第17期 · 旅游业是发展中国家的双刃剑吗

Tourism has been heralded as a panacea for underdevelopment — a clean, labour-intensive industry capable of injecting foreign currency into struggling economies without the environmental toll of manufacturing. From the sun-drenched beaches of Thailand to the ancient medinas of Morocco, developing nations have staked significant portions of their economic futures on attracting foreign visitors. Yet the relationship between tourism and development is far more ambivalent than the glossy brochures suggest. In my view, while tourism can serve as a powerful engine for growth, its benefits are contingent upon deliberate governance; without it, the industry all too often degenerates into a vehicle for exploitation that enriches a narrow elite at the expense of the communities and ecosystems it purports to benefit. The economic case for tourism is, on the surface, compelling. In countries where traditional industries languish, tourism provides immediate employment across a broad spectrum — from hotel staff and tour guides to artisans selling handicrafts. The World Travel and Tourism Council estimates that the sector accounts for roughly one in ten jobs globally, a proportion that is even higher in many developing economies. Beyond direct employment, tourism generates a multiplier effect: foreign currency spent by visitors circulates through local supply chains, stimulating agriculture, construction, and transport. For countries such as Cambodia and Rwanda, tourism has become a cornerstone of post-conflict economic reconstruction, funding infrastructure projects that serve residents and visitors alike. The very presence of international tourists can also incentivise governments to improve public safety, preserve cultural heritage, and invest in environmental conservation — externalities that benefit the host population long after the tourists have departed. However, the darker side of mass tourism is well-documented and increasingly difficult to ignore. Economic leakage is perhaps the most insidious problem: when hotels are foreign-owned and supplies are imported to meet Western standards, a staggering proportion of tourist expenditure never reaches the local economy. Research by the United Nations Environment Programme suggests that in some least-developed countries, leakage rates exceed seventy percent — meaning that for every dollar a tourist spends, as little as thirty cents remains in the host country. Beyond economics, the environmental costs are often catastrophic. Coastal ecosystems are bulldozed for resorts; water tables are drained to fill swimming pools in water-scarce regions; and fragile historical sites crumble under the weight of millions of footsteps. Venice, Barcelona, and Machu Picchu have all become cautionary tales of destinations loved to death. Socially, the commodification of culture reduces living traditions to performances staged for foreign consumption, while rising land values displace local residents from neighbourhoods transformed into tourist enclaves. In my judgement, the question is not whether developing countries should embrace tourism, but how. The difference between tourism as a catalyst for broad-based development and tourism as a neocolonial extractive industry lies almost entirely in governance. Countries such as Bhutan and Costa Rica have demonstrated that it is possible to pursue a high-value, low-volume model — prioritising per-visitor spending over headcount, capping daily arrivals to protect ecosystems, and mandating local ownership thresholds for tourism enterprises. Taxation and regulation can recapture leakage, while community-based tourism initiatives ensure that revenue reaches the villages rather than remaining concentrated in capital cities. Ultimately, tourism is a tool, not a strategy. In the right hands, it can build schools and hospitals; in the wrong hands, it builds luxury resorts behind guarded walls while the surrounding community remains steeped in poverty. The choice belongs to policymakers, not to the invisible hand of the market.