortune and broke the sacred balance of the forest. But these traditional views are under pressure. Global tourism, conservation finance and social media have recast these iconic animals as economic assets. Conservation efforts are increasingly justifying their protection by emphasising their cash value rather than their cultural role. Anthropologists call this the commodification of wildlife: transforming relationships of kinship and respect into transactions ruled by markets and profit. Colonial legacies and disrupted bonds The story begins with colonial interventions. British administrators disrupted the Maasai ’s moral codes by outlawing ritual lion hunts while still granting sport-hunting privileges to Europeans. This double standard undermined the community’s capacity to manage lion populations on their own terms. Traditionally, more than mere hunts, this was a rite of passage, a practice that was still able to preserve both culture and ecological balance, unlike the Europeans’ unrestrained killings. National parks established later extended these restrictions, protecting lions for tourism but excluding Maasai from grazing lands and wildlife decision-making. Over time, lions came to be viewed by the Maasai as the “government’s cattle”, owned by the state and valuable only to outsiders. Edward, a member of the tribe, summed up the frustration: “If the lion belongs to the government, why should we protect it? Let them do it.” There is indeed a growing sense of detachment: the Maasai ’s symbolic kinship with lions is being increasingly strained by government-driven economic controls. In Malaysia, elephants have also been pulled into the logic of profit, steadily incorporated into branding campaigns, tourist itineraries and performance schedules (whereas tigers have largely escaped this predicament as they are extremely rare and live in remote forests, making tiger tourism essentially non-viable on a meaningful scale). Teachers and elders in indigenous settlements observe that children now perceive elephants primarily as job opportunities or tourist attractions rather than allies of the forest ecosystem. Once this postcolonial, neoliberal centred educational shift takes root, one can be assured that the compass which once guided human–wildlife coexistence will lose its bearing. Some may argue that tourism is a pragmatic

When moral economies collapse under the pressure of market logic, what ensues is a destabilisation of a crucial foundation for conservation. It threatens to make wildlife protection fragile and conditional. – PIC COURTESY OF DINESH NAIR

approaches recognise that conservation can succeed only if it reinforces rather than overrides local identities and educational systems. However, we are still at a crossroads. The challenge goes beyond top-down structural reforms or new conservation models. At its core, this is a case of supply meeting demand, shaped by human behaviour, specifically our fascination with the exotic. That thrill of standing close to a powerful animal is woven deeply into our collective imagination. I must acknowledge my own complicity in this pattern. As the accompanying photo shows – which I, too, shared across all my social media pages. This is precisely the kind of imagery that fuels the appetite for wildlife commodification. It would be hypocritical to claim an advocacy role while behaving contradictorily. Yet, I chose to post it because I too have been swept up in how normalised these practices have become. The desire to witness and share these wildlife encounters is deeply human but it demands a more conscious mindset from tourists and travellers. We must learn to ask: What are we endorsing with our images? What relationships and power structures do our “likes” support? Only by confronting our own impulses – the desire to showcase, conquer and exoticise – can we move towards a more ethical form of conservation, one that respects both animals and the cultural frameworks that surround them. These are difficult questions, because they force us to turn a critical lens inward, confronting aspects of ourselves that we might rather ignore. It is uncomfortable to recognise how easily our fascination with wildlife can slip into a kind of consumerism, even as we claim to protect what we love. But while we allow that internal turmoil to sink in, perhaps the least we can do is continue to push for change – even if we ourselves are entangled in the contradictions. We must press for conservation models that prioritise local voices, cultural continuity and moral education, notwithstanding the limitations we ourselves have helped to create. In this messy and imperfect world, that may be the most honest place to begin. What steps then might guide us onward? First, conservation programmes must involve traditional knowledge holders – elders, teachers and spiritual leaders. These voices

carry centuries of expertise about respectful coexistence. Second, incentives should align with local values rather than replace them. Financial benefits can reward and stabilise cultural stewardship instead of undermining it. Third, tourism operators need to distribute profits fairly and safeguard spaces where traditional education happens. Supporting local nature schools, youth storytelling circles and community events can protect moral economies from erosion. Lastly, land tenure is essential. When communities lose access to their pastures or forests, they cannot practise or teach the values that sustain respect for wildlife. The roar, trumpet and what we might lose The roar of a lion and the trumpet of an elephant have never been just sounds in the landscape. They are reminders of relationships stretching back centuries, built on courage, moral reciprocity and a profound sense of interdependence. When conservation and tourism turn these animals into price tags, we risk severing the deeper educational and cultural ties that anchor people to wildlife – the rituals that held nature and society in balance. Protecting lions and elephants may seem like a straightforward mission but it is not simply a matter of securing funds or expanding protected areas. The deeper challenge is to protect the moral economies that bind communities to these creatures. If we fail to do so, conservation becomes a transaction rather than a relationship, vulnerable to collapse when markets shift or attention fades. Dinesh Nair is a social anthropologist and a recipient of the UK Government’s Chevening Scholarship. He holds a Master of Arts in Social Anthropology from the University of Manchester and a Master of Science in Marketing and Business Analysis from the University of Edinburgh. An advocate of interdisciplinary studies, he has held academic, non-academic and consultancy positions at a few private universities in Malaysia and India. PS: This article is the second and final instalment of a two-part series, Anthropologically Speaking: The Kenyan Chronicles.