Opinion | Posting From the Frontlines: The Allure and Pitfalls of Danger Tourism

When the Taliban executed an internet blackout that left Afghanistan without internet access for 48 hours in September, communication across the country collapsed. Banking services froze, travel was disrupted, business ventures stalled, and access to emergency services blocked. Coverage from inside Afghanistan plummeted to an all-time low, with little to no international intervention to ensure the safety of civilians during these critical hours. Yet just weeks prior, global audiences had sat at the edges of their seats, captivated by the story of a Western cyclist whose travels had traced the same region’s instability but garnered far more support and attention.

Such is the complexity inherent in danger tourism, a practice in which travellers visit sites of conflict, unrest, or tragedy with mixed motivations—raising awareness, seeking to learn about global events, or even pursuing adventure. Danger tourists often visit sites post-tragedy, most classically Auschwitz-Birkenau, zones devastated by the Chernobyl explosion, and the Robben Island prison off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa, incorporating respectful reflection and consultation with local experts to create a productive experience. Yet as more and more travellers begin to trek into sites of ongoing war and crisis, their intentions become increasingly questionable, and the suffering of humanity is sensationalized. The tendency of danger tourists to share their travels online only heightens this effect, awarding the viewpoints of the Western traveller heightened attention while the lived experiences of those enduring the same events and tragedies persist unnoticed. 

Ian Andersen, an American cyclist whose principal goal is to cross all seven continents, is an epitomizing example of contemporary danger tourism. His most recent project—to solo-bike from Lisbon, Portugal to Tokyo, Japan—has attracted over 600,000 Instagram followers and more than 10,000 subscribers to his Substack. His propensity to portray his ventures with an apolitical aloofness and charming relatability has made understanding the regions of the world through which he travels accessible, uncomplicated, and therefore highly appealing to viewers. Complete with a gear kit packed primarily with cigarettes, Ian’s work is far more casual than the traditional media alternatives through which interested onlookers would otherwise ingest information about global events. The tone of his posts stands in stark contrast to the contemplative bleakness with which news outlets frequently communicate. With the added layer of the awe-inspiring athletic feat of his biking, viewers are able to engage with critical topics as passively as they choose. Videos where Ian is trapped in Iran by Israeli strike-induced border closures or clips in which he is questioned by the Taliban can be consumed without concern or analysis, brushed off as merely a thrilling episode of his daredevil biking adventure. 

As a result, depictions by danger tourists can flatten critical issues and crises, in this way differing from journalistic or humanitarian pursuits that inspire deep reflection and analysis and, ultimately, can lead to the provision of aid or policy change. Where greater coverage of the Middle East should, in the context of journalism, lead to awareness and change, documentation by danger tourists often ends merely in the acquisition of money, prestige, and prominence by explorers and the provision of shallow entertainment to viewers. Ian’s project, for example, may not be inherently motivated by fame or profit, but with growing international attention, increased intervention by the US State Department to ensure his protection, and several appearances in major news outlets, it has undoubtedly brought notoriety as a consequence. 

As these explorers document their travelling adventures, their primarily Western perspectives often edge out the experiences of locals. No recent development represents this truth better than the Taliban’s institution of a total internet blackout in September, disrupting communities across Afghanistan by halting businesses, communication, and emergency services. The blackout, justified by the Taliban’s leadership as critical to preventing ‘immoral’ activities, disconnected the nation’s nearly 43 million people, amounting to the most extensive and coordinated telecom shutdown in Afghanistan since the Taliban’s return to power in 2021. Women and girls—who are most vulnerable under Taliban rule—were at particular risk during the blackout. Where the internet had previously offered a means to access external resources and, more generally, the outside world, losing access to critical networks increased the severity of women’s isolation. The blackout stands alongside broader Taliban policy programs that limit young women and girls’ access to educational resources, including bans on books written by women, restrictions on women’s job options, and an outright prohibition of education for girls over the age of 12. 

Journalistic agencies that relied on internet access to report live from Afghanistan were also affected. Both international and local news services reported their communications and operations had been severely impaired, disrupting their ability to communicate major news with Afghan locals and the international community. Yet, although the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan did call upon Taliban authorities to reinstate internet and telecommunications access, global discourse on the blackout was minimal. However, just a few months prior, foreign governments were strikingly invested in protecting Ian and his right to post about his travels on social media. Whereas Ian’s access to the internet stood as a geopolitical emergency, the Taliban-induced internet blackout and its impact on journalistic integrity and community safety fell on deaf ears. Such reflects a broader pattern in which the experiences of white, Western spokespeople are uplifted over the stories of those whose lives are directly affected.

Clearly, danger tourism, both as a practice executed by adventurous travellers and as a source of content for enthused social media users, is complex. Much like genuine ethnographic research and journalism, danger tourism can expand coverage and raise awareness of global crises. Yet, whereas journalism is a peer-reviewed product built on reflection, nuance, and consultation, danger tourism tends to lend merit to stereotypes and shallow, unresearched, and therefore harmful characterizations of struggling communities, many of whom are unable to communicate on their own behalf due to media suppression. By centring the bravery and daring nature of influencers, global tragedy is reduced to context for their content, from which they derive fame and prestige. Most profoundly, danger tourists have elected—from a position of privilege—to temporarily endure danger, whereas inhabitants of the areas these tourists thoughtlessly traverse are unable to escape, having had danger imposed upon them.

Viewers must consume danger tourism content with care, prioritize the experiences of those local to sites of this type of content creation, and reflect on how profit and fame motivate, define, and influence the ways in which global events and groups are depicted in media.

Edited by Shumyle Shahid

Featured image: “In the middle of nowhere” by Giorgio Luciani is licensed under CC BY 2.0.